#I was planning this for a while and Ethan gave me permission to post

[yourmcu]

Forgotten [DISCONTINUED]

Pairings: Tony Stark x daughter!reader, Peter Parker x Stark!reader (platonic)

Request: 

Hello i love your story could you do angsty tony x daughter reader. Wherein the reader has a twin brother and Tony and the avengers prefer the twin brother and becaus of that, the reader became rebel and badass. She always getting trouble and almost drop out student. The avengers and her father were seem disappointed and dont know what to do. Not until the reader involve into car accident and she's critical injured. The reader also slipped to coma. Everyone is devastated about the reader conditione. And they realized that the reader only rebel because she wants to get attention from them. It depends to you what the end come, I just want a full angst this week and I hope you dont mind my English. Anyway I hope your alright.

Word count: 1,627

A/n: (to anon: I’d like to apologize for not finishing this) I don’t think I have any intention to anymore tbh so- I’m just posting this for fun now lmaolmao

hella big update: the continued version is here!

Warnings: bad angst and writing hee hee. no I’m serious this is bad

gif not mine! credits to the owner^^

Being a genius/billionaire/superhero’s kid doesn’t always sound nice like it usually does.

You were one of the Stark twins, the other half being your brother, Ethan.

The both of you showed signs that you inherited the commonly known Stark trait (intelligence) at a young age. But Tony mostly focused on his son, showing him all his inventions and gadgets, teaching him everything he knew while you on the other hand, were being babysat by Happy or Pepper, sometimes Rhodey.

You tried so hard to get your father’s attention but he always had his excuses:

“I don’t have time for that.”

“I’m busy with Ethan right now.”

“Maybe later.”

At first you didn’t mind if your brother got all the praise and attention. It wasn’t until your mid-teens that you really started to feel left out and ignored.

You were left to frown when the other Avengers never found anything interesting about you, just like Tony did. They all liked Ethan better. The topic of him being the next Iron Man when Tony retires is getting exhausting.

There was this one time when Tony announced that they were all going out to dinner since Ethan got, yet again, a full set of A’s on his report card.

“Did you get my card?” You tapped on Tony’s shoulder lightly.

He gave you a side glance, “ah shoot, I forgot. I’ll go get it tomorrow.” Then returned his attention to your brother.

But he ended up forgetting again the next day and you had to convince your teacher to give it to you instead. Your marks had A’s, but littered with B’s as well, of course that was no match for your brother’s perfect marks.

And that sort of scenario wasn’t just a one time thing, Tony forgets to pick up your report card every. single. time. The messed up part was you and Ethan literally attended the same school, he was just in a more advanced class than you.

As time passed, Tony went from ignoring you to getting annoyed and pissed at you for everything you did. In his eyes, you were always in the wrong. And the reason? You didn’t know.

“Dad? Can I borrow Bruce for a minute?” You knocked on the glass door of his lab to get him to look up.

He didn’t, but responded, “kinda busy with him right now.”

You looked at your fractured arm, regretting your decisions. “W-well, Ethan was training with Nat, and... and he wanted to try the new moves he learned on me. He went a little hard and - I think my arm’s broken, I just wanted Bruce to check it out-”

“Goddammit!” He shouted after you heard a glass shatter. Bruce covered his face with palms, muttering an ‘oh no’.

Tony glared at you, striding to where you were standing. All that was left for you to do was to brace yourself for what was about to come. “See, this is why we never let you do anything with the team,” he spat. “That right there?”-he pointed to your arm-“that’s on you. Things go wrong because you’re in the way!”

“I’m... I’m sorry-”

“Just get out of here.”

Your arm remained untreated after that.

Then Peter Parker came into the picture. Friendly guy, he was actually nice to you. Him and Ethan got along right away when Tony first recruited him. The fact that he treated Peter better than you made you even more miserable. It made you think he never wanted a daughter in the first place.

You first met Peter when he accidentally entered your room without warning, thinking it was the bathroom. Cliche, but that’s what happened.

“It’s on the first door to your other left,” you stated.

“Yeah, yeah okay, thanks,” he turned around to leave but stopped to look at you again. “I’m Peter Parker, by the way.”

“Y/N Stark.”

Peter’s eyes lit up at your last name. “I... I didn��t know Mr. Stark had a daughter - no offense! It’s just-”

You sighed and waved him off. He didn’t even notice the similarities you had with your twin. “It’s fine. I get that a lot.”

After many events of being, to be blunt, treated like shit, you finally had enough. You neglected your studies, only went to school when you felt like it (which was rare). No one cared your grades anyway, so what’s the point? You became a whole new person, you surrounded yourself with the wrong sort of people, causing you to dabble into smoking and alcohol.

Since you were always in trouble, you could recite Cap’s detention speech at school by heart now.

The principal of your school wanted to see Tony to talk about your behavior. Normally he’d make an excuse not to go if it wasn’t that important but he got flooded with messages from the school, so he couldn’t say no.

You had your legs crossed, sitting across from Tony who had his eyebrows furrowed as he listened to the principal. For some reason you didn’t feel nervous. “Y/N barely attends her classes. I’ve seen every attendance. Are you aware of this, Mr. Stark?”

Tony only maintained his usual relaxed posture and avoided your gaze.

“Some students have also seen her smoke in school grounds. We gave her a few weeks suspension for it, but it doesn’t look like she’s learned her lesson.” They pulled out a couple boxes of cigarettes from the desk drawer. “We found these in her locker.”

“You went into my locker?” You shot up from your seat. “You can’t just do that!”

Tony cleared his throat and got up, gripping your wrist. “I’ll take it from here - will that be all?”

On the way out he doesn’t say a word to you, only that his grip on your wrist got tight as you near the car.

“So,” he started the car. His voice was calm, but it screamed that you were in deep trouble. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

You sighed and slouched in the passenger’s seat, crossing your arms. “I’m... sorry you had to know...?”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna be honest with you here,” Tony still doesn’t look at you. “When I found out I had two kids, I got worried about Ethan.”

You let out a snort. Of course he would.

“I didn’t want him ending up like me. But surprise surprise, my daughter did instead.”

“I’m not ‘ending up’ like you, Dad-”

“Then what do you call - this,” he referred to you. “What, you’re just gonna waste your life, drop out of school? You’re a fucking mess, Y/N, and here I thought I raised you right. Sometimes I think: why can’t you just be like your brother?” He had a hard grip on the steering wheel as he drove, the way he spoke affected the speed of the car greatly.

You opened your mouth to speak but you couldn’t fine the exact words you wanted to say. “I... well, I’m sorry I’m not a goody two shoes like him!”

“That’s not what I-”

“Please, that’s exactly what you meant.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Look, I’m grounding you until you pull yourself together, understand?” And he did. He gave new orders to Friday when the both of you got home. You weren’t allowed to leave the compound without Tony’s permission.

Were you giving up that easily? Of course not.

You were on your laptop for the rest of the day, hacking into Friday’s system, the security to the elevator and the entrance. That night, your executed your plan and everything went smoothly.

“This is why you never underestimate me,” you sighed, deactivating the hack once you were out of the building. 

Your friend who was picking you up was already waiting a few blocks away from the compound. “I hope you’re cool with me staying over for a couple days.”

“If a bunch of Avengers come and destroy my place to look for you, I’m not going to be friends with you anymore.”

You laughed at out, “oh trust me, they don’t care.”

----

The next day no one noticed your absence, nobody did for another two days. Tony just assumed you were mad about your punishment, so he didn’t think of it much.

Not until Peter came to the compound on the third day, wanting to hang out with you.

“Whatcha got there, Pete?” Ethan asked.

“Star Wars movies. I wanna watch them with Y/N - she could use some company, don’t you think?”

The older Stark twin shrugged, “yeah, I guess she could.”

Peter then headed to the elevator and stopped at the floor where your room was. He knocked on your door and waited a bit, after a few minutes of silence he knocked again, still nothing.

“Y/N? Is it okay if I come in?” He called out. No response. He hesitated a bit, for all he knew you were probably changing or something, or you could be in danger. He went to open the door anyway. “I’m coming in, I’ll close my eyes just to be-”

To Peter’s surprise, your room was empty.

----

You were at a 711 parking lot, waiting for your friends who were buying supplies for a house party. You gave them your wallet, not really caring about anything anymore. Your phone was starting to pile up with messages and missed calls from Tony, Edward and Peter, occasionally from the others as you scrolled pass more.

Without thinking you threw your phone to the ground, cracking the screen, breaking it completely. They’d be able to track you through it now that they know you ran away. You really had no intention of coming back. You weren’t wanted, what’s the point of going back?

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse,  foul language and lots of angst.   

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira​ who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds​ for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog.  💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering.  There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed. 

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh;  what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain. 

He hates it. 

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit. 

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt. 

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together. 

There was no her in his plan, to begin with. 

The Devil never had a queen. 

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.  

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart. 

He doesn’t have one anyway. 

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note. 

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’ 

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone. 

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand. 

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.     

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase. 

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.” 

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie. 

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA. 

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away. 

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’ 

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer. 

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.” 

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would. 

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse. 

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints. 

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...” 

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met. 

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair. 

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face. 

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe. 

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica. 

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right. 

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.” 

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away. 

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.    

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”  

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief. 

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue. 

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her. 

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest. 

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul. 

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.  

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress. 

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme. 

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.” 

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.  

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker. 

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers. 

“Break her, until she talks.” 

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door. 

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature. 

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet. 

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her… 

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange. 

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot. 

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,”  August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away. 

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’ 

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity. 

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.  

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain. 

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’ 

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot. 

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.   

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”   

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face. 

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve. 

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly. 

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away. 

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’ 

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk. 

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw. 

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory. 

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.  

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material. 

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “ 

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him. 

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:  

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts,  We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down,  United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will. 

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

[allthyheart]

The prompt link wasn’t working but, I would like Lenny meeting Midge’s kids or Midge introducing Joel to Lenny and Joel being shocked and awed that Midge knows Lenny please and thank you

Honey, have I got some stuff written for you!

So this ended up being just a touch anti-Joel. Because like I’m sure many of you are, I am also just a little anti-Joel. This will also be posted on my A03 and Fanfiction accounts!

 It was always absolute chaos when the kids came home from a few days with Joel. The Weissman clan were just finishing up dinner, and considering a dessert when the knock came from the front door. Midge watched as Zelda rushed down the hallway towards the sound, her heels click-clacking against the carpet and hardwood.

“Mr. Maisel,” the disdain in her voice was obvious, and despite how long it had been, Midge still secretly appreciated that Zelda would never forgive Joel for what he’d done.

“I’m here to drop the kids off.” The two children in question had already run past the two adults and into the apartment. Ethan ran towards his bedroom while Esther, still so young, ran for her mother with news of the playground they’d gone to earlier that day. “Can I come in?”

Midge inwardly groaned at the frustrated tone he was using with Zelda. She got up from her seat at the dining table with Esther in her arms, nodding her head towards the kitchen. It would be quieter in there and Midge had news that she needed to share. Joel saw the movement and she heard him following her until they were face-to-face with the kitchen table between them.

“How were the kids?” She thought that it was best to start off slowly. You didn’t really have to know Joel to know that he wasn’t going to take her news well.

“Good, good,” he rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the ground. “Took them to the playground earlier. Esther wanted to see the ducks, but I had a meeting with some people for the club…” He knew that this would mean a trip to see ducks tomorrow for Midge, and she was happy to see that he seemed at least guilty for that, if not for disappointing their daughter.

“That’s fine, we um… we were planning to take her to the park tomorrow while Ethan is at his playdate with the Cohn’s son.”

“That’s… that’s good.”

Midge smiled through the awkward moment they were sharing. When there was another knock on the front door Esther wrestled her way down to the floor. Midge let her run out of the kitchen and supposedly to the front door to see who was knocking.

“Joel, I wanted to tell you something. I’m not sure how you’re going to take it, but considering what happened with Benjamin…”

“So, you’re dating someone?” He sounded put-out by the information; like he didn’t have time to be informed about something he’d specifically asked to be told about.

“Well, yes.” She tried to formulate the words in her head so that Joel would get what she was trying to say. “I have been for a while actually. We are… we just got engaged over the weekend.” She held up her left hand to show off the beautiful antique ring as if seeing something shiny would make him feel better about his ex-wife getting married.

“You’re getting married?” His voice was raised now and there was no doubt that her parents and their new guest had heard everything. “Has he met the kids? We talked about this, Midge. If you’re dating someone I want you to ask me before-”

“He’s met them, but it wasn’t when we were dating. He has a daughter, Kitty, she’s the same age as Ethan so I had her over for a playdate a few times.”

“So, he’s met my kids?”

“Only as a friend's parent. It is no different than Archie.”

“It’s plenty different, Midge!”

Her nostrils flared and the muscles in her legs tightened. Eyes closed for a moment, she listened to the familiar voice talking animatedly with her father in the other room. Esther’s soft mumbling likely occupied them both.

“I’m engaged to be married. Yes, he has met both Ethan and Esther. No, it was not while we were dating. I didn’t even know that we would ever start dating until a while later.”

“You still didn’t ask for my permission. They are my kids, Midge. My kids!”

She wanted to yell back, but their argument was interrupted by Abe entering the kitchen. Midge breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he’d heard their argument and was interrupting on purpose. He opened a couple drawers and a cupboard, before turning to his daughter and smiling.

“I’ve asked your fiance,” he looked deliberately at Midge like he was trying to tell her telepathically that he had her back. “If he wants to stay and have a drink. He was just dropping off that book I loaned him last week. Are you joining us?”

Midge jerked her head away from the staring contest she’d been winning against Joel and looked at her father. “Of course, Papa. We’ll be right out.”

“Have you met him yet, Joel?” Abe’s expression fit better in a fighting ring than the kitchen. “Fascinating man! He’s been practicing his shuffleboard skills before the family trip up to the Catskills this summer.” Joel’s full attention was on his ex-father-in-law now. He had turned red from his neck to the tips of his ears.

"Papa," she used her sweetest voice to interrupt the tirade before there was no going back. Once Abe got going, it was hard to convince him to stop. "Why don't you go stop Mama from talking his ear off. You know how she is with him lately." They shared a knowing look.

Abe nodded his head and huffed his way back out to the sitting room. Midge watched him until he was out of sight, then turned back to Joel. He remained standing in the middle of the kitchen in stunned silence. Abe had never shown that much interest in Joel, no matter how much the younger man tried.

“I found it!” Abe’s raised voice echoed back down the hall. Neither of the two in the kitchen knew what he was speaking of, but it was clearly part of the guise Abe had planned when he interrupted.

“I’m going to join them.” Midge walked back around the table and grabbed an empty glass from the counter, knowing that they were likely running low after dinner and now cocktails. “You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

She could feel Joel’s eyes on her as she walked away. He followed her to the living room, but stopped close to the entrance of the apartment. Obviously he was debating on whether he wanted to meet this new man that, by extension, would be in his life for the foreseeable future. Midge tried to ignore all that, and instead found herself smiling so broadly that her cheeks hurt.

“Miriam,” Rose was standing by the drink cart, just finishing handing over a mixed drink to Abe. “Leonard was just telling me that you guys are going to Rhode Island next week!”

She smiled over at Midge’s fiance with a smile. He was standing in the living room with Esther clutching at his chest. His arms were wrapped up around the small girl like a lifeline.

“I was also telling the Little Duck here that we could absolutely take her to the park tomorrow,” Lenny leaned over Midge like her own shadow. He pressed his lips against hers in the lightest of pecks and smiled as he pulled back. “Hi, honey.”

“Lenny,”  her voice was filled with warmth, and everyone in the room could see the soothing effect it had on the man. “This is Joel. Joel,” she turned towards her ex-husband who was still hovering near the door. This time, with a slack jaw. “This is my fiance, Lenny.”

She knew what meeting Lenny would do to Joel. They saw Lenny perform the night they got engaged. It was a memory that she’d safely packed away in a space filled with treasures until there was suddenly no use for them anymore.

“Joel, I’ve heard a lot,” Lenny tightened his grip on Esther and stuck out his arm for a handshake. “Nice to finally meet.”

“You’re Lenny Bruce.”

“That’s what the lawyers say.” Lenny was already distracted once again by Esther’s fingers grabbing at his chin. He took her hand in his and teasingly nibbled at her fingers. Loud, girlish giggles filled the room and put smiles on almost everyone’s faces.

“Midge,” Joel talked in almost a whisper. Midge thankfully accepted a martini from her mother and gave him her attention. “You’re marrying Lenny Bruce.”

“I’m aware.” She pretended to be unfazed by the concept. “The ceremony is in a couple months. Right before summer vacation.” He looked at her blankly and she imagined smoke coming out of his ears as the connections in his brain shorted out.

“I might be a little jealous.” His admission briefly caught Lenny’s attention, just enough for the man to glance over.

“Of Lenny,” Midge asked with false suspicion. “Or of me?”

“I’m not really sure.”

[daisy-rivers]

Kettling

MSNBC anchor Craig Melvin just explained kettling to his viewers, referring to it as a “controversial police tactic,” and once again, I got the eerie feeling that I had predicted the future.

Chapter 26 of I Like You a Lot is “Shouting in the Square,” about a protest march in Times Square that turns violent. I wrote it in the late summer or early fall of 2017, and now it feels like I’m watching it on the news. I’m posting the whole chapter here today. For those of you who haven’t read my fanfics on AO3, it’s a Hamilton fic, modern AU, set mostly at Columbia University in New York City. George King has become President; his police force is referred to as the “Greaters.” Alexander Hamilton is one of several student leaders of the resistance group called the Movement (there are mentions of TJ, Ethan, Ben, Nat, Frank, and Tony; maybe you can figure out who they are) at various colleges who are protesting against King’s unfair and oppressive tactics. Everyone in this chapter (except the very minor characters Alice, Vincenzo, and Monica) was actually a participant in the American Revolution, although not all of them appear in the musical. The Marquis de Lafayette goes by Gil in my stories, and he’s a pre-med student.

This excerpt begins a couple of paragraphs into the chapter. If you want to read the rest of the story, it’s here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11194281/chapters/24997485

By noon the next day, they had a plan in place. The protest was starting in forty-eight hours. Alex had applied for a protest permit, but they were going to march whether they got a permit or not. Angelica and Eliza were staying in the city to participate. Tony had returned to Philadelphia and Ben and Nat to New Haven to organize protests there, and they got confirmation that TJ, Frank, Ethan, and the others were doing the same. John designed flyers, and he and Herc gave them out on and off campus. There seemed to be more interest that there had been in the first protest, but also a new wariness about the increased and militarized police presence.

The day before the protest was to take place, Alex got word that the permit had been denied. He wasn’t surprised.

“Oh, well,” he shrugged. “This is where civil disobedience kicks in.”

He made sure that everyone was aware that they’d been refused permission, so that they could make their choice about whether to participate. It didn’t look like many planned to back out.

“One protest won’t change a law, no matter how well it goes,” he reminded the others over coffee, “but if they see that a majority of citizens oppose King’s actions, some members of Congress may grow a spine and stand up to him.”

“Especially if there are protests in a dozen or more cities,” John added optimistically.

“Just remember,” Alex continued, “that the protest isn’t permitted. We could be arrested for disturbing the peace. If we get separated and you do get arrested, call me. We’ve got some guys at Legal Aid who can help, and we’ve got some money if we need it – not a lot, though, so don’t all of you get arrested at once.”

It was a feeble attempt at a joke, but they smiled anyway.

“Dad’s not going to like it if we get arrested,” Angelica said to her sister.

Eliza nodded. “Maybe he won’t find out.”

“Let’s hope.”

*          *          *          *          *

The protest march was to start at the campus and go south on Amsterdam Avenue to Broadway and then on to Times Square, where they would meet up with more protestors from other organizations. At the same time, in other cities, there would be marches in the largest public spaces. They were planned for maximum visibility and maximum publicity. All Movement leaders were emphasizing the concept of peaceful protest. 

“If anything gets out of hand,” Alex reminded them all early in the morning, “it won’t be because we started it.”

Unlike last time, they weren’t all gathering at Alex and John’s apartment because there were just too many of them. They were going to assemble on Amsterdam Avenue, and once there was a crowd there, start walking.

It was no surprise that there were dozens of police officers – Greaters – in evidence.

“Let’s see your permit,” one of them demanded as the protestors began to gather. Alex had prepped everybody for this.

“Joanna has it,” he told the officer politely. “She’ll be here in a minute.”

The Greater was irritated, but apparently wasn’t aware that no permit had been issued. He began asking random women if they were Joanna, and people were responding with helpful information like, “She’s just up the block there,” or “She’s wearing a bright red sweater. You can’t miss her.” That all generated some confusion, and then someone else, as planned, told the Greater that it wasn’t Joanna who had the permit, it was Orlando, giving a description of Orlando to make it even more complicated. Greaters continued to search for Joanna and Orlando while the rest of the crowd began to move south.

“You think they’ll find Joanna?” John asked Alex, trying not to laugh.

“Nah, I think she and Orlando were on their way to JFK to catch a plane.”

“You sure there’s no Joanna or Orlando in this crowd?” Herc asked, looking around. There were a lot of participants he didn’t recognize.

“As sure as I can be,” Alex said. “I asked everybody I could think of, and nobody knew anyone with those names. Worst case scenario, the Greaters find some poor guy named Orlando and question him, but he won’t have any connection to us.”

“That’s pretty heartless,” Deb told him, disapproval in her voice. “It sounds like you don’t care if some guy gets hassled, as long as we don’t know him.”

“Not quite,” Alex told her. “I care a little less, though, if it doesn’t put our group at risk. Besides, anybody protesting today knows there’s a chance of getting harassed.”

As if on cue, a police car turned sideways across Amsterdam Avenue to block their way.

“Keep walking,” Alex called out, and the word was passed along. There were two Greaters in the car, but dozens, maybe hundreds, of marchers, and they kept walking. The police officers glared, but didn’t take any action.

“It doesn’t look to me like they have any real plan to deal with us,” John said to Alex. “Are we supposed to be intimidated by their presence?”

“Probably. Remember that most of these Greaters are new hires, and I doubt if they’ve had a lot of training yet. We’ll just keep walking.”

The marchers carried signs with a variety of messages. Many said, “Repeal the Smith Act;” others called for re-opening the national parks. Quite a few had the words Have, Hope, Deplo inside a red circle with a bar across it. Holding the signs and banners high, they continued marching south, and more people joined in. It was beginning to look as if King’s most recent actions were finally getting the attention it would take to bring real change. Alex turned around, walking backwards for a few steps. Herc and Johan were behind him, and he caught a glimpse of Eliza’s bright blue scarf farther back, but he couldn’t see Gil or Patty or any of the others. He felt a small twinge of anxiety, but reminded himself that they were all adults and knew what was expected of them. He turned back to John, “Don’t get too far from me, okay?”

John smiled. “I’ll hold your hand if you want.”

Alex took him up on it. “We might as well piss the Greaters off for that too.”

A few blocks later, a group of protestors from a local church joined them. They were singing a song Alex didn’t recognize. He quickened his pace to catch up with them and approached a guy with an Afro, glasses and a clerical collar. “What are you singing?” he asked.

The guy grinned at him. “Old civil rights protest song I learned from my granddad,” he said. “Seems like everything old is new again, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m Alex, by the way. We’re with Students for a Progressive Government.”

The clergyman held out his hand. “Tim Dwight – the Reverend Timothy Dwight, if you want the whole thing, but most people call me Tim, and the kids call me Rev.”

“Your grandfather marched in the civil rights movement?”

“Yeah, but he was a kid himself at the time. My great-grandfather, now, he was the one fighting that fight. He died before I was born, but according to Granddad, he marched with some of the greatest.”

“So you come by this naturally?”

Tim shook his head. “I don’t think any sane person comes by fighting the powers that be naturally. It’s always a struggle, but we have to stand up for the truth and for our rights.”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re doing this,” Alex agreed. “Glad to make your acquaintance. Can I get your number? Maybe we can coordinate some activities?”

“Sure.” Tim took Alex’s proffered phone and tapped in his information. “Let’s hope we can get some attention, get some changes made.” He turned to some members of his congregation who were close by. “This guy’s Alex,” he said. “We’re going to teach him a song.”

It wasn’t long before dozens more of the marchers had joined in the old protest song that Tim was leading in a call-and-response. By the time they reached Broadway, they were singing “Ain’t gonna let George King turn me around, turn me around, turn me around,” and there were police cars on the street, forcing the marchers up onto the sidewalks and slowing them down. Alex was still holding John’s hand, but he had no idea where Herc and Johan had gotten to. He kept looking over his shoulder.

John yanked on his hand. “They’re fine,” he said.

“Yeah.” Alex was a little embarrassed. “It’s just … damn, there must be hundreds of people here.”

“Probably thousands. That’s good, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He looked back again. “Why aren’t they giving us more trouble?”

“Like you said, most of them are new, don’t know much …”

“Yeah, I …” Alex, barely five foot nine, couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction. “It doesn’t feel right. I wish I’d told everybody to stay together.” I should have set up checkpoints so we’d know where everybody was. I should have arranged a meeting place after the march. I should at least have told everybody to text me every hour or so. He pulled John with him into an alcove by a shoe store. “I’m going to call Angelica.”

Angelica didn’t answer.

“She’s probably got her phone in her purse and didn’t hear it,” John said sensibly. “It’s noisy.” He was right. Dozens, maybe hundreds of people were singing and chanting, and practically everybody was talking.

Alex texted Angelica: Where are you? Is Eliza w you?

“She’ll get back to you,” John told him.

Alex shoved his phone back in his pocket. They were almost at Times Square, and it seemed like the noise level was increasing. He could feel the excitement running through the crowd as they got closer to their destination. There would be media coverage there, reporters looking for statements. He was ready if anyone wanted to hear from him. He’d rehearsed some words in his head, just in case they were needed. He smiled at John and held his hand tighter, and John gave him a grin, his eyes sparkling. “Let’s give ’em hell, mi amor.”

At first the high-pitched noise seemed like more shouting, but within seconds, they realized that they were hearing screams.

“What the fuck?” Alex muttered, starting to run. The crowd was so dense that it was hard to make any headway, and it didn’t take long for him to grasp that there were people running toward him, away from Times Square. Some of them were coughing and choking or holding their shirts over their faces.

“Tear gas,” John said angrily.

They kept going, weaving their way between those going in the opposite direction. There was more than screaming coming from up ahead now. As they came to the northern end of Times Square they heard the crashing of breaking glass and saw some of the marchers picking up anything they could to throw through windows.

“Shit!” Alex yelled. “What are they doing?” He ran forward, John with him, trying to get to a small group that seemed to have brought their own rocks and broken bricks to throw. “What’s the matter with you? This is supposed to be a peaceful protest. Leave the stores alone.”

“Fuck you!” a dirty guy with a straggly beard told him. “I’m not leaving till I use up all my bricks.”

“What are you talking about?” Alex grabbed the guy by the arm. “Why the hell did you bring bricks anyway?”

The bearded guy squinted at him, as if trying to focus. “I didn’t bring them. Cop gave them to me. I’m getting ten bucks a brick.”

“A cop gave them to you?”

“Yeah.” He let fly another one through the glass door of a candy store. “Over there.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of 48th Street. “You can get some too.”

Alex did a quick assessment of the rock-throwers and concluded that many of them were probably homeless, desperate to make a little money. Before he had time to say anything, John leaned in and spoke to him. “The tear gas is coming from the south end of the square.  Looks like they’re moving in.”

“Fucking Greaters were giving out rocks for people to throw, making us look bad.”

John nodded. “We should move back or we’re going to get hit with the tear gas.”

“Where the fuck is everybody? I haven’t seen a single person I know in an hour.”

John shrugged, trying to pull Alex away from what was evidently a coordinated line of Greaters moving from south to north. Alex’s eyes were starting to burn. He looked over his shoulder to see that the bearded guy and his buddies were gone. He thought fast, then pulled John with him. “Come on.” He kicked out the rest of the broken glass in the candy store door, then climbed through.

John followed, muttering, “You’re fucking nuts.”

“I want to see what’s going on,” Alex said. He found a vantage point several feet inside the store. One of the windows was still intact, so they had at least partial protection from the tear gas but could see most of what was happening in the square.

Tear gas canisters were flying through the air, and people were running in all directions to try to get away. For a minute Alex couldn’t understand why they didn’t turn around and go back north as they had been doing when he and John first got to the square, but then he saw that another line of Greaters had formed at the northern end of the square, so the marchers were trapped. He felt suddenly cold.

“It’s kettling,” he whispered to John. “They trap people, and then yell at them to disperse and they can’t. Then they can arrest them for not following orders.”

There were three or four Greaters in front of the store, their backs to it so they could face the crowd. They weren’t planning to arrest people. It was worse than that.

“They look pretty dangerous to me,” one of them yelled to another, his tone mocking. “What do you think?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” his friend called back. “I definitely fear for my life. I bet some of them have guns.”

Without warning, the Greaters started firing into the trapped crowd of people already disabled by the tear gas. The sounds of the shots and the screams of the wounded echoed off the tall buildings surrounding the square so that it seemed the shots were coming from all directions at once. Alex lunged forward to run out, but John tackled him and held him down.

“They’ll kill you,” John whispered, his hand over Alex’s mouth.

Alex’s eyes met John’s, as horrified as he was. He gave a quick nod of acquiescence, and John let him up. They inched closer to the window.

“Not too many,” someone who seemed to be a senior officer was shouting.

The first Greater who had spoken looked at his commander and grinned. “Just a couple more?”

The commander shrugged, and then let out a scream as a shot shattered his kneecap.

“Gun! Gun!” the first Greater yelled, this time with real fear in his voice. The next shot took him down in exactly the same way, and the two Greaters lay on the sidewalk screaming in agony. The others fired randomly a few times because the echoes made it impossible to know where the shots were coming from, and then they heard another officer shouting, “Cease fire! Fall back!”

The remaining Greaters ran, leaving their wounded colleagues sobbing and writhing on the ground. Within minutes all of them except the two wounded ones were gone. The tear gas had mostly dissipated, so people in the square were trying to help one another. Alex and John joined them, putting pressure on bullet wounds, helping hand out water bottles that people were grabbing from stores with broken windows. A few yards away, Alex saw Tim Dwight, his shirt covered with blood, doing the same thing.

“Yo, Rev!” he called. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” the pastor responded. “How bad is it?”

“Don’t know yet.” Alex handed a bottle of water to a young woman who was shaking and sobbing but appeared to be uninjured, then jogged over to Tim. “Have you seen any dead?” he asked quietly.

Tim shook his head. “They mostly fired over the crowd. Not all, mind you. They wanted to hit some, but they could have slaughtered all of us. They want us terrified more than they want us dead.”

“It’s working,” Alex said, surveying the crowd. “Did you see where the other shots came from? The ones that hit the Greaters over there?”

“No idea,” Tim said. “Are they badly injured?”

“They’re not going to die,” Alex said, “but any hope they had of playing football is gone. Whoever it was got them both right in the kneecap.”

Tim’s eyebrows went up. “Really? A sniper?”

Alex gasped.

“What?” Tim asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing,” Alex said, looking around slowly. “I didn’t say anything.”

The first ambulance arrived a few minutes later, and they did what they could to help. Tim estimated about fifteen protestors shot, two or three fairly seriously, but it looked like they would all survive. John was translating for a young man whose girlfriend had been shot. “Vine a estar con Mónica. Dónde la llevan? No soy americano. No hablo ingles.” The kid was in tears, and deeply grateful to find someone he could communicate with. John got the hospital information for him and told him how to get there.

He had just turned around to see if there was something else he could do when he heard his name, and saw Eliza racing across the square, sobbing. She threw herself at him, grabbing his shoulders. “Where’s Alex? Is Alex here?”

“He’s okay,” John told her, holding her tight. “He’s around here somewhere.” He looked over her head and saw Angelica, then Herc and Johan.

“What the fuck happened here?” Herc asked, his face grim. “We got cut off just north of the square.”

“Thank God you did,” Alex said, stepping up to join them. He held out his arms to Eliza, and she fell into them, sobbing on his shoulder.

Angelica, a few feet behind her sister, looked from Eliza and Alex to John.

“C’mere,” John said to her softly, holding out his hand. Angelica let John pull her in. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’re all okay.” He felt her nod, then felt the warm tears on his neck. He kissed her hair. “We’re all okay, you understand me?”

She nodded again, then pulled back, wiping her eyes with her hand like a little kid.

Alex kept his arm around Eliza and asked, “Do you know where Gil and Deb are? Or Patty?”

Nobody did, but the good news was that they weren’t among the wounded in the square. Alex called Tim Dwight over and introduced him. He was gathering together the remainder of his congregation. One of them, a kid of about fifteen, had been grazed by a bullet to his upper arm, but had refused to go to a hospital.

“If you think I’m getting in a car, even an ambulance, with any of them, think again,” declared the kid, whose name was Danny. “My mom can take care of this.”

Tim didn’t argue. Another one of his people, Alice, had twisted her ankle badly and needed help to walk. John went back into the candy store and got ice out of their freezer, wrapped it in Eliza’s scarf and tied it to Alice’s ankle. “Do you need a ride home?” he asked.

“I was going to get the bus,” she said uncertainly, looking from John to Tim.

“Are the streets open?” Tim asked.

Herc and Johan took off to check and came back to report that while Times Square itself remained closed off by police barricades, the surrounding streets were open to traffic.

“Let’s get you a cab,” John said to Alice.

She shook her head. “I don’t … I can’t …”

“I got it,” he told her, smiling. He and Herc half carried her out of the square and flagged down a cab, and John handed the driver a wad of cash that included a tip large enough to take his entire family out to dinner. The driver promised in return to be sure that Alice got safely into her apartment. She was still thanking them when the cab pulled away.

“She’s a third-grade teacher,” Tim was saying to Alex. “She says she wants to set an example for her students.”

“Good people,” Alex nodded. “Everybody here today was good people, marching for justice.” He told Tim about the group who had evidently been paid to throw rocks and break windows and about what he had heard the Greaters say before the shooting started.

“They planned to shoot all along, then,” Tim said.

“That’s what it sounded like.” Alex looked over to where the wounded Greaters had lain until they were picked up by an ambulance, and then his gaze circled the area, looking for places where a sniper might have been concealed. They were literally countless, the square surrounded by multiple-story buildings. It couldn’t have been on the same side as the Greaters, though, because they were shot from the front. On the opposite side, there was a hotel as well as four or five office buildings.

“Where do you think?” Tim asked, understanding what Alex was looking for.

“Impossible to figure out. I just wonder who would have guessed that there would be shooting.”

“I’m sure whoever it was thinks they were helping. Thinks they’re on our side, I mean.”

“I have no doubt of it,” Alex agreed.

“We don’t want to encourage violence, though,” Tim continued.

Alex was silent for a minute, then he looked Tim in the eye. “We’re on the same side, Rev,” he said, “but I don’t know that we’re going to be taking the same road. I promise you that I don’t encourage needless violence, but I won’t lie and say we won’t shoot back. This is the beginning of a war, and we’re going to be fighting.”

Tim nodded and held out his hand. “Like you say, different roads. I’ll be praying for you all, no matter what. Call me any time.”

Alex gripped his hand. “I will. You’ll hear from me.”

Tim gathered up the remaining stragglers from his congregation and they headed out of the square.

There weren’t many people left in the blocked-off area. The ones still there were those who had been badly overcome by the tear gas or who were still shaky and tearful. Alex and his friends made phone calls for some whose phones had died or been dropped and crushed in the melee, made sure everyone had water, and then Herc said, “We ought to go home. We don’t want to be the last people here when the Greaters come to re-open the square.”

“Good point,” Alex agreed. “Let’s go.”

It was a long walk back to campus, and they spent most of it trying to contact Gil, Deb, Patty, and the others. John got through to Mark, who told him Patty and Deb were safe at Betsy’s. Nate Pendleton and Joe Allicocke had actually been in the square when the shooting started, but had been able to duck into an alleyway, where they were lucky enough to find a restaurant worker who opened a back door to them. They went through the kitchen of Zaide’s Deli and out the front door onto 8th Avenue, and from there back to campus. Angelica finally got a text back from Gil who said he had been separated from Deb in the crowd and had still been well north of the square when he heard gunshots. Alex made sure that everyone got the message to meet at his and John’s apartment at six. They had a lot to talk about.

*          *          *          *          *

“Someday,” John said, “we’re going to get tired of pizza, and Vincenzo’s will go out of business.”

“I think we’re good for a few years yet,” Herc told him, helping himself to another slice. “How old is Vincenzo, anyway?”

John shrugged. “I think he’s got to be in his sixties. Talks about immigrating as a kid with his parents back in the day.”

“We ought to be able to get him to retirement age then,” Herc said. “After that we can worry about ordering something besides pizza.”

Alex boosted himself up onto the counter and tapped it with a spoon to get everybody’s attention. John and Herc sat back down on the floor with their pizza and prepared to listen.

“You all know the basic facts of what happened today, so I’m not going to recap that, and most of you watched the evening news a few minutes ago. What did you think?”

“It was bullshit,” Johan said through a mouthful of pizza. He took a gulp of soda and continued. “We know there was nobody in the crowd who drew weapons on the Greaters. They fired first.”

“Do any of you know anybody who talked to a reporter?” Angelica asked. “I expected to find Times Square full of journalists and satellite trucks, but there were none there. How did they keep them from getting access? That big a demonstration is news, so where was the press?”

Alex tapped a note into his phone. “Okay, that’s something we need to find out. I’ve heard from Ben and Frank, and they say the same thing was true in Connecticut and Charleston – no press on the scene at all.”

“What does Tony say?” Eliza inquired.

“I haven’t heard from him yet, and neither has Ben. I’m getting a little concerned.”

Gil was on the far side of the living room, sitting on the floor in front of Deb’s chair, his head leaning on her knees. He sat up straight now. “Was there shooting at every protest?”

Alex nodded. “Some places worse, some not as bad. There was one dead in Boston, and two in critical condition. Only half a dozen or so injuries in Charleston. Every other place was somewhere in between.”

“And were any Greaters shot or otherwise injured in any of these other cities?” Gil pursued.

Alex gave a little snort of laughter and shook his head slowly from side to side. “Not that I’ve heard, unless it was in Philly. Tony’s the only one nobody’s talked to yet.”

“So here there was at least some actual résistance,” Gil said, his accent so pronounced that the final word was in French.

“Yeah, you might put it that way,” Alex responded.

“Any ideas about who the sniper was?” Joe Allicocke asked.

“Not a clue,” Alex said blandly.

“Whoever it was, they were damned good,” Johan put in. “Kneecapped both of those bastards from God only knows what distance.”

“Yep, definitely a good shot,” Alex agreed. “Okay, the next thing …” he broke off impatiently as his phone rang, pulling it out of his pocket and checking the screen. “Alex Hamilton,” he said, and then, “Yeah … yeah … shit, is he okay? How many others hurt? Listen, let me ask you something, was there any press coverage? Okay … yeah, keep me posted.” He put his phone down and looked up. “That was a guy named Will Hays. He’s part of Tony’s group. Tony was shot today.” He waved his hands as everybody exclaimed at once. “He’s okay. He was hit in the thigh; they had to dig the bullet out, but it missed the bone, so it could have been a lot worse. He’s home now, and the biggest problem according to Will is that he’s pissed as hell. They’re trying to make him get some rest, so Will’s handling the calls.” He turned to Patty. “Can you text Nat with an update of what I just said? I told Will I’d let the Yale guys know.”

Patty pulled out her phone and started texting, and Alex tried to remember what he’d been about to say. “Okay, I want to be sure we get some connections in the press, because the narrative we saw on tonight’s news was not at all what really happened. Second, we need to talk to as many people as we can, both those who marched with us and those who didn’t. How many of them would do it again? Obviously, the Greaters meant to intimidate us. I want to know how far they succeeded.”

They finished up with an agreement to meet in Betsy’s conference room in a week and share information. As everybody was leaving, Alex approached Gil. “Tu peux rester cinq minutes?” he asked. “Je veux te parler.”

Gil nodded. Eliza and Angelica were still staying at Deb’s so he gave his girlfriend a quick kiss and stepped back into the apartment. John and Herc were still there, curious.

“You want us to leave?” John asked.

Alex sighed. “I hate to say it, but yeah. It’s for your own good.”

“Fine,” John said, waving him off. “Herc and I are going to Scoopy’s to get ice cream. I’m not bringing any back for you.”

“Fuck you,” Alex told him calmly.

John leaned back into the doorway and batted his eyelashes. “Any time, mi amor.”  Alex heard them laughing as they went down the stairs.

Alex looked up at Gil. “Was it you?”

“Was what me?” Gil asked, his face blank.

“Don’t get cute.”

Gil smiled but stayed silent.

Alex tried another tack. “If I check the guns at Betsy’s, will they all be there?”

“I’m very sure they will.”

“Will any of them show evidence of being recently fired?”

“No.”

“No? None of them was recently fired?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Alex ran his hand over his face. “Fuck, Gil, did you take a gun out today?”

Gil stared over Alex’s head at the picture of the angel on the wall. “If I had, I would not tell you,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because then you would know, and you would have to act on the knowledge. You would have to consult with Ben and Tony and all those other people and make rules and policies about gun use. It would be time-consuming and unnecessary.”

“So you think any of us should be able to get one of the guns and use it whenever we want?”

Gil considered for a minute, then nodded. “Yes, I think that is the simplest policy. Either we are trustworthy or we are not.”

Alex chewed on his lip. He could see Gil’s point, but he knew the rest of the Movement wouldn’t agree with him. After a few minutes, he threw up his hands. “Okay. I know nothing – nothing except that I’m sure to regret this.”

“I don’t think so,” Gil said.

Alex smiled. “You’re damned good. Hell of a shot, twice no less.”

Gil allowed himself to look a little cocky. “Yes. I understand that snipers have very good hand-eye coordination, like surgeons.”

“So a good sniper might, under other circumstances, make a good surgeon?”

Gil shrugged. “A time to kill and a time to heal.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “You quoting the Bible? I thought you were an atheist.”

“I am, but they made me study the Bible when I was a child.” His eyes went back to the angel picture. “Sometimes there is good advice in the Bible, even for an atheist.”

[peacedolantwins]

Clean Part 5 (E.D)

So this one is pretty long compared to the last part and theres actually some more plot 

warnings: mentions of past drinking 

A few weeks had passed and every time you would think about telling them, you would freeze or you would be cut off by one of them talking about something else as you were about to speak. You were trying, but the timing was always off.

At this point their fans knew you two were together. Some of them supported you two and thought you were cute together, while others saw you as annoying and just using him for god knows what. While you tried to pretend it didn't bother you, it still did. You were just thankful you had deactivated all your accounts on social media before any of this started. It was easier to avoid the hate when no one could tag you or find out more about you.

When you would check twitter or Instagram, you usually just used James account to scroll through things when you were bored. You saw the edits people made of snaps taken of the two of you, but you never really looked at them. You were happy with your relationship and you knew who you were, you didnt need drama accounts to over analyze anything you did.

As you quickly found out, their fans are quite the detectives. Within the first few days of the first picture of you two being out, they were able to find out that you were actually friends with James and Ian. They had somehow managed to find that out even though they had no idea what your name was or even a full photo of you. The picture that had been posted was only of the pair of your guys legs sitting next to each other in the pool and they managed to figure you out just from the small flower tattoo on your ankle.

It was slightly frightening to be honest. You were scared what they would find if they kept digging. What if they somehow found all the old videos you tried so hard to escape from? What if one of the people you used to consider friends still had photos of you when you were at your absolute worst? You tried not to think about it too much, but the thought was always there.

~~

Everyone had decided to go to Disneyland to film a video, and while you were okay staying home, they all insisted you went along. Since they were filming, you considered them to be working so you only agreed if Ian and his girlfriend could come along so you could still have someone else with you.

Well that was the plan anyways.

Within an hour of being there, Ian and her left the group to go off on their own, which essentially left you alone. Today had started feeling slightly… off. You were just easily upset and bitter for no reason and you knew there was no reason to feel like that. Technically, everything was okay with you. But now being ditched and left to follow around the group was starting to get on your nerves.

Maybe things would have gotten better if you had been able to spend more time with James during the day or been able to go on the rides with your boyfriend, but seeing as they didnt bring anyone else to film for them, you were stuck sitting alone while they sat together and had you film them when they needed wider shots. It wasnt exactly how you had planned on this day going, but there wasnt a whole lot of options left.

Not only did you end up filming for them, but you also turned into their photographer when they ran into fans. After asking them for a picture, they just handed you the phone and had you do it. Not even a “do you mind?” or a “thank you” after you finished but it was fine. Its okay. Its not that deep and you knew you needed to get over yourself.

When a few girls had come up to ask for a photo, you were handed two seperate phones. ‘Cant they just send the picture to each other?’ you thought to yourself before taking the pictures anyways. After, you saw one of the girls trying to take a picture of you without you noticing but you saw anyways. The group had already started walking away when you went up to the girl.

“Hi, excuse me, do you mind not posting the picture you took of me?” You tapped her arm to get her attention.

“Y/N-” Ethan noticed you were gone and that you were talking to the girl looking slightly upset.

“Are you serious? I have a right to some privacy here and I dont want photos of me out there all I’m asking is that you dont post the fucking picture okay!” Why wouldnt she just say she wouldnt post it? What was so hard about that? You were already having a shitty day and this girl was just adding fuel to the fire going on inside you.

“Y/N! I’m so sorry about that, you two have a nice day,” You felt Ethans hand grab your arm and pull you away from them.

“Babe, you can’t talk to them like that, okay?” He said to you while still holding onto you and going back to the group.

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” You shook off his hand and started walking away. You had expected your boyfriend to tell them not to post it, but instead he told you something instead. Unbelievable. You had gone off to one of the close by benches and took a seat before taking out your phone.

Ethan had tried to go follow you, but James stopped him when he saw you taking out your phone and holding it up to your ear. “Give her a minute E. What even happened?”

“I dont even know, I turned back to see her yelling at those girls over a picture and I didn’t want to start any drama so I pulled away and here we are,” he sighed and looked around.

“Ethan, what did she tell them? Word for word?” Now James looked concerned and it was worrying him.

“Just something about a photo of her and privacy and ‘not to fucking post it’,”

“Did they say they wouldnt post it?”

“James why does that matter?”

“DID THEY OR NOT ETHAN?” James was yelling now. He had heard Ethan calling your name while you were still with those girls, and he now knew why you were so pissed if those girls now had your name and photo of you. Sure all of them had taken a few photos with or of you, but they were usually all from behind, maybe the side of your face and they made sure not to have your name out there. If there was a photo of you all together, you usually had your face hidden or you slapped a sticker emoji on top. You didnt want anyone from your past being able to recognize you.

“I dont know, okay?” Ethan knew you didnt let them post pictures of you, but he didnt think it was that big of a deal. So one person has a picture and if it gets posted, then maybe a few people see it after it gets lost in the tags.

During all of this, Grayson had decided that this conversation was not something he wanted to be part of and left to grab a churro for you when you came back, knowing you had a thing for sugar. While he passed by you, he overheard part of your conversation with whoever you were on the phone from. Apparently you were talking to some guy named Josh about how bad your day had been going. He knew you could be friends with whoever you wanted, but something seemed off. He decided to leave it alone for now. He also felt his phone go off and saw that James had tweeted.

“If you took a picture with us today and took a picture of my friend without her permission, PLEASE DO NOT POST IT. RESPECT HER PRIVACY.”

You went back to the group and everyone noticed that your mascara had smudged a bit but decided against saying anything. Pulling you off to the side, James took out the beauty blender he had in his bag and got to fixing you back up while talking to you in a hushed voice.

Ethan felt horrible. You had all come out today to have a nice day together but that didnt seem to be happening at all. Not only did he manage to piss you off, but once he was that you had been crying it crushed him. He was supposed to be making you feel good and happy but he wasnt doing a good job it seemed.

“Hey Y/N, I got you something,” Grayson handed you the churro, which seemed to be missing a few bites that your raised your eyes at but accepted nonetheless.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him and took it. “I’m actually gonna go ahead and go find Ian. I called him and he’s going to let me third wheel with him, so I’ll meet up with you guys when were leaving.”

You gave Gray a quick hug, not noticing him looking at you strangely. When did you call Ian? You had been talking to some guy named Josh a few minutes ago? He decided to leave it alone and would talk to you about it later, not wanting to start anything if it was over nothing. But why would you lie about who you called?

“Sweetheart, you dont have to go, stay with us.” Ethan wrapped his arms around you, not wanting you to leave.

“Hey, its okay. You guys are technically working, so I'm just gonna let you finish. I’m sorry for how I talked to that girl we can talk about it later, okay? You guys just have fun,” You gave him a quick peck on the lips and said bye to everyone before walking off to find Ian.

Sure you had planned on spending the day with your boyfriend, but turns out third wheeling wasnt so bad. It meant more turning power for the spinning teacups with all three of you. You all crammed yourself into the carriage for the haunted mansion, and you all obnoxiously sang along to ‘its all small world’ much to the rest of the passengers dismay. You had to sit alone for most of the other rides, but it was okay because you knew once you all got off, it would be like you were all friends just together. There were no phones being handed to you for pictures, no camera to hold to get a wider angle and you were finally having a good time.

When you finally met up with everyone else around 10 o'clock to head out, they were surprised when they saw the three of you. You all had gotten matching mouse ear headbands, Ian included, and you were carrying five of those giant light up balloons that had the mickey outline in them.

“Babe, what's with all the balloons?” Ethan finally asked after you said hi to everyone and they just stared at the giant bouquet of balloons.

“Well one is mine, then I got one for Gray since he got me a churro earlier, then I figured I should get you one too, but then I didnt want to leave Emma or James out so here we are. Five balloons. And Ian and his girlfriend already have theirs.” You said with a smile and held out your hand that held all the strings.

“Pick a different one bitch that ones mine,” you pulled them away when James tried to take the color you wanted. “Plus Grayson gets to pick first since he gave me food.” You held it out and let him pick.

“You're not gonna let your boyfriend pick first?” Ethan looked at you with a pout.

“Mmm… nope.” You said, but you went and put one arm around him.

“Traitor,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled you closer to his side. After everyone had their own balloon, you finally all headed towards the gates. The day might not have started off great, but it got better and that was something you were happy about.

“So, are we good?” Ethan asked you quietly as you walked by his side.

“Hm? Oh, sure but I still wanna talk about it if thats okay?”

“Of course, at the house or in the car?”

“Well everyone is still coming with us in the car so…” as much as you wanted to talk about it, you didnt want everyone else listening in.

“Hey James!” Ethan yelled at James since you two were in the back of the group.

“What bitch?” He turned around to see what he wanted.

“Can Gray and Emma ride with you?”

“Oh no sweetie, you think I want four other people and five giant balloons in my car? You take them,” he sassed back.

“I'll take the balloons with us, just take them with you.” After a moment of thinking James replied with a harsh “fine” and it was settled.

After taking everyones balloons back with you, it turns out trying to shove seven of those balloons in the jeep was a lot harder than either of you thought it would be and it was probably a safety hazard to drive since you couldnt see out of any of the back windows. Once everything was as good as it was going to get, you headed back towards James house.

“So what happened today?” You had barely made it to the first light when he asked.

“Damn we’re getting right into it, okay than… how honest do you want me to be with you?” You took in a breath and slowly let it out.

“One hundred percent babe,” he reached over and took your hand in his.

“Okay, want me to be real or sugar coat it for you?”

“Um, real?” He sounded as if he didnt know which would be better to hear.

“Fine. I didnt want to come today with you guys when James first asked. Like at all. Today was just a shitty day and I dont know why, but I woke up and everything just felt off. But then he invited Ian and Loren along so I still had someone to talk to while you guys filmed, but then they ditched us,” you turned in your seat to face him a little bit more. “I knew that today wasn't going to be a ‘hey lets just all fun at disneyland’ kind of day since you were all filming and working, but it would have been nice to have some fun with you while we were there,” you started messing with your joined hands and playing with his fingers as you spoke.

“Ethan, I came with you guys as a friend, not your camera person or your guy's personal photographer. Do you realize that the most you paid attention to me was when you got mad at me for how I talked to that girl? Not once did we go on a ride together. Hell, one time I didnt even go on one since the cart was full but you guys decided to get that one anyways and made me wait for the next one and you all didnt even care and that was pissing me off. I didnt come to be ignored by my friends, and I get it, you're working but you could have been with me when the camera wasnt on but you didn't. I tried to talk to you a few times but you kept ignoring me,” you said that last part quietly, getting reminded of your last relationship and how that went.

“I just wanted to spend some time with you and my friends today as I tried to make the best out of a shitty day, but that didnt happen. Everything just became too much for me and I snapped. So I figured I might as well third wheel because it was better than trying to fifth wheel with you guys.” You finished and waited for him to say something.

The silence was killing you as you watched him drive. He still hadnt said a word and he pulled into a parking lot and parked the car.

“What are we-” He turned to face you as you started speaking.

“Baby, I am so sorry. I wish you told me something earlier, and if you tried to, I'm sorry that I wasnt listening. We never meant to make you feel left out,” He turned in his seat and was faced you, taking both of your hand in this much larger ones. “And sweetheart I am so sorry that I grabbed you the way I did,” he looked genuinely upset with himself for grabbing you earlier.

“It's okay-”

“No, its not Y/N. I shouldnt have grabbed you like that ever. Thats not how you treat someone you care about it.” He noticed a few tears slip down your face when you looked away so he gently turned your face back to him and he wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs.

“Sorry that I'm crying so much today,” you tried to laugh it off.

“Babe, you cry if you want to, but let me in please? Whats going on in that head of yours?”

“It's just a lot of stuff from before I moved here, the way I was living before wasnt good and something I like thinking about too much… can we not talk about it right now? Maybe when we get to the house because if I’m going to do tell you, I’d rather not do it in a Target parking lot surrounded by light up balloons.” You laughed a little to try to lighten to situation a little bit.

“Of course sweetheart,” he grabbed your hand and gently brought it up to his face and placed a kiss on the back of your hand before letting go and starting the drive back to James’s house.

“Took you two long enough, bitch ass,” James greeted you as soon as you walked in.

“Fuck off, we literally saw you guys at the light before us,” you sassed back at him. On a more serious note, you turned back to him and Ian, “I’m gonna go talk to Ethan for a bit okay? I’ll let you know if I need you.”

Both of them nodded, understanding what you were talking about. You had mentioned recently about wanting to tell Ethan everything, having decided on telling your boyfriend first, then Grayson. You knew both of them together would not go well considering how loud they could get and how overwhelmed you would get with both of them trying to talk over each other. Separate would be a lot easier.

“You can go home if you want Gray, I’ll just stay here tonight,” Ethan tossed Grayson the keys.

“Actually, I think it would be better if you stayed, for a little bit anyways.” Both of the boys looked at you confused. Pulling Ethan down a little bit, you whispered to him, “I just dont know if you’re going to want to stay after I tell you everything.” He looked at you now completely worried but nodded anyways.

“OH! We should play Mario Kart for a bit!” Emma yelled out, already heading towards the living room. Well, that was one way to get everyone to stay for a little bit. Turning back to him, you grabbed Ethan’s hand and lead him up the stairs to your room and shut the door behind you. Both of you sat on the bed in silence.

“You’re kind of worrying me here, Y/N” He looked at you to see you folding a blanket over your legs that were crossed under you. You had also taken a pillow to play with in your lap.

“Sorry, I dont mean to. If I’m going to tell you everything, will you promise me something?” You looked up at him and when he nodded, you continued on. “Let me finish talking before you start asking questions? I’ll answer whatever, but just- I need to get it all out first, okay?” He nodded again.

“Okay,” you sighed and mentally prepared yourself, “okay, so theres no way to ease into it so here we go. I’m an alcoholic. Was an alcoholic. Whatever you wanna see it as, but I had a really bad drinking problem before moving here. It’s one of the reasons I moved here with James. I needed to get away from everyone judging me back home.” You looked at him and saw him trying to hide how shocked he was but you saw it anyways.

“When James moved out here, I ended up alone. He was pretty much my only friend, which was weird considering I’m older than him, but when he left, I didn’t really have anyone else. A few months later, I ended up dating this guy, who had a bunch of friends and along the way, they became my friends. One night, he took me to a party and there was so much there. Beer, wine, shots, whatever, it was there. And sure I had had a drink before that, but nothing too much. Never enough to even get me drunk or tipsy. But there, as stupid as it sounds, everyone was doing it so I figured why not and started doing shots with the other girls. I woke up the next day feeling awful but later that night we went to another party, and this time I only had a few but-” you took a deep breath, still looking down at your lap. “But, that didnt last long. It just became a cycle for us. School, party, school, party, then somewhere along the way it became drinking just at home, in the school parking lot, and I was drinking whenever. I didnt need the parties anymore, but I still went and oh god, there’s still a lot that I have no idea what happened.” You felt him shift on the bed. You couldnt tell if it was closer or away from you and you were scared it was the latter.

“It got to the point where I would have blackouts. I had no idea what happened the night before but my friends usually had some videos. I don’t know who else has any, but the ones I saw- its me doing shot after shot, me dancing way too inappropriately for a public setting, me stripping in front of everyone, theres photos of me in bed with my ex and theres still so much I dont know. What used to be me counting the days between drinks turned into me not remembering the last time I hadn’t had a drink.”

“I ended up breaking up with my boyfriend for different reasons but once I did that, I lost my drinking source. I was only 20, I couldn’t exactly go get any on my own so I,” deep breaths remember, “I would still go to bars if I could get in and I would let whoever buy me a drink- drinks and sometimes that was enough. Along the way word got out to the guys I knew that I was an “easy lay” if you bought me enough drinks, which to be completely honest, wasn’t a complete lie. I didn’t really care how I got my drinks as long as I got them. A few of those guys also had pictures, some are pretty bad, some are just us making out, but theyre out there. And when I turned 21, let me tell you, things got so much worse. One day, I had been drinking at home while my parents were gone and I passed out.” Playing with the pillow seemed to be most interesting thing while you could feel Ethan’s eyes burning into your head.

“I woke up in the hospital. Alcohol poisoning. It wasn’t until I saw the look on my parents faces that I realized how messed up I was. Seeing them look at me with just pure… disappointment, disgust, shame, pity, worry, it made me realize that I couldn’t be doing that anymore. I could have died and I didn’t want to keep wasting my life like that anymore.”

“The detox was absolute hell. Withdrawal was… awful. I was throwing up, shaking, I couldn’t sleep, my head was constantly pounding, and I’m not going to lie to you, I would relapse. Drinking would make all of that go away, but coming back from it was harder each time so I got into rehab. It was the only way to completely keep me away from it so I could get better. I was there for three months and at first it was horrible. Withdrawal came back harder than before and there was nothing I could do to make it go away but once I got past that, it got easier.” You glanced up for a second but you couldn’t make out the expression on his face.

“I started learning piano since they had one there. It was something to distract myself with. I called James to let him know what happened and that, that, didnt go well. He didn’t talk to me for a while, which I get. He was worried I had been around Ian while I was like that so I don’t blame him. He never knew about anything that went on back home since he never came back to visit. I dont blame him or anyone else for this, I know it’s all my doing. No one ever forced me to drink or do anything, it was all my own choices.”

“Once I got out, it was hard. I was going to meetings. I’m still going to meetings here. One day at a time ya know? But over there, everyone remembered me as I was before. I was just the party girl who drank too much and slept with who ever. No guy would be want to be seen with the girl that had been with everyone. Then someone posted pictures and it got worse. I deleted all my social media so I couldn’t get tagged in anything. I dont check anything because I dont want to see if anyone has posted anything. Even going to the store people would look at me and judge me because everyone apparently knew what happened. So when I was talking to James one day, he asked if I wanted to move out here with him. Ian had told him how hard being home was for me and while I was pissed because I didnt want him pitying me or dealing with the mess I made for myself but after some talking we decided I was coming here.” You looked around your room, proud of how far you had come from where you used to be.

“A few weeks later I was finally here, I took care of what I needed to to be sure I would stay on track and then I was officially moving in and then-” You finally looked up at Ethan and reached out for his hand, “then I met you and Grayson and Emma and things kept getting better and well… that’s where were at now. So there it is. I get it if you don’t want to be around me anymore. It wouldnt be good if one day those videos came back up and you were still connected to me and I dont want you getting dragged into my mess. So if you want to go, it’s okay.” You smiled at him even though you were close to tears. If he did leave, you would be a mess but you knew you would get through it eventually. You didnt want to drag him or his brother down with you because of your decisions so it was easier to let them both go now before things got more serious than they already were.

You felt his hand leave yours and you looked up to see him looking at you with a look you couldnt explain. When he got up from your bed and started walking towards the door, you felt your heart breaking.  When he walked out, you could hear him going down the stairs and a few minutes later you heard the front door close and a car start up and you could actually feel your heart shatter. Turns out James was wrong about him staying.  

Tags: @thetallassgirl @notanotherdolantwinsblog

[thelamppoststation]

Future’s Past by TheLampPost

In 2008, a year after James managed to get off that godforsaken rock, he receives a visit from a young woman with blue eyes and blonde hair. She hands him a locket and a letter, then demands answers to questions that he didn’t even know existed. Post season 6 (Suliet) - This story is also partly set during the DHARMA days.

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Chapter 2: The Plan             

       DHARMA Initiative: Sonar Fence, July 1975      

She started across the field at a brisk pace, but by the time she got to the path beyond the bushes she'd broken into a run. A sudden wave of nausea twisted her insides into knots, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was due to her newly discovered condition or genuine nerves. This could not be happening. Not to her. Not after all she'd done to prevent exactly this type of scenario from coming to pass. Hell if she'd ever deliver a baby on this island again. Hell if it ever be her own.

When the pylons sprung into view, she stopped. The giant misshapen percussion bells on concrete sticks of terror stood tall and proud across the field in all of their youthful glory, not quite made for musical bliss, but blissfully fulfilling a purpose that kept people as arrested as would a theatre filled audience. Different purpose, same effect.

She crouched down, and flipped the lid on the data pad. Funny how the code was always the same, no matter what decade: 1623.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She whirled around. What the–?

"Miles!"

Where in the hell had he come from? He looked straight at her, narrowed eyes darkening the core of his black pupils, he looked almost threatening, and a familiar tightness settled in her chest, spread all the way down to her spine and back up her arms. She hadn't been on the receiving end of this much blatant mistrust in a long time.

"You scared me," she said, and smiled.

"Where are you going, Juliet?" he wasted no time.

She shrugged, hoping for it to come across as casual.

"I thought I saw something on the security monitors, figured I'd check it out. You know how Horace gets if we sound the alarm prematurely."

"Does LaFleur know you're out here?"

"Of course James knows."

Miles narrowed his eyes even further, causing for his already impossibly narrow slits to turn into even sharper ones; it almost reminded her of dark light peeping through the cracks of a badly insulated shed. He wasn't buying it. Damn him for tempting her into playing so much late night Poker. Miles was good at deception, but he was even better at recognising it. He'd been able to figure out all of her tells straight off the bat, and now she didn't have many, if any, left.

"Why are you lying to me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw you," he took a step closer, and she had to suppress the urge to take a step back. "You were nowhere near the observation deck. I only followed you out here because I saw you flail out of the infirmary like a possessed madwoman. What's going on?"

She bit her lip.

"Look Miles, even if I told you; you wouldn't understand."

"Well," Miles crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Let's see what LaFleur'll have to say about that then."

He reached for his walkie, but before he could so much as pull the device from his pocket she'd already launched herself at him, pinning him to the ground with two hands above his head.

"What the actual fuck, Juliet!" he trashed against her, but she had a good grip on him, her weight pressing down hard on his lower abdomen. Maybe, if he had been a little heavier, or more muscular like James, he would have been able to break free, but Miles was about as scrawny as a malnourished field mouse.

"Get off me!"

"You don't want to do this, Miles!"

She gave him a hard look.

"They'll have seen you on the monitors by now anyway," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if LaFleur is already on his way!"

She tightened her grip on his wrists.

"It would take them at least five more minutes to get here," she said. "Look, Miles, you're my friend and I really, really do not want to hurt you, but if you don't let this go, you'll leave me no choice."

He stopped, and stared, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull.

"You're serious?!"

She gave a curt nod.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me! Fine!" he slackened. "Go, then! You fucking Hilary Swank wannabe. See if I care."

She pulled his walkie from his pocket, and slipped it into her own jumpsuit before rolling off of him. He let out a loud, ever so exaggerated, cry.

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded, rubbing his wrists where red marks had already formed around them. She bit her lip.

"I'm sorry about that."

"Oh really? You're sorry?!" he spat. "LaFleur'll have a field day when you get back!"

"Please, don't tell him."

"You expect me to lie after you nearly broke my neck just now?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Hardly."

He let out a derisive snort.

"Yeah? Well, tell that to my impending hernia!"

Leave it up to Miles to add a side dish of drama to an already tense situation.

"If I'd wanted to break your neck, I would have."

"Well, THAT," he pointed at her. "That's a real comfort, thanks Juliet! I'll be sure to pass that along to the DHARMA folks at the next town meeting."

For all of his sarcasm she did feel guilty. Over the past year they'd become allies, friends even. Jin, Miles and James, the most unlikely group of people to have ever met and band together. Yet, over time, they'd all turned into more than just collateral casualties of time travel. If there was anyone she could trust it should be Miles, but there was just too much at stake. If she told him about her plans, then he'd tell James, and that would lead to more questions, and then accusations. She might even have time to stop and think, rethink. She couldn't risk that.

But then, maybe; she could throw him some breadcrumbs, some food for thought to chew on. It would give her a reasonable head start.

"Come," she said, holding out her hand. He took it, albeit reluctantly; she pulled him to his feet.

"I'm going out there to find Richard."

"Eyeliner Tarzan?"

She shook her head, that was almost amusing.

"You've been spending too much time with James."

"Says you."

"Excuse me?"

"You think that Jin and I would think that all of those bumps in the night we hear is just your furniture coming to life and humping itself? Which by the way–" He froze, catching her impending look of doom.

"One more word, just one more", her eyes threatened.

He cleared his throat, inching a calculated step backward.

"Why do you need to talk to Richard?" he changed the subject.

"Miles," the threat not completely gone from her eyes. "Just make sure that James doesn't follow me."

"Can't stop that guy from doing anything he doesn't want to do. Or, well… technically, wants to do."

He sniggered, amused by his own disaster of a joke, and she took that opportunity to slip between the pillars; as expected the pylons remained compliantly oblivious to her frame. Thank God for small mercies.

"Then stall him!" she threw over her shoulder.

"Whatever!" he yelled after her.

No matter his tone, she trusted Miles to be discreet. None of them should want to be stupid enough to ever risk their cover being blown, and besides where else could they go? Everything depended upon them keeping up appearances. Miles would reactivate the fence the moment she'd gone, and even though he denied it now, he would lie for her; if only for a couple of hours.

She sprinted down the overgrown path, twigs and leaves already sticking to her jumpsuit.

She'd better find Richard soon.

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       The Jungle, July 1975      

When James had first asked her about eyeliner Benjamin Button, she hadn't quite known how to respond. Before the 815 crash, Ben had only ever referred to Richard as his advisor, or the island's intermediator.

To her, Richard had simply been the mysterious man who'd first recruited her, and then delivered her to Ben as would a postman a package. Afterwards she only ever saw him sporadically. He preferred to live with another group at the Temple, a remote place in the jungle that even the D.I. had had a hard time locating in their day. But whenever he wasn't at the Temple he would intermittently show up at the barracks carrying perfectly symmetrically folded pieces of parchment paper; "Orders from Jacob", Ben would say.

The first time she heard that name, she'd asked:

"Jacob? Who's Jacob?" Ben had been evasive at first, but clear in his reply "Jacob protects the island; he protects us."

What Jacob was protecting them from, he wouldn't say. Instead, Ben would often talk about vague miracles and electromagnetic energy. She soon found out that they all looked to Jacob as worshippers would to a deity. She looked to Ben a lot back then, as he seemed to hold most of the answers in that regard, but after a while he started to misinterpret her intentions, invading her privacy in a manner that reminded her of how Edmund used to corner her out of nowhere.

Alarm bells screeched ear damagingly loud; she distanced herself from Ben, and turned to the others instead. She asked Amelia about the DHARMA stations, Harper about the Initiative, Ethan about the Sonar Fence and the submarine, but it wasn't until she asked Goodwin about the strange noises in the night that she finally received a truthful answer. "I'll show you," he said. The following day he took her out into the jungle, where they both silently watched an immense pillar of black smoke rise up and down into the air, moving about like a creature out of a horror movie.

She stopped asking questions after that, realizing that whatever was going on on the island didn't abide by any of the natural laws of the universe that she'd been taught to acknowledge rationally. The revelation didn't deter her inquisitive mind, though. So, without permission, she started looking for answers elsewhere. She rummaged through poorly conserved documents, discovered secret underground passageways, and abandoned DHARMA stations; still, whatever had happened to the D.I. remained a mystery that even she couldn't solve on her own. It wasn't until Alex took her out into the jungle, after a particularly heated argument with her father, that Juliet was finally able to lay that question to rest. Against Ben's explicit orders, Alex had shown her a pit filled with twisted curiosities that turned out to be decomposing bodies in faded navy colored jumpsuits. With a start she realized that it was them, that they'd never left, and had been there all along, so close to the barracks.

Horrified she asked what had happened, Alex replied:

"My father."

Like a homesick child Juliet'd crawled into bed that night, craving her sister's comfort more than ever. As she closed her eyes, she imagined that melodic voice soothing her; the feel of familial arms protecting her from the monsters that used to live in her bedroom closet when she was a little girl. For a moment she was eight again, and her sister her protector.

For months, she'd clung to those memories like a drowning woman to air, and with each new burning breath she watched herself drift further from the shores of that longed for existence, until one day, the image on the horizon curved and her sister dropped from view completely.

By 2002, Ben had her bound to an unbreakable promise, a chain and ball shackled to her soul. Goodwin taught her how to mask her longings, tempering her burning desire for home. And while, like a parasite, Ben continued to try to worm his way into her heart, (often dropping by unannounced with wild flower bouquets and Belgium chocolate) she taught herself to carefully stave off his advances, until she could stave them off no more.

Between 2001 and 2004, she lost nine women to a nameless invader that dragged her to the edge of insanity. It left no traceable data for her to analyse, and for months, she ploughed waist deep through a disease filled swamp of misery and despair. She located its entrance into the body, she watched how it tore through her patients, and she knew when it killed, but she remained blind to where it housed. All she could determine with absolute certainty was that it was happening, and that there was nothing she could do about it. And while over time, the memories of those nine wounds turned into rough skinned scars, any thoughts that she might have had of Richard slipped through the cracks of her subconscious, not to resurface until 1974.

Who was eyeliner Benjamin Button? James's guess was as good as hers.

She returned her attention to the road ahead, where she'd been trampling through bramble bushes, and wadding through clear water brooks for the past hour. She made sure to keep her estimated guess of the Temple's location on her right, while taking careful stock of her surroundings on her left, moving about with extreme stealth; the way she'd been taught to move about by them. It had become second nature to her now, like falling down and standing back up. But then, so had lying, cheating and manipulating her way out of impossible situations. There were moments, like these, when that realization hit her hard. She hadn't always been like this. In fact, she wasn't anything like the woman she used to know. That person had had morals, integrity, and no backbone whatsoever. It seemed like decades ago, but it had only been four short years since she'd last behaved like Edmund's string puppet, a lapdog with no discernible purpose. Not anymore. She'd learned her lessons the hard way: to lead or to be led, to harm or to be harmed, and to kill or to be killed.

She looked up, the wind had changed; she was close now. As another minute past she caught soft whispers, the kind that used to include hers. Pots clinging together, the crackle of a midday fire, the swishing of fabric, hands clapping, laughter. She stepped closer: shouting, more laughter; the careless rustle and bustle of people living their lives.

She could see them now, and for a moment she watched them from behind overgrown bushes. She crouched closer, twigs bending under the weight of her fingertips, but not snapping. She was more careful than that.

To her surprise, she recognized a lone woman next to a boiling cauldron that stood perched in the middle of the camp. A young Amelia. Pensively, she stirred the pot, cooking what smelled like a mixture of island vegetables and boar meat. A little to her left a young girl sat crossed legged in front of a boy, playing a clapping game. She couldn't quite make out their faces, but she briefly wondered about their names, if she knew them –would know them. There were more people, young and old. Some she recognised, others that had either died or left long before her arrival. Also, more children that would grow up to be vague acquaintances or book club participants.

She suppressed the urge to flee, deterring the heart racing expectation that foreshadowed her presence; the image powerful enough to change her mind. She rose slowly, then stepped out into the open with bold determination, her hands held high up above her head, one foot in front of the other. It was a stupid move. They were unpredictable and much more dangerous than their future counterparts.

She took another step closer, a branch snapped in two. Their reaction immediate: eyes turned on her at an inhuman speed, silence muzzled the buoyant atmosphere. Various threatening clicks snapped into place, weapons balanced high upon army trained arms. She counted five men swiftly closing in on her.

"Who are you?!" one yelled.

Why are you breaking the truce?" another demanded.

She turned to look at each of them, he wasn't among them.

"I need to speak to the person in charge."

They laughed; the echoes of their derisive mirth pressing down on her courage.

"I don't think you're in any position to be making demands, lady."

She really wasn't, but that didn't stop her from staring down a very young Tom Friendly. He couldn't be much older than twenty-five. Once, her superior in age and status, now her junior in years as well as knowledge. This was strange. Would he recognise her 26 years from now? Was that why he'd always been so nice to her? Because he knew?

"Stand down!" a rough accented voice suddenly cut through the group. Every face in the clearing turned, but Juliet had a hard time tearing her eyes away from Tom.

She'd never meant for him to die. If only she could warn him somehow, forge a connection through time and prevent a bad future outcome from coming to pass. "Whatever happened, happened", Daniel's voice thundered through her mind. Did her Tom know that she was the one who would end up digging his grave? Young Tom's riffle pointed straight at her, would he be the one digging hers? Would it come full circle, right here? Right now?

"What have we here?"

She forced her eyes away. A woman, roughly her own age and similar in looks, approached the group.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

Juliet blinked, confused, her mind half on Tom still.

"Where's Richard?" she blurt out.

The woman sniggered.

"Richard? What makes you think he'd want to speak to the likes of you?" affirming whispers, and nodding figures stepped up behind the woman.

"He'd want to know I'm here."

"He'd want to know you are here?"

Their amusement peaked.

"And what, pray tell, makes a DHARMA puppet such as yourself so special that Richard'd want to know?"

DHARMA puppet? She hadn't heard that one before. But if evidence was what they wanted, then she had nothing to worry about. They seared it onto her skin for a reason, after all.

"Check my back," she said.

"What?"

"My lower back, check it."

The woman's expression shifted, a concoction of amusement and disdain spawning forth some mild interest that stretched to the curving of her brows.

She looked at Tom.

"You heard the woman,"she shrugged. "Check her back, Tom."

Tom nodded.

"Unzip," he demanded.

Juliet compliantly pulled her jumpsuit down to her waist, revealing a white tank top underneath; with the barrel of his rifle Tom pushed the fabric up, and as the mark that lay seared upon her skin sprung into view, the tension in the air shifted once more.

Sharp intakes of breath seemed to suck the oxygen straight from the surrounding trees, travelling all around and down the wide clearing.

"Who gave that to you?" the woman asked, turning a whiter shade of pale as her eyes darted from Tom to the others.

"Let me talk to Richard first," Juliet repeated.

"Who gave you that mark?!"

"I'll tell Richard!" she countered.

"Tell me!"

"No!"

Her eyes darkened, and before Juliet could comprehend what happened next Tom had already slammed the butt of his rifle into her lower back. With a loud cry she crashed to her knees, rough hands pulled her up by her hair, and as the pain shot through her head and down her back it was hard to focus; the feeling similar to that of hundred needles sticking through her skull all at once. She looked up, the butt of another riffle hanging suspended in mid-air, aimed straight at her stomach. Reflexively she put her arms out, protecting that which she couldn't stand to lose.

"No! Stop!" she begged, her voice hoarse. "I'm pregnant!"

The man hesitated, his rifle poised, held back only by sheer doubt. He looked to the woman in charge.

"I'm one of you!" Juliet cried out, anger temporarily casting out all rational thought.

The woman motioned for the others to stand down, and Juliet heavily dropped to the ground, her heart hammering against her ribcage at a painful speed. She couldn't be sure of what she would have done if the man hadn't hesitated, but she sure as hell knew that the outcome wouldn't have been in his favor.

"You're no more one of us than any traitor who bears that mark will ever be again."

"At least it shows that at some point, I was one of you," she wheezed.

"A fleur-de-lis is hardly an original mark."

"Yet," she took in a painfully slow, but controlled breath. "This design is unique, and you know it."

The woman's upper lip quivered, extreme agitation forming around the corners of her mouth.

"Richard!" she called, never breaking eye-contact.

It was then that Juliet recognised her, the intense icy blues, the thick British accent. This had to be the famed Eloise Hawking. For some reason she'd always pictured her to be taller, and broader. The type of woman who enjoyed deer hunting and hammer throwing on early Sunday mornings right before dawn broke through the night. She'd imagined a wild tempered shark. But this? No. Not this. Eloise was slim, petite even, moving about with the same grace as a proud lioness. A hunter by nature, always with her pride in mind, nothing like a shark. Yet, the lines about her eyes mirrored Juliet's own mask, hiding an intense past filled with contradictions. Maybe, in another life, they would have been friends.

"Who's this?"

Richard appeared as summoned, popping into view like a genie out of a bottle. He looked exactly the same. He always looked the same. They locked eyes, and Juliet felt a shiver run down her spine. Bizarre, just bizarre.

"She bears the mark," Eloise barked. "How can she bear the mark?"

Richard looked confused, not quite comprehending what Eloise was referring to, but as he studied Juliet there lay sudden recognition in his eyes. It betrayed a thought, as though he'd been waiting for something like this to happen.

"What mark?"

"Our fleur-de-lis."

He stepped closer, Tom lifted Juliet's top again, stepping even closer Richard bend down, lightly touching the mark, his fingers cold on her skin.

"How is this possible?" he asked, looking up at Tom.

The young man stammered, but Richard shook his head, and waved him away.

"Where did you get this?" he said, for the first time really looking at her. "This is a very particular mark. Who gave this to you?"

"Jacob," she lied.

"What did you say?" a slow staccato punctuated each word.

"I want to talk to Jacob."

He studied her closely, his eyes burning holes into her skin. He knew more, much, much more.

"Take her to my tent," he ordered.

"What are you doing?" Eloise demanded.

"I need to talk to this woman in private."

"That's against the rules of the truce!"

"Jacob wants it so."

"How in the hell–"

"Eloise!" Richard cut off. "Trust me."

Juliet was sure that if Eloise had had fangs Richard surely would have fallen victim to her seething rage by now. But she stood her ground, respecting the wishes of a deity whose existence she probably had to take on faith as much as Ben had had to.

Firm hands guided her past Eloise, and the woman gave her one last foul look in passing.

Once inside Richard motioned for her to sit, then turned to the men behind her.

"Leave us," he ordered.

"I don't think–"

"I really don't care what you think, Brian. Leave us, now!"

Brian muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, but did as told, motioning for the other man to follow suit.

"What's your name?" Richard asked, once they'd left.

"My name?"

"Yes, you have one, I trust?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well?"

"Juliet."

"Last name?"

"Carlson."

"Carlson?" he frowned.

"Burke," she corrected. "Look, I–"

"Juliet Burke," Richard continued.

She stopped, rendered somewhat speechless by the interruption and this strange obsession with her name.

"You know what's funny, Juliet?"

Richard turned around, and sat down on the cot in front of her; the bed creaking beneath his weight as he pensively leaned forward on his arms.

"Two days ago, Jacob appeared to me," she sat up straighter; a pounding pain shooting through her back; she ignored it.

"He told me the strangest thing. Jacob said, that in a couple of days time, I should expect a woman by the name of Juliet Burke to come striding straight through the jungle into our camp, demanding to see him."

She stared, unmoved.

"Exactly, like you did just now," he paused. "Isn't that a funny coincidence?"

"I don't know what to tell you," she said, chilled by the thought of predestination. Although, by now she'd learned that there really was no such thing as a linear passage of time. She was living proof of that.

"No, I didn't think you would. But Jacob gave me a note," from his chest pocket he pulled a perfectly symmetrically folded piece of parchment paper, her name written in the centre in indelible ink, Jacob's ink.

She reached for it, but Richard held onto it, forcing her to look up to where his eyes met hers.

"I'm to go with you," he said.

"Go where?"

"Wherever it is you plan on going."

He let go of the note.

With trembling fingers, she unfolded it.

Jacob's message was short, poetic even:

"You may leave, But only once.     Return,     and you are     to stay.     

Choose wisely, Juliet.     

Richard will show you the way."      

        - Jacob     

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A/N: I know it took me a while to get this chapter up! I'm sorry! I always try to be as detailed and coherent as possible in my writing, and this one took a lot of time to figure out. I love writing from Juliet's POV, though! She's so incredibly complex, and I wanted to bring that to live more in this chapter. Hope it shows!

I decided to change the title of the story, because I just wasn't happy with it. I personally think that this new title does the story more justice; I just hope that changing it didn't make it too hard for you guys to find the story again. I promise, the title won't change again. This is it.

I also wanted to respond to the Guest who left a review on this story on ff.

First of all, thank you so much for your kind and encouraging words. I hope you'll continue to enjoy this story, and I truly appreciate the kind of detailed review that you left! I always love to hear what goes on in the minds of those who read my stories. Thank you for that! And also, yes the summary might give away a bit much, but it also only reveals the tip of the iceberg of what I've got in mind for this story! The true purpose of the summary was to create an expectation. I'm actually very curious to know what you think it means! But all in all, even if it means what you think it means, there's a lot more to it than just that one storyline/chapter. Ha! I hope I'm making sense!

Anyway, thank you all for reading this story. Hope to see you again in the next chapter!

[theycallmebecca]

Hey Becca, hope you don't mind but I've got a couple of requests? Can I firstly request #18 “How is my wife more badass than me?” for Chris & Ellie - I think it describes Ellie perfectly! And a tag when you're done please :) Thanks Katie x

I’ll admit this one stumped me for a bit @katiew1973​ because, you’re right, it describes Ellie perfectly! And well… I don’t think you’ll be too surprised with the route I took this one!

This drabble features Chris Evans and my original character Ellie from The Chris & Ellie Series, which is posted on my writing blog @beccaheartschrisevans. This drabble takes place in November 2017.

Title: Two Hand Touch

Pairing: Chris Evans x Ellie Spencer-Evans (OFC)

Rating: PG

Warnings: n/a

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

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November 2017

Chris’s eyes narrowed as he watched his wife, Ellie, and his cousin whispering to each other from across the makeshift football field in his aunt’s backyard. His nephews had been tasked with choosing the teams for their annual, Thanksgiving morning, two hand touch morning football game and he and Ellie had been put on different teams. Ellie had been selected by Ethan early in the picking, before Chris even, while the few other girls that were playing had been part of the final picks.

As if feeling his eyes on them, Ellie and his cousin turned to smile at him. Ellie waved and his cousin blew him a kiss before laughing so loudly the sound carried. Clearly those two were planning something and Chris had no doubt that he would be the victim of their plan.

Sure enough, once the teams had lined up, with his uncle acting as referee, Ellie was lined up directly across from Chris. His team had the ball first and he took his position as running back, letting his cousin who had been a quarterback in high school play that position. The ball was snapped and tossed to him, but the second he turned to run Ellie was there and she touched him, ending the play almost instantly.

Glowering at her, Chris made his way to the huddle and told his cousin to go long. He knew he could outrun Ellie, if he had the chance. He lined up and winked at her seconds before the ball was snapped. He took off down the field with her behind him and looked back in time to catch the ball, which landed perfectly into his hands. And then he ran Ethan who’d obviously been told to run to the end zone just in case and who tagged Chris just feet from the end zone.

“That was cheap,” he muttered to his wife as he passed and she just responded by swatting his ass with her hand.

His team scored on the next play and then her team was up. Taking her lead, he took his position as her shadow, blocking her with his body so her team had to go with other routes. They all worked except for the one that hit him in the back of the head. At which time, his uncle blew his whistle and told him off for using his height against Ellie.

“Yeah, Chris, it’s not fair,” Ellie taunted as she passed him. She danced out of the way when he tried to return the swat she’d given him earlier. Turning to look at him, she wagged a finger and then ran back to her team.

Her team scored two plays later and their playful taunting continued until halftime when the ‘eh’ weather that had hovered since the beginning of the game gave way to rain. Since the game was tied, his uncle tried to convince them to call the game at the half, but had given in when they’d all begged otherwise.

The third quarter went by quickly with both teams scoring another point, but the field had become muddied due to the rain and they were all covered in it. The mud also made it nearly impossible to throw the ball and/or catch it if the quarterback managed to throw it. Therefore, the fourth quarter passed nearly without a score until the very end. He was playing running back again with Ellie covering him, but his cousin had thrown the ball short and it landed in Ellie’s hands. She took off down the field as he slipped in the mud face first and took the interception all the way to the end zone, crossing the line seconds before his brother got to her to tag her.

Ellie let out a whoop and then lost her footing and fell backwards into a particularly muddy section of the grass. Having gotten himself off the muddy ground in time to see her fall, Chris made his way to her laughing.

Before he could reach her, however, his cousin, who had been plotting with her at the beginning of the game, yanked her up and shouted, “I knew you were a badass, Ellie!” He spun her around and set her down when he saw Chris coming. “Wish I could say the same about your husband,” he teased.

Chris pretended to punch his cousin in the gut as the idiot laughed and then wrapped his arms around Ellie. “How is my wife more badass than me?” he asked her.

“Just in football,” she assured him with a smile. “We’d be in trouble if I was the one trying to act.”

Shaking his head while she laughed, Chris grabbed a glob of mud from the back of her hair and then smeared it, none too gentle, onto her face. She squealed and used her muddy hands to try and clean off her face while he ran away laughing.

Prompting is now closed. Thank you to everyone who has submitted a prompt (or more)!

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Tag list: @capcevans81, @ohmysweetlove, @princess-evans-addict, @katiew1973, @anionthewrite, @heather-lynn, @mycapt-ohcapt, @ilovethings-somuch, @pegasusdragontiger, @mrsamericaevans, @societalfailure, @smoothdogsgirl, @sian22redux, @tvjunkie08, @aclutteredheadspace

[idk-yet-when-i-feel-like-it]

Unexpected, to say the least. Chapter 1

Yo read the background info one first. I’ll figure out links eventually but for now, I’ll only post this one thread on this blog.

I think each day will be a chapter, idk tho bc they can be hella long

Warnings: Swearing, kiss?, talking about body? idk what warnings are needed

y/n-your name

y/n/n-your nickname

The house you moved into in the fifth grade was pretty modest. It was a simple two-story house plus an attic. The attic was finished so when the Dolans came to visit their parents would stay in the bed up there. It also had a bathroom. The second floor held your room, your parents’ room, two bathrooms (one for the whole floor and one for your parents) and one other room (for your sibling(s) or office or bonus room). The main floor held your kitchen, living room, dining room, and the fourth bathroom in the house. We don’t talk about the basement at all but it was just used for storage and laundry. The twins stayed in the living room on any furniture they wanted and sometimes on the floor. When Cameron would come along she would stay in the third room on the second floor. She did not come along on this trip because she was finishing her finals in college.

December 10th, 2018

“The Dolans are coming today!”, your mom shouted up the stairs at a whopping 5 am. You had to go to school today and being awake an hour early was not your plan for the day.

You reluctantly rolled out of bed and got dressed and ready for school. You also cleaned your room because it was embarrassingly messy. Maybe the extra hour was needed you thought to yourself as you got into the car and drove to school.

Your mom had texted you during second period that the Twins had arrived but their parents weren’t going to make it until the next day.

“I have so much homework for English. Mrs. Meyer is killing me with the speech we hav-” your lunchtime rant was interrupted by an insane amount of shrieking. Looking to see what the cause of the screams were, you instantly rolled your eyes. The twins had come to your school. You missed them so much so you ran over and pushed past the batshit crazy girls trying to get near them. The security guards at your school had to keep the boys outside while they calmed everyone down. That really sucked for the boys since it was mid-December and 20 degrees Fahrenheit. You called Grayson and watched him pick up the phone.

“So much for the stealthy entrance I guess,” he said while laughing.

“Gray, how did you think that would ever work?” you asked rhetorically.

“I didn’t honestly know that there were so many people at your school. I mean it is a private school. I assumed we’d be chill.” he replied.

“Okay, well, lunch just started and I have next period off, wanna grab a bite?”

“Yea but how are we gonna meet up? I mean these girls are all over us.” He said with that cocky ass tone.

“Ok, hot stuff I’m parked out back, drive your car around and I’ll get my wallet from my car.”

“See you there.”

As soon as you hung up, he talked with Ethan and they went to their car. You went out to the parking lot with only a sweatshirt on because honestly, 20 degrees was pretty damn hot compared to the weather your town had a week ago. Grayson hopped out of Ethan’s moving car and ran to wrap you up in a huge hug. Ethan parked and hugged you as well. BUT it was just your luck that the girls who stormed Ethan and Grayson before found them and went batshit when they saw you with them. Half-laughing half-sacred to death you and the twins sprinted to the car and took off.

You all had decided to go to a local fast food chain, Tom’s Drive-In. They have the BEST cheese curds. (For my non-midwest friends, cheese curds are balls of cheese that are breaded and fried and they are one of the best-fried foods you will ever eat). The whole time the boys kept their hoods up and stayed pretty damn incognito.

“So, y/n, we missed the shit out of you. Two years is way too fucking long.” Ethan said.

“Yo, I’ve missed you guys so much too. I’m hoping to go to school at ASU so at least we’ll be closer then. I even got accepted to UCLA so maybe even closer.”

“Shit that’s right, your school is so preppy and your smart ass is going to college. Damn.” Grayson exclaimed.

“Yea,” you chuckled, “’My smart ass is gonna make more than you ever will.”

“Right, right after you pay off all that crippling debt,” Ethan retaliated.

“Fuck off,” you laugh.

After lunch, Grayson had to go back to your house to get the camera and shoot a montage so you and Ethan took your car from school, with no interferences, and went to a smoothie place. Since Grayson had always been a sort of buffer between you and Ethan it was usually pretty awkward when it was just the two of you. Today, it was different. The rare silence between topics was comfortable and honestly, you had a huge ass crush on him. You didn’t hide from them that you thought they were hot as hell, but Grayson was like a brother to you while Ethan had the boy next door vibe. The slight distance between you made it so easy to like him. You sometimes doubted that you’d be friends with him if Gray wasn’t in the picture. Today, you didn’t doubt anything. You even thought you caught him checking you out but told yourself to quit imagining things.

To be harshly honest, you weren’t pretty, you weren’t thin, you weren’t anything to be notice. You body was something you had an off and on again relationship. Some days your confidence lead you to see your slim thick figure and love it, but others there was too much cushion everywhere and nothing fit or looked right. You had gone out with a few guys before, but the shit ton of walls you surrounded yourself with ended those pretty quickly. The walls didn’t really exist with the Twins though. You fully loved them and they you. Your relationship was rooted in your childhood, thanks to that you knew every brutally honest thing about one another.

“Y/n?”

Ethan’s voice pulled you away from your train of thought and back to reality.

“Yea?” You answered.

“Don’t you have to get back to school soon?”

“Shit, I’ve only got 15 minutes left.”

“Wanna do something crazy?” The change and tone and sparkle in his eye scared the shit out of you.

“What?”

“I want to shadow you, tomorrow.”

“Eth, that is a terrible idea.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright. Bet.”

And that was it, you drove back to school and got permission to have a shadow the next day. You gave Ethan your keys and told him to pick you up after school, because Gray forgot about him.

When Ethan picked you up he made the biggest deal out of it. He parked in the visitor’s spot and went to the office and had an announcement made to call you into the principal’s office in an attempt to freak you out. The dumbass didn’t realize that the vice principal was the one who dealt with student misbehaviors.

Walking out of school together Ethan grabbed you by the waist and turned you toward him. It was hot as hell. He whispered into your ear:

“I kinda want to make your life hell.”

“How are you gonna do that Dolan?” You challenged.

He leaned in so close and said

“Those girls won’t leave you alone after this,” he motioned towards the crowd that had gathered by the doors.

“After wha-“ you were cut off as Ethan leaned down and brought you into a kiss. Not just any kiss, not just a kiss to make the girls obsess over you. It was a deep, passionate kiss. He pulled away and left you shocked.

“Come on, y/n/n, we gotta make it home in time for dinner.” He laughed.

“What the fuck, Dolan?”

And that was the last conversation you two had alone for the rest of the night.

Dinner was surprisingly comfortable, you had almost forgotten the kiss had happened because of all of the commotion in your house. It was a lot different with two more people and another two coming the next day.

Your parents went to bed at 8, they keep going to bed earlier and earlier every year.

You, Grayson, and Ethan stayed up until 12 catching up and watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. You actually ended up falling asleep on the couch, on top of Grayson, with Ethan asleep on top of you.

This is the only photo I could find that was close to what I meant lmao

Chapter 2 soon. Please criticize me. Lmk what you want and any mistakes or misunderstandings.

[deniscollins]

Jeffrey Epstein’s Donations Create a Schism at M.I.T.’s Revered Media Lab

What would you do if you were raising money for M.I.T.’s Media Lab and Jeffrey Epstein, who had pled guilty a few years earlier for soliciting a minor for prostitution, offered to donate $1.7 million for your projects, including the Media Lab: (1) accept the donation, or (2) reject the donation? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decision?

Joichi Ito gave himself some advice in 2008: “Reminder to self,” he wrote on Twitter. “Don’t invest with or take money from creeps,” although he used an earthier term.

Then, over the next decade, he accepted about $1.7 million from Jeffrey Epstein.

That money from Mr. Epstein, the disgraced financier who killed himself in jail last month while facing federal sex-trafficking charges, was split between Mr. Ito’s own investment funds and the prestigious center he leads at M.I.T., the Media Lab. His apology last month prompted two academics to announce plans to leave and led to calls for Mr. Ito to step down from the lab, an institution that is proudly indifferent to scholarly credentials and seeks a future marrying technology and social conscience.

On Wednesday, at a meeting billed in an email as the start of “a process of dialogue and recovery” that two attendees said had begun with a group breathing exercise, the rift was unexpectedly pulled open just as it appeared to be closing.

Roughly 200 people gathered to address the lingering anger at Mr. Ito — a tech evangelist whose networking skills landed him in the White House to discuss artificial intelligence with President Barack Obama and prompted the psychedelic proselytizer Timothy Leary to call him his godson. Mr. Ito, who has helped the lab raise at least $50 million, revealed that he had taken $525,000 from Mr. Epstein for the lab and $1.2 million for his own investment funds.

“The division I’ve caused among the students created a tremendous amount of damage,” Mr. Ito said, according to the two attendees, who spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss the meeting.

But before the session could end, the divide got deeper.

Nicholas Negroponte, a prominent architect who helped found the lab in 1985, told the crowd that he had met Mr. Epstein at least once since Mr. Epstein’s 2008 guilty plea in Florida for soliciting a minor for prostitution, and had advised Mr. Ito about the donations.

“I told Joi to take the money,” he said, “and I would do it again.”

The words stunned the crowd, just before the meeting adjourned. Mr. Ito saw the comments as so damaging to his conciliatory efforts that he fired off a message to Mr. Negroponte just after midnight. “After I spent 1.5 hours apologizing and asking permission to make amends, you completely undermined me,” Mr. Ito wrote in the email, which was reviewed by The New York Times.

Mr. Ito did not respond to requests for comment. Mr. Negroponte said in an email to The Times after the meeting that he would give that advice knowing only what he knew at the time, without the benefit of hindsight.

Mr. Ito said during the meeting that he had visited Mr. Epstein’s Caribbean island twice to raise money, which he has pledged to return or donate to causes that support sex-trafficking victims. He also acknowledged that he had “screwed up” by accepting the money, but that he had done so after a review by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and consultation with advisers.

The university has begun an inquiry into the donations. Its provost, Martin A. Schmidt, has couched the review as an attempt to “identify lessons for the future” rather than “an investigation of any particular individual.”

Other organizations have also stood behind Mr. Ito. The John S. and James L. Knight Foundation, where he has been on the board since 2011, said in a statement that it believed his apology “is sincere.” The MacArthur Foundation said Mr. Ito “has addressed his associations in a manner that warrants no action by the foundation at this time.” The New York Times Company, where Mr. Ito has been a board member since 2012, declined to comment for this article.

Mr. Ito is far from the only notable figure whose relationships with Mr. Epstein have drawn scrutiny and caused soul-searching. The financier’s ties to people like President Trump, former President Bill Clinton, Prince Andrew and a number of well-known scientists have led to pointed questions. Labor Secretary Alexander Acosta resigned after an outcry over his role in Mr. Epstein’s 2008 plea deal.

Mr. Ito has been a popular figure at the lab since taking over in 2011, pulling it out of a postrecession lull while dazzling students and well-heeled donors alike. He has continued to receive broad support even after disclosing the donations; more than 200 signed a petition urging him to stay on.

Lab members who defend him said academia had a long history of accepting funding from dubious characters. And Mr. Negroponte told The Times that he had sought donations from disgraced figures, including Alberto Vilar, a major donor to the Metropolitan Opera who served time in jail for financial crimes.

The lab “attracted edgy people,” Mr. Negroponte said. “Some were scoundrels.”

The lab’s contrarian ethos runs deep — Mr. Negroponte called it “literally a place for misfits” — where Mr. Ito’s unorthodox background was celebrated.

Mr. Ito dropped out of Tufts University and the University of Chicago, ran a Tokyo nightclub called XY Relax and led a series of internet companies — as well as a guild in World of Warcraft, the online role-playing game. He had an eye for good ideas, investing early on in Twitter, Kickstarter and Flickr, but it was his mastery of cultivating relationships that was especially valuable to the lab.

Reid Hoffman, a founder of LinkedIn, once said Mr. Ito “makes well-networked professionals look like hermits.” His mentors include Lawrence Lessig, the influential law professor and founder of Creative Commons, the nonprofit advocate for public intellectual property rights, where Mr. Ito was once chief executive. His online photo albums include pictures of the cellist Yo-Yo Ma, the astronaut Leland Melvin and the filmmaker J. J. Abrams, a “director’s fellow” at the lab. And when Mohammed bin Salman, the crown prince of Saudi Arabia, toured the United States last year — before the death of the Washington Post journalist Jamal Khashoggi — he attended a reception at the Media Lab.

It was perhaps inevitable that Mr. Ito would meet Mr. Epstein, another prolific networker. Both men attended the 1999 Billionaires’ Dinner, an annual event put on by the literary agent John Brockman, and belonged to the invitation-only Trilateral Commission in 2003.

At Wednesday’s meeting, Mr. Ito said he had met Mr. Epstein in a hotel lobby during a conference in 2013, five years after Mr. Epstein’s plea in Florida. Mr. Epstein long cultivated relationships with celebrity scientists, many of whom Mr. Ito also knew, and eagerly associated himself with the Media Lab. In 2014, he issued news releases about donations to restore Mark Rothko murals on the campus and teach coding to 5-year-olds. (The Media Lab later called those statements inaccurate.)

The lab served as an avenue for Mr. Epstein to seek connections to the wider tech world.

Elizabeth Stark, the chief executive of the cryptocurrency start-up Lightning Labs, was not affiliated with the lab but knew Mr. Ito and several others there. When she was raising money for her company in 2015, someone at the lab contacted her and offered to invest Mr. Epstein’s money. Ms. Stark found a news article about Mr. Epstein’s history and turned it down.

“In five minutes I was able to Google and make a determination that seemed like such a no-brainer,” she said.

Critics who called for Mr. Ito’s resignation cited his decision to ignore warnings about Mr. Epstein.

Ethan Zuckerman, a longtime friend of Mr. Ito’s who said he would leave the lab over Mr. Epstein’s donations, wrote in an online post that he had rejected an invitation from Mr. Ito to meet Mr. Epstein in 2014, and had urged Mr. Ito to do the same. Sarah Szalavitz, a social designer and external fellow at the lab, said in an interview that she had told Mr. Ito in December 2013 that the lab should stop collaborating with Mr. Epstein, and had given him a memo outlining her concerns.

Mr. Ito did distance himself from Mr. Epstein eventually, after a damning article in The Miami Herald last year about Mr. Epstein’s 2008 plea deal. Mr. Ito told the gathering that Mr. Epstein had sent a $25,000 check to the lab, which he had promptly returned.

Rosalind Picard, who runs a research group at the lab, said Mr. Ito — who once gave a fellowship to a convicted murderer turned community activist — had believed Mr. Epstein’s claims of being reformed.

“Joi recognizes that not everybody takes the straight and narrow path, and that sometimes people need the chance to redeem themselves,” she said. “He didn’t know Epstein was the monster we now know he was.”

Mr. Epstein’s contributions have already disrupted the lab’s work. It will not hand out this year’s Disobedience Award — a $250,000 prize that has recognized #MeToo activists and others “challenging the norms, rules or laws that sustain society’s injustices” — as Mr. Ito focuses on “healing the Media Lab community,” according to an email he sent that was reviewed by The Times.

One person who was on the award committee, the writer and former Times columnist Anand Giridharadas, told his fellow members in an email he would not participate in 2020 unless the lab was purged of people tied to Mr. Epstein.

“A plutocratic predator was welcomed into a citadel of American thinking and doing, and this welcome was personally exploited beyond the original relationship,” he wrote.

For many associates of the lab, the situation remains complicated. Mr. Zuckerman, who pledged to leave next year, expressed support on Twitter for those who had spoken up, “including those who think Joi’s apology was sufficient and we should move on.”

Mr. Negroponte’s comments could make that more challenging than it might otherwise have been. On Thursday, three prominent professors who had organized the meeting to buttress support for Mr. Ito sent a message to the lab disavowing Mr. Negroponte’s comments.

“While we appreciate what he has done for the lab in the past, he no longer speaks for us,” they wrote in the email, which was reviewed by The Times. “And through his behavior he has demonstrated that he has no part in building the future we want.”

[littleredcareer]

Old Friends || AU Oneshot

Perched in his overstuffed armchair, Xanthus stared with an intensity only an ex-game maker could muster at the action unfolding onscreen. There were three tributes left- make that two, and neither of them really commanded Xanthus' attention. The boy from Two was exactly what you'd expect from Two, a carbon copy of every career to come out of there for the past twenty or so years. The girl from Eight was a surprise to have made it this far. She was small and meek, having hidden almost the whole games.

A sudden coughing fit made Xanthus double over in pain, a pair of hands trying to pass him an oxygen mask. "I'm fine you gnat, just make sure dinner is ready." He coughed out, shoving the doting avox away. Ever since his health had deteriorated they'd been waiting on him night and day. After all, not many survive so many seasons of being Game Maker as Xanthus and aside from his daughter and protege Stella, he was regarded as one of the best there had been. 

The boy from Two was replaced with Ferris and Finn hooting and hollering about god knows what. "You hags are still allowed on TV?" Xanthus growled as he grabbed his cane. He could still remember the day they'd come on air and one of their first stories had been about the then scandal of Stella's parentage. What a load of shit that had all been though now he was connected to the most successful GM dynasty Panem had seen. Everything had a way of working out in the end.

Already the sounds of cheers and partying were bringing the Capitol alive as they celebrated their latest victor. Xanthus made a mental note to wear ear plugs to bed; he knew all too well the revelry would go on late into the night. His dinning room was only a short shuffle away from his viewing room and by the time he made it there, there was already a steaming platter waiting for him. 

"Finally, something I fucking like." He said to no one in particular. Seating himself in front of the heaping portion of roast beef. Part of him was insulted that the meat had been cut into tiny cubes for him but with the way his hands had been shaking lately it was a relief he wasn't going to have to try and saw through it himself. With no one to wait for Xanthus dug into his feast, indulging in the rich gravy and succulent flesh. 

For some reason the sounds of the crowd seemed louder in here than before and as if to confirm it a chilling breeze blew past Xanthus' neck. "I thought I told you to close the window." Xanthus yelled, followed by a wheezing attack. When it finally subsided Xanthus tried to spear another piece of beef but found his fingers wouldn't cooperate. His hand dropped the spoon as it sat, frozen and outstretched like it didn't belong to him.

Every muscle in his body tensed up and he found himself gasping for breath. Unable to call for aid, Xanthus' mind screamed out trying desperately to think of a way to get help. Then, a flash of red in his peripherals and a sharp pain against his throat. A knife. Taking every ounce of willpower Xanthus forced a smile on his face. "Hello, old friend." He whispered before she tore the knife through his throat.

[fanficnewbie]

“Fighting for Forever” - Chapter Ten: Open Heart Fanfic

This is my first story/series. The first 5 chapters are adaptations from the first 4 parts of “A Weekend with Dr. Ramsey” series with permission from @alwaysmychoices and then I continue my own original work in chapters 6-14.

I start this adapted storyline during Chapter 15 of the original OH series. There is a bit of AU, where I play around with the storyline a bit and insert two days between MC leaving the country club and returning to her apartment to find Landry packing. Some situations have been changed to keep with the original vision of @alwaysmychoices and make the story work in the direction I wanted it to go. However, I find my way back to the original in Chapters 6-8 and then move on past the ending of Book One during chapters 9-14.

My MC is female, Francesca Houseman, who has only had eyes for Ethan Ramsey from day one.

@msjpuddleduck I hope you don’t mind me tagging you for this one. If anyone else would like to be tagged, just let me know.

FULL SERIES

Chapter Ten: “Midnight Confessions” 3284 words

This entry finds Ethan and Francesca 6 months into the relationship and gives some background on Francesca and why she made some of the decisions she did in OH. It also sets Ethan up for a surprise.

(Mature)

He tried to think about how long they’d been together, counting back to the day of the Ethics hearing, he was shocked to realize they were almost six months in. Half a year since Naveen took over as Chief of Medicine, a role that Ethan had to admit, was the perfect fit for him. For that same amount of time, he’d been leading the Diagnostics Team and maintaining their status as one of the best in the world. It made him proud. It was everything he had worked his whole life for, and yet, he also knew he wouldn’t cherish it half as much without her at his side. Ethan still struggled to understand how one person could come into his life and suddenly make everything about the world better. He used to scoff at romance movies and love stories as pure exaggerations sprinkled with a heavy dose of make-believe. But somehow, she made all of it suddenly plausible. 

They sat on his living room couch, Jenner snoozing at their feet while classical music played through Ethan’s sound system. Francesca sat across the length of the cushions, her feet perched against Ethan’s thigh while he sat upright, his feet propped up on an ottoman, utterly absorbed in a novel. A partially eaten pizza was left forgotten on the kitchen counter while half-filled glasses of red wine sat on the coffee table. Francesca shrugged out of her sweatshirt, suddenly feeling warm. She was supposed to be researching cutting edge treatments for a patient the team had recently diagnosed, but instead, her iPad was idle on her lap, momentarily abandoned as she watched Ethan read.

“I’m all in.” Part of her could scarcely believe it had almost been six months since he had spoken those words to her. She marked that day as one of her best, it was the day she landed her dream job and the man of her dreams. They had succeeded in keeping their relationship private, the handful of people who knew about it all readily agreed to keep their secret and guarded it well. At the hospital, with the exception of that one steamy afternoon in his office, their relationship was strictly professional. It actually wasn’t even that difficult of a situation to maintain. With him leading the Diagnostics team while continuing to teach and torment interns, and with her finding her way as a Junior Fellow along with the additional duties of a Senior Resident, there was no time to do much of anything else. During their work week they rarely saw each other outside of meetings, patient consults and every once in a while, a quick bite in the cafeteria. She could easily count the number of times they had been able to steal away to “Derry Roasters” to enjoy a good cup of coffee and a short break together.

The only manner in which Ethan showed his hand in favoring her was that he always scheduled their off days together. Usually, she’d spend work nights at home, too exhausted to do much more than eat a quick meal with whichever roommates were around and go to sleep. However, her days away from work were strictly reserved for Ethan and Jenner. Francesca would spend those nights at his apartment and they started a routine where they’d take turns planning dates for each other. Every week they’d trade-off. He usually chose to take her somewhere such as the Opera, a Michelin rated restaurant or a lauded museum exhibit; whereas she would opt for an adventure at a Farmer’s Market, a local festival or a dinner from a popular food truck. 

Francesca smiled remembering the look on his face at one such truck when he was handed the greasy pastrami burger. He looked up at her, silently asking if she seriously expected him to eat it. She nodded in response because she was laughing too hard to form the word “yes”. Ethan picked it up muttering how she was trying to kill him or make them go to the hospital on their day off to get their stomachs pumped, then he took a bite. She would never forget how he tried to hide his obvious delight and instead mumbled, “I guess it’s not that bad.” He then proceeded to finish off the entire thing without pausing, even licking some of the secret sauce from his fingers.

“You’re staring.”

Ethan raised his eyes at her and she grabbed her iPad as if she was going back to her research, but he knew better. He figured she was probably online looking for some ridiculous activity to drag him to for her next date. The night before he had taken her to a private wine tasting with one of the most preeminent Sommeliers in Boston. The previous week she had taken him to a pop-up Carnival and made him get on a Ferris Wheel that he was certain hadn’t been inspected since the Reagan administration. He was still slightly surprised they had escaped the ride unscathed. For him, the best part about that night was winning her a teddy bear that she wanted at one of the Midway games. It wore a white lab coat and a stethoscope around its furry neck. He had laughed at the way her face lit up when he handed it to her. He’d given women jewelry worth thousands more than that teddy bear and their excitement hadn’t even come close. 

Arguably though, nothing could compare to the moment when two days later she had handed him a wrapped package with explicit instructions for him to deliver that same teddy bear to baby Ethan. Just when he thought he couldn’t fall any deeper...

He tried to think about how long they’d been together, counting back to the day of the Ethics hearing, he was shocked to realize they were almost six months in. Half a year since Naveen took over as Chief of Medicine, a role that Ethan had to admit, was the perfect fit for him. For that same amount of time, he’d been leading the Diagnostics Team and maintaining their status as one of the best in the world. It made him proud. It was everything he had worked his whole life for, and yet, he also knew he wouldn’t cherish it half as much without her at his side. Ethan still struggled to understand how one person could come into his life and suddenly make everything about the world better. He used to scoff at romance movies and love stories as pure exaggerations sprinkled with a heavy dose of make-believe. But somehow, she made all of it suddenly plausible.

“Okay, now you’re staring.” Francesca looked at him, meeting his gaze, thinking how sexy he looked in his reading glasses.

“You’re an easy distraction, especially in that tank top.”

She chuckled, knowing she wasn’t wearing a bra and that the thin material left little to the imagination. She placed her iPad on the coffee table and stood up, careful not to disturb Jenner. 

“It’s obvious that we’re both a bit distracted so I suggest we do something about it.” Francesca shimmied out her sweatpants and stood before him in only her skimpy top and thong. Then she stretched lazily, purposefully putting on a show as she raised her hands over her head and arched her back. The action caused her breasts to push out and allowed for her top to ride up and expose part of her abdomen. 

“I’m going to the bedroom. You may want to come with.” She gave him a mischievous grin as she turned around and walked away.

Ethan dropped his book and got up. He gingerly stepped over Jenner and followed.

Much later, they both lay on their backs, naked and sweaty in his darkened bedroom. Their breathing slowly returned to normal as they gazed at the patterns a few rays of moonlight made on the ceiling as they filtered through his bedroom windows.

Francesca took a deep breath and shrugged her shoulders, allowing the last of her post-orgasm tingles to radiate throughout her body. She absolutely loved having sex with Ethan, to hold him within her body and literally become part of him, to know exactly how to make the man who prided himself on control, completely lose control, and to be able to push him to the highest peaks of ecstasy... it was intoxicating.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of doing that.”

Ethan looked her way, “I sincerely hope not.”

She giggled and then turned towards him, barely able to make out his face in the nighttime blackness. “Not to give you an even bigger ego but, I’ve actually never had it be like this before, with anyone... The last guy I seriously dated, I mean, sex was almost like getting a medical exam. It was very,” she struggled to find the right word, ”… perfunctory.”

Ethan laughed. As much as he wasn’t enthused knowing about other guys she had been with, it gave him a huge boost that she considered him to be in a league of his own. 

Suddenly curious about her past he asked, “How long were you guys together?”

She weighed how much of the story she wanted to tell him. “Just over two years. I met him towards the end of my first year of med school and broke up with him right before our senior year.”

He frowned, “Why so long? He must have been a helluva guy to put up with two years of bad sex.”

She rolled onto her back and studied the ceiling again as if the moonlit patterns held the answer to his question. “I dunno. I mean part of it was easy, we were so busy studying that it’s not like we had all of this quality time to spend together. We were both locals at UCSF, he was in my class and we had a lot of the same friends. His parents loved me and mine loved him. We both wanted our residencies on the East Coast, he was more interested in John Hopkins, but it was close enough that we had already committed to the long-distance thing if I matched with Edenbrook. It was easy to go along with, it looked great on paper and it was basically all planned out. At some point though, I realized that it just wasn’t what I wanted.”

Ethan propped himself up so he could see her face more closely in the dark. “So you finally ended it. I can completely respect making that choice for yourself.”

The memories and emotions of the past flooded her brain. “Probably one of the hardest things I’ve done. It caused the mess that I absolutely knew it would. I immediately became a villain to his family and most all of our shared friends. I was the heartbreaker, so I was automatically in the wrong, and obviously a callous person for not having strong enough feelings towards him to stay in the relationship. My own parents just couldn’t believe I would walk away from such a ‘good man’ and waited months for me to finally come to my senses, but I never did.”

She turned her head to him, earnest. “That whole experience is one of the reasons why I almost didn’t join the diagnostics competition. I already knew what it was like to lose a bunch of friends at once and I didn’t want to experience it again.” She stopped and then continued using the darkened room as the perfect concealment for her confessions.

“It’s also why I refused to let you push me away. That feeling that I never had with Christian, I felt it every single time we were together. At first I didn’t know what it was, but eventually, I recognized that it was like, like this magnetic connection, an attraction that I couldn’t escape. Then in Miami when I realized that wasn’t only me… I just couldn’t accept the idea that since it didn’t look good on paper, we couldn’t be together. I had already gone the course of what looked right and it had amounted to nothing. I needed to know what would happen if I went with what felt right.”

Ethan stroked her cheek, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not giving up on me.”

She laughed, “That was definitely one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but you were totally worth it.”

He kissed her, “Of course I was.”

She laughed again as she pushed him away. He turned on his side to face her and she turned towards him, meeting his gaze through the murky shadows that surrounded them.

“You mentioned your parents, I just realized you’ve never told me much about them.”

Francesca thought for a moment, she hadn’t. When she was in Ethan’s bubble, nobody from the outside world seemed to exist.

“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed by now, I’m biracial.”

“Biracial? I always thought you were Polish.”

She laughed as she playfully smacked his arm.

“Yes. My mom is Black, but she was adopted as a baby by a white family, so that was a bit unusual. My dad is actually Jewish. They both grew up in a small town in Idaho where residents were predominantly white, Christian and conservative. They met in grade school and bonded over being different, forming a friendship as children that turned into a love affair as adults. Once they were married they left Idaho and settled in the San Francisco Bay Area. That’s where my brother and I grew up. They wanted their kids to be surrounded by diversity and cultural immersion.”

“You guys are all still close?”

“We are. I miss them but we text and I video chat with them once a week. My brother is in tech and lives relatively close to my parents, so they always Facetime me when the three of them are together for Sunday dinner. With my schedule and the time change, it’s hard some weeks, but more often than not, we manage to make it work.”

Ethan tried to visualize her in the context of her family, “It sounds very loving.”

“I hope you’ll get to meet them one day, I mean they know about you.”

He was glad that she couldn’t see the apprehension on his face, “They know about me?”

“Of course. But only that you're my boss and that we’re good friends. I think my mom suspects there’s more to it but she has never asked. They know how much I idolized you as a teen so they all think it’s rather cool that we hang out now.”

He let a sigh of relief that they didn’t know about their romantic relationship, “Okay.”

Oblivious to his hesitations, Francesca continued, “I think they’d be okay if they knew the whole story with us, I think they’d like you. It’s just so hard to explain over a 5-10 minute video chat with everyone trying to get a word in edgewise. And it’s not exactly something I want to send in a group text.”

Ethan thought about the potential trauma of meeting her parents, “How can you be so sure they’d like me?”

She giggled, “I’m not, I said I think they would. My dad respects self-made men. He’s in Sales, one of the top guys at his company for more years than I can count. He appreciates people who succeed in life by putting in hard work. He’s the one who taught me how to handle myself in almost any situation and he’s the reason that Edenbrook now receives that cardiac kickback I negotiated with Banner Health. That ‘get them right before the deal closes’ move, that’s classic Jacob Houseman.” She laughed, “I think he was prouder of me when I told him about that than when I matched with Edenbrook.”

Ethan remembered how confident she was with the health insurance executives and now understood the full picture. “Tell him we said ‘thank you’”.

“He’d appreciate how you worked hard and sacrificed to become the best.” She thought for a moment, “ My mom is a total people person. She loves helping others and is on the board of half a dozen charitable organizations. I cannot even tell you how many clothing drives and soup kitchens and other volunteer activities she’d have us at as kids. She’s the reason I care about helping people so much. She’d love the way you care for your patients.” Francesca reflected for a second, “Actually, I think I already sold her on you ages ago when I told her how we rent to rescue the toy frog for Dolores.”

He smiled wistfully, “Alma tells me baby Ethan won’t go to sleep without it.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed, “I hope he has it forever.”

Ethan paused, absorbed in her family life, one so different from his own. He was slightly surprised at how hard it was for him to ask the next question, “And your brother?” 

Francesca sensed something in his voice, a sadness, it confused her. 

“Jacob Jr. but we call him ‘Jay’. Sometimes I call him ‘Jakey’ but I’m the only one allowed to do that.” She chuckled thinking of how her brother would roll her eyes when she called him by her childhood nickname. “We grew up super close, he’s only two years older. Leaving him behind was actually harder than leaving my parents. I think that’s why I attached to Bryce so quickly, he reminds me of Jay a bit. They both have that instilled confidence that they use to be charming rather than arrogant. Jay would like you simply for the fact that there’d be another guy in the room. You know enough about sports to win him over. He doesn’t require much.”

Ethan smiled, “They all sound lovely Francesca, they really do.”

She took a deep breath, hoping that her full disclosure would get him to open up.

“And your family? You’ve never said much about them either.”

Ethan shifted uncomfortably. “Nothing to tell. I’m an only child.” He sighed, “I had a good childhood followed by a shitty adolescence and then I went to medical school. You know the rest.”

“But I don’t. Where are your parents? Do you speak with them? Do they know about me at all?”

Ethan paused, mulling over his answers before responding, “They don’t live in this country. No to the rest of it.”

He suddenly sat up, “We’re done here. I have to take a shower, feel free to join me.”

Francesca was pensive as she watched him get up and walk across the room. The light from the bathroom spilled into the bedroom and instantly shattered the illusion of their nighttime cocoon. She moved to follow him but heard her phone dinging. Grabbing it she read the text from Sienna, “Have you asked him yet?” She typed back, “Not yet, almost.”

She looked to the bathroom, knowing she had to make her move and praying that he’d accept her proposal. As much as Francesca loved her bubble with Ethan, at times it felt restrictive. She was missing the presence of her friends in this part of her life. She had tried on multiple occasions to get Ethan to join them for group activities but he was always firm in his response, “Not a chance in hell Rookie.” After a couple of months of failed attempts, she realized she was going to have to do what she did best, force the issue. 

She walked into the bathroom admiring him through the shower door. “So I’ve been thinking…”

He looked up, “You know, you always scare me when you start a sentence like that.”

She opened the door and stepped in, “Next week is my turn to plan our date and we have the actual weekend off. I want to leave town, take you somewhere.”

“Where?”

She bit her lip, “It’s a surprise. You’d have to trust me.”

He watched her thoughtfully, he could see that it was important to her that he agree but he also knew there was likely more to it than she was letting on. “I hate surprises.”

“I know, but Jenner can come too. Does that help?” She looked at him hopefully, practically holding her breath as she waited for him to respond.

He sighed and decided to appease her as recompense for not opening up about his family. “I know I’m going to end up regretting this, but okay yeah, surprise me.”

She flung her arms around him and gave him a big kiss. “Thank you! I promise it’ll be a great time.”

He kissed her back, wondering what the hell he had just gotten himself into.

CHAPTER ELEVEN