#mother daughter bonding in the kitchen time ? < 33

[de2thletter]

" wednesday darling---- " morticia calls for her daughter's attention, waving her into the kitchen. usually she prepares dinner with mama, but after the mix up with the potions the night before, she's busy in the basement, scrubbing the bubbling acid from the walls. normally, it would be a nice addition to the dank room, adding to the bouquet of putrid odors. but, well---- nobody wants melted skin. not everybody, at least.

" would you like to help me cook, @strcngered ? it's fish eye soup ! i thought you might enjoy gouging the eyes out of these fish here while i prepare the broth. "

#mother daughter bonding in the kitchen time ? < 33 #strcngered #& / morticia addams. #( queue. )

[wandafiction]

Can't Do This Alone

Warnings: Parent Elizabeth Olsen & Robbie Arnett. Mostly Fluff and Humour, Pregnancy,

"Hey mom, hey Robbie!" You shout with a wide smile as you enter the house, a tray of takeaway coffee in one hand and the keys to the house in the other.

"Ah my sweet girl." Your mom, Elizabeth Olsen, practically sprints down the hallway wrapping her arms around you and you have to lift your arms up and out the way to make sure you don't spill the drinks.

"Hello mother." You beam with a cheeky smile, earning a small hit to your shoulder.

"What have I said about calling me mother, you make me feel old when you do and I'm not that old." You look past her to Robbie who is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a small smile as he watches the interaction. 

"Hello fake Jesus." He rolls his eyes, giving you the middle finger but chuckling as your mother looks at him shaking her head.

"Robbie tell our daughter that 33 is still very young and calling me mother is very rude." Robbie pushes himself off the wall walking towards you, a hand on your shoulder kissing your temple.

"Don't call your mother, mother. It makes her feel like an old woman." You chuckle as he gives you a wink, both of you laughing when you hear Lizzie grumble to herself. 

"Well thanks for the coffee but why are you here?" Your mom snatches the cup that has 'Wanda' as the name, taking a sip of it and looking at you over the edge of your lid.

"Can a daughter not visit her mom randomly from time to time?" You raise a brow heading into the house more and straight to the kitchen opening up the fridge.

"She comes into my house, calls me mother, doesn't let us know she is coming and is now ransacking the fridge." You peek your head out from the fridge door with a shy smile and you see the loving smile on your mom's face so look back to the food selection. "What are you looking for darling?"

"I don't know but I'm craving something and I will know when I find it." Sighing when you don't see it in the fridge, closing the door and leaning against it.

"So what can we do for you kiddo?" You grumble at Robbie's nickname for you. 

"Right, right." You shuffle over to the island sitting down on the stool your mother and Robbie doing the same opposite you, your leg bouncing slightly. 

"Honey you okay?" You look at your mom nodding.

"Mhmm, just a little nervous. I'm more nervous about this than I was the day you officially adopted me actually mum." Lizzie smiles at the memory before making her way over to you wrapping her arm around your back.

So there's that too. Being 21 and being the daughter of Elizabeth Olsen had always made people question it whenever articles popped up. Until Elizabeth revealed that during the time she was single, the time between her ex and Robbie, she had adopted you who at the time were 17: her being 27. It had taken only a few months for you to call her mom, and she cried dramatically when you first said it after a nightmare. Then she introduced you to Robbie who you got along with straight away and even though you don't call him dad (even after they got married), he never forced the idea on you, and you were certainly more of a 'daddy's girl than anything. Not that lizzie minded, she loved you both and she loved the bond the two of you have.

"What's going on sweetie?" Lizzie's voice brings you out of your thoughts, your hand taking a folded envelope from your jacket pocket handing it to your mom. "What's this?"

"Uh, well. If you open it you'll find out and then we can talk about it I guess." You look down at your hands on the counter fiddling with your rings listening to Lizzie opening the envelope.

"Honey." Lizzie gasps and you close your eyes not wanting to see her reaction. "Is this what I think it is? Is this you?" Lizzie turns the picture of the echo around

"Yeah, I got it a few days ago. I had to be sure." 

"You're pregnant?" Lizzie lets out under her breath. 

"Mhmm I most really am." Your leg starts bouncing more and you squeeze your eyes shut willing the tears away as the emotions boil inside you.

"Are we happy about this or not?" You look at your mom surprised at her question, expecting her to be angry or disappointed but when you see nothing but love in her eyes you let out a teary chuckle.

"I'm happy. So happy." You're pulled from the stool as your mom squeals, wrapping you into a tight hug and you turn your head to look at Robbie holding out your arm and making a grabby hand. "You're included in this."

"Are you s…?"

"Robbie get your ass over here before I drag you over here. Our daughter is having a baby and she wants a hug." Robbie is quick to get to his feet at the stern tone from Lizzie but as soon as he wraps his arms around you all three of you break into happy tears. "Who's the father?"

"Some one night stand. I didn't stay long enough to get his name." You shrug feeling your mom's body tenses for a second at your explanation before she presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

"Okay sweetie. We are here for you whenever you need. I'm so proud of you and happy for you, don't ever think that will change." 

"Thanks mom." You mumble before turning around and hugging Robbie properly. "Thanks Rupert."

"I didn't do anything, but you're welcome." He rests his chin on top of your head wrapping his arms around you and gently squeezing.

"You make mom happy, so thank you."

♤♡◇♧

"Hey kiddo what's up?" Robbie's chirpy voice makes you huff out a laugh down the phone.

"I need you and mom. My water broke and I'm alone in my apartment and … just I need you guys. please." 

"Okay sweetie, okay can you stay on the phone for me." 

"Ye-yeah." You grit your teeth letting out a grunt of pain as another contraction hits you.

"Lizzie, Lizzie come on. Yes she is on the phone. Yeah you drive. Okay sweetie we are on our way, we are gonna get an ambulance out to you too." You gasp as the contraction finally subsides and you lean back against the back of the couch groaning.

"Who ever said birth was a beautiful thing was probably a fucking man because this shit hurts and I'm not even giving birth yet. Oh I don't want to do this any more. Nope I want a refund, this was not in the description." You hear Robbie chuckle and your mom mumbling to herself. "I'm one speaker aren't I?"

"Yes sweetie but it's okay, it's gonna be okay." Your mom's voice makes you smile using her best acting skills to sound calm but you know she is freaking out. 

"I can't do this by myself." You feel the tears building in your eyes. "I can't raise this kid on my own. I'm not ready to be a parent. I don't know how to be a parent. I was never taught things from a young age how I am meant to do that for this kid."

"Sweetie you are going to be an amazing mom."

"No, mom. My parents died when I was 5 and I've only had a mom for 4 years, and you've done an amazing job but I was practically grown up and went through life by myself. I had no idea how to raise myself so how am I meant to do that for my own child." 

"Honey, no parent is ever ready. You have me and your mom here. You have our families and friends here too. You are not going through this alone. You have so much support around you. Just because you didn't have someone for you most of your life doesn't mean that that's what it's going to be like for your little one. You wouldn't let that happen."

"Robbie, I'm scared. I want what's best for this baby and what if I'm not it. I'm 21, living in an apartment building with no one to shout 'honey I'm home' too. I should have stayed and got the dad's name. He has a child he doesn't even know about. I'm a terrible human."

"Hey none of that." Robbie's stern but caring voice makes you bite your lip to silence yourself. "You are strong, you are amazing and you are going to be that as a mother as well. You don't need to know everything and it's not always going to be easy. But the love you will share with your child, making sure they have everything they need. You will raise them the way you know you wanted to be raised. You have so much support behind you but I know that you are going to do an amazing job with or without it."

"I'm scared."

"I know sweetie. But me and Robbie will be here through it all."

"I love you both so much."

"We love you too kiddo."

"Alright jesus 2.0 enough bleurgh feelings how long till you get here….Fuck! This hurts so bad!" You drop your phone next to you as one hand moves to your back, the other gripping the arm of the couch as another contraction hits you.

"You are doing great honey. We are almost there, stay on the phone. Look, there's the ambulance." You let out a sigh of relief when the pain subsides and you pick up your phone pressing it back to your ear. 

"By the way mom, aunty Aubrey needs to know because she is gonna be hella mad if she doesn't make it to the birth. Oh and aunty Scarly, oh and, and we need to tell her she is going to be the godmother, I never got around to that." You ramble trying to get your mind off the fact you might give birth, alone in your one bedroom apart with a cactus as your only company. 

"Sweetie we are just pulling up, we are going to be with the paramedics." 

"Oh thank god I want to get to the hospital and want them to pump me full of their best drugs and get this baby outta me!" You shout down the phone another contraction hitting you hard, your mind blank from anything but the pain for a moment as you squeeze your eyes shut. When they open your mom his standing in front of you. "Mom."

“We are here sweetie, just breathe for me.” Lizzie cups your cheeks smiling that smile that easily makes you relax and smile back, well grimace as the pain slowly subsides. 

“Where is Robbie?” You look up and realise he is not there until your mom points behind you.

“You have no pants on sweetie, he is just being respectful.” You turn your head to see Robbie facing the wall giving you a thumbs up over his shoulder.

“You got this kiddo.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” You look back to your mom the paramedics crouched down next to her taking some things out of their bag.

“So we are just gonna take your blood pressure and do our thing then get you to the hospital.” One of the paramedics says as he stands to start taking your vitals. 

“Sure sounds like a plan.” Lizzie shifts to behind the couch her hands gently placed on your shoulders giving them a gentle squeeze every now and again. “The quicker the better.” 

“You are doing great, these little checks won’t take longer than 10 maybe 15 minutes and we will get you off to the hospital. It's just so we can keep an eye on them and then once we transfer you to the Doctors and nurses they know what’s happening.” The younger of the two paramedics sweetly says your eyes meet hers and you can’t help the smile that grows on your face at the kindness you see.

“So do I get the drugs now or at the hospital?” Everyone in the room chuckles as you watch the young woman bring out a small device and bottle of gel.

“You should get them at the hospital, we are just here to get you there in one piece.” The lady puts on her gloves taking the bottle of gel giving it a small shake. “So this is a portable echo machine, it's just so we can check the baby's heartbeat, if that’s okay?”

“Sure go ahead, but if you’re going to touch the bump I would like to know your name so I don’t have to keep calling you paramedic one and two in my head.” 

“My name is Jason. This lovely and very smart young woman is Hannah.” The blonde bows her head slightly, as Jason smirks to himself and you tilt your head in amusement.

“Well Hannah, you have my permission to use some cold as fuck gel and touch the bump.” Robbie laughs and you turn your head to look at him as he shakes his head covering his mouth with his hand. “Robbie come here, I only don’t have pants on, stand behind mum if you want but don’t be the weirdo who stands in the corner.”

“Alright sweetie, I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You look back to Hannah who opens the cap of the bottle holding it over the bump looking at you.

“Go ahead.” Jason smiles to himself as he looks at his watch counting whatever he is counting while also looking at the pressure gauge … thing. You are a cinematographer not a doctor, you just sit there and let them do their job and try to understand all the medical jargon. 

“It’s gonna be a little cold, but I’m sure you know this, and then we are gonna find that heartbeat to make sure the little one is doing good. Then we can get you in the ambulance and get you to the hospital.” Even though you have heard this many times before, the way Hannah smiles at you while she explains it is completely different from when the nurses who do it everyday tell you the same thing.

“Anyone have any good baby names?” You startle a little when your mom's face comes into view next to you with scrunched brows.

“You haven't chosen a name yet?” Her pitch went up an octave in disbelief.

“Well I don’t know what I’m having so I was thinking of maybe a gender neutral name so it doesn't really matter if it's a girl or a boy.” You gasp not expecting the sudden coldness on your bump and Hannah sends you an apologetic smile, then you turn to your mom frowning.

“What’s wrong sweetie?” 

“I’m going to be single forever.” You pout while your mom chuckles, shaking her head with a smile.

“No you won’t. Honey, you are beautiful, anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“But I’m going to have a child, no one's gonna want a 21 year old with a child. One look at him or her and out the door they go. Bye bye love life.” You wave to nothing as you tilt your head back looking up to the ceiling. 

“Sweetie stop being so dramatic, you are young. You will find your person.” You groan at your mom's optimism, turning your head to look at her and her smug smile.

“Sure.” Lizzie goes to say something back but a small and steady thumping noise takes her attention away and you and her look at Hannah who has a smile on her face as she hears it.

“Baby’s heartbeat sounds strong. Right, I think it's time we get you two to the hospital.” She starts to pack up her equipment taking a quick glance at your mom and Robbie. “And your mom and dad can follow in the car as we won’t be speeding with blue lights and sirens, no need for the rush at this point.” 

“Well I will go get the car ready and me and your mom will meet you at the hospital.” Robbie leans down to kiss your temple and you grab his hand giving it a squeeze. 

“Thank you. Right, let's get going.” You grimace the pain in your lower back making it hard for you to move but your mom gently places her hands under your arms while Hannah easily grabs your hand and together the three of you get you standing up. 

“Right it looks like your mom and Hannah have got you, so if you guys follow me down to the ambulance we can get going.” Jason picks up the bags that both of them brought in and he smiles smugly at Hannah. “You’re welcome.” 

“What’s that about?” Your mom asks softly and Hannah waves her off.

“Just Jason being Jason.” 

“Well he seems to be a man with a plan, or many plans.” You smirk at Hannah, whose cheeks turn a light shade of pink biting her lip and you smile victoriously to yourself.

“Okay, we are going to take this one step at a time, literally since the elevator in this place is broken. We take our time and stop when you need a breather or whenever you get a contraction.” Hannah explains softly as she wraps her arm around your waist, her other one on your bump, while Lizzie’s arm wraps around the top of your back and her other hand on the bump too.

“Sure, sure. One small baby step at a time.” You take a step, feeling slightly embarrassed when you wobble but Lizzie and Hannah hold you up not saying anything about it.

“So I’m confused.” Hannah starts and you and your mom both glance at her as you start walking, slowly but steadily.

“About what?”

“Well when I came in here I thought you two were sisters, but then you called her mom and that's where the confusion comes in. Because you do not look old enough to have a 20 something daughter.” 

“21.”

“Hmm?” Hannah looks at you and you chuckle.

“I’m 21. Moms 33.” You can see the cogs turning in her brain trying to let her figure it out but when you see her eyebrows scrunch more you chuckle softly. “I’m adopted.” 

“Oh, that makes sense.” You guys have made it to the top of the stairs and you come to realise Hannah is doing her best to distract you and keep you walking.

“One step at a tiiiii-owwwwww. Fuck me get this fucking baby outta me before I throw hands.” You lean forward trying to remember your breathing techniques but this contraction is more painful than the others and all you want to do is curl up in a ball and cry. “Why the fuck do woman do this shit multiple times. Oh yes I have 15 children. How the fuck?”

“No idea sweetie.” You glare at your mom's sweet tone and she raises her brow back at you and you turn your glare to the floor. 

“Just tell us when you’re ready to walk again and we will get going.” You smile at Hannah taking a deep breath and nodding that you’re good to okay. 

♤♡◇♧

It took you a while, a long while, to get down the stairs each step sending shooting pains up your back but you gritted your teeth and got through it. Right now you are laying in the back of the ambulance, as Jason drives and Hannah keeps an eye on you … No your vitals. You just hope that your mom and Robbie are close by in their car following you guys to the hospital. 

“So how did you end up getting adopted by Miss Olsen?” Hannah asks randomly, looking between her clipboard and the monitor. 

“Mrs Arnett.”

“Hmm?” Hannah pulls her attention away from everything else, her eyes finally looking towards you which she seemed to have been avoiding for the whole time you’ve been in the ambulance. 

“Mom and Robbie are married. She is officially Mrs Arnett, but she continues to use Elizabeth Olsen because that's what her work is associated with. But while we are in the ambulance you can call her Lizzie, she isn’t one for being too formal. Something about feeling old when someone calls her Miss or Mrs or ma’am.”

“Right of course, I did see somewhere they got married. So how old were you when she adopted you? If you don’t mind saying of course as I am being very nosey.” You smile shuffling up on the bed a bit and propping the pillow under your back so you are sitting up slightly, the position giving you some relief from the uncomfortable pain.

“So I was on the beach, just me and my guitar enjoying the summer sun. They had closed off some of the beach for some photoshoot or something but the part of the beach they had closed off included the area I normally go to play. It is where my birth parents would take me before they died. So of course me being a 17 year old with a constant in her life wasn’t going to let some celebrity photoshoot stop her. So I snuck around the barriers and basically ran for the bottom of the cliff heading towards these large rocks where I could hide behind and do what I wanted to do.”

“So you managed to get around the security and not get spotted?” You nod your head with a smug smile.

“I did indeed. But what I didn’t think about was the fact that they would obviously here me play and sing. Music just transports me to another realm and I forget the world around me exists.” Hannah sits up in her seat more her eyes glancing to the monitors as she notes something down then giving you her attention once more. “Everything looking good?”

“Looks great. So I’m assuming you got caught?” You laugh nodding your head.

“Oh yeah I got caught alright. This massive security guard yanked my guitar out of my hand and dragged me to my feet by the collar of my shirt. I tried to get out of his grip, not even thinking about escaping. I just wanted my guitar back. You see, it was the last thing of my dad’s I own and I was worried he was going to break it with his big man hands. So anyway, Lizzie came to the rescue telling him to put me down and give my property back.. Telling him off for grabbing me like that.”

“Awe that’s sweet of her.” You smile fondly at the memory.

“It was. So when he gave it back to me I went to run but Lizzie stopped me with her hands on my shoulders. I thought I was going to be in the shit because she was this big celebrity and I had interrupted her work, but she had this smile on her face that made me stay where I was and was so kind that I felt like I could relax. She asked me what I was singing, not the first thing I thought she would ask but as she asked it she started leading me to a small tent where I could see a few people seated. She ushered me to sit down in her seat and stood in front of me. She asked me simple questions like how was my day, where did I learn to play. That sorta thing yanno?”

“She sounds like a really sweet person. She could have let the security deal with you, or called the police for trespassing.”

“I spent the day on the photoshoot set, playing the guitar and keeping people entertained. Lizzie seemed the most interested and whenever she was on a break would always sit next to me and make conversation. Towards the end of the shoot she asked me where my parents lived so she could drop me home but when I explained that I was in a group home something changed. She gave me her number once she dropped me off and from there we started hanging out a few days a week. A few days became everyday and then everyday became me living with her unofficially until one day she sat me down and passed me this thick stack of papers. It was papers for her to officially adopt me.”

“Wow.” You look at Hannah wiping your eyes from the small amount of tears that have built up in your eyes and Hannah is quick to pass you some tissues. “Sorry, it's the hormones.”

“Don’t apologise, that story is amazing.”

“Lizzie gave me a chance and its paid off.” Your hand absentmindedly rubs across your bump and Hannah’s eyes move to watch the action. 

“So is the father meeting us at the hospital as well?” The question takes you by surprise and you laugh loudly causing Hannah’s brows to scrunch in confusion.

“Oh my gosh I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh.” You say trying to stop yourself laughing. “I don’t even know the father. It was a stupid one night stand that should have never happened.”

“Right, well then. So what do you want, boy or girl?”

“I think I want a boy. If I was to have a girl and she grows up to have the sass and attitude I did as a teenager I don’t think I could handle it. Where with a boy I just have to deal with grumpy teenage boy smell and some attitude. Well I’m hoping that's what it's like.” 

"I'm sure you weren't that bad as a teenager." You look at Hannah with a look that says it all.

"I just told you a story of how I trespassed without a care in the world and you think I wasn't a little miss attitude." You chuckle when Hannah shrugs her shoulders.

"I'm just trying to help with your nerves or at least try and make you believe that the attitude won't exist."

"Oh my god." You gap hand moving to hold Hannah's arm who raises her brow at your sudden panic. "If it's a boy it's going to have a, a. You know a thing. I don't do them I'm gay I dhardly remember sleeping with the guy who put this baby in me. What the fuck. Nope I want a girl because at least then I know what's gonna happen when those teenage years hit. I don't wanna talk about it to a boy. Nope nope, nah. You best be a girl." 

"You don't do penises?" Hannah deadpans, raising her brow as her eyes dart to look at your bump.

"Alcohol lowers people's inhibitions and obviously I get less gay. Or I thought the guy was a girl, I don't know. Like I said I was drunk."

"So your like the straight girl that turns gay when alcohol gets in their system but the other way around?" Hannah jests and you roll your eyes.

"Sure alcohol makes me less gay now I have an alien trying to kick its way outta me."

"So you do, what did you say, a man with a thing and you're worried you gotta deal with a child with a thing."

"Stop calling it a thing. And no I'm just freaking out, blame the hormones."

"So now you want a girl?" Hannah chuckles and you gently slap her arm. "Ow."

"Oh shush that didn't hurt. No, I'm good. I still want a boy. I will just get Robbie to give him the talk when the time comes." Hannah chuckles, shaking her head at your antics. 

"You're funny, you know that." You smile smugly nodding.

"I know." Hannah rolls her eyes as your smug smile only grows bigger.

"Hey ladies, sorry to interrupt your flirting session but we have made it to the hospital." You see Hannah’s smile falter slightly but don't have time to question it as Jason gets out to open the door and Hannah is back into paramedic mode and starts checking your vitals one last time. 

"So before you hand me off to the people in there." You point to the tall hospital building tilting your head back on the bed to look at Hannah who is pushing it towards the entrance. "Could I get your number or is there some rule against going on a date with someone you've helped?"

"No there's no rule." Jason says from your side as he holds onto one of the railings to help control where the bed is going. "Isn't that right Hannah?"

"Right, right." You smile at the blush creeping up Hannah’s face and you are quick to grab the pen from her pocket.

"Pass me your hand." Hannah does so without question and you write your number on her palm ignoring the doctor who is leading them to your room. "So how about once I'm out of here you can come to mine, where I will cook and we can enjoy an inside date. Do you want me to write my address down or can you remember where you picked me up?"

"Wow you don't do subtle, do you?" Hannah’s cheeks darken and you shrug.

"Well I can be subtle but I don't have the brain capacity to be subtle while also thinking about the fact that this baby is about to rip my insides out as it decides to say hello to the world." Hannah laughs at that and it makes you smile widely then turning to look at Jason. "I still have it even when I've got an alien trying to claw its way outta me."

"And the fact that I forced Hannah to sit in the back with you." You hold your hand in the air and he is quick to high five you as Hannah grumbles to herself about his wingman skills. 

"Hey sweetie." Your mom's voice brings you out of the bubble and you smile widely.

"Hey mom."

♤♡◇♧

"Hey little one." You coo down at the baby in your arms, trailing your finger softly down the nose causing it to scrunch. "So beautiful."

"Just like you sweetie." You beam up at your mom, the proud smile on her face making your heart swell her fingers weaving through your hair.

"Your mom's right kiddo." You turn to look at Robbie, his smile matching Lizzie’s. 

"Do you wanna hold him dad?" Robbie’s eyes grow wide at the use of the name, tears building in both your eyes as he nods quickly holding up his arms and making grabby hands.

“Pass him here.” His voice barely a whisper as you carefully hand your new born boy over to your dad, looking at your mom who also has tears in her eyes.

“What’s his name kiddo?” You look back at Robbie who is gently swaying back and forth making silly faces as he coos at the baby.

“Max Robert Olsen.” Robbie looks back up to you with fresh tears.

“Robert?” He bites his lip looking back down at Max. “I’m gonna call you Robbie for short.”

“Of course.” You laugh at your mom as she makes her way around to Robbie, her finger gently tracing over Max’s nose before both your mom and dad look at you.

“We are so proud of you kiddo.”

“Thanks dad.” 

“I can’t believe I’m already a grandmother.” Lizzie lets out a teary chuckle as she carefully takes Max from Robbie’s arms and starts walking around the room talking quietly and making faces as she does.

“So what’s going on with you and that paramedic.” Your dad nudges you shoulder with his as he sits on the edge of the bed next to you.

“I gave her my number so I’m just waiting to see if she uses it.” A quiet knock on the door brings the three of you out of the bubble, Robbie quick to open it.

“Oh my gosh look and my godson.” Scarlett makes her way to Lizzie as Aubrey makes her way to you, they weren’t allowed in the room during the birth but the smile on your face grows bigger with the way they all seem to be consumed in baby Max.

“Oh hi Y/n, how are you? I’m good, thanks feel like I’ve been pulled apart and put back together. But no no, it's fine check on the guy who caused it all.” You chuckle as the two women look over at you.

“Hey Y/n.” Aubrey says in a chipper voice, kissing your temple, before walking over to Max as Scarlett makes her way over to you pulling you into a small hug.

“Proud of you sweetie.” She kisses your temple, making her way back to Max where the older three women are easily distracted by him.

“Thank you.” Another knock at the still open door makes you all look over to the blonde standing there. “Hi Hannah, come on in.”

Hannah makes her way over to the bed taking your hand in hers giving it a light squeeze.

“Would you like to say hello?” Your mom’s soft voice pulls Hannah’s attention from yours before looking back at you for permission in which you silently nod. When you watch Hannah take Max from your mom you feel butterflies erupt and you bite your lip at the smile on her face.

“You are a cutie pie aren’t you. Just like your mama.” 

In that moment, in a room surrounded by people you loved and the girl you were soon to take on a date; hopefully many more after that, you realised you were never truly alone. You know you will lean on them for support in the hard times, but you already felt like you could give Max the life he deserves as you go through life together. You smile down as Hannah passes Max back to you, taking a seat next to you as she does. You kiss the end of Max's nose causing it to scrunch in the most adorable way and when he opens his eyes and they find yours you know that everything is going to work out. You look at your mom who has the biggest smile on her face, her phone out taking a picture and tears running down her cheeks but you only have one thing on your mind.

“So when are you giving me a sibling?”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

#elizabeth olsen fluff #elizabeth olsen x daughter reader #elizabeth olsen #Ellizabeth Olesn x robbie arnett

[joshjacksons]

Joshua Jackson interview with “Irish Independent”

It was during a childhood visit to his granny’s house in Dublin’s Ballyfermot that Joshua Jackson smoked his first cigarette.

“My memories of those visits to Ballyfermot are quite sweet really,” the Dawson’s Creek actor recalls. “I was always running around with the neighbourhood kids, getting into trouble. Not bad trouble, just little-kid trouble. Although, technically it’s where I smoked my first cigarette, so that in itself isn’t the sweetest memory.”

Jackson’s handsome face surges with deep laughter lines and quiet dimples at the mention of mum Fiona’s home turf. “She might prefer I’d say she was from Chapelizod”, he jokes, before proudly pinning his mum’s allegiance to “Ballyer”.

Was the young Canadian treated like a shiny, exotic object by the local kids? “I was a bit, but I became less exotic the older I got. Culturally, I was so far away from an Irish kid but in a little pack of children, everyone finds their level. It also helped that I had my own cousins, my own blood, around with us. I had that family connection so I never felt too exoticised.”

An entry on his IMDb profile suggests his late grandparents Rosemary and Patrick were opera singers in Dublin, indicating that performance runs in the genes. The actor seems unaware. “Mum tells me they used to sing to each other a lot. My grandparents lived in council housing with a little kitchen out the back, garden right outside, and they would sing to each other through the window as he was out pottering about while she was cooking.

“But he was known more as a snooker shark around Ballyfermot. And my grandmother, she was known as a sainted mother of seven.”

Having welcomed his first child, Janie, with his wife, the actor Jodie Turner-Smith, last year, it’s obvious family is paramount for 43-year-old Jackson, as he Zoom-calls from a rich hotel suite with dark wallpaper and plump cushions in the background. It stems from an evident bond with his mum, whose presence lovingly peppers our conversation. Just 16 when she left Dublin, Fiona Jackson travelled through Paris, Amsterdam and Geneva before embracing the vibrancy of London’s Swinging Sixties and ultimately making for Vancouver in her early twenties.

In an entry on her blog, she speaks of falling for “the spectacular beauty of snow-capped mountains and the Pacific Ocean” and ultimately scoring an entry-level position at a Canadian talent agency. It led to a career as a successful casting agent, working on film classics including Carnal Knowledge with Jack Nicholson and McCabe & Mrs Miller with Warren Beatty and Julie Christie.

She met and married Joshua’s father, John Carter, and the young family moved to Los Angeles. Sister Aisleagh was born shortly before John walked out on the family, leaving a profound effect.

“My father, unfortunately, was not a good father or husband and exited the scene,” the actor disclosed last year, before adding it’s something he “will never get over”.

Young infants in tow, Fiona returned to Vancouver and, having found early success in casting, helped contribute to the foundation of the burgeoning “Hollywood North” industry on the Canadian west coast.

Accompanying his mum on set, young Joshua’s interests were piqued. “She introduced me to this world and saw from a young age that I enjoyed performing in a way that kids do. She allowed me the opportunity to step into her work world, but it was also very clear that it was work.”

He appeared as an extra on MacGyver and as a child actor’s double in The Fly II, and Fiona could see her son’s talent and genuine desire to impress. So she allowed him to audition. However, permission came with strict caveats.

“I don’t think my mum would have ever put me anywhere near the entertainment industry if I didn’t have something to offer to it. And not just for myself; she’s a prideful woman and didn’t want to be embarrassed by her kid.”

Casting 1991 melodrama Crooked Hearts with ER’s Noah Wyle, Fiona gave Joshua a chance to shine. Impressing the filmmakers, the then-12-year-old secured the part, setting him not only on a path to stardom but away from the troubles of his teen years.

“My mother gave me the guard rails I needed at that time and also recognised, being a working single mum and with me a young boy, transitioning into a teenager, I needed structure in my life. I needed something that I was passionate about and had a respect for, because I was kind of a typical teenage disaster.

“I look back on those times in my life and the two parallel tracks I was running on. On the one hand, getting into all sorts of trouble and, on the other hand, my professional life, where I showed up and learned my lines and did my job in order to be respected by the adults I was around. If I hadn’t had that professional side of my life, the other side would have taken over, and Mum saw that. Who knows where I would have ended up?”

So Jackson was a full-on teen delinquent? “Yeah, I was, to a certain extent. It was relatively innocent — nobody died — but I was a teenage boy who didn’t have a father in the home, didn’t have a man to be scared of, frankly, and as a teenage boy, I think that helps. My mum had to work and she wasn’t always in the house so I learned to get into more and more trouble. I got into just enough trouble to have a good time and learn some lessons but if I hadn’t had my work life, I might have tipped over into the kind of trouble that you don’t come back from.”

Three decades in and Jackson remains one of the hardest-working, most recognisable actors in the game. Hitting pay dirt at 18 as Dawson’s Creek’s Pacey Witter — the wisecracking, teacher-bedding antithesis to James Van Der Beek’s beleaguered titular drip — the actor was a revelation: the soul and bite of a seasoned character performer in the guise of relatable poster-boy idol.

Teens swooned, so did the industry, and alongside Van Der Beek, Michelle Williams and Katie Holmes, Jackson had Hollywood at his feet.

A string of popcorn offerings followed — Cruel Intentions, Gossip, Shutter, Cursed — some quality, others derivative, with the small screen ultimately best utilising his skills. A five-season run on sci-fi series Fringe was followed by an outstanding turn on Showtime’s The Affair. Last year, he maintained a brooding presence opposite Reese Witherspoon and Kerry Washington in Little Fires Everywhere. And this year, he takes on arguably his darkest work yet in Dr Death.

The new miniseries is based on the non-fiction podcast of the same name, and Jackson portrays Christopher Duntsch, a former spinal surgeon who maimed 33 patients owing to gross malpractice while operating in hospitals in Dallas and Fort Worth, Texas. Two of these patients lost their lives. Convicted in 2017, Duntsch is currently in prison and serving life imprisonment. He still maintains his innocence, with his defence arguing that he was merely a bad surgeon, not a criminal.

Exuding a simmering malevolence, the actor showcases Duntsch’s disturbing complexities and terrifying behaviour as a narcissist and sociopath with a keen insight. Did Jackson meet with Duntsch? “I wanted to, but that was going to be really difficult because he’s appealing his case and his lawyers would’ve advised against it. And as I got deeper into the materials and podcast, and got a better understanding of the man, I don’t think it would’ve helped because he still really believes he’s the victim of his own patients, and the lawyers and the legal system. I’m not sure asking a liar for the truth gets you any closer to the truth.”

When it came to the victims, Jackson wanted to maintain a respectful distance. “I didn’t need to drag them through those awful memories again and I’m always a little dubious about asking people to delve into the worst moments of their life just to satisfy my curiosity. The questions had already been asked thanks to the podcast.”

Dr Death came at the right time in the actor’s life. New baby daughter Janie offered a crucial respite from the intense, and often dark, six-month foray into Duntsch’s malignant psyche.

“Inhabiting Mr Duntsch was an ugly space to live in for six months. If I’d been coming home to an empty house every night, it would have been a pretty bleak existence. It was so much better to come back to a loving home. My one-year-old doesn’t give a damn what I was doing that day. She just wants to be loved and hugged and cuddled, and it was the perfect antidote when some days were particularly heavy.”

Recently Jackson confessed that the Dawson’s Creek cast won’t be returning for a retrospective reunion like the Friends stars did earlier this year. “If you put our mid-forties selves together on a couch now, with our creaking backs, it might shock people.”

Quizzed on an actual reboot of the drama, Joshua reckons he’s simply too old to replicate the iconic rapid exchanges of dialogue between the garrulous young characters. “We were like The West Wing for teenagers,” he laughs, referencing Aaron Sorkin’s hit political TV series, also infamous for speedy script delivery. “My 43-year-old brain couldn’t do a show at that pace. Back then, we were doing seven, 10 pages a day and, to deliver dialogue at that speed, you have to have a certain mental capacity for that, and I don’t have it anymore. That’s the real reason why we’re not doing a reunion — I’ve become too dumb to keep up with that script.”

He remains in touch with his DC co-stars, including Holmes, his one-time girlfriend of two years. There’s even a text chain. “It goes through spurts every once in a while. I’ll have a bunch of messages on it and then it’ll go dormant. We’re like college friends — there are moments we’re all in contact and then long, fallow periods as we get on with our lives.”

While maintaining a busy slate, Jackson’s overwhelming purpose continues to circle the women in his life. Turner-Smith is currently shooting a new movie with Adam Driver and Greta Gerwig, so he’s assuming full-time dad duties. It’s an equitable arrangement given the flexible needs of their individual commitments, and one he appears content with.

#joshua jackson #dr death #dawson's creek #fringe #the affair #jodie turner smith

[martyrtomb]

pick  up  your  sword,  girl.  raise  your  blade,  child.  cut  down  your  enemies,  girl.

you  are  a  queen  before  you  are  a  wife.  you  are  a  knight  before  you  are  a  daughter.  you  are  a  dragon  before  you  are  a  woman.

you  carry  the  world  upon  your  shoulders  but  you  do  not  relent.  you  lift  the  spirits  of  the  fallen  but  you  do  not  crumble.  you  raise  the  morale  of  the  soldiers  but  you  do  not  fail.

you  are  a  goddess.  you  are  a  queen.  you  are  atlas.

and  atlas  does  not  kneel.           a.e.w.

ϟ.  ��  zoë  kravitz  :  cis  female  :  she  /  her  :  wandmaker’s  apprentice  :  kiss  with  a  fist  by  florence  +  the  machine  ϟ  did  you  see  DORCAS  MEADOWES  ?  you  know  ,  the  33  year  old  MUGGLE-BORN  who  was  formerly  in  slytherin  .  some  say  dorcas  can  be  quite  dependable  but  are  known  to  be  cynical  .  they  are  aligned  with the order .  maybe  that’s  why  they  remind  me  of  daggers  sheathed  in  holsters  ,  bandages  twined  around  bloody  and  bruised  knuckles  ,  a  feral  animal  with  teeth  bared  in  a  fight  to  the  death  .

EXPANDED AESTHETIC.     she  is  leather  jackets  draped  over  the  backs  of  chairs,  smiles  shared  over  bitter  wine,  bandages  twined  and  twined  and  twined  around  hands  and  feet  as  she  takes  off  her  shoes.  she  is  empty  cups  stacked  up  in  the  sink,  books  left  open  among  the  rubble  of  a  crumbling  childhood  home  and  dying  memories,  hands  soaked  in  blood  and  daggers  in  a  holster.  she  is  bloody  rags,  the  stone  that  causes  the  ripples  in  a  great  lake,  the  feral  animal  with  teeth  bared  in  a  fight  to  the  death  and  fingerless  gloves.  she  is  sleepless  nights,  the  emptiness  of  an  abandoned  museum,  the  vacancies  in  hotel  rooms  that  will  never  be  filled.  she  wears  her  smile  like  armour,  her  wand  up  her  sleeve,  a  phoenix  dead  and  reborn  and  alive,  again.  she  is  strong  morals  hidden  behind  a  facade  of  apathy,  blasé  at  the  worst  of  times  and  lethal  at  the  best.  she  strands  herself  on  an  island  between  worlds,  the  girl  surrounding  herself  with  tombs  and  folded  pictures.  she  is  exhausted,  but  exhaustion  will  not  destroy  her.

WAND.  Cherry. Dragon Heartstring. 12 ½" in length. Hard flexibility.

CHERRY.  This very rare wand wood creates a wand of strange power, most highly prized by the wizarding students of the school of Mahoutokoro in Japan, where those who own cherry wands have special prestige. The Western wand-purchaser should dispel from their minds any notion that the pink blossom of the living tree makes for a frivolous or merely ornamental wand, for cherry wood often makes a wand that possesses truly lethal power, whatever the core, but if teamed with dragon heartstring, the wand ought never to be teamed with a wizard without exceptional self-control and strength of mind.

DRAGON HEARTSTRING.  As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.

PATRONUS.  Mastiff.

Although Dorcas tends to be more brash and unforgiving, her Patronus is one that is gentle, patient, nurturing, and protective. Mastiff’s were once bred for combat, to both guard troops and fight alongside them. It seems almost ironic, then, that her Patronus is as such. Dorcas is someone who is very combative in nature; she’s fought her whole life for her right to survive, as a Black Jewish woman, and as a Muggleborn Witch. Her Patronus is an almost comically perfect match, a true match for her, in many ways.

AMORTENTIA.  Freshly baked Challat, black coffee, her mothers’ perfume, her sister’s conditioner, her step father’s cologne, her brother’s shampoo, petrichor and wand polish. 

FRESHLY BAKED CHALLAT.  The family recipe was handed down to the Meadowes grandchildren after the car accident in 1968. She used to make it as a child, with her grandmother Zola, and her grandfather Tzvi, and it brings back memories of childhood. Three or four hours at a time spent cooped up in the kitchen, baking and laughing and sharing stories. She now occasionally makes it for the other members of the Order - it’s significant for her. These people have become family.

BLACK COFFEE.  It’s one of the few things she’s inherited from her father, his terrible love of coffee and almost inability to function without it. She drinks it every morning, and has three to four cups a day. She’s tried to cut down, but that’s left her with larger mugs and more coffee consumed at once. She doesn’t really know when she started drinking it; it’s been one of the constants, as the rest of the world turns upside down. It reminds her of early mornings, spent curled up next to her window sill, watching the sun rise and the muggle world turn.

HER MOTHERS’ PERFUME.  It brings her back to the last time she ever hugged her mother. Dorcas’d moved the entire family to a new house, a new community where nobody knew she even existed, in an effort to keep them safe. She’d buried her face into her mothers neck, quietly telling her she didn’t know when she’d see her next. It’s a bittersweet memory, tinged by the fear that they wouldn’t be safe, with that underlying sense of relief that they were out of the brunt of the fighting. She misses her mother more than she’ll admit.

HER SISTER’S CONDITIONER.  Her sister, Petra, doesn’t really understand why she’s not around. When she first came home with their brother, Isaac, she only heard stories about Dorcas. There was never any time to explain the war to them. The day that she found out her mother was dead was the worst day of Dorcas’ life. She spent hours on the floor, cradling her brother and sister as close to her as she could. She remembers inhaling, her sister’s conditioner filling her senses and transporting her to better times.

HER STEP FATHER’S COLOGNE.  Dorcas first met Gerald the day that the entire concept of magic being real was explained to him. It was July 21st, just after she’d jumped off the train at Platform 9 and 3 quarters. After that and his decision to stay rather than leave, Dorcas and Gerald became close. He became as close to her as her father should have been. It was him that would often tell her to slow down, although he would remain at her side when she refused - trusting her to make her own decisions.

HER BROTHER’S SHAMPOO.  Isaac didn’t understand why they had to move. He’d only been a baby when they’d adopted him and his biological sister, Petra, and so had clung to Dorcas the day that they were told that they were moving away from London. She remembers the way he’d clung to her shirt, five years old and overjoyed at seeing his older sister. She remembers pressing a kiss to the crown of his head before letting him down, the smell of his shampoo filling her nose, and allowing her a brief moment of disjointed happiness.

PETRICHOR.  Dorcas’ favourite holiday was one she and her mother had taken to the southern coast of Spain when she was eight. There had been a dry spell of around a month and their last day had been the day that the clouds had opened and the rain had come pouring out. She still remembers that blissful feeling of leaning her head out of the hotel room window when the rain had finished, that bone-dry heat now absorbed by the rain that had fallen only minutes before. The smell reminds her of that innocence.

WAND POLISH.  Dorcas works day and night with wands. She’s spent days in Ollivander’s workshop, refusing to sleep until she absolutely had to - powering through each urge to go to sleep. The smell of wand polish seems to be stuck to her hands. It’s a part of her life which is only secondary to her membership of the Order. She’s never been someone to back down from a challenge and taking on Ollivander’s mantle is something that she knows is inevitable, and is certainly something she knows would be nigh impossible to do.

BOGGART.  Her family and friends, with no recollection of who she is.

SEXUALITY.  Bisexual biromantic / panromantic pansexual, with a preference for women but also tends to make bad, bad sexual decisions. Hate sex, anyone? 

HOBBIES.  Writing (she has a leather bound notebook she keeps on her at all times), duelling, listening to music, designing wands, ice skating, reading, and hiking. Drinking. Lots and lots of drinking.

OWLs RESULTS.  Arithmancy (O), Astronomy (O), Care of Magical Creatures (O), Charms (O), Defence Against the Dark Arts (O), Herbology (O), History of Magic (E), Potions (O), Transfiguration (O) and Study of Ancient Runes (O).

NEWTs RESULTS.  Arithmancy (O), Astronomy (O), Care of Magical Creatures (O), Charms (O), Defence Against the Dark Arts (O), Herbology (O), History of Magic (O), Potions (O), Transfiguration (O) and Study of Ancient Runes (O).

SCHOOL ACTIVITIES.  Slug Club, Duelling Club (Member and President), Slytherin Seeker, Prefect (she never did learn how to keep her damn mouth shut, though).

SCARS.  A white, three inch scar along the outside of her left arm. Several scars in varying depth on her stomach and chest. Birthmark on her right shoulder.

SKILL SETS.  Duelling. Future wand maker. Skilled at deciphering ancient runes. Can ice skate, even though she doesn’t, not anymore.

PETS.  A three year old Barn Owl named Fester and a ten year old black Kneazle-cat named Wednesday.

MBTI.  ISTJ.

ALIGNMENT.  Chaotic Good.

TIMELINE OF MAJOR LIFE EVENTS. 

Sep. 30th, 1912: birth of Simcha “Simon” Uriel Meadowes.

Mar. 4th, 1919: birth of Rivka Annalese Lehrer.

Jan. 17th, 1939: first meeting of Rivka Lehrer and Simcha “Simon” Meadowes.

Feb. 15th, 1940: name change of Simcha Meadowes to Simon Meadowes.

Aug. 1st, 1945: marriage of Rivka and Simon Meadowes.

May. 6th, 1945: birth of Dorcas’ cousin, Imelda Meadowes.

Jan. 25th, 1946: birth of Dorcas’ cousins, Dominick, Frank, Rita and Meera Lehrer.

Oct. 9th, 1946: birth of Dorcas Chaviva Meadowes.

Oct. 9th, 1947: Dorcas Meadowes’ first birthday.

Nov. 23rd, 1947: death of Chaviva Naama Lehrer.

Oct. 9th, 1948: Dorcas Meadowes’ second birthday.

Apr. 13th, 1949: birth of Dorcas’ cousin, Craig Meadowes.

Oct. 9th, 1949: Dorcas Meadowes’ third birthday.

Oct. 9th, 1950: Dorcas Meadowes’ fourth birthday.

Sep. 3rd, 1951: Dorcas starts attending “pre-school”, ran by the local Synagogue.

Oct. 9th, 1951: Dorcas Meadowes’ fifth birthday.

Sep. 5th, 1952: Dorcas starts muggle schooling.

Oct. 9th, 1952: Dorcas Meadowes’ sixth birthday.

Oct. 9th, 1953: Dorcas Meadowes’ seventh birthday.

Dec. 9th, 1953: allegations of domestic abuse are filed against Simon Meadowes; he is shunned by the community.

Aug. 28th, 1954: legal separation of Rivka and Simon Meadowes.

Aug. 29th, 1954: name change of Rivka Meadowes to Rivka Lehrer.

Aug. 29th, 1954: Rivka is awarded full custody of the nearly eight year old Dorcas.

Oct. 9th, 1954: Dorcas Meadowes’ eighth birthday.

Oct. 9th, 1955: Dorcas Meadowes’ ninth birthday.

Jun. 2nd, 1956: divorce of Rivka and Simon Meadowes legalised.

Oct. 9th, 1956: Dorcas Meadowes’ tenth birthday.

Oct. 9th, 1957: Dorcas Meadowes’ eleventh birthday.

Sep. 1st, 1958: Dorcas attends her local school of magic (for pre-Hogwarts magical education).

Oct. 9th, 1958: Dorcas Meadowes’ twelfth birthday.

Jul. 14th, 1959: marriage of Isabel Watson and Simon Meadowes, to which Dorcas was not invited.

Jul. 21st, 1959: completion of Dorcas Meadowes’ first year of magical education.

Sep. 1st, 1959: Dorcas attends her local school of magic (for pre-Hogwarts magical education).

Oct. 9th, 1959: Dorcas Meadowes’ thirteenth birthday and subsequent Hogwarts letter.

Dec. 22nd, 1959: car accident leading to the deaths of Zola, Tzvi, Isabel, Simon and unnamed baby Meadowes.

Dec. 28th, 1959: the joint funeral of the Meadowes family.

Jul. 21st, 1960: completion of Dorcas Meadowes’ second year of magical education.

Sep. 1st, 1960: the Sorting Hat sorts Dorcas Meadowes into Slytherin. She starts her first year.

Sep. 9th, 1960: Dorcas receives her first detention (and not her last).

Oct. 9th, 1960: Dorcas Meadowes’ fourteenth birthday.

May. 26th, 1961: first meeting of Rivka Lehrer and Gerald Daniels.

Jul. 21st, 1961: completion of Dorcas Meadowes’ first year.

Jul. 22nd, 1961: first meeting of Dorcas Meadowes and Gerald Daniels.

Sep. 1st, 1961: start of Dorcas Meadowes’ second year.

Sep. 3rd, 1961: Dorcas Meadowes joins the Slug Club and the Duelling Club.

Sep. 19th, 1961: audition to join the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Oct. 9th, 1961: Dorcas Meadowes’ fifteenth birthday.

Jul. 21st, 1962: completion of Dorcas Meadowes’ second year.

Sep. 1st, 1962: start of exam year.

Oct. 9th, 1962: Dorcas Meadowes’ sixteenth birthday.

Jan. 4th, 1963: marriage of Rivka and Gerald Daniels.

Jul. 21st, 1963: completion of exam year; she sat her OWLs.

Jul. 21st, 1963: completion of Dorcas Meadowes’ exam year.

Jul. 22nd, 1963: start of Dorcas Meadowes’ third year.

Oct. 9th, 1963: Dorcas Meadowes’ seventeenth birthday.

Feb. 6th, 1974: adoption of Isaac and Petra Daniels.

Jun. 18th, 1964: meeting with Slughorn for career aspects and subsequent subject choice solidified.

Jun. 19th, 1964: first meeting with Garrick Ollivander is scheduled.

Jul. 21st, 1964: completion of Dorcas Meadowes’ third year.

Aug. 3rd, 1964: informal acceptance to work under Ollivander as a Wandmaker’s Apprentice, pending formal acceptance from Hogwarts Board for the year commencing 1964.

Sep. 1st, 1964: start of Dorcas Meadowes’ fourth year and first as Ollivander’s apprentice.

Oct. 9th, 1964: Dorcas Meadowes’ eighteenth birthday.

Jul. 21st, 1965: completion of Dorcas Meadowes’ fourth year and first as Ollivander’s apprentice.

Sep. 1st, 1965: start of Dorcas Meadowes’ fifth year and second as Ollivander’s apprentice.

Oct. 9th, 1965: Dorcas Meadowes’ nineteenth birthday.

Nov. 5th, 1966: Dorcas accidentally blows her own eyebrows off.

Nov. 8th, 1966: Dorcas first meets a Unicorn and collects some wand cores for the first time (and is #smitten).

Jul. 21st, 1966: completion of Dorcas Meadowes’ fifth year and second as Ollivander’s apprentice.

Sep. 1st, 1966: start of Dorcas Meadowes’ sixth year and third as Ollivander’s apprentice.

Oct. 9th, 1966: Dorcas Meadowes’ twentieth birthday.

Jan. 31st, 1967: Dorcas travels to Romania with Ollivander.

Feb. 18th, 1967: Dorcas collects Dragon Heartstrings for use in Ollivander’s wands.

Apr. 19th, 1967: Dorcas witnesses wand wood collection for the first time.

Jun. 6th, 1967: Dorcas returns to Hogwarts.

Jul. 21st, 1967: completion of Dorcas Meadowes’ sixth year and third as Ollivander’s apprentice.

Sep. 1st, 1967: start of Dorcas Meadowes’ seventh year and fourth as Ollivander’s apprentice.

Oct. 9th, 1967: Dorcas Meadowes’ twenty first birthday.

Dec. 2nd, 1967: Dorcas meets other wandmakers from across Europe and the Americas.

Jul. 21st, 1968: graduation of Dorcas Meadowes with the class of 1968.

Oct. 9th, 1968: Dorcas Meadowes’ twenty second birthday.

Oct. 11th, 1968: formal induction into the beginnings of the Order of the Phoenix.

Feb. 1st, 1969: Dorcas begins a temp (six mo.) position working with an Eastern European wandmaker, at the urging of Albus Dumbledore.

Jul. 22nd, 1969: Ollivander offers Dorcas a full time position.

Aug. 9th, 1969: formal acceptance of full time position at Ollivander’s wandshop.

Aug. 14th, 1969: first full official day as a Wandmaker employed by Ollivander, even if her title still says apprentice.

Oct. 9th, 1969: Dorcas Meadowes’ twenty third birthday.

Oct. 9th, 1970: Dorcas Meadowes’ twenty fourth birthday.

Jan. 1st, 1971: first wand made by Dorcas Meadowes.

Oct. 9th, 1971: Dorcas Meadowes’ twenty fifth birthday.

Aug. 27th, 1972: first wand made by Dorcas Meadowes sells.

Oct. 9th, 1972: Dorcas Meadowes’ twenty sixth birthday.

Oct. 9th, 1973: Dorcas Meadowes’ twenty seventh birthday.

Feb. 26th, 1974: Order of the Phoenix mission (aka errand running for Dumbledore) causing numerous injuries which leaves her hospitalised for three months in recovery.

Aug. 8th, 1974: Dorcas is benched from field missions for the Order of the Phoenix.

Oct. 9th, 1974: Dorcas Meadowes’ twenty eighth birthday.

Jan. 9th, 1975: murder of Rivka Daniels (under definitely suspicious circumstances); Death Eaters involvement is confirmed by ongoing Auror investigation following Dark Mark burned onto every surface of the Daniels home.

Jan. 10th, 1975: Dumbledore waives the bench placed on Dorcas, allowing her back into field duty.

Oct. 9th, 1975: Dorcas Meadowes’ twenty ninth birthday.

Oct. 9th, 1976: Dorcas Meadowes’ thirtieth birthday.

November 18th, 1976: Dorcas arranges a Portkey for her muggle step-father, adoptive brother (13) & sister (14) and travels with them to New Zealand before Apparating home & having a friend Obliviate the Portkey provider.

Oct. 9th, 1977: Dorcas Meadowes’ thirty first birthday.

Oct. 9th, 1978: Dorcas Meadowes’ thirty second birthday.

Oct. 9th, 1979: Dorcas Meadowes’ thirty third birthday.

A LIL’ EXPANSION.

Dorcas Chaviva Meadowes was born to doting Afro-British Ashkenazi Jewish parents, Simon and Rivka Meadowes. For the first few years of her life, things were almost picturesque. They lived in a sheltered, Jewish community where the colours of their skin meant nothing, only the observation of the faith that had been driven out by the events of the Holocaust, from which all their families were still reeling. Simon, who had struggled with the generational trauma far more than Rivka had and had struggled through life with an abusive father ( ever changed by the realities of war, and watching his family members die ), moved the family after four years of living there. Then, everything changed. Rivka refused to stop what she’d always known: her pride in her families rich history of Judaism struck a chord in Simon that they both never wanted to be struck. He changed, almost overnight, beating on her almost relentlessly until he broke her arm in a fight over whether or not Dorcas would stay with her Luhrer grandfather for a night. That was when she kicked Simon out. It wasn’t the Jewish way, but, it was the best way for her to protect her daughter from the pain of an abusive father. Rivka’s love for her daughter, who had no sense of self preservation, and was the scrappiest fighter.

Dorcas Meadowes dealt with her generational trauma in a way nobody suspected: staying true to some aspects of the Jewish faith, but also completely abandoning some ideals ( they’d always assumed she’d run from her blood, run, run, run, like her father had. ) She fought, relentlessly, climbed her way out of her own interpretation of hell, and ended up earning a letter to a magical school. This, was the only thing she laughed herself silly at. She wasn’t afraid of death. Wasn’t afraid of the Holocaust repeating itself ( although, in hindsight, she feels that it’s already begun, just for the eradication of her people, her fellow mudbloods ). She wasn’t afraid of much of anything, but the idea that this was a hoax? That the only thing she felt made her special, made her feel as if she could rise above all the xenophobes and racists and Holocaust deniers, was a hoax? It terrified the living daylights out of her, and her cynicism developed as almost a smokescreen, an emotional failsafe, a protective barrier between her and the rest of the world. When she found out it was real, she was overjoyed, in her own way. She leapt from strength to strength at Hogwarts, finding herself distancing her inner most thoughts from the world at the reality that the Wizarding world was just as corrupt as the muggle one, at the reality that people hated those with muggle blood in their veins for just being so.

Her going from strength to strength meant that all eyes were on her. From her first year to her last, people watched her incredibly closely. It wasn’t just because of how smart she was, how much ambition she had, how she clawed her way through Hogwarts, unrelenting, unforgiving, it was also because she’s a muggleborn. A piece of filth in Voldemort’s regards. Once she graduated with her NEWTs scores as high as possible, she joined Ollivander in his workshop. It’s a place she feels more at home in than she ever did Hogwarts. It’s the place where she found out her mother had been murdered. That her family was broken, forever. Now? She has no mother. Her father died years ago. Her step-father and her adopted siblings were sent far away from England, to New Zealand. Three years on and she’s still struggling with it, although she’d never admit that to anyone.

CHARACTER INSPIRATION.  Rosa Diaz ( Brooklyn Nine-Nine, ala always having a weapon on hand and the bisexual Vibez ), Jessica Jones ( Jessica Jones / The Defenders, ala drinking vodka from coffee cups and not giving a single fuck ), Frank Castle ( The Punisher, ala fighting for what they want to fight for and probably having dopeass symbols ), Johanna Mason ( The Hunger Games, ala the fucking constant, deep, burning rage and yes, she would strip in front of anyone, sdgaf ), Derek Morgan ( Criminal Minds, ala the Trust Issues and being good with their hands ), Alexander Hamilton ( Hamilton, ala the fucking relentless nature ), Ziva David ( NCIS, ala badass bitch ), Nick Torres ( NCIS, ala being very uncomfortable showing emotion ), Cristina Yang ( Grey’s Anatomy, ala the sarcastic bitch, I chose my person and the rest of you on this fuckin’ mudball don’t mean shit ), Toby Ziegler ( The West Wing, ala the ‘you’re too sad, Toby.’ scene and literally the most cynical ass on that way, way too optimistic show ), Any Shadowhunter, there’s probably More but I literally can’t remember a thing.

RANDOM FACKS.

“Damn, you got no chill!” “Fuckin' right I'm relentless.” is probably the best way to describe anyone @ dorcas and her response.

one of the best duellists of the age, in all probability ( which explains her probable kicking of everyone’s asses during practices @ the duelling club ). 

definitely still dealing with the generational trauma that comes from being biologically  jewish ( ashkenazi jewish ) and having grandparents who survived the holocaust because they were smuggled out by a non-jewish neighbour.

would actually fight anyone. would also fuck anyone, but, yk, that has lead to some Problematic situations she’s had to drag herself out of.

nobody actually knows about her families whereabouts ? the only one that probably does is dumbledore himself & anyone who finds out is sworn to secrecy & she would definitely resort to the unbreakable vow to stop anyone telling voldemort or accidentally spilling it

and actually Is the definition of slytherin ? she’s INCREDIBLY ambitious & ruthless but she’s also hella f*ckin’ smart & has brains for DAYS.

thinks the gov’t is shit & believes that the era of the ministry is going to come to an end at some point b/c if it doesn’t, the death eaters will have free reign & she’s prepared to be That Anarchist, if it comes down to it.

actually does have a death wish, in all probability.

do not move coffee if she is near it. this is no joke. she could & would threaten you & then follow through.

actually only really afraid of irrelevancy???? dorcas is. ambitious. and she wants more than anything to be remembered. which is funny, considering she never is. her name is simply a footnote. 

likes droobles. hates basically most other forms of sweets. sugar quills are too sweet, those weird cockroach chocolate things are NOT her thing, licorice is the worst thing Ever Patented.

hates orange juice. seriously. 

was seeker on the slytherin quidditch team for several years. loves flying. doesn’t ever let herself do it for enjoyment anymore.

tired honestly.

misses her sister and brother a lot but won’t talk abt it.

would kill to sleep but also will not sleep.

smiles a lot but its nearly always either sarcastic or a defence mechanism so no one actually knows what shes thinking, lmao.

f*ck voldemort, yo.

probs alastor moody’s best friend at this point lmaoooooo. trust issue bffs. fskdfnksd.

gonna end up experiencing a lot! of Pain in the future! and has experienced a lot of Pain already!

listen if you’re her friend her answer to any problem that you have with anybody has literally been responded to with simply “stab them.” she swears by it.

will bite u. has bitten ppl before. did honestly get a detention for doing exactly that in her first year. they shouldn’t have put their hand near her after calling her a mudblood!!!!

if you need someone to get something done, dorcas is your girl. but don’t expect any hugs or smiles or condolences when things go wrong. she’s blunt and no nonsense and definitely trained herself out of any form of compassion after being locked in with the purists under the fucking lake for seven years. #fuckudumbles 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.  

friends! people who Knew her in school! and were not slytherins! bc i know dorcas made a lot of enemies out of the ppl in her own house (not only bc she just existed but also bc she did get into a lot of trouble, lost them house points, got detentions constantly, but stayed at the top of the class and was actually friends with slughorn.

a healer???? mediwitches???? someone who Knew her when she was stuck in a mf bed for three months recovering after dumbledore sent her to fuckin albania and she nearly died thanks to fuckin giants. (also @ hagrid she luvs u. this is not @ u.)

ex boyfriends. ex girlfriends! she used to be someone who could love fairly openly. but she would never, ever let someone in now, unless they’d already found their way in years before (ala unrequited to requited friends to lovers shit or even enemies to friends to enemies to lovers idfk i make no sense).

dedalus diggle. for the fuckin hilarity that is dorcas, ultra competent badass lady, recruitin the biggest dumbass this side of the atlantic. (ok but seriously him turning into her psuedo little brother after she swore she would never get attached again.... yes.)

ppl she should not have had sex with but Definitely Did. either theyre actually marked death eaters or people who literally made her want to burn hogwarts to the ground when they were at school together, idfk.)

ppl she’s hospitalised before. PPL SHE’S STABBED BEFORE BECAUSE DORCAS DEFINITELY HAS A LIST OF PEOPLE SHE HAS AND HASN’T RANKED BY WHO DESERVED IT THE MOST DKJF this is also why dumbledore actually benched her lmao.

friends that she would fight to the Death for. she’s not a hufflepuff or a gryffindor but she sure is loyal. ones that she now considers to be family, even if she can’t Express it with words or ever truly say how much she cares (bc that makes you vulnerable. and vulnerability now is only going to get people killed). would love to also have one of these ppl be who finds dorcas’ dead body lol

basically anything okay i suck at these

#muddywaters.intro #🔪 █ ▌ ❰ ❛ 𝒊. ┊ INNER. ❱ #🔪 █ ▌ ❰ ❛ 𝒊. ┊ HEADCANON. ❱ #🔪 █ ▌ ❰ ❛ 𝒊. ┊ STUDY. ❱ #holocaust mention tw #death tw #murder tw

[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 33 Pt 2

He kissed her and led her into the kitchen again where his mother stood chatting with Eija. He grabbed her a cool bottle of water, gently caged her into the corner of the counter so she had the headspace she needed and made sure she’d had half before taking her to meet his mother.

“Just breathe.” He murmured.

My was not what she was expecting. She was wicked sharp and had a commanding presence much like Gustaf, that same power radiating off her, but the underlying love that surrounded her had Sildie’s heart lodge in her throat. She had the sudden need for the love of her own mother, that sharp pang of grief stabbed her in the stomach, it had been years since she felt that for her mother. Slamming the emotion down hard she accepted the hug from My and the scrutiny she no doubt would face in a moment. Mother’s and their sons, that was a bond you didn’t fuck with.

Eija was a different matter. She was cordial but she bristled as she introduced her boyfriend. With the past history of Ana hanging over this family Sildie wasn’t surprised. She noticed the glare Gustaf gave her and Sildie squeezed his hand to say it’s ok, she understood why Eija suddenly excused herself.

“I apologize for my daughter.” My said gently as she made some tea and handed it to Sildie.

“No need. Gustaf’s explained, I completely understand. I think I’d react much the same way if the shoe was on the other foot.” She wouldn’t not crumble, she would not blubber in front of his mother.

“I also need to apologize for Sam and myself, we did not realize.” Sildie waved off her apology, determined not to start crying again.

“It’s fine, it was just a shock, I didn’t realize until Sam turned around. I’m hopeless with names but I never forget a face.” She smiled. “I hope I didn’t freak him out too much.”

“He was more worried for you.” My’s concern threatened to overwhelm her. “And and upset after the shreds his brother ripped off him.” She quipped, glaring at Gustaf.

“I’ll talk to him.” Gustaf said steadily.

“Yes you will.”

Sildie couldn’t contain the smile at My’s no tolerance for bullshit tone.

“I get why you got stuck into him, but you need to apologize.” She said with absolutely no room for misinterpretation.

“I will. I feel like crap for it.” He admitted.

“And I believe I’ve already met this adorable little lady?” She said changing the subject, satisfied her boys would work it out. Lily reached out a hand for My but stayed glued to Gustaf.

“This is Lily.” Sildie said gently.

“Hello Lily.” My chuckled as Lily took a hold of My’s finger and smiled shyly at her still snuggled to her dad dad. “She looks just like her mother.” My said wistfully. “Like you Sildie I never forget a face.” Her voice shook.

And I bet they haunt you, Sildie thought, especially the ones you lost, the ones you couldn’t save. The tear slipped free without permission and she swiped it away quickly. She had to get herself together.

Without a word My pulled her in for a hug. “My sweet girl.” She murmured. “My sweet brave girl. It’s been a long hard road for you hasn’t it.” It wasn’t a question, it was as if My was reading her every emotion. “You can rest easy now though. My boy will take good care of you, all my boys actually.” My smiled and Sildie chuckled remembering what Bill had done for her and the kids already. “Eija will too eventually, she just needs a little time. From what Gustaf’s told me you two are a lot alike.”

“I’ll make it right with her.” Sildie quietly promised.

“It’s not you that has to make it right, or Gustaf.” My said gently.

“No, but I can try. I didn’t let Ana get between us.” She said pointing to Gustaf and herself. “I’m sure as shit not going to let her get between Gustaf and Eija anymore than she already has. They’ve both suffered enough.” Sildie said honestly. She felt Gustaf hand at her hip, the tender kiss to her temple. “If I can fix it, I will.”

“You keep this one.” My said bluntly to Gustaf. “You hold onto her nice and tight.” Sildie could hear the emotion in My’s voice.

“I have no intention of letting her go, ever.” He murmured, the soft kiss to Sildie’s forehead warming her.

“Same goes.” Sildie smiled. “I only stay for the free bacon.” My’s laugh made Sildie grin.

“So much like Eija.” My smiled.

“Oh the horror.” He gasped and My couldn’t help but chuckle. “Is Alex coming back this year?” Gustaf asked, looking around for him. He wanted to get the last of the introductions done so he could relax and hopefully get Sildie to.

“He’ll be back tonight for dinner. His flight was delayed.” My said watching Lily. She clapped her hands and held them out to test the waters and see if the child would come to her, it surprised Sildie that Lily lunged for her. “That’s right you come to grandma.” She murmured and kissed Lily’s head as she wrapped her arm across My’s chest, she’d found a new snuggle buddy.

Grandma, Sildie thought, the kids had grand parents. Grand parents that cared for them not just the trust funds they’d inherited. Gustaf had given them an extended family and it choked her up, her emotions were still too close to the surface to contain them. “God I’m so sorry.” She laughed as tears fell again. “It’s an emotional day.”

“It’s allowed to be.” My said gently. “And understandable. There’s no judgement here Sildie, just a loving family ready to help in any way we can.”

She nodded and swiped the tears away.

“Now, why don’t you two go get some food and relax a little.” My said cuddling Lily and kissing her hair.

Gustaf tugged her hand and Sildie was a little reluctant to leave Lily.

“Go on, Lily will be fine with me.” My chuckled.

“Her stroller’s by the door.” Gustaf kissed her on the cheek and the matriarch smiled. “Thank you.” He added just so she could hear.

“You’re sure My?” Sildie asked pulling her hand away from Gustaf to wring them in front of her.

“More than sure.” She pulled Sildie in for a one armed hug. “We’re all so happy you’re here.” She said softly. “Thank you for bringing my son back to me.” She murmured. “We never thought we’d get him back after what Ana did.” My kissed her cheek. “Thank you.” Sildie choked up. She hadn’t expected that from his mother, from any of them.

“Mum mum mum. Sooch.” Lily squealed and My laughed at the child in her arms. Sildie kissed Lily’s neck until she giggled.

“She loves her smooches.” Gustaf chuckle.

“Go eat you two. I’ll find you if Lily needs something.” My said gently. “Welcome to the family Sildie.” My said softly and walked away with Lily happily chattering in her arms.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close the scent of her what he needed to calm himself. “You ok?” He asked, kissing her head and burying his fingers in her hair at the nape of her neck, the gentle strokes soothing them both.

“I will be. I just wasn’t expecting...” She looked at him. “I wasn’t expecting, family. That makes no sense.” She huffed at herself, her emotions were screwing with her ability to form coherent thoughts.

“It makes perfect sense to me love. The six of us are a family, but this, this is a family that’s far bigger than you expected.”

“Yes, exactly. I’m glad someone’s brain is functioning.” She scoffed.

“Come on, let’s eat. I know you’re not hungry but you need food.” He said gently. He’d see she was taken care of.

It was a rollercoaster and all she could do was hang on for dear life as her emotions went from one extreme to the other.

She found Sam and decided she needed to apologize for her outburst earlier, it wasn’t his fault. “I’ll be right back.” She said to Gustaf and he held onto her a little longer when he saw where her eyes had landed.

“I’ll come with you.” He said gently.

“No, please, let me talk to him.” She rested a hand on his chest. “I need to do this for my own closure. Your brother was a stabilizing force for me back then, he helped me through a lot, not just the medical side of it. He cared and I need to fix this. There’s a lot I haven’t told you and probably won’t, but when I had no one at the hospital except three terrified children, he was someone I could talk to and he helped me get back on my feet. I owe him.”

“I’ll be right here ok?” He kissed her, didn’t care if his entire family was watching, he kissed her with all the love he had.

“Ok.” She breathed out, her brain delightfully fuzzy.

“Eat something.” He said gently.

“I will.” She kissed him and walked over to where Sam was sitting.

“I owe you an apology.” She said quietly as she took a seat next to him.

“You owe me nothing Sildie.” He had the same gentle tone as Gustaf.

“Well I beg to differ on that.” She chuckled. “Hear me out?” She asked nervously, he nodded and gave her the silence she needed to collet her thoughts. “Seeing you slammed everything in my face, rammed it so far down my throat I couldn’t breathe, literally. Panic attacks are a thing for me now apparently.” She said wryly. “I’m sorry I freaked out, sorry that my system freaked out. I wasn’t prepared to ever see you, or your mother, again after Dana and Quinn passed. Once I’d walked out of that hospital I had no intention of walking back in or making contact with anyone there, the memories as you can imagine are too painful.” She took a breath to steady herself, the anxiety bubbling up again. “You made a difference in our lives, a steady light in a very dark and unforgiving time. Without that I don’t know if I’d have made it through.” Her voice quiet and unsteady, Sam looked at her.

“You’d have made it.” Sam said honestly. “You’re a strong woman Sildie, you’d have made it.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Maybe not as well as I did, maybe not at all. I’m sorry I didn’t keep in contact. I know you offered but it was all too raw. It still is.” She looked at him and smiled.

“I understand.” Sam’s voice was barely there.

“But to move past it I need to face it. I don’t want this coming between you and Gustaf. Manifesting into something bigger that freaks me out every time I see you or your mum. I guess I’m just asking for a little time. I can’t change what happened or how we initially met, the circumstances, that let’s face it, were a fucking shitstorm.” She huffed a chuckle and saw the nod and slight smile on Sams face. He remembered. “I can’t change that, but I can change how it affects me from here on out. I guess need time to process, time to associate you and your mum with happier times, good memories, like today.” She took his hand in hers. “I have to start somewhere right?”

“It’s a good place start.” He squeezed her hand and she breathed out the rest of the tension.

“I’m always here if you want or need to talk about it. I’m not a shrink but I was there.” He said softly, his gigantic hand dwarfing hers as he squeezed it again.

“I’d prefer talking to you more than a shrink.” She scoffed and picked at her food now the knot in her belly had loosened. Gustaf would be mad if she didn’t eat and she couldn’t handle that as well as everything else today.

“Anytime, my door’s always open. Maybe we can hang out and talk over tea, or go for a walk?” She nodded and smiled that he remembered she liked tea over coffee.

“I’d like that and I’m sorry for what Gustaf ripped into you about.” She said quietly. “He’d gone to such lengths to make sure I wasn’t overwhelmed. He wanted today to be perfect.” She huffed a chuckle. “Yet things went to shit anyway. I feel like I’ve let him down.”

“He loves you Sildie. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you or the kids.” He said quietly. “You haven’t let him down, you’re still here, talking to me, you didn’t leave. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.” He sipped his drink and sat his empty plate on the floor between his feet. “You know, I’ve never seen him so grounded, genuinely happy, at ease. You’re good for him too. You’ve given him his life back, his self worth.”

“Were still working through our own shit but we have each other. He’s not the only one that’s been given a second chance.” She smiled, it was the truth. Gustaf had given her more than just friendship, he’d given her hope. “And I’m so gone over him it’s ridiculous.” She snorted and Sam laughed.

“I know the feeling.” His voice wistful as he looked at his long time girlfriend and their baby.

It was like they’d never stopped talking to each other, they just picked up where they left off, but this time with a little less medical emergency mayhem thrown in for good measure. She met Sam’s girlfriend and their baby and excused herself to check on the boys. She needed to step away from it for a moment.

She found Finn and his brothers hanging out in the games room with Valter, Bill, and Eija, along with countless other relations that she either hadn’t met or couldn’t remember their names. Finn was indeed wiping the floor with Valter and Bill. Seeing that everyone else was having a good time and relaxed she relaxed a little too, until she saw Eija leave the room when she’d stayed. “Ok.” She sighed quietly, she had to deal with this and it may as well be now along with all the other dirty laundry of the day.

“Eija? Can we talk for a second?” Sildie asked hoping she would at least give her a chance to have her say.

“Sure.” The tone was friendly the smile was guarded.

“Please just hear me out before you answer?” Sildie said as they tucked themselves into a corner for some measure of privacy.

“Ok.” Eija folded her arms. Defensive, well Sildie was an attorney, she knew her way around defensive people and she couldn’t blame the woman for being slightly stand-off ish.

“I’m a pretty blunt person.” She said gently. “So I’m going to come out and say what’s on my mind and talk about the elephant in the room.” She took a breath and lawyered up. “I’ll say what I’ve said to Gustaf quite a few times, I’m not Ana.” She saw Eija flinch and kept her tone gentle and even, Eija wasn’t in the wrong here, just hurting. “He’s told me everything that woman did to him, to you, to this family. I’ve watched your brother carve that bitch out of his soul because he wants to be a better person, he wants to be free of her, because he doesn’t want to be the man she tried to turn him into.” Those words registered and Eija dropped her arms to wring her hands in front of her. “I know what she did to you and I can’t even begin to understand what that’s like, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what she destroyed, between you and Gustaf, between you and your boyfriend.”

“Well he was an asshole so...”

“Even so, I’m sorry for it.” She looked at Eija and she glared right back. “From what Gustaf’s told me this guy you’re with seems like a really good guy and I’m happy for you. I just wanted you to know that I love your brother, my kids love your brother. I don’t want anyone else Eija, I just want Gustaf.” She let those words sink in.

Eija studied Sildie and nodded. “You’re good for him you know?” She said smiling slightly. “He’s happier, more settled. That bitch did a real number on him.”

“And on you and Alexander.” Sildie added. “The miscarriage.”

“So he did tell you everything.” Eija sighed and flushed. Embarrassed Sildie thought.

“Yeah he did. We’ve been helping each other. My grief and the kids, his shit with Ana. I’ve never wanted to hunt someone down and do murdery things to them before so much in my life.” She said with a huff and realized she wanted to do it all over again after what transpired at the party the other night. Eija smiled and cracked a laugh.

“I fucking thought about it.” Eija mumbled. “No one fucks with my brothers unless it’s me.”

“Well I know a few good lawyers if you get into trouble.” She mumbled on the down low. “And I’ll claim deniable plausibility if mentioned outside this conversation.” She added with a smirk.

“My brother’s a good man, she made him believe different.” Eija was loosening up, Sildie was very different and they seemed to think along the same lines. Blunt and to the point helped, Eija hated wishy washy false people.

“He is, I try and remind him of that on a daily basis.” She watched Gustaf walk towards them and smiled. “A good man with so much love locked away.”

Eija saw it then as she watched Sildie. “You’re gone over him aren’t you?”

“You have no idea.” Sildie blushed from head to foot. That look, she thought, one that spoke of lust and desire.

“I can tell by how you look at him. You can fake that.” Eija relaxed, her guard crumbling. There was no way Sildie had eyes for anyone but her brother.

“No you can’t.” Sildie breathed. Her man, tall and lanky, his strides eating up the floor as he stalked to her, ever the predator with his favorite prey.

“Is my little sister giving you a hard time?” Gustaf asked snaking an arm around her and planting a kiss on her temple.

“No were just talking, about you actually, so please go away.” Sildie giggled and kissed him as he smirked.

“You telling her all my dark secrets?” He grinned at Eija.

“No, not yet, but if you don’t fuck off I’ll tell her all about that night in the woods when you...” She quipped.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He warned cutting her off and blushing scarlet, and Eija grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “Alex is here by the way and I believe you owe him one?”

“Oh that little bitch is going down.” Eija grinned wickedly. Sildie wasn’t sure what was going on but it sounded like the pranks had started, Gustaf had warned her. She was slightly taken back when Eija hugged her. “Thanks.” She said quickly. “For giving me my brother back.” Her smile was genuine, like all her defenses had suddenly tumbled down. She turned to Gustaf and kissed him sweetly before she left to hunt Alex down.

“What was that all about?” Gustaf asked slightly puzzled and kissed Sildie.

“We talked.”

“Well no shit.” He said flatly and she chuckled.

“Cleared the air.”

“About?” He kissed her temple just content to hold her, ground himself as well as Sildie.

“Ana.” She mumbled, not really wanting to utter that name in this house ever again.

“Ah, yeah that would do it.” He shrugged seeing her point.

“She caused a lot of damage.” Sildie stroked a finger down his jaw.

“She did.” His fingers tangled in her hair and he rested his forehead against hers.

“You ok?” Her brow creased sensing a mix of anxiety and irritation.

“Yeah, I just want you meet Alex and then sit with you in my lap until we have to go home.” He grinned.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“The boys are fed and watered. Even Finn ate something, I think he’s warming up to Valter.” He looked puzzled at Sildie’s laugh. “What?”

“Fed and watered, you make them sound like cattle.” She snorted.

“Well they sort of are.” He scoffed.

“Did you talk to Sam?” She asked gently. It was between him and his brother but she didn’t want this lingering.

“I did.” He kissed her sweetly. “And you don’t ever have to apologize for me love, especially to my brothers, or for feeling the grief you feel.”

“It’s your brother and your mum, I have to work on it to make it right.” She said quietly. “I want to, for you, for me, for the kids. They have uncles and and aunt and grandparents that care.” She choked. “You gave them something I could never give them.” She let the tears fall and breathed through it. She wouldn’t meltdown in the middle of everyone.

“You’re ok, love.” He soothed, his thumbs wiping the tears away. “You’re ok.” He kissed her sweetly. “They’re all jumping at the opportunity to be all of that and more for you and the kids when you’re ready.”

“There’s so much love here, it’s overwhelming.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “God damn it, my emotions are a fucking train wreck.” She scoffed.

“We’re family love. We bitch and fight just like any other but at the heart of it we’re all here for one another. We all help out and pitch in where needed. Like Bill and Valter are over tomorrow to help move us in together.”

“Oh.” She looked at him stunned.

“It’ll get done quicker with my brothers hanging with the kids so you and I can do the rest of the apartment and sort out what we want to keep. There’s a bunch of things in my apartment we may not want together too.�� His smile was the one he only kept for her. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He held her until she could wrestle her emotions under control again. Calmer they were halfway over to meet Alex when My handed a fussy Lily back to Sildie and the child snuggled in. She was relieved to have the child as a buffer. Alex looked tired she thought, and after flying in from New York she wasn’t surprised.

“This must be Sildie. Pleasure to finally meet you. This guy hasn’t shut up about you.” He ribbed at his younger brother as he shook her hand.

“It’s great to finally meet everyone.” She said honestly.

“And who’s this monkey?” He asked looking at Lily who was almost asleep, clinging to her mum mum.

“This is Lily. The boys are back with Bill and...” Sildie laughed as the cream hit Alex in the face and Eija snorted a giggle before hysterical laughter ensued.

“Ok, well...” Alex chuckled. “It was great to meet you Sildie, welcome to this crazy ass family, now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go beat the snot out of my baby sister.” In a blink of an eye Alex was gone and all she could hear was a shriek from Eija before chaos reigned.

“Every year.” Gustaf grinned and chuckled as Sildie looked at him confused. “This has been going on since Eija was five. At Christmas when the Valter and Eija were little Alex would come home tired and grumpy from a flight and Eija thought it would be funny one year to push his buttons. It used to be a different prank every year and sometimes she changes it up, but it’s usually a pie in the face.” He explained as he walked them to a quieter corner so they could sit down. “He knows it’s coming, he just doesn’t know when. I think you were used as a distraction.”

“Oh god.” Her shock making Gustaf grin.

“It’s fine.” He laughed. “It’s all in fun, besides you were used unwillingly. Or were you?’ He looked at her slyly. “You been cooking up pranks with my sister?” He joked.

“No, I had no idea.” Sildie’s laugh settled him, she was relaxing.

Lily fussed and pushed Gustaf away when he went to take her before sitting down.

“I guess mum mums it tonight.” He chuckled and pulled Sildie into his lap.

“I guess so.”

They sat and talked to everyone and anyone that drifted by. The rest of the afternoon and evening a time for family, for conversation, movies, food, for love. She watched the room and saw a family that loved one another, togetherness, and now her and the kids were a part of all of it.

He felt her go lax in his arms and kissed her temple before curling her and Lily into him. She was emotionally exhausted and he smiled at the fact she’d felt comfortable enough to pass out. “My two best girls.” He murmured to himself as he kissed her head.

“It’s good to see you so happy.” Stellan said quietly as he sat beside Gustaf.

“I never thought I would be after Ana.” His honesty made his father smile.

“We didn’t either. She nearly destroyed you.” Stellan said bluntly.

“No nearly about it dad. She did.” His tone quiet. “I was almost in a bottle again because of her.”

Stellan studied his son. “But you were stronger, you fought.”

“Because of this.” He said pointing to his two girls snuggled into him, asleep, at peace. “I relapse I lose this. She gave me a reason to stay sober, to stay clean. I want to do it for me too, but I have a lot more to lose now.” Like four kids that call him dad.

“I’m proud of you.” Stellan cupped him around the neck and kissed his sons head. “So fucking proud.”

They talked about the boys, their likes and dislikes, his father wanting to know more about the four grand children he’d suddenly inherited. He talked about how the kids had decided to call him dad, explained his concerns, how it made him feel.

“They need to fill their hearts with something, someone, they need the connection.” Stellan said with a slight smile. His second born was not easy to rattle and four kids had done exactly that, to his bones. “Do you hate the idea?”

“No, it’s not that, I just don’t know if I can be that for them.” Gustaf was a little hesitant talking about this, but he needed a sounding board to work through it.

“Aren’t you already?” Stellan shrugged.

“Yes but...”

“No buts. Kid logic, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck. You look like a dad, are like a dad, therefore you are a dad.” He said gently. “Give it time, I’m sure it’s not an easy transition for them either even though they’re the ones that made the decision.”

“I feel like I’m betraying their father, like I’ve crossed a line.” And he did, he felt like he was betraying their memory of Quinn.

Now we get to it Stellan thought.

“Gustaf you haven’t. If you’d forced it maybe, but from what you’ve told me, Quinn and Dana are talked about, still part of their lives, and still will be even though they call you dad. The harsh reality is their father is gone. You’ve given them someone they can depend on, lean on. It’s their way of showing you and those around them that you matter as much to them as their father did. For kids to choose you as a father is a huge deal for them, they’re healing, they’re moving forward, and thats important too.”

Gustaf glanced over to where the twins sat curled up almost asleep, Brendan laughing with Valter, his two best girls in his arms.

“Give it time.” His father said softly and squeezed his shoulder as he stood as his younger sons were calling for him. “Come up for coffee later if you need to.” He said gently, knowing Gustaf would need time to think it all over, to process it.

She felt his lips at her cheek and a soft chuckle. “Wake up sleepy head.”

“Oh crap I’m so sorry.” She mumbled, dragging herself from sleep.

“It’s ok. I think it’s time to get you all home. It’s nearly bewitching time for the boys and Lily is out cold.” He chuckled at the drooling toddler in her arms.

“Yeah she’s out, she’s deadweight.” Sildie said quietly. “I might just carry her home and then put her straight to bed.”

Gustaf collected the boys while Sildie tucked Lily’s coat around her. They said their goodbyes and headed home. They would see Bill and Valter tomorrow to help them move and My had said Sildie and the kids could drop past anytime. It was handy that the Skarsgard family home was across the road from Gustaf’s, no not Gustaf’s, she thought, home, their home. Home to their bed.

The kids passed out without fuss, too worn out from the days activities to argue about more game time. They’d barely been awake enough for showers before sleeping in their new rooms.

He checked on the kids while she went to the bathroom for her nightly routine, it had been a long day, yet he was wired. The excitement of her moving in, the gift from the kids, seeing her and the kids with his family, his heart was full to bursting with love for that woman. He stood watching Lily sleep, in her room, in his apartment, in their home. His name may have been on the title, but it was their home now, something else he see to later. He had some of his own legal paperwork to take care of.

Tonight had gone well apart from the one upheaval, thank god the kids missed that one. “Small blessings.” He mumbled.

He felt her hands at his hips, those fingers slip under the hem of his shirt to graze his ribs. He held her hand over his heart and groaned softly as her nails scratched along the substantial bulge in his jeans. He pivoted and gently pinned her to the wall with his body, his gaze raking over her to find those beautiful lips painted an alluring shade of crimson.

His thumb and finger gripped her chin firmly, eyes searching hers before he kissed her, slowly, devouring every inch of her mouth. He pulled back just enough to see a different robe draped over those tantalizing curves. Taking her hand in his he led her to the bedroom silently. Closing the door he pressed her to it, his thigh sliding between her legs, pinned. He flicked the lock in place.

“That’s a pretty shade of red kitten.” He growled as his thumb brushed over her bottom lip before kissing it tenderly.

“I know that daddy likes it.” She purred. His cock twitched at the mention of his endearment.

“Yes he does.” He savaged that mouth, the need to taste her on his tongue. “What do you want kitten?” He breathed, lips ghosting hers.

“You.” She whispered.

With a hand cupped behind her neck he walked backward into the room not taking his eyes off those lips. It was then he saw the full length black lace robe, see through, erotic, beautiful.

“This is new.” He purred, fingers already wandering.

“Merry Christmas.” She smirked.

“Are you my Christmas present kitten?” He smiled slyly.

She nodded and bit her bottom lip, her eyes finding his from under her lashes. The look she gave him was nothing short of smoldering. He gripped her chin hard and sucked her bottom lip free, it was sinfully erotic how he devoured her mouth.

“Mine.” He growled. “All mine.”

He let her hands wander his chest, fingers arousing and lifting the fabric from his skin to rest above his heart, the need to feel him under her hands. Kissing her sweetly his fingers trailed over her breasts and pinched her nipples gently through the lace, that soft gasp as his lips ghosted hers.

“Close your eyes.” He instructed and kissed her when she complied. He stepped behind her and braided her hair. The soft kiss to her shoulder made her shiver. “Shall I set you free kitten?” He asked sincerely.

“Please.” It was a half sob half plea. She couldn’t hold it back, he could give her such freedom, where there was no anxiety, no grief, nothing but him and a deep peace she longed for.

“Easy kitten.” He purred and slipped his large palm over her core. “Breathe for me.” His tone soothed her, she was still on edge, needing a release, to cry to let the grief out before it overwhelmed her again.

“Such a good girl for me today.” He praised, kissing her other shoulder. “So strong for me. Breathe.” He kissed the nape of her neck tenderly as he felt her try and wrangle her breathing under control.

“Open your eyes.” He commanded gently. His fingers undid the belt at her waist, his gaze falling on hers in the reflection of the full length mirror. “So beautiful.” He caressed where skin bordered lace, traced the delicate scalloped edges of the robe along the length of her chest and torso until she was trembling. “Such beauty shouldn’t be hidden.” He said honestly as his fingers slipped under the lace at her shoulders and gently peeled the robe down her arms to let it pool at her feet.

“Watch.” He murmured, as his hands roamed her curves, each dip and valley so familiar to him now. Her gaze followed his hands, the arousal warming her, relaxing her. She needed gentle tonight. There was a time for their game and the rougher side of their dynamic but not tonight. She needed tender, she needed gentle, he could give her that too.

He stepped away to lay the robe over her chair, and came back to stand behind her. He knew she preferred the blindfold, forcing her body to feel what she couldn’t see.

“Is this what you need? He asked gently as he tied it over her eyes and kissed the nape of her neck. Her breathy yes melted him before he stepped away to strip.

She felt him stand in front of her. The warmth radiating from him, that familiar scent calming her. She gasped as his mouth closed over a nipple and sucked gently, first one, then the other, a slow, gentle tease, fingers delicately roaming her body. Hooking his finger under her chin he lead her to the bed until she was sitting along the edge of it.

“Hands on your feet, knees to your chest kitten.” He instructed, the gentle strokes of his fingers guiding her limbs where he wanted them. “Knees together.” He purred as the first strand of rope went around her back and under her knees to secure her thighs to her chest.

She focused on his fingers, their gentleness, the rope digging in, but a comfort more than pain. Losing herself to the calm intimacy she felt her emotional anxiety start to relinquish its hold on her, it was still so close to the surface she had to think about her breathing.

“Breathe kitten.” He murmured, his hands gentle on her back. Hearing her breath shudder out he touched her, calming strokes, giving her time.

Moving to sit at her feet he kissed his way down her legs, those gorgeous legs he slowed down to savor as he went. He bound her wrists to her ankles, her forearms running along the outside of her shins. Sitting still he watched her carefully, assessing her anxiety, her emotions, he never stopped touching her.

As he finished he kissed his way up her legs and hooked a finger under her chin to lift her head. “So beautiful.” He kissed her, tongue demanding entry, those pretty sounds falling from her.

“Lay on your side.” He brushed a finger down the side he wanted her to lay on and helped her down. “Too tight?” He asked seeing her wrestle against her wrist bindings more forcefully than she’d done before.

“No. The wrist underneath is a little funky.” She said, her breathing suddenly rapid. He could see it was freaking her out a little and he loosened it and repositioned the knot.

“Better?” He asked and kissed her wrist, his focus on her comfort, her anxiety. She nodded. “I need to hear it kitten.” He said sternly.

“Yes.” She squeaked. He kissed his way up her arm and leaned into kiss those ruby red lips. Her chest was heaving with the short sharp breaths.

“Breathe.” He ordered and saw the tone he’d used snapped her out of it. “Do we need to stop?” He asked and she shook her head, he gave it a minute not wanting to push for a verbal answer just yet. This might be too much in her current state of mind, he thought. “Nothing can touch you but me.” He said gently. “Just me kitten.” His fingers stroked over her body as his words soothed, lips kissing every arousal point exposed. “Let me set you free.” He murmured. “Let me give you what you need.” As those fingers wandered, her body relaxed and his touch went from calming to arousal. “Do we need to stop?” He asked again softly.

“No.” Her voice calmer than before.

“Deep breath.” He commanded softly and she did. He let her sit for a moment, breathing deeply, his low tone soothing, encouraging. He climbed off the bed to stand and leaned over pulling her body to the very edge of the mattress until her ass brushed his thighs. He let his fingers wander, the sensitive skin along the backs of her thighs now exposed in her current position, the sweep of her hip, the long slender arm. She gasped when his knuckle grazed her heat, already wet and wanting.

The new position aroused her, the thrill zipping up her spine at the thought of him taking her like this, it was different and erotic. Her breathing hitched as his lips kissed their way up her thigh, over her hip, and along her arm, the slow pace torturous. His hand dipped between the fold in her body to palm a breast, the swipe of his thumb over her nipple pulling a soft cry from her throat. He dropped to his knees and kissed her along her thighs, her pussy nestled ready for him to taste.

Kisses to the underside of her thigh drove her arousal into high gear as his hands roamed her legs. That clever mouth licking and sucking every inch of her, edging closer and closer to her heat. He could smell her arousal, the heady scent of her, his mouth watered. Threading his fingers in her hair he pulled her head back gently and feasted, tongue diving into taste her. That soft cry as he dipped his tongue inside her made his cock throb, the sweetness of her filling his senses.

She couldn’t move and his mouth was destroying her. Straining against her bindings she felt her climax surge forward, the unending pleasure he was inflicting too much for her system to try to control. The grip in her hair tightened as a hand squeezed her breasts pinching the nipple hard, his tongue relentless in it’s pursuit. Her cry was one of relief as her body shattered, the release she’d been searching for finally claiming her.

Releasing both breast and hair he massaged out the sting before standing and kissing his way up her body.

“So sweet for me kitten.” He growled as his mouth took hers. Was it wrong she found pleasure in tasting herself on his lips?

His hands trailed over her skin as he stood. Taking his cock in his hand he stroked it, the need to feel her around him strong. He circled his tip through her heat, her juices coating him. “So wet for me kitten.” He purred, his cock twitched in his hand as her entrance clenched around his tip, inviting, alluring.

She tried to arch as his thick length entered her, but she was going nowhere. Each glorious inch filling her as she strained against the silk cord, a delicious cry spilling from her scarlet lips. The new position and angle sent her brain scrambling to try and comprehend what level of bliss this was. His legs trembled as he buried himself inside her to his hilt.

“Fuck you’re so tight kitten.” He breathed, squashing the urge to fuck her hard. He moved inside her, the change in angle tantalizing for both of them and it wasn’t long before she crested.

“Please.” She whimpered. “Please.”

“Come for me kitten, let me watch my good girl come.” He kept his rhythm slow and deep, his hand gripping her hip as he thrust.

“Harder.” She cried.

“Soon.”

“Please.” Her whimper was almost tears but he stayed thrusting slow and deep.

“Let it take you kitten.” He growled.

She shattered at his words, her orgasm ripping through her. His grunt made her shiver as he tried to stay in control as her pussy gripped him like a velvet vice. He rode out her pleasure and pulled out. “Roll over.” He commanded. Lifting her legs he helped roll her to rest on her other side and slid back into her heat.

“Oh fuck.” She cried, the sensation of being suddenly filled peaking her climax, the slow, maddening rhythm teetering her on the edge.

“Mmm, so tight.” He purred, as he felt her body tense.

“Please.” She whimpered, her cry making his cock throb as she came again. Her body trembled as he continued to take her. Pulling out again he took her feet and rolled her to her back, placing her feet on his chest. He gripped her hips and pulled her so her hips were off the edge of the bed.

He thrust his hips gently and felt his cock slide the length of her labia, that softness making his head spin. “So beautiful.” He said gently. With two orgasms so close together she was panting, every movement straining her bindings. He made her wait, the tip of his cock resting at her entrance, the tremble of her body arousing them both beyond madness. With a snap of his hips he thrust hard, her scream beautiful. One day he’d record that sound, he vowed as he thrust slow and deep, his thick shaft filling her.

“Harder.” She begged. “Please harder.” The whimpered cry urging him on. She wanted to feel him and nothing else, to feel anything but the rollercoaster of emotions that had torn her apart today. “Daddy please.” She cried, tears soaking into the blindfold.

He heard it in her voice, the tears, the need to feel anything but the emotions he knew were swimming inside her. His hips pistoned, a hand securing her feet to his chest as he fucked her as she’d asked, hard and deep. “Do you feel me kitten?” He growled.

She pulled hard against the silk rope as she peaked, the material cutting into her skin, a comforting restriction. “Yes.” She gasped as his cock pounded into her, thick and long, stretching her, filling her so completely. “Harder.” She whimpered. He complied as her body went rigid, before her head arched back and she screamed.

Her orgasm tore through her, and another crested immediately as he took her for himself now. He gripped her hips and took her harder, his own release imminent.

“Daddy please.” She begged.

“Come for me kitten.” He said shakily as he bottomed out and groaned. “Come for daddy.” He growled and as she screamed in pleasure he came on the heels of her climax, hips flexing and thrusting until they were both spent.

He was already untying her hands and feet before her orgasm had ebbed, his cock still inside her, determined to get a head start before the tears came. And they would come.

“You’re ok kitten.” He said gently as he felt her body shake, could hear her breathing hard. He lowered her arms to the bed gently once they were released and pulled out of her. He was releasing her legs from her chest when the sobs started. Grabbing the scissors from the night stand he cut the rest knowing she needed out now. He bundled her into his arms and moved her into the bed, his body pressing her into the mattress, the covers pulled over both of them, safe, secure.

“You’re ok love.” He said softly as he untied the blind fold.

“I’m so sorry.” She cried, the tears streaking her cheeks, sobs tearing through her system.

“No, my lovely lady, you’re fine. I’ve got you, you’re fine. Let it all go.” He kissed her and her arms wrapped around him as she buried her face in his neck.

Breathing him in with a shuddered breath she let go of the day, all that grief and guilt, the stress. She cried, the sobs tearing from her along with a string of I’m sorry, the apology for the loving man holding her in his arms while she fell apart. Her hands stroked his chest, his face, the need to feel him, those tender kisses with each touch reassuring her he wasn’t going anywhere, she wasn’t alone.

“My Sildie.” He murmured, that tone soothing, a balm for her ragged soul. “My love. You’re so strong.”

He looked down at her and kissed her head, a silent plea to look at him. She didn’t comply right away, but he gave her time, the red rimmed eyes that looked back broke his heart. “I love you.” He said tenderly and kissed her, soft and warm.

Her hands cupped his face and she deepened it. “I love you too. God I’m so sorry. Fucking losing my shit.” She scoffed and sniffed.

“It’s ok.”

“Not on Christmas it’s not.” She huffed.

“Sildie look at me love.” She did and he smiled. “You’re here with me, in our bed, in our home. This is the one place you can lose your shit, without judgement, without apology.” He kissed her and went to roll off her but she stopped him.

“Stay. Please.” She begged, her hands gripping at him. He relaxed further using his weight to press her into the mattress.

“Better?” He asked kissing her head.

“Much. Thank you.” She mumbled as her face pressed against his chest. “I need you.” She said quietly and he knew what she meant. She needed him to stay, to be pressed against her, steady, solid, unwavering.

“I hurt you.” He said quietly as he lifted her wrist to inspect where the bindings had been, the scrape mark where the friction of the rope had burned her.

“No, I hurt me.” She said gently. “I pulled against them too hard.”

“You should have said something love.” He kissed one wrist, then the other. “Are your ankles sore too?”

“No, just the wrists.”

He kissed her, demanding and slightly irritated. “Next time tell me, please. I don’t like it when it hurts you like that.” His fingers tenderly brushed at her hair. “Do you want to talk about anything from tonight?” He asked, the slow kiss giving her time to think about it.

“Not really. It wasn’t all bad.” She gave him a slight smile.

“Well that’s something.” He grinned. “Thank you.” He kissed her sweetly. “For meeting them, I know it was rough, but it meant a lot to me, to my family.”

“I’d move the world for you too love. They’re your family and they’re important to you, so they’re important to me.”

“I’m so in love with you.” He breathed, kissing her long and slow. “But now, you need sleep. Moving day tomorrow.” He murmured and kissed her again. “You’re moving in with me.” He said against her lips and then devoured them.

“Yes I am.” She yawned.

He rolled off when she was comfortable for him to leave her so she could get up and use the bathroom and he checked on the kids, out cold. “I guess the soundproofing works.” He chuckled to himself, because her screams earlier would have no doubt woken them. He watched Lily sleep and smiled. They were here, in his apartment, tomorrow they’d be moved in for good. “My family.” He mumbled, the emotion filing his eyes. “My kids.” He let the breath whoosh out of him. “I’m their dad.”

She was curled up in the middle of their bed when he came back in with some water. “Drink something love.” He said and waited but there was no answer. He smiled and sat the glass beside her phone. Switching the lights off he curled her into him and felt her body go lax as his warmth and scent registered in her brain. “Sleep love.” He murmured and followed her into sleep moments later.

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea @fay-walden

#gustaf skarsgard #gustaf skarsgard fanfiction #shattered lives

[tabloidtoc]

People, April 19

Cover: Brad Paisley and Kimberly Williams-Paisley -- love, family and giving back

Page 3: Chatter -- Thandiwe Newton on using her birth name years after it was misspelled in her first acting credit, Barack Obama on daughter Malia and Sasha being embarrassed by him, Martha Stewart on the reaction to her viral pool selfie, Katherine Schwarzenegger Pratt on raising daughter Lyla with husband Chris Pratt, Jennifer Lopez teasing her favorite cookie recipe, Chris Hemsworth on bulking up for parts

Page 4: 5 Things We're Talking About -- Ariana Grande joins The Voice, Michael Strahan minds the gap, Brad Pitt is sharing the tea, Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively battle over beanies, Rege-Jean Page exits Bridgerton

Page 7: Contents

Page 8: StarTracks -- stars' best friends -- Prince Harry hit the beach to play fetch with his rescue dog Pula in Santa Barbara

Page 9: Rachel Brosnahan took a break from filming season 4 of The Marvelous Mrs. Masiel to pet a pup who passed by the set in NYC, Mariah Carey celebrated Easter with two of her dogs

Page 10: Famous Families -- Amy Schumer masked up to play with son Gene at the NY PopsUp festival at Astoria Park in NYC, Jessica Alba and her husband Cash Warren celebrated Easter with their three children Haven and Honor and Hayes, Beyonce posted a rare selfie with her and Jay-Z's oldest daughter Blue Ivy, Victoria and David Beckham got in the Easter spirit with children Brooklyn and Harper and Romeo and Cruz, Chiefs QB Patrick Mahomes and fiancee Brittany Matthews celebrated their first Easter with daughter Sterling Skye

Page 11: LeBron James deemed his youngest child daughter Zhuri his workout partner when she joined him in the gym for some flexing, Kate Hudson relaxed in the tub with her daughter Rani Rose

* First Look -- inside Angelina Jolie's scorching return to the big screen -- in the upcoming thriller Those Who Wish Me Dead, Angelina returns to action as a smoke jumper who encounters a traumatized 12-year-old boy played by Finn Little who needs her help

Page 12: Inside Robert Downey Jr.'s modern mansion -- for the spring issue of Purist magazine, Robert and his producer wife, Susan, opened their doors to give a tour of their futuristic Malibu home -- their Binishell, a type of of energy-efficient, dome-shaped house, sits on seven acres and runs on wind turbines and a solar-generated water system that reduce energy consumption

Page 13: StyleTracks -- bold and bright at the Screen Actors Guild Awards -- Viola Davis, Mindy Kaling, Jamie Chung, Helen Mirren, Kaley Cuoco, Kerry Washington

Page 15: Tiger Woods' car crash -- new questions, tough recovery

Page 16: Aaron Rodgers and Shailene Woodley take their love on vacation

Page 18: Heart Monitor -- Vanessa Hudgens and Cole Tucker heating up, Lily James and Queens of the Stone Age bassist Michael Shuman new couple, Michael Buble and Luisana Lopilato happy anniversary, Brian Austin Green and Sharna Burgess getting serious

Page 19: Idris Elba and Caleb McLaughlin horsing around

Page 20: Brandi Carlile shares her struggles

* Lori Loughlin and Mossimo Giannulli had an emotional homecoming on Easter weekend after he was released from federal prison

Page 21: Blake Shelton looks back on 20 years of fame

Page 22: Jeannie Mai and Jeezy's backyard fairy tale wedding in Atlanta

Page 29: Passages, Why I Care -- Robert Irwin is helping the planet by being an advocate for Prince William's Earthshot Prize

Page 31: Stories to Make You Smile - Aimee Takaha of Aimee's Farm Animal Sanctuary in Arizona is offering cow-cuddling sessions for those who miss hugs during the pandemic, to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary Carolyn and Kelly Gay re-created their original wedding photos

Page 33: People Picks -- Law & Order: Organized Crime

Page 34: Them, Spy City, Rhiannon Giddens -- They're Calling Me Home, Q&A with David Alan Grier

Page 36: The Serpent, One to Watch -- Mortal Kombat's Lewis Tan

Page 37: The Nevers, Iyanla: Fix My Life

Page 39: Books

Page 40: Cover Story -- Brad Paisley and Kimberly Williams-Paisely -- you have to focus on the love and laughter -- after a pandemic year that sidelined their careers, the singer and actress found joy in family time and purpose in giving back to their community

Page 46: Inside the sparkling, rainbow-filled world of JoJo Siwa -- she began as a kid who loved dance, then found fame on reality TV and YouTube and built her brand to mogul status. That was all before she came out as LGBTQ. She's just getting started

Page 52: Double Talk -- Melissa McCarthy and Octavia Spencer's 25-year friendship -- long before they were famous, the two stars forged a deep personal bond. After more than two decades, the finally got to work together

Page 56: The Lost Kitchen's Erin French turning a painful past into a delicious new life -- addiction and divorce nearly cost her everything, but now she's running one of the most loved and hardest-to-book restaurants in America

Page 60: Solving a 40-year-old murder mystery -- justice for Helene Pruszynski -- four decades after a young woman's brutal rape and murder, new DNA technology leads to her killer

Page 62: Emily VanCamp -- growing up on TV & finding love -- how the busy actress, now costarring on both The Falcon and the Winter Soldier and The Resident, still makes time for what matters most: her family

Page 64: My Mother, Eartha Kitt -- 12 years after the entertainer's death, her daughter Kitt Shapiro reveals a mother like no other: fierce, fabulous and a fighter at heart

Page 69: Why I'm Helping Others Get Vaccinated -- fighting for my patients -- Detroit nurse Monique Morris almost died from COVID-19, and now she's doing her part to help put an end to the pandemic

Page 70: Earth Day Special -- a room-by-room guide to saving the planet -- combating climate change is a daunting challenge, but these small fixes around the house can make a big difference. Plus, inspiring stories of four everyday environmental heroes

Page 73: Jerome Foster II, rallying youth against climate change

Page 74: Katharine Hayhoe, bringing moms together

Page 76: Laura Turner Seydel, carrying on a family tradition

Page 78: Carl Smith, fighting to save his home

Page 88: One Last Thing -- Catherine Zeta-Jones

#tabloid toc #tabloidtoc #brad paisley #kimberly williams paisley #kimberly williams-paisley #jojo siwa #melissa mccarthy #octavia spencer #erin french #the lost kitchen #helene pruszynski #emily vancamp #eartha kitt #kitt shapiro #earth day #catherine zeta-jones #catherine zeta jones #those who wish me dead #angelina jolie #robert downey jr #robert downey jr. #rdj #tiger woods #aaron rodgers #shailene woodley #idris elba #caleb mclaughlin #concrete cowboy #brandi carlile #blake shelton

[momrryfest2020]

You guys are AMAZING!!

Okay, so here’s the list of prompts, gonna open up author signups tomorrow...note, this is an all pairings space, so feel free to read these prompts as such! And if you want to provide something that is NOT a prompt, no worries, just submit to the collection when I open it up. This is gonna be *fun*, you went above and BEYOND on these!! <333

Prompt list:

1. Juno AU

2. During a mutual divorce, harry finds out he’s pregnant and has to navigate that with his ex and his new love interest!

3. Harry is pregnant and he’s all too happy to finally be able to put his pre-post natal yoga certification skills to real practice as he leads his class.

4. Harry has always been into dirty talk, especially “daddy” kink, and now that he (or she) is pregnant, his (or her) partner kicks it up a notch, calling her “mommy”

5. ANYTHING LACTATION KINK, DON’T CARE HOW.

6. Mommy + Pregnancy Kink please Harry calls his partner mommy and imagines getting impregnated by them.

7. Harry’s sad that he’ll never be able to get pregnant so his partner makes him feel better by “knocking him up” ie: lots of dirty talk about harry being fertile and barebacking and sweet talk afterward about what a good mum harry will be.

8. Harry just gave birth to their first child and is still very tired and exhausted, so Louis makes sure he is the best husband ever and learns more recipes to cook for him, takes care of their little bundle of joy and they’re just a happy, small little family :> lots of cuddling pls (and maybe at the end when harry’s feeling better a big family trip with both their families to a swimming hall)

9. That picture of Dakota Johnson at the farmer’s market, feeding a baby a fresh strawberry, you know the one…that’s it, that’s the prompt.

10. Harry gets baby fever after the last of his former bandmates has a kid of his own and he’s the last one standing. He decides he wants to adopt a baby with his current partner. A cute story about Harry adopting a baby basically

11. Harry is in that annoying part of pregnancy where he has to pee every 10 minutes. One night he’s having sex and suddenly has to pee. Person A doesn’t want to ruin the sex and begs him to just pee where they are. They both enjoy it more than they should??

12. The Back-up Plan (2010) AU - Harry conceives twins through artificial insemination, then meets the person of their dreams on the very same day.

13. Moving to a new town to start a new job is never easy. It’s even more challenging with two teenage daughters and a recent divorce from her husband of 16 years. Harry is at her wit’s end when her hair dresser suggests a single mothers’ get-together through the Meetup app. Despite being skeptical of meeting people from the online group, she goes. At the meeting she meets Louis, who also has teenage kids, and they end up falling in love.

14. cheaper by the dozen au

15. harry and his (or her or their) partner on their first night home with their newborn ft. some freaking out about being responsible for a whole human person but mostly lots of cuddles for everyone.

16. one of harry’s close friends just had a baby so he and his partner go to see them, during the visit his partner notices that harry is extra attentive/fixated on his friend while she breastfeeds so he brings it up when they get home and sexy times ensue

17. pregnant/just gave birth harry decides to go to a breastfeeding support group

18. Harry as cool mom inspired by the Cool girl monologue from the movie Gone Girl. Because i don’t get how society’s expectations of moms don’t leave all moms more bitchy, on top of that cool mom has to make it look easy and fun.

19. One thing that made me completely obsessed when I was pregnant, was the feeling that my body was changing but not being able to tell if it was all in my head or physical there. Having that sort of assessed and validated by my partner in a not clinical way has been super satisfying (both in a sexy and peace of mind way)

20. Harry, who has always enjoyed being everybody’s baby, is having a baby

21. Louis is an alpha and a new single father to a six months old or younger if you wish (the mother is not around). Harry is the nanny he hires to help him take care of the baby because he has no idea what he is doing. Harry is an omega and the baby takes an immediate liking towards him and his scent. The baby’s first word will be ‘mummy’ to Harry and him having a break down because he sees the baby as his own. (He and Louis obviously get together)

22. Mitch and Harry have to babysit Adam Prendergast’s kids for the day and Harry falls into the mom role easily.

23. Harry is a single mommy of a newborn that can’t seem to fall asleep at night. Louis is the nice neighbor that should be called baby’s whisperer. Strangers to Lovers AU with lots of kinks and fluff, please! (Bonus points for Louis being obsessed with Harry’s body) (Golden star for lactation kink)

24. Buns in the oven, babying a sourdough and kneading dough could make for some amazing suggestive dirty talk in any kitchen, especially for someone who ten years later still talks about their job at a bakery, loves baguette and is a little obsessed with pregnant bellies.

25. Louis and Harry are at a party that is related to Louis’ job, Harry is just being a good hubby and coming with him. Harry is seven months pregnant though and some of Louis’ colleagues keep staring at him in a flirty way. It makes Louis furious that they’re all staring at his baby mama like that so he takes Harry home and they have hot sex, Louis calling Harry mommy, add lactation kink if you want to and pls lots of mentions about the things Louis adores about pregnant Harry (aka bigger thighs, glowing skin, tiddies, tiddies, did I mention tiddies? you can also make this a/b/o of you want)

26. maybe a cute little collection of Louis’ and Harry’s firsts with their baby? first time they hear the heartbeat, first time they feel them kick, first time they see her after harry gave birth, first time harry breastfeeds, first time they say mama or papa, first time of them going to visit the grandparents, first time crawling, first bath with mama and papa… ugh my heart.

27. Harry’s and Louis’ son is like 16, so he is hanging out with his friends and his friends are teasing him about how hot his mother (aka harry) is, just like the 1d boys always did with harry about Anne. The son feels super uncomfortable and Louis is super confused why these little teenagers boys always stare at Harry’s body when he is cooking for them whenever they visit until he finds out they think of Harry as the hottest milf in town (more humor than actual sexual references pls, this is supposed to be more funny than awkwardly sexual :D)

28. Harry missing his pre-pregnancy body a bit after having his second child and Louis making him feel loved, them both going to the gym and working out together just to have hot kinky sex in the shower later, body worshipping and lots of sassy mommy harry please <3

29. I would love some sad sex fic. Being pregnant is a messy affair. You become a dual entity of you and the baby and are expected to be constantly performing happiness. Dads are allowed to be uncertain but moms are constantly asked how much they are looking forward to the baby. Sometimes you are in line at the supermarket and feeling a profound sadness and frustrating hornynes and being told you are glowing by some complete stranger is in no way making your day better, it only solidifies the feeling of having become your pregnancy.

30. Person A helps a miserably full and sore Harry when he starts to ween the baby from breast feeding but of course he’s still producing milk.

31. Mommy H is spoiled with a huge and extravagant baby shower. Ideally he’s huge and kind of miserable at this point but he’s being pampered and doted on and absolutely loves it.

32. So (optional abo) Harry gets pregnant from a night out at the age of 20 ish? When his kid gets to the age of 12 (Harry 32) he starts asking about his other dad and Harry feels bad his son doesn’t have a dad so he starts to research. He find 4 possible guys it could’ve been - louis, Liam, Niall or Zayn. He thinks he’ll just know when he meets them all. He was wrong. (Perhaps one of them turns out to be the dad, but Harry falls in love with another one For example: Louis the dad and Liam the lover or Zayn the dad and Louis the lover! Choose any pair combo!!! Whichever endgame you prefer)

33. lots of mommy harry with a newborn baby fluff and him being over the moon, loving his little bundle of joy and pls add a cute breastfeeding scene

34. The progression of Harry’s horniness during pregnancy to the point that his mans doesn’t think he can keep up with it

35. Harry’s been dating x person for a while and they have a healthy and diverse sex life. They both think it would be hot for Harry to be fucked by other guys while his boyfriend watches. Basically a cuck/orgy situation with some breeding/fertility dirty talk to make it kinkier. (Could be that he’s already pregnant and gets fucked by an outsider??)

36. Pregnant Harry gets his first bra to accommodate his milk coming in and he’s kind of obsessed with how he looks in it

37. harry + ot5 or ot4, being their intersex mate or omega, multiples in pregnancy and maybe a kidnapping, runaway magic harry using bond or mate pull to make it back to them as they also fight their way back to him

38. Harry Edward Styles, single father with a gorgeous six year old daughter. He works in an event management company, his specialty wedding planning,with his own personal office with a team and all. He is Arya’s mummy as he gave birth to her when he was eighteen year old. With a loads of baggage from his past Harry is a strong person who is giving his all to make a perfect life for his daughter. They are the dynamic duo against the world. (The name for the child can be changed as per author’s wish and Louis and Harry pairing please thank you)

39. Girl direction: Harry is excited to learn that her alien gf is ovulating and volunteers to be the incubator of gf’s self-fertilised eggs. Sexy oviposition and sharing the joy of motherhood.

40. Girl direction 70s AU: Harry and her gf secure a sperm donation and get busy with a turkey baster.

#prompts #get ready to get ready...to sign up!!

[thecolorpomegranate]

someday (i’ll make it out of here) [book i, part i]

A/N: This is a fic I have posted on AO3 about Peter Parker. It’s a whumpy fic about Peter getting kidnapped and Tony having to build a weapon to save him while trapped in his lab. 

Warnings: violence, angst, torture, kidnapping, captivity, drugging

Tony Stark is a survivor of horrors. Countless horrors. He’s survived a cold childhood, the simultaneous loss of both of his parents, kidnapping by terrorists, torture, open heart surgery without anesthetic, betrayal by his most trusted business partner, chemical poisoning, post-traumatic stress disorder, Pepper’s kidnapping, the alien attack on New York, his AI’s sadistic rebellion, the near-destruction of the nation of Sokovia, the betrayal of Steve Rogers, a battle with the Winter Soldier, the subsequent collapse of the Avengers… He’s suffered much more than the average person.

 Before now, Tony thought he had intimate knowledge of the dark intricacies of horror.

 But on April 7th, 2018, nearly a year after the Avengers broke up, Tony found out how painfully wrong he was.

  APRIL 6 — 2:11 PM

 “We can’t have ice cream now, honey,” Maggie Paxton reminds her daughter, just as seven-year-old Cassie pouts, sprawling her arms out on the table in protest. “You’ll spoil your dinner for later! We’re eating early tonight.” Ice cream at any time of day is always Scott’s way of lighting up Cassie’s life, but Maggie is firm this time. Cassie will see Scott next weekend; she can eat ice cream nonstop then.

 Jim Paxton taps his stepdaughter’s nose. “C’mon, Cassie, we’re having ramen tonight! You know how much you love ramen!”

 Cassie giggles and tries to catch his hand before it leaves her face. “I love ramen!” she squeals, throwing her hands into the air. “Ramen, ramen, ramen…” She lapses into a sing-song rendition of the word “ramen,” over and over again, spinning around on her stool. “Ramen, ramen, ramen!”

 Jim and Maggie share an amused glance. “I know, honey,” laughs Maggie, “we had it last week, too.”

 “You know what we can do, though?” suggests Jim. He took Friday off to spend with his family, and it has honestly been the best decision he’s made in a while. Spending time with Cassie makes his heart swell; he knows she’s Scott Lang’s daughter, not his, and he knows he’ll never be her true father, but Cassie sees him as this glowing person in her life, and at least he has that. To him, Cassie is every bit his daughter. “Take a trip to the zoo!”

 Cassie spins around again to look at Jim, her eyes wide with anticipation. “Really?”

 “Really, really,” replies Maggie, grinning. “You wanna go?”

 Cassie beams. Both Maggie and Jim know that Cassie loves the zoo more than anything. Seeing the animals always sends her screaming around the place.

 At the sound of the doorbell ringing, Jim gets up from the table to answer the door, and Cassie clambers into Maggie’s lap, throwing her arms around her mother’s neck. “Thank you, thank you!” Maggie can hear Jim speaking to someone at the door; vaguely, she wonders who it is. The mailman, probably. “You think we can see the belugas this time? I wanna see the belugas!”

 Maggie kisses her daughter’s forehead. “Of course we can, honey. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t let you see the belugas?” She wasn’t sure what belugas were, to be honest; some kind of dolphin? As a thirty-seven year old woman, she should probably know this by know. “Those are like dolphins, right?”

 Cassie looks scandalized. “Mommy, they’re whales!” she exclaims. “They’re white, with big heads, and they can dive up to two thousand feet below the water, that’s what Miss Smith told me!” She continues with all the facts she has about belugas, her new favorite animal.

 At the door, Jim’s voice is loud now, echoing down the hall to the kitchen. “—telling you, we didn’t order a package. You’ve got the wrong—” His voice comes to a strange halt, followed by a massive thump, so startling that even Cassie looks up from her rant about beluga whales.

 “Jim?” Maggie calls out, concerned now; Cassie hops down from her lap. “Are you okay? Do you—”

 As she turns the corner, she sees them: Jim on the floor, red dripping down the side of his face, and two men and a woman crowded around him, each wearing a UPS uniform and wielding a gun.

 Like a rough slap across the face, Maggie’s terror strikes her hard and fast. She shoves Cassie behind her—

 “—there’s the kid! Grab her, quick—”

 —and screams for her to run; her mind screeches, get Cassie out, get her out of here, and she grabs the first thing she sees: Cassie’s tennis racket, and blazing pain tears up her arm, and the handle slips from her fingers. Shot. She’s been shot. She grabs the next item, an expensive, ceramic bowl, from the shelf beside her; as a hand wraps around her wrist, she spins and smashes it against her attacker’s head with an animalistic scream. She scrambles to her feet again, something hot spilling down her forearm, and leaps into the kitchen, heart pounding, searching for her next weapon, anything, leaping for the rack of kitchen knives—

 “Hey!” A heavy blow to her side, and she is on the ground again, coughing and wheezing and praying that Cassie escaped. An arm around her neck, locking her in a stronghold, and then there’s metal against her temple. “Get the fuck up, get up!” Maggie struggles against the person behind her, grabbing a handful of red hair and yanking hard, scraping at skin with her fingernails. “Ow! You fucking bitch!” Hard metal slams against her temple, and Maggie’s brain slips away.

 Blood roars in her ears. Cassie, Cassie, not my little girl! Muffled screaming: “Get the fuck out here, Cassie, or I’ll kill your precious mommy! You want that? You want your mom dead on the floor? I’ll kill this bitch! I’ll kill her, I will! Cassie! Cassie!”

 Maggie clings to the one bit of lucidity she has and cries out, “No, Cassie, don’t—”

 And pain crashes over the side of her head, a torment of black waves, and then nothing.

    APRIL 6 — 4:33 PM

 Another fist slams into Scott’s mouth, and pain blossoms across his jaw. He spits on the ground, a splatter of red, and glares at the man in front of him. “Fuck you,” he says, and he’s surprised by his own profanity. He gave up swearing once he found one-year-old Cassie shouting “Shit!” every time she wanted one of her stuffed toys. But now, after four hours of this angry motherfucker and his brass knuckles, he’s about to snap. He’s trying to stay positive, but the fact that no one even knows he’s gone is really grating on his mind right now. He doesn’t even have a plan to escape; currently, his only plan is to annoy this guy until he breaks.

 The man snarls and launches another fist at him, furious. “You think this is helping anyone, Lang?” he growls. “You wanna be ripped to pieces?”

 Scott can’t remember what this guy’s name is. Max? Mark? “Well, it wasn’t on my schedule, Martin, but I mean, if you’ve got nothing else to do—”

 Another fist, this time to his knee, and Scott gasps with the sudden pain of it. That was more than a punch. He heard something snap. “You and your fucking jokes,” says Probably-Martin. “I’m sick of them. How about I take out your fucking tongue this time, huh? How’d you like that?”

 Scott shrugs, as nonchalantly as one could while tied to a chair and aching from hours of torture. “It’s the twenty-first century, buddy; I’d just get myself one of those Stephen Hawking things, maybe learn some sign langua—ah!”

 Pain surges through his foot, so horrible that he can barely breathe, and Scott screams, his cocky smile dropping from his face. When he finally gathers himself, taking shaky gasps of air, the man smirks, victorious. “Next time I hear another one of your jokes,” snaps Probably-Martin, “I’ll smash your hand instead.”

 Scott bites the inside of his cheek, just to keep himself from crying out again. He doesn’t want to look down at the damage that has been just done to his right foot, but he has to. He takes one glance...and immediately regrets it. The pain of his new injury seems to grow the longer he stares; Probably-Martin stepped on his foot so hard that it looks broken and smashed and wrong; Scott’s hands tighten around the arms of the chair. Stay strong, he reminds himself. Someone will come save you. Hank or Hope or the police or even the Avengers. And then you’ll be okay.

 There’s another man in the room now, one with a brown beard and wild eyes. Bearded-Psycho, Scott dubs him, proud of himself. He smiles weakly, lifting his head to watch Bearded-Psycho and Probably-Martin argue. “I told you not to touch his hands, Mason!” Ah, thinks Scott. Mason. That was the man’s name. “It’s not like we can do this for him! We need those fucking hands!”

 “I didn’t touch his hands!” Mason protests.

 As they argue, Scott lets out a shaky breath. He liked to think of himself as one of those happy-go-lucky, jokester superheroes, like Iron Man or even that Spiderguy from Queens, but right now all he doesn’t feel like a superhero. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is terrified. He shoves the fear to the back of his head with every ounce of composure he has—if he loses his sense of humor, he’ll lose his mind. Somehow, cracking jokes at his abuser makes it seem less grave in his mind, like he can break free of his bonds at any moment. Humor keeps his hope alive and burning in his chest.

 “And his head!” Bearded-Psycho snarls, and Scott flinches in his bonds. “We need his head!” Shit, he thinks, embarrassed at his involuntary display of fear. The only way to fight back against these guys is to laugh in the face of fear, but here he is, jumping like a little kid watching a horror movie. “Why the fuck would you think it’s a good idea to smash his head around? He’s practically bleeding out of his ears!”

 “Charlie,” Mason attempts, “I didn’t—”

 Bearded-Psycho (or Charlie or whatever his name is) is huge compared to Mason, so when he suddenly grabs the other man and slams his head against the wall—“Shit! Charlie, wait!”—until there’s blood running down his face, he makes it look easy, like beating up a kid.

 Scott doesn’t feel the victory of watching his torturer bleed against the wall; all he feels is the electrifying anticipation of pain spiking through his body. This man, this Bearded-Psycho… He could crush Scott if he wanted to. Scott tries to make himself as small as possible. Any movement he makes will surely turn Charlie’s violent rage onto him. But even as Scott wills his body to stone, Charlie still turns around, wipes his hands on his jeans, and trains his eyes on Scott.

 Fuck. Ready for another blow, probably ten times more painful than Mason’s, Scott winces, tensing his whole body and squeezing his eyes shut. Where will he hit him: his stomach, his legs, his feet?

 A low chuckle greets him instead. “Look, Lang,” says Charlie calmly, as Scott opens his eyes with caution, “we’ve given you chance after chance to agree to our terms.”

 Scott coughs. Yeah, he remembers the terms. It was the first thing that Mason said to him. “Sorry,” says Scott, laughing nervously. “Felonies aren’t on my to-do list, Chuck. No thanks.”

 Charlie’s smile is nerve-wrecking, like Scott’s submission is inevitable, and Scott squirms, uncomfortable. Pain swirls in his foot, and he grits his teeth. Sweat trickles down his back. “If you say so, Lang.” His voice is calm. Too calm. Standing up abruptly, he shouts at Mason, who’s currently on the floor, moaning about his head. “Keep going, Mason. Don’t stop until I come back. And for fuck’s sake, leave his hands and his head.”

 Mason pushes himself into a sitting position and groans a reluctant “fine.” He’s angrier now, fueled by pain as well as frustration, and Scott swallows hard. When Charlie finally leaves the room, Mason growls, “Fuck you, Lang. You see what you did to me?”

 Dread drenching his thoughts, Scott grits his teeth. “I’m pretty sure American Psycho’s the one who busted your head open, ‘cause he’s not the one tied to a chai—”

 Another debilitating punch smashes into his body, this time cracking a rib and splattering across his chest. As Mason rubs his knuckles, Scott struggles for air and prays that someone will save him soon. He doesn’t know how long he can stand this.

  APRIL 6 — 5:01 PM

 As the ringing stops and goes to voicemail, Julia Keene sighs and puts her phone down on the table. It’s the third time that night she’s tried to call Charlie, and still nothing. Although she’s a police officer and he went off the rails years ago, she still loves him more than anything. He always spared time for her, at least for a text or a phone call, every couple of days.

 But Julia hasn’t spoken to Charlie in a month. It’s been too long since she’d talked to him, and she’s worried. Sure, Julia is a thirty-three, twice-married, working mother of two living in Queens, and Charlie is a twenty-eight year old drug addict living on the streets with a couple of prison notches on his belt, but Julia needs to know he is safe. He is her brother. Her baby brother. It was always Julia and Charlie against the world, and even though they split off years ago… She rubs her temples and tries not to think about it too much.

 “You called him again?” says someone behind her. It’s her husband of ten years, Cristian. His dark hair falls over his eyes as he slides into the chair beside her, sliding his hand over her back and rubbing gently.

 Julia falls into his touch, taking his other hand in hers. The kids are at school; Leila, the fourteen-year-old, is at musical rehearsal while Jaime, their eight-year-old, is at baseball practice. Leila is her daughter from her first marriage: she married her high school sweetheart, Damien, straight out of high school and had Leila a year later before discovering that he was a deadbeat drunk with a long history of violence. She met Cristian a couple years after divorcing Damien, and had Jaime two years after that. Now that she has the apple pie, picture-perfect life she’s always wanted (loving husband, healthy children, excellent career), it’s more than painful to lose Charlie.

 Cristian keeps rubbing her back in slow circles. “It’s been weeks,” she sighs. “Weeks, Cristian. And I… I know something bad happened to him. He’s never gone this long without talking to me.”

 Cristian shifts in his chair. “Look at me, mi vida,” he says, voice gentle. “I don’t know too much about your brother, but I do know that he’s a mess. He lives his life from one fix to another.” He squeezes her hand. “I know he loves you, but he’s a slave to his life of drugs and...crime. And it’s not your job to check in on him all the time. He’s an adult, Julia, and he can make his own decisions. And he’s always fine. He’ll be fine.”

 Julia nods into Cristian’s shoulder. “I know, I know, he’ll be fine.”

 Cristian smiles and gives her a quick kiss on the lips. “You okay?”

 She nods again, this time meeting his eyes. She’s still unsure, but at least she feels better about the whole situation. She loves Charlie, but Cristian’s right. He can make his own decisions.

  APRIL 6 — 6:37 PM

 Peter Parker has spent most of the past month in Tony’s lab , working on what they like to call “Project Kevlar,” after the substance that made bulletproof vests. Peter himself came up with the project, recognizing that many of the lower-income families of New York who experienced danger on a daily basis felt helpless to the violence they experienced and couldn’t call the police for help. Police officers often left the most vulnerable of the city’s community—poor, gang-ridden, and homeless citizens—exposed to harm.

 “It’s like what they use on college campuses,” Peter had explained, pride lighting up across his face. “The blue light system, you know?”

 Tony had chuckled lightly. “What do you know about college, kid? You’re only—”

 “I’m sixteen now, Mr. Stark,” Peter had reminded him, “and I’ve been on, like, three college visits! I know what it’s like!”

 The mayor of New York gave Stark Industries explicit permission to implement the system in the city; it was simple but brilliant, really. They would place tiny alert buttons all over the city in public areas, each fitted to survive any weather conditions, and people could press the alert buttons to call for help.

 Currently, they’re working together on a vital part of the system: the GSS, or the gunfire sensory system that could would automatically alarm them if a gun was used within the immediate vicinity of the alarm button. Tony is sprawled out on the couch, typing furiously on his laptop, as Peter bends over the worktable, a soldering iron in one hand and a circuit board in the other. To the left of Peter, a record player screeches ‘Killer Queen’ as the dark-haired boy nods his head to the beat.

 Glancing away from his screen, Tony frowns, temporarily halting his humming. “Peter!”

 The dark-haired boy’s hands jerks at the sudden noise. “Geez, Mr. Stark, a little warning next time!” A huff of frustration escapes him. “Now, I gotta solder that all over again.”

 Tony throws a pair of goggles at him in response.

 “Hey!” Peter protests, catching them only inches from his face.

 “You know what I said, kiddo,” Tony announces. “Rule Number One: No Soldering Without Goggles.”

 “I thought Rule Number One was No One Touches My Records,” Peter shoots back, chucking a pen at the older man. “And, by the way, if I hear another Queen song come on, I’m literally gonna throw that thing out the window.”

 Tony sits up straight, mouth open in mock surprise. “How dare you! Queen is the best! Queen is… It’s the greatest band to ever walk the planet!”

 Peter rolls his eyes. “You know, Mr. Stark, sometimes I forget how old you are! Listen to some AJR or something, come on!” But nonetheless, Peter slides the goggles on his face.

 Before he can grab the soldering iron again, however, Pepper pokes her head into the lab, knocking gently on the glass. “Tony? We’ve gotta get going soon, we—” Her eyes land on the teenager perched at her fiancé’s worktable. “Oh, Peter! I didn’t know you were here.”

 “Yeah, sorry,” Peter stammers. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your night, Ms. Potts.”

 Pepper laughs, sitting down on the couch next to Tony. “That’s totally fine, Peter. You know you’re welcome here anytime.” Closing Tony’s laptop with one manicured hand (he protests with an irritated “hey!”), she turns back to the teenager. “You do know it’s a Friday night, don’t you? Shouldn’t you be out with your friends?”

 Peter scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah… It’s just I had this new idea for Project Kevlar, and I asked Mr. Stark, and he said it was okay, and…” He glances nervously at Tony. “Sorry. I’ll be gone in a few minutes, Ms. Potts.”

 Pepper smiles gently at him. “You know you can call me Pepper; I’m not that old.”

 Peter shrugs awkwardly. “The only adult I call by their first name is May! She’d kill me if I ever called Mr. Stark” —he cringed— “Tony.”

 Tony chuckles, throwing his arm across the back of the couch. “Well, we’ll work on that one, kiddo.”

 Pepper clicks her tongue. “As much as I’d love to watch you waste your childhood in Tony’s lab,” she tells Peter, giving him a playful look, “Tony and I have somewhere we need to be.”

 “Where?” chorus Peter and Tony.

 Pepper gives Tony the stern I-told-you-this-months-ago look that she always uses. “The charity gala? It’s for the Yemeni Women’s Union.”

 “Ah, right… the charity thing.” He pouts. “Do we have to go?”

 “Yes!”

 Pepper tosses his tie in his lap as Peter scrambles to stuff his supplies back into his backpack. “Sorry again, Ms. Potts! Have fun at the gala, Mr. Stark!”

 “It’s Tony, kid!” he declares, just as the spider-kid jumps to the door.

 Peter gives him a mischievous smile, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Bye, Mr. Stark.”

 Pepper’s still laughing to herself when the door closes behind the kid.

  APRIL 6 — 7:09 PM

 Sometimes, Charlie’s guilt aches like an old gunshot wound, sending painful spikes of regret spilling down his throat. Sometimes, his plan feels like shame, not pride, so he has to force himself to continue, one foot in front of the other. It’s in those moments when he needs his fix the most: angel dust, most days, sometimes with a spike of something else.

 He pops a couple pills in his mouth and swallows hard. His sister once told him that taking drugs like this means he loses control over his body, that he relinquishes his throne to the drug instead of his brain, but what the hell does she know? Charlie is more in control than he’d ever been.

 Charlie feels a warm buzz crackle through his bones, a familiar sensation, as the pill he’d just taken finally starts to work. Charlie lets out a relieved sigh, laughing a little. Everything seems to come back into focus: the plan, the future, the people… He knows. He knows.

 Renee, his wife, will be back in a few minutes with the one thing they need to force that asshole Scott Lang to do what they wanted. And once they have Scott under their control, everything will fall into place, like dominoes.

 From the other side of their base, he hears the door creak open, followed by the sound of a child crying and a woman yelling. “Charlie? Charlie!”

 When he stands up, he staggers a little, but he quickly recovers, moving to meet Renee and the rest of them at the entrance to the base.

 Renee has the girl by her waist as she squirms, crying through her gag and wiggling her bound wrists. “Sorry I’m late,” she says. “Traffic was terrible.”

 Charlie grins. Finally. “You got her!”

 “Yep,” she says. “Those motherfucking parents were a pain in my ass, but I still got her. Any luck with Lang?”

 He shakes his head as the little girl lets out a pained wail. “He just cracks jokes and refuses to help us.”

 Renee smirks and shoves the girl to her feet. “Walk, kid. Walk.”

 Now that Charlie has a good look at the kid, she looks a lot like Lang. Scott Lang’s Asian features are prevalent in the kid’s hair and face, and that defiant look in her eyes had to come from him. Her dark hair hangs scraggly around her head, and her face is red and swollen with tears. It hits Charlie, all at once, how young she is: probably six or seven years old. Her face is so full, her eyes so big, her body so tiny… He shakes his head. It doesn’t matter how young she is. They need to get Scott Lang on board, and Cassie Paxton, or Lang or whatever the hell her name is, is their ticket.

 He leads Renee to what they’re starting to call the Room, the place where the whole show’s gonna happen. It’s a small space: ten feet wide and ten feet long, with a metal chair bolted into the center. On one side is a sink and a toilet, and the other has a folding table of various weapons and other materials.

 Currently, Scott Lang is strapped to the chair in the center, his head hung low, murmuring to himself. Mason is taking another swing for Scott’s knee when Renee yells, “Hey, we’ve got her!”

 The back of the chair is facing them, so when Scott lifts his head to the sound of voices, he can’t see Charlie, Renee, or Cassie. But Mason can. His shoulders slump in relief as Renee shoves the kid into the Room. “Finally!”

 Lang’s looking terrible: his bruised face has swollen and darkened, his legs are damaged beyond repair, and it looks like at one point he pissed himself. Yet still he manages to conjure a shaky, Tony Stark-worthy grin and croak, “What’s next, fellas? The Iron Maiden?” in Charlie’s general direction.

 “No,” snaps Renee, and yanks the kid before Lang’s eyes. “She’s next.”

 It’s mesmerizing how quickly Lang’s grin melts; he goes pale, glancing from Cassie’s terrified face to Charlie’s victorious one. “No,” he manages, “no, no, no, no…”

 “Take her,” Charlie says, nodding to Renee and Mason. Lang’s still gasping “no,” over and over again, like a broken record, as though the fact that his seven-year-old daughter is actually in front of him has just struck him. Just as Cassie leaps for her dad, Mason grabs her by the back of her hoodie, pulling her back before she can touch him. “I’ll stay with Lang.”

 Scott Lang’s shaking his head now, frantic, his arms fighting maniacally against his bonds. “No, no! Please, no, she’s just a kid, leave her alone, please—please, you can’t, please, you wouldn’t—”

 Charlie hits him across the face so hard that his hand stings after the blow; a buzzing feeling goes through him, something like electric triumph, upon seeing Lang like this. Scott Lang is broken now, begging for mercy, after hours of torture, and all it took was one scared scream from the kid.

 “—p-please, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her—”

 “Shut up!” Charlie picks up Mason’s hammer as a warning. “One more word out of you, and this is going straight through your skull, understand?” Now, he understands why Mason is so frustrated. Lang talks too much.

 Lang trembles and tries not to make another sound. An odd, sickly silence follows, in which Lang shifts in his chair. Soaked in blood and urine, his pants squelch against the wood as he cranes his neck to try to see Cassie. His breathing transforms from pained groans to fearful, shallow panting, his fingers white-knuckled against the arms of the chair.

 Then it comes: a little girl’s blood-curdling scream, wet and painful and horrible, so Lang goes berserk, thrashing in his chair like a madman, words spilling from his mouth: “No, no—I’ll do whatever you want me to, please, oh, God, please, leave her be—Cassie! Cassie! Oh, fucking God, fuck, please, no, leave her, take me instead, I’ll do it, I'll do anything, anything, just leave her alone—Cassie, Cassie, Cassie!”

 Charlie watches it continue for ten seconds, thirty seconds, a minute, until finally, the screaming dies down and Lang, reduced to a sobbing mess, cries, “I’ll do it. I p-promise you, I’ll d-do it!”

 Charlie’s shoulders relax a little. “Good,” he says calmly. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  APRIL 6 — 7:42 PM

 “On the way back,” May Parker announces, “you’re driving, you little liar!” She’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other dabbing on lipstick. At a sudden bump in the road, the tube misses her mouth, smearing pink on her chin, and she swears loudly.

 “I didn’t lie!” Peter whines back, stretching his legs out. “I am tired!”

 May wipes at her chin with the back of her hand, trying to make the pink go away. “You haven’t gone on patrol today, Peter!” Realizing she missed their turn, she makes a screeching U-turn before facing her nephew again. “How are you tired?”

 Okay, so maybe he’s squeezing the truth a little. Sure, he only hung out at Tony’s after school instead of patrolling like he said, but he hates driving. It sets his teeth on edge. When he drives a car, everything is a possible danger, and whenever he’s nervous like that, his Spidey Sense (or, as May likes to call it, his Peter tingle) goes insane. “School,” he claims, picking at his cuticles. “I had a calc test today; it sucked the life right out of my body!”

 May rolls her eyes as she pulls up to a stoplight. “Sure it did, kiddo. But you’re still driving on the way back. I’m gonna have some wine tonight, and no scaredy-cat teenage boy’s gonna tell me that I have to drive him home. You’re the designated driver tonight, Petey.”

 He slaps her arm. “May! Don’t call me that.”

 “What? You let Tony call you that—hey! Don’t change the music! That was a good song!”

 “It was Bruce Springsteen!”

 “Exactly!”

 Peter groans in protest. “No, please, don’t make me go back! I can’t survive another Springsteen song!”

 May gives him a devilish grin and changes the radio station back to its original song.

 “No! You skipped Say Something!”

 “My car, my rules, Peter—what’d I say? Don’t touch the radio—”

 “But it’s Justin Timberlake’s best song!”

 “I don’t care! Driver picks the music—”

 Fire races up Peter’s neck, flooding his system: danger. He jerks his head to the left, blinding white headlights— “May, look out!”

 He throws his arm out to protect her, because there’s no fucking way she can react fast enough to move the car out of the way, and then everything is—

 —chaos and spinning and jolting, pain splitting up his left arm, jerking around, his skull smashing against cold glass, screeching and whining, until finally—

 —tentative stillness, the car’s unbalanced rocking, and warmth trickling down (up?) his arm; his head whirs, dotted with pain, and it takes him a moment to realize that the unnatural heaviness of his head and the pull on his joints means he is upside down. The car is flipped upside down.

 Peter opens his eyes and fumbles for his seatbelt, his heart pattering in his chest. He turns—Aunt May. She hangs in her seatbelt like a broken arm in a sling: there is red everywhere. He chokes on his shock (one, two, three, get up, get out, you have to do something) and then calls her name: “May? May! May!”

 A click on his right side; the door swings open, and he nearly sobs in relief. “Help her,” he gasps. “Get her, she’s bleeding, help, ple—”

 Someone yanks him roughly from the car, and as he hits the ground he realizes: something is wrong. His Spidey-senses are a whirlwind of panic, and he glances up at the figure above him to realize that this is not a rescue attempt. Just as the man’s arm swings down, something thin clenched in his fist, he recognizes—this is an attack, and rolls hard to the right, away from the car. But he’s not fast enough—his head still rings from the impact and his left arm hangs limply at his side, so Peter’s not at his prime right now. So the object plunges into his arm instead of his chest, which he automatically thinks is a win...until he knocks it away and realizes it wasn’t a knife. It was a syringe. What the fuck? His body feels a little heavy, like he’s covered in wet cloth, but he still manages to shake off the strange feeling and keep going.

 Get up, Spiderman! he thinks, and then he’s on his feet again, dodging and punching and twisting and hitting until finally there’s four masked figures on the ground, unconscious or wishing they were. He doesn’t have time to quip or crack a smile; he barely has time to check himself for injuries as he rushes to Aunt May’s side of the car, flinging the door open. She’s still unconscious, upside down, her hair lolling back and forth with the rocking of the car. As he reaches for her, checking her pulse, his mind spins as the strangeness in his limbs worsens; his fingers press against May’s neck, and the faint flutter of a heartbeat he feels there sends hope scattering through his chest. Who are these people? They’re dressed like fucking villains: matching black, armored suits and facemasks. Matching weapons, even—massive guns and black-handled knives that they tried to use on Peter. Not including the syringe, and God knows why—

 Something pricks in his back, and Peter whirls back around to see another masked man holding an empty syringe. Numbness creeps up his feet, oddly cold, and Peter trips over himself as he swings his fists at the man; his body feels wrong, heavy, yet still he keeps fighting. This isn’t just a mugging in an alley—this is Aunt May’s life in his hands. Minute pain tickles his arm, and then ice creeps over his arms, spreading over his skin. Where the hell did that come from? There must be another one—he counted only five of them. Fuck. He knows the feeling by now—sickly sweet, numbing sensations ripple through his muscles. Peter turns around—his head is cotton candy, yanked apart piece by piece, and he tries to punch his new attacker, but he keeps missing. How? Spiderman doesn’t miss, he thinks vaguely, as the icy cold reaches into his brain and squeezes. Spiderman doesn’t…

 He’s on the ground now, his face pressed against grass, and his limbs flop uselessly at his sides. “Why the fuck did it take so many doses?” snaps an angry voice, just as the paralysis climbs up Peter’s jaw.

 “I… I don’t know,” admits the second. “Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

 “We gotta take care of her first, Dave.” Peter’s breath halts, slanting in his throat. Her could only mean one person: May. “We can’t afford to get caught.”

 A beat. “Take care...of her? I’m no killer, you ass. I may be helping you, but I’m not killing her. She didn’t do anything.”

 An irritated groan. “She wasn’t supposed to be here. It was just supposed to be the Spider guy—”

 “Just leave her, Jack. She’s gonna die before anyone finds her, anyway. Just look at her.”

 A horrible silence, as Peter awaits their decision. To them, it’s a matter of getting caught, but to Peter, they’re threatening his entire world. May is all he has left—frantic desperation rips up his spine, and he uses all the will he has left to try to move again, but nothing happens. Come on, Spiderman! Come on! Peter couldn’t save Uncle Ben, but he has to save May, he has to— “Fuck, fuck, fucking fine, let’s go. Grab him.”

 There’s a moment of strained relief followed by shuffling as Peter tries to move his arms, jerking his heavy arms in the voices’ direction. “Fuck! He’s still awake!”

 A sharp pain in his neck, a bloody fist, and then blissful darkness.

  APRIL 6 — 8:02 PM

 Maggie’s eyes are sticky, like she’s been asleep for a dozen years. Cold, stiff sheets. Aching pain. A voice calling her name.

 She squints up at a green-clothed man in front of her; he’s the one saying her name. “Blink if you can hear me, Mrs. Paxton.”

 She blinks, confused. “What… What happened?”

 He frowns. “You sustained several severe blows to the head. What’s the last thing you remember?”

 “I…” She takes a moment. She remembers going out to breakfast with Jim in the morning, picking up Cassie from kindergarten—

 Cassie. She scrabbles at the blankets; her right arm is useless, bound in thick bandages, so she pushes herself up with her other hand. “Cassie!” It all rushes back to her: Jim unconscious on the floor, the attack, the gunshot, the wild realization that they wanted Cassie— “Oh, God—where is she?”

 The nurse gulps and clasps his hands together tightly. “I’m not authorized to—”

 She’s never felt terror like this before—it’s horrible and electrifying, whipping up a frenzy of needles inside of her chest. She swings her good arm forward and grabs him by the collar; he winces. “Tell where my daughter is, asshole!” Pain ripples over her torso.

 He looks like an ant beneath a microscope, squirming beneath the intense heat of her eyes. “They took her, ma’am,” he confesses, and her grip on his scrubs loosens. “The police went after them, but it’d been too long. They were already gone by the time the neighbors called 911.”

 They took her. They took her. They took her. Maggie’s brain won’t function. “But how—” She chokes on her words. “No, no, no…” She grabs at her hair, and pained dread pangs in her neck, leaking down into her heart. “No, God, no…” Nightmarish thoughts peel at her head and spear behind her eyes, and anguished nausea swirls in her stomach. She wraps her arms around her belly, clawing at the bandages there.

 “Mrs. Paxton, the police are doing everything they can. They’ve already sent out an Amber Alert, and they’ve alerted all the nearby hospitals to any children matching your daughter’s description.” He looks uncomfortable, even guilty, and he backs away from her hospital bed. “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Paxton. So, so sorry.”

 Maggie can barely hear him leave; her daughter, her baby, her Cassie… Horror wracks her mind, darkness pries at her mind—her seven-year-old, her baby girl, scared and hurt and crying for her—and she presses a shaking hand to her distressed mouth, trying to keep all her horrified thoughts pinned inside of her.

 There’s nothing worse than this, the absence of Cassie at her side, knowing that gruesome, unspeakable things could be happening to her at any moment; Maggie cries into her hands, sobbing. Cassie…

 The doctor comes about an hour later to trade places with the nurse; she’s antsy, constantly shifting from foot to foot as she speaks, like the elephant in the room of Cassie’s kidnapping can just be ignored. After several choked-out apologies, she explains most of the medical implications of the attack in an apologetic stammer, telling her has several broken ribs, a gunshot wound to the forearm—“Just a graze, ma’am, you got lucky,” she says—and a minor concussion. “We stitched up that cut in your forehead,” the doctor says carefully. “But you have take it easy for now.” Maggie wraps her arms around herself. “We’ll keep you overnight for observation, but after that we’ll give you medicine to take home…”

 Everything after that is blurry, shadowed by the knowledge that Cassie has been kidnapped. She visits Jim’s hospital room; he wakes up a couple hours after her, but he doesn’t remember anything before the night prior. “What’s wrong?” Jim asks. He’s still got that hopeful look in his eyes. “Why do you look so…”

 Maggie knows the word he is trying not to say. Devastated. Like her entire world has been ripped away from her fingertips. “She’s gone,” she croaks. “They took Cassie.”

  APRIL 6 — 8:29 PM

 The doorbell rings for a second time, and finally Julia, sprawled across the couch next to Cristian, lets out annoyed groan.

 “Not it,” her husband chirps.

 “Honey, you can’t do ‘not it’ with two people! It doesn’t work!”

 He shrugs and snuggles deeper into the couch. “Nose goes,” he says, tapping his nose.

 “Same rules, Cristian!”

 He only laughs, so finally Julia relents. “Lazy ass,” she complains, swatting his thigh as she gets up. “You’re getting up next time.”

 She heads to the door; the occasional ringing has now evolved into frantic banging. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” she calls out, mildly irritated. It’s probably one of their neighbors asking about a lost pet. That kid next door can never keep track of his toy poodle. She peers through the peephole first.

 Instead of a mailman or a neighbor, she finds a tall, black teen, probably eighteen or nineteen. She knows him well—as a police officer, she has frequent run-ins with this one: Ty. He isn’t dangerous, just a drug addict like her brother. He looks odd—not sober, just odd—like he’s about to vomit all over her front porch. She cracks the door open. “If you’re gonna puke,” she warns him, “do it in the grass.”

 He shakes his head. “No—I gotta—I’m not sick—I gotta tell you somethin’, miss, somethin’ important—real important, miss—” He rubs his already messy dreads into a chaotic pile. “Can I—can I come in?”

 Briefly, Julia thinks of her children. Ty isn’t dangerous, she reminds herself, and she’ll be with him the whole time. After they instruct the kids to stay in the basement while they talk, they sit Ty down at the kitchen table—Cristian and Julia on one side, Ty on the other. He’s nervous, but assures then repeatedly that he’s unarmed. “I don’t wanna hurt nobody,” he says, “promise, miss.”

 She wants to say something to him, something like “I know” or “It’s okay” to calm his anxious nerves, but she can’t do it. He is too young, too unstable, too terrified, and it puts her on edge, like someone’s father will come sprawling in at any moment drenched in drunken rage.

 “They’re gone,” he says finally, after a century of painful silence. “Charlie, RJ, everybody.”

 Julia and Cristian share a concerned glance. “What?”

 He explains what happened in shaky sentences; Charlie, Julia’s brother, had been Ty’s dealer for the past few months. “None of the hard shit,” he promises her. Charlie and Ty met once or twice a week, and Ty often hung around Charlie’s crew—a group of drug addicts who were so far gone that Ty’d never once met them lucid, let alone sober. They were always on something, whether it was coke, dope, speed, or dust. “An’ I know they didn’ always do good, but they was good, promise. They kept talkin’ about how they was gonna change the world, make it a better place…” He trails off. He tells Julia that a couple of weeks ago, Charlie had missed their weekly meetup without any warning. Originally, he dismissed it as Charlie being too high to deal that day, but when he tried to get into contact with some of Charlie’s guys to see if they would deal to him, they were gone, too. He checked with everyone in Charlie’s tight circle of drug addicts; they’d all vanished. “Last time I saw them, their place was some abandoned, creepy-ass dungeon or some shit, fuckin’ snakes on the walls…” But when he tried to find them, he explains, the place was empty. They were gone.

 Finally, Ty sighs. “I didn’ know where to go, miss. I can’t trust none of those cops but you. Anybody else woulda put me in jail, and I can’t go back there. I’m just scared ‘cause these are my people, you know? And they ain’t done nothing wrong, but I think somethin’ happened to ‘em.” He stares emptily at Julia. “Somethin’ bad.”

  APRIL 6 — 9:05 PM

 Cassie is cold. So, so cold. She’s never been hurt like this before. Not when she tripped in soccer and sprained her ankle, not when Jim accidentally hit her in the face with a softball, and not even when her grandma died a year ago. At least then, she had Daddy or Mommy or Jim with her.

 Now, it’s just Cassie. Cassie, the toilet, and the weird scratches in the walls. It’s a tiny room with gray walls, gray floor, and a gray ceiling. There’s a toilet and a sink in the corner, but nothing else. No bed, no chair, no table. The door is gray, too, reinforced with metal bolts, and only a slit, almost a rectangular hole, in the center of the door signifies that there’s any outside at all. She’s all alone, in this tiny room, and there’s blood all over her arm and she’s scared. She doesn’t want to remember that the Red-Hair Lady grabbed Mommy and smashed her head against the wall. She doesn’t want to remember that Red-Hair Lady took her knife and cut her arms open. She doesn’t want to remember any of this.

 But when it’s just Cassie, all alone, all she has is her thoughts, and she can’t help but remember how much it hurt.

 She whimpers and draws her knees to her chest, pulling at the sticky, bloodstained sleeves of her hoodie. She doesn’t like this. She wants Mommy and Daddy and Jim… She wants Jim to hug her and cook her some ramen. She wants Mommy to rock her and read her a bedtime story. She wants Daddy to sing her favorite song…

 Daddy. She remembers seeing his face before Red-Hair Lady took her away, before the hurt— She squeezes her eyes shut. She remembers that he was tied to a chair, that he was scared and he looked like he was hurting a lot. And when he saw Cassie, it was like his whole world had fallen apart. She’s never seen him like that before, and now she’s more scared than ever before. She starts to cry, sobbing into her knees; she wants Daddy, she wants Daddy, she wants Daddy!

 Red-Hair Lady and Big-Man locked her in here. When she cried and begged for them to let her go, Red-Hair Lady grabbed her by the throat and threatened to cut her tongue out unless she shut up. Cassie reaches into her mouth and touches her tongue, just to reassure herself that it’s still there. She can still remember Red-Hair Lady and the terrifying fury of her words.

 She knows Daddy will come for her. He has to. He always promised that he’d keep her safe, no matter what happened. She believes in him. Maybe he can turn into Ant-Man and slip free! Then he can come save her. She nods to herself. Yes, Daddy will come save her. He is brave and strong, and whenever she’s in trouble, he is there—

 A loud beep and then the locked door before her clicks open. Cassie perks up, her sob caught in her throat. “Daddy?”

 A snort of laughter is her reply. “Don’t you wish, cutie.”

 Cassie shakes in her fear. It’s the Red-Hair Lady and Big-Man, and they look mad. “No, n-n-no! I d-do-don’t wanna go, p-please!” She is crying again, so hard that she can’t control it. “I wanna go home!”

 Red-Hair Lady leans down to meet her face-to-face. “You’re not going home for a long time, cutie. So get used to it.”

 Cassie cries harder—“I wanna go ho-home!”—and Red-Hair Lady slaps her.

 She’s never been slapped before, and it’s startling, a violation of everything she’s ever known. She can still feel Red-Hair Lady’s hand on her cheek, a ghost of the blow. “Shut up,” snaps the woman. “Don’t be a fucking baby.” As Big-Man grabs her by the waist and slings her under his arm, kicking and wailing, Red-Hair Lady storms out of the room. “Charlie!” she shouts. “Lang’s taking too fucking long!”

 Cassie can hear broken protests from the far end of the hallway. Once, she thinks she can hear her name among the desperate words.

 The tall, bearded man is now talking feverishly to Red-Hair Lady. “He says he’s going as fast as he can, Renee. Mason, put the kid down.”

 Big-Man shifts nervously, glancing at Red-Hair Lady. “As fast as he can?” Red-Hair Lady scowls. “Bullshit! At this rate, it’ll be days before he’s done. We need this, and we need it now. Lang just needs a little motivation, that’s all. Something to get those fucking fingers moving.”

 The other man hesitates. “Fine,” he says. “As long as Lang does his job.”

 Renee smirks. “I’ll make sure he does.”

 Cassie’s not stupid; she knows that they’re talking about Daddy. “I want Daddy!” she wails. She knows he’s here, somewhere, and the combination of the cuts on her arms, the swelling in her face, and the Red-Hair Lady’s presence has made her frantic and desperate. “Please, please, I’ll be—”

 When Red-Hair Lady whirls around this time, Cassie stops abruptly, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to squirm away from the oncoming blow. But she’s still not prepared enough. Red-Hair Lady’s palm hits her in the face, and pain sparks behind her eyes. “What’d I tell you?” She yanks Cassie from Big-Man’s arms, sending her sprawling on the ground. “Hey! Look at me!”

 Cassie doesn’t want to look at her, she doesn’t want to look, she doesn’t want to—

 Another slap, this time on the other side of her face. “Look at me!”

 Cassie pries her terrified eyes open, every bone in her body vibrating in alarm.

 “You don’t talk unless I say so, got it?” Her red hair swishes as she talks. “Got it?” Her voice is dangerous now, like quicksand, and Cassie nods furiously. “Good.”

 She drags Cassie to the bad room, the bad room—not the bad room, no, no—and straps her to the table—the bad table, the bad table, not the bad table, she doesn’t want to hurt again—

 There’s fingers at her arm, yanking up her sleeve, wiping the crease of her inner arm with something cold. Cassie is cold, so cold, and she shuts her eyes, crying silently and hiccuping. “Don’t move,” instructs Red-Hair Lady, and then there’s a prick in her arm.

 “Ow!” Suddenly, there’s what feels like fire spreading over her skin, lighting her up and tearing her apart.

 Cassie can hear something, something high-pitched and horrible and bad—she wants the bad to stop, it hurts so much, but it’s all she can feel and it’s swallowing her up—

 Her throat is raw—she’s screaming, screaming, screaming for anyone, anything to help her.

 But no one comes.

  APRIL 6 — 10:11 PM

 “Holy shit, Chlo, pull over!”

 Chloe Tanner jerks his head to the right, where her boyfriend, John, is pointing. “What?” Then she sees it: a car upside down, a mess of crumpled metal and red-spattered earth. “Oh, shit!” She yanks her car to the right, parking abruptly a few hundred feet away from the crash. There’s no police cars near it, or any people standing beside the car. What the hell happened here? Someone has to do something. What if there’s someone in there? John and Chloe rush out of the car. Shattered glass crunches beneath Chloe’s sneakers as she and John approach the vehicle. “Hello?” John announces, and Chloe runs to the front door.

 There’s a dark-haired woman inside, blood spreading across the front of her lavender blouse, hung upside down by her seatbelt. Her face is startlingly flushed, probably from all the blood settling in her head, and her head dangles limply as Chloe opens the car door. “Shit, shit! John, call 911!”

 John slams his fingers into his phone, almost frantic. “Um—he-hello? There’s a car crash here—a lady’s i-in the front…” He steps over the scattered glass to stare at the woman.

 As he talks to the 911 operator, Chloe presses her fingers to the woman’s neck. A faint, fluttering pulse meets her fingers, but that’s all she needs. “She’s still alive!” she shouts. “What do we do?”

 John puts the phone on speaker and describes the physical state of the woman, stuttering out that she is upside down and he doesn’t know if they should move her. “Don’t move her,” instructs the operator. “Find the source of the bleeding, if you can, and put pressure on it until we can get to you. It should only be a few minutes. Keep checking her breathing and her heart rate, okay? If it stops, I’ll need you to perform CPR on her. Do you know how?”

 Already pressing her scarf to the woman’s slashed thigh, Chloe stammers, “Ye-yeah, I know how.”

 Those few minutes seem like hours as Chloe keeps pressure on the gashes and John checks her heartbeat. Finally, the ambulance arrives and four paramedics in matching uniform pour out, walking firmly towards them with a stretcher and medical supplies. “We’ll take it from here,” says one, just as they reach the woman.

 Chloe reaches for John’s hand and grips it tightly, backing away from her. They ride with her to the hospital, where the police interrogate them about what happened, but neither of them know enough to further the investigation. “We didn’t see anything,” Chloe assures the first officer, a woman with a blonde ponytail named Officer Bone. “Just found her, that’s all. I think it’d already been here a while by the time we got here.”

 Officer Bone nods, scribbling something down. “Well, we’re really grateful you found her. If you hadn’t, she could just as easily be dead.”

 Chloe gulps. If she hadn’t pulled over the car… If they hadn’t done anything… If John had been asleep… This horrible realization washes over her: this woman could have died. “Is she… Is she gonna be okay?”

 Bone glances wearily behind her. “Her head looked pretty banged up, so I can’t tell you for sure…” She removes her hat. “But I have your contact information. I’ll keep you updated on her condition.” She sighs. “Are you sure you couldn’t find anything about her identity?”

 Both John and Chloe answer with a simple “no.” The paramedics gave all the woman’s belongings to the police, and they didn’t find a wallet or a phone on her; there were no frantic police calls on missing middle-aged women, either.

 Bone clears her throat. “Well, until we find something, she’s a Jane Doe until she wakes up or someone comes for her.”

 As Officer Bone leaves to talk to the other policemen, Chloe slumps into one of the waiting room chairs. She hopes that this woman, whoever she is, will be okay.

  APRIL 6 — 11:21 PM

 They spent the past few hours chatting with semi-drunk socialites and businessmen; Tony dazzled them with half-hearted tales of Iron Man’s adventures while Pepper approached the hosts with financial propositions.

 Pepper looks sleek tonight, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back into an elegant bun, and her cocktail dress is a rich, deep purple that matches the color of Tony’s suit. Tony, to say the least, matches his elegant partner, a silk tie loose around his neck. Pepper has always been the more formal one, rarely able to tell a story about herself to someone she didn’t know well. From where he currently stands, Tony can hear her laugh as she chats about Tony and his bad habit of showing up late to everything. “I’ve started marking everything in his calendar an hour before they actually start, just so he’ll be on time!”

 Tony grazes his hand along her waist, alerting her to his presence just as he appears beside her. He can hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Sorry, ladies,” he says, nodding to the other three women, “but I’ll just be borrowing Ms. Potts for a moment.”

 As soon as they are out of hearing range of the other guests, Pepper sighs. “Thank God,” she says. “I don’t think I could’ve done that for much longer.” She kisses his cheek.

 “What, are they boring you?”

 She wrinkles her nose. “No, I’m just tired of socializing, at least for today.” That, at the very least, Tony can understand. Pepper had spent almost the entire day in meetings and making calls to various companies. Her eyes light up with something mischievous. “Come on, let’s get out of here!”

 Tony stares at her in mock shock, taking on the richest accent he can muster. “Leave the gala? Oh, the scandal, my dear!”

 Pepper stifles a giggle. “God, Tony, your British accent is the worst.”

 He pouts as she hooks her arm around his and leads them towards the exit. “I thought it was awesome!”

 “Awesomely terrible,” she reminds him. “Any British person within a ten-mile radius would be offended, I’m sure. And stop saying 'awesome.' You've been spending way too much time with Peter.”

 Tony grins. “Pepper, my love, you wound me.”

 She rolls her eyes, opening the door for him. “Come on, Shakespeare, let’s go find some pizza.”

 This time, it’s Tony’s turn to break into a smile. “Pizza!”

  APRIL 6 — 11:33 PM

 When Ty finally leaves, Julia goes upstairs with Cristian. The kids are already fast asleep, but they kiss each of them good night before heading back to their room. After Julia changes into some pajamas and gets into bed, Cristian climbs in beside her. “Piensas que nos dijo la verdad?” he asked softly. Do you think he told us the truth?

 Julia nods. She’s lying on her side, facing him. “Ty may be an addict,” she replies, “but he’s not a bad kid. He wouldn’t lie about something like this, and, I mean, just look at him. He could barely talk, he was so…” She doesn’t know how to explain it, but she knows that look in his eyes well. Terrified. Distressed. Helpless. “...scared. You can’t fake that.”

 Cristian pulls her closer to him, and he presses his face into her hair. “What are you gonna do, Julia?”

 “It’s gonna be hard,” she confesses, “but I’ve gotta report it. I’ll leave him out of it—I don’t want him going back to prison—but there’s no way I can’t report this.” The people Ty cares for so much are drug addicts and ex-cons; the New York Police Department cares little for them. She’ll have to use her strong reputation as a high-ranking officer to advocate for Ty and his missing friends. And her missing brother. Charlie, she thinks immediately, and now she feels desperation clench around her heart. “I have to—I have to find my brother.” She tries not to think of all the horrible things that could have happened to him, but her mind barrels forward. “He’s my baby brother, I can’t—” Her voice cracks.

 Cristian slides his arm around her waist and shushes her. “I know, I know. You’ll find him, I know you will.”

 Julia prays to God that she will, too.

  APRIL 6 — 11:46 PM

 Happy drives them to Pepper’s favorite pizza place, one that sells Chicago-style deep dish. It’s hard to forget that Pepper was a Chicagoan (honestly, she still is), for Chicago always seems to seep into her daily life, whether it be her odd taste in pizza, her obsession with the Chicago Cubs, or her uncanny ability to survive any cold weather without blinking.

 And because Pepper craves deep dish pizza on a weekly basis, they’ve become intimately familiar with one pizza place in particular, one called Lou Malnati’s, but they are not familiar with the teenage girl at the register, who gapes unashamedly at them as they enter the building.

 “Hey, order for pickup?” announces Pepper, smiling expectantly, “For Potts?”

 The girl doesn’t move, simply staring, starstruck, at them. “Uh…”

 Tony sighs. He doesn’t need another fangirl right now, not at eleven at night when all he wants is a dumb pizza. “Look, kid, can we just get the pizza?”

 The employee next to her, one who has seen them countless times before and has grown used to their presence, announces, “Of course, Mr. Stark, right away, sir!” The employee slips into the back as the other girl stands with her mouth open.

 But as he watches the girl’s face break into a blushing smile, he realizes she isn’t even looking at him. She's looking at Pepper. “M-Ms. Potts,” she stammers, her voice so high it’s almost a squeal, “I-I’m a huge fan of yours; I’ve loved you since I was little when I read that article about how you…” The girl is full-on rambling, spilling every fact she knows about Pepper, and Tony watches his fiancée’s smile grow wider with every word. Iron Man fans are like pebbles, commonplace, but Pepper Potts fans are something else entirely. “...and as the only female CEO in—and, I mean, of the most powerful company in New York? You’re amazing! An inspiration! I can’t believe you’re standing here, wow—” The girl adjusts her hijab anxiously, tugging at the edges. Her nametag reads AYOMI. “It's such a pleasure to—um—to see you—um, um—could I—do you think I could—um, maybe—”

 Pepper, being the wonderfully empathetic woman that she is, reaches across the counter and places a calming hand on Ayomi’s starstruck shoulder. “A picture? Of course!”

 Tony thinks the girl is going to faint, right then and there. Instead, however, Ayomi’s eyes brighten and she nearly trips over herself getting to the other side of the counter, just as the other employee returns with their pizza. “Thank you, thank you!” she gasps.

 Tony almost bursts out laughing at the expression on Pepper’s face. Pepper Potts can stare down a roomful of angry reporters, counter death threats, and command all of Stark Industries, but in the end, she is just as nervous as the fan herself. The negative attention she receives as CEO of Stark Industries is miles away from this glowing praise she is receiving from the young woman standing in front of her.

 Ayomi clears her throat. “Um, Mr. Stark, do you think you could…” She holds her phone out to him, already in the camera app.

 Tony is, in a word, bewildered. He hasn’t been asked to take someone else’s picture since...well, ever. But nonetheless, he takes the phone and snaps a dozen photos of Pepper and Ayomi. He knows Pepper is beyond ecstatic to have this kind of attention, and that over-the-moon feeling is washing over him, now, too.

 God, he loves this woman.

 After finally getting the pizza and giving about four goodbye hugs to Ayomi, they head back to Stark Tower. By that time, they are starving, so they devour the pizza in the car.

 “Watch the seats, watch the seats!” complains Happy. “I just got those cleaned.”

 Pepper and Tony share a knowing look with each other, glancing down guiltily at the pizza sauce smeared on the seat between them. “Oh, yeah, definitely!” Pepper declares, as Tony tries to clean up the mess they’d made. “Seats are fine, Happy; you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

 Happy gives a Scroogelike grunt, muttering under his breath. “Yeah, yeah.”

 By the time they are back inside, kicking their shoes off, it’s midnight, and they slump in the bed together, Pepper literally groaning with delight. “I wanna go to sleep,” she mumbles into the pillow, “and never wake up again.”

 Tony laughs. “Come here, baby, I’ll take your hair down. You don’t want to go to sleep like that.”

 He gets a muffled moan in response.

 Tony scoots up the bed on his knees. “Come on, Sleepy, turn over.” She flops onto her back, groaning in protest. He lifts her head into his lap so he can remove the bobby pins, one by one. “Wanna watch a movie?”

 “Yeah,” she mumbles. “Something without people.”

 “What, a nature documentary?” He plucks another pin out and tosses it on the nightstand.

 Her eyes are still closed. “No… A cartoon. Something with little animals…”

 Tony smirks. “A Disney movie? I’ve got just the thing.”

 Before long, Finding Nemo is playing on the screen, and they’ve stripped out of their restricting gala outfits and into T-shirts, curled beneath the covers.

 The best thing about their relationship is that it’s entirely beyond the physical, nothing like Tony’s previous relationships. Before Pepper, his dating pool had been entirely based on physical beauty and social status, even attainability, but not mutual compatibility. Obviously he’s attracted to Pepper, but it goes so far beyond that. With Pepper, he’s more himself then he’s ever been. He can watch dumb Disney movies with her, he can eat pizza at midnight with her, he can cry in front of her… He doesn’t need to impress her, and she doesn’t need to impress him. They know each other too well.

 “He’s kinda like you,” Pepper mutters, yawning.

 Tony snaps back to the present. “What? Who?”

 Pepper looks so beautiful now, the ends of her mouth twitching into an amused smile. “The dad fish… What’s his name again? Merlin? Marlin?” She yawns again. “He loves his damn kid so much…”

 Tony combs his fingers through her hair. “Pep, we don’t have a kid. That doesn’t—”

 “Peter,” she interrupts, “is Nemo. Does something dumb, the world implodes on him, and eventually you’re there to save him.”

 “Well, I don’t think—”

 “Last month,” she continues, her eyes still closed, “you took him to see Hamilton with us.”

 Tony snorts. “He’d been listening to the soundtrack nonstop! What was I supposed to do?”

 “In March,” she says, ignoring him, “when he got shot in that robbery, you made him stay in the Medbay for the whole day, and you didn’t let him patrol for a week, even though it’d fully healed by the second day.”

 “His body was still recovering!” Tony protests. “And—”

 “Once a month, you take him to your favorite sandwich place.” She is sitting up now, blinking groggily at him.

 “What’s so bad about that?”

 Pepper rubs her eyes. “You only ever take me there, dumbass. Or Rhodey. You’ve never even mentioned it to Happy or anyone else.”

 Tony’s face flushes pink. “Well, I mean, it’s personal, knowing that, and, uh—”

 And still Pepper rattles on. “You let him pick the music in the car, you brought his lunch to school when he forgot it, you left an important meeting so you could go to his decathlon meet, you went out for ice cream with him when he had a fight with his friend, you always ask how he is, you’re always checking with his AI to make sure he’s okay, you—”

 “Okay, okay!” Tony huffs. “You’re right, fine. It’s just like… If I had a kid, I’d want him to be like Pete, you know?” He sinks his face with the nearest pillow, groaning.

 Pepper laughs beside him; what a privilege, he thinks suddenly, it is to hear Pepper Potts laugh. “Baby, Peter’s already your kid. You’re just too thick headed to see it. He’s here at least twice a week, Tony.”

 Tony mumbles a fragmented response into the pillow. Pepper snakes an arm around his side, “C’mere,” she says, pulling him closer. “I’m cold.”

 Tony welcomes her presence at his side; she snuggles into him, pressing her cold toes against his bare calf— “God, fuck, Pepper, your feet are like ice! Keep those things to yourself, Elsa!”

 Drowsy, she giggles a little, clasping onto him tighter. He follows her freckled arm around his torso to hold her hand, and he turns onto his side so that her chest is pressed against his back. This is how they usually cuddle: Tony, the little spoon, and Pepper, the big spoon.

 Pepper falls asleep first, snoring lightly against his chest. Their legs are intertwined, and Tony’s sure he’ll wake up with his feet asleep if he stays like this, so he gently shifts, untangling their limbs. In the background, Finding Nemo plays, and he mutes it with a quiet order to FRIDAY. As he watches, Marlin tries to convince the leader of a school of moonfish to tell him how to get to his son.

 If I lost Peter, Tony thinks, I’d be a lot better at finding him than this dumb fish. Satisfied, he turns the television off and burrows beneath the covers, watching Pepper’s chest rise and fall in a deep sleep. What did he do to deserve a woman as amazing as her? He smiles to himself, closing his eyes. What did he do to deserve a kid as great as Peter?

 Before long, he is snoring, too, slipping into the peaceful realm of sleep with his fiancée at his side.

    APRIL 7 — 2:09 AM

 Scott’s wrists spike with pain, and he pauses to rub them, the action made awkward by the handcuffs locked around them. He’s not in the Chair anymore—he’s in a hard chair before a metal table, set with a laptop and other computer supplies. He’s got more freedom now, at least; his arms and legs are cuffed, but they aren’t attached to the chair so that he has enough freedom to work. It’s odd to him that the crushing pain of his mutilated legs has faded with the mission before him, fueled by his mind, the computer, and his throbbing hands. Well, they gave him a little painkiller a few hours ago, too, solely because he was too delirious with pain to work, so that helps. And they added some adrenaline to the mix, so Scott is wide awake. Charlie or American Psycho or whoever was right: the only thing Scott needs is his head and his hands.

 Three times since he first arrived here, he has heard his little girl scream. It’s not anything like the false screeches in horror movies or Cassie’s usual happy squeals. It’s the sound of pain, horrific agony coursing through the air, and it’s so violent and terrible and sickening that when Scott hears it he can barely breathe.

 The worst part about it is that he can’t see her, but he knows that’s her voice. He knows better than almost anyone on the planet what Cassie sounds like, even if it’s just a whimper or a sob. That’s his daughter. He can’t touch her, can’t hold her, can’t tell her a joke, can’t sing her a lullaby… It’s agonizing. Forget his legs—it’s like an entire chunk of his heart has been torn from his chest.

 Scott knows there’s only one way to get Cassie out of here: doing what he’s told. Even if it means breaking dozens of laws and putting others in danger, he’ll do anything if it means that they’ll stop hurting Cassie. He never used to understand the blind, ultra-sacrificial love that parents held for their children when he was younger, but after he learned that Maggie was pregnant, he knew. He knew that he would do anything to protect his child.

 Just knowing that Cassie is in pain now is putting his heart through a meat grinder; he types faster, clicking and hacking and typing until his fingers are a blur at the keyboard.

 At the sound of the door at the end of the hallway, Scott jumps; he can’t help it. Last time that door opened, that sick fuck, Renee, came through with his little girl. This time, he listens hard, typing faster than ever. If he shows any sign of slacking, they’ll make Cassie scream again. And he’ll do anything in the world to not hear that sound ever again.

 It’s not Renee, Charlie, or Mason—his three main captors are busy getting high on the other side of the place—warehouse? Base? Building? Lair? He realizes quite suddenly that he has no idea where he is. He could be in a cave, for all he knows. There’s no windows, not that he can see, and the cold air seeping through the vents does nothing but tell him that they’ve got air conditioning.

 There’s an almost eerie silence following the opening of the door, and then a thump, the all-too-familiar sound of a body hitting the ground, and fear prickles down Scott’s back. What if they caught another one of his loved ones: Maggie, Hope, Hank, or even Jim? The fear that overcomes him in that moment drains him of his energy. He’s barely clinging on to his composure as it is, but this… Then, vaguely, he remembers the first thing he was asked to do: hack into Tony Stark’s computer system and locate what Stark designated as “SKM7.” Scott discovered several hours ago that SKM7 was a moving target, which he found to be strange, but he figured it was a vehicle or Stark-created piece of technology. There’d been nothing in the files he’d hacked about SKM7 stating that it could be a person.

 As the door to the room swings open and two of Charlie’s black-clothed guys drag a limp form between them, Scott understands with violent precision: SKM7 is a person. By the look of him, a young person. “No, no, no,” Scott croaks, panic splitting him. “No, no…”

 Then there’s Charlie, leaning on the doorframe like he’s just won the Olympics, and high as a fucking kite. He grins at Scott, and poorly masked aggression pours over his body. “Put him in the chair,” Charlie announced, his words a little slurred. “Now.”

 As they lock him into the Chair, the one he was in only hours earlier, Scott’s horror augments. SKM7 is a pale teen with brown hair; his head is completely slack, as the men strap him in, and his eyes are closed. One of the men pushes his head back and checks his eyes for any sign of consciousness. Nothing. It’s unnerving how limp he is, like a rag doll. He’s a wiry kid, a little muscle on bones, and he’s got a wide face peppered with bruises. He’s wearing a Star Wars hoodie, a bright blue one with “Trust me, I’m a Jedi” printed across the front, but the sleeves, as well as his hands, are spattered with blood. Probably fourteen or fifteen, this kid… His youth is obvious in everything about him: his neon green shoes, his sweatshirt, his oddly colored jeans, his hair… He’s even got a math formula scribbled across the back of his hand. And the fact that he’s unconscious, bloodied, and locked to the Chair by his wrists, ankles, and torso makes everything worse. “He’s…” Scott gasps, and Charlie’s smile only widens. “He’s just a kid. You made me track down a… a… teenager? So you could kidnap him, too?”

 Charlie shrugs. As he stalks towards Scott, every step threatening, Scott feels every hair on his body stand on end; his body screams, Danger! Danger! Get out! “Thanks, Lang,” Charlie says, ignoring the fact that there’s an unconscious fifteen-year-old behind them. “You did great.” He raises his hand—no, no, fuck, no, he can’t take any more, he’ll break—and claps Scott heartily on the shoulder. “I should give you a raise.” He chuckles to himself.

 Scott’s blood boils, and he tries to swallow the fury rising in his throat, but he can’t— “So kidnapping a seven-year-old wasn’t good enough for you? You had to get a fifteen-year-old, too? What the hell?”

 “He’s sixteen,” Charlie snaps; his expression before was tight, like he trapped all his anger inside of his mouth, but now it’s exploded all over his face. “And this was all necessary, you dumb fuck. I don’t go around kidnapping kids for fun.”

 “Could’ve fooled me,” Scott growls, and Charlie hits him so hard that he sees stars.

 “Don’t forget” —Charlie’s face glistens with sweat, and his eyes narrow— “that’s your pretty little seven-year-old I’ve got here. Next time you talk to me like that, I’ll take off one of her fingers, how’d you like that?”

 Scott’s eyes widen, and his mouth bubbles up with blood and frantic pleas; Charlie backs away from him, muttering in disgust. “P-please, d-d-don’t—”

 “You’ve got a new job, Lang,” interrupts Charlie, moving to stand beside Renee. He curls an arm around her shoulders, and she smirks. “If you do it right, your brat will be just fine.” Charlie smiles with his teeth this time, and Scott can see the drugged high leak into his too-wide grin. “With your help, we’re gonna change the world.”

  APRIL 7 — 2:46 AM

 The door opens with a bang that seems to shake the room, and Tony jumps to his feet. Instinctually, he grabs his watch, slamming his fingers to the activation button that transforms it from a wristwatch to an Iron Man Gauntlet, raising his arm to—

 “Peter?” says Pepper. She’s standing, too, but her hands are held out in comfort instead of aggression, her eyes trained on the figure who has now entered the room.

 It’s Peter, there’s no denying. He’s drenched from head to toe; his brown hair is plastered against his forehead and his red hoodie is now a wet shade of scarlet. His jeans cling to his skinny legs. There’s a blend of blood and water on his forehead, and he’s shaking, trembling like a wet leaf, his chest heaving.

 Immediately, Tony transforms his gauntlet back into a watch and approaches the kid carefully. He’s never seen Peter like this before—terrified, panicking, anxious—and it chills him to the bone. He’s shivering now, breathing hard, but the air whistles through his throat in a dry whine. “Kid?” he calls out, taking a careful step forward. Peter’s hands are on his head now, fisting tightly in his dark hair as though he’s about to tear it from the roots. His eyes are blown with panic, darting around, and he won’t focus on Tony. “Kid, look at me.” Tony locks eyes with Pepper; her expression betrays the concern and fear that he feels. “Peter.” Nothing. He tries again. “Pete, kiddo, it’s me. What happened?”

 Pepper moves forward, reaching out towards the kid, and alarm bells crash through Tony’s head. “Don’t,” Tony snaps, startling even himself with his bluntness, and Pepper immediately stops. Tony knows better than anyone what being mentally absent means for someone with superpowers; he doesn’t need another Bucky Barnes on his hands.

 After Peter’s arms finally drop, and his gaze lifts to Tony’s, the whole world seems to stop. “M-Mr. Stark?”

 Tony’s shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another step towards Peter, still cautious. “Yeah, it’s me. You okay, kiddo?”

 Peter presses his palm against his forehead, looking a little shocked when it comes back bloody. “Yeah, I just…”

 Tony has never felt this worried before; anxiety cuts through him, hot and sharp. What happened to his kid? “Are you okay?” A million questions collide in his mind. Who did this to you? What could scare you like this?

 But he chokes them all down as Peter stammers, staring at the newfound blood stemming from his head. “I’m bleeding…”

 Fuck, this can’t be good. Something is wrong, gut-wrenchingly so, and Tony knows it. Peter can barely recognize the pain he is in, let alone the fact that he is bleeding, soaking wet, and standing in the middle of Tony’s kitchen. “Let’s sit down, okay, kiddo?” By the time Peter blinks in confused recognition, Tony has moved all the way to the kid, scanning him for further injury and guiding him to the kitchen table by placing a hand on his back—

 Peter jerks away from him so violently that even Pepper startles, and the kid transforms from mentally absent to a terrified mess, his body vibrating in fear. But instead of attacking with his webshooters or hyper-reflexes like Tony expected, he curls in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut. What the hell? This is not the result of combat trauma or too much time in the field. This… This is something deeper, darker, sourced in something more sinister than Tony originally thought. “Okay, okay,” says Tony, thinking fuck, fuck, what the hell is happening— “You’re okay, Pete, you’re just fine; no touching, okay? I got it, I won’t touch you, you’re safe...”

 He continues talking, coaxing Peter into at least a sliver of safety, until finally Peter opens his eyes again, gasping, “So-sorry, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry…” He looks pale, too pale, and it’s now that Tony realizes his lips are blue. Fucking blue.

 Tony’s heart twists violently. “You’re okay, kid, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for.” Tony’s left arm is throbbing now, that dull ache that always resounds when his anxiety spikes, and he tries to control the flutter of panic in his chest. “J-just come over here, okay? We’ll sit by the fire, you can warm up a little—you’re looking a little cold, Pete.”

 Peter wraps his arm around himself as if suddenly noticing the fact that his teeth are chattering; glancing nervously at Tony, he nods slowly, following the man to the fireplace at the other end of the room. “FRIDAY,” says Tony, trying to stay calm for the sake of the kid, “turn up the heat, please.”

 Thankfully, FRIDAY remains silent in her obedience, avoiding possibly startling the kid. Tony turns around to share a worried look with Pepper, then faces the kid again. Peter’s relaxing a little in the warmth of the fire, and before he knows it, Pepper’s beside him, holding out a blanket and a fresh change of clothes: Tony’s sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants Peter had left with them weeks ago. “Peter, honey?” she says, her voice gentle. “I brought you some dry clothes, do you want to—”

 “No,” Peter croaks, suddenly tense again. “No.”

 Peter’s clothes are dripping wet, and Tony knows how hypothermia works. He has to get him out of those wet clothes. “Kid?” he says, worry lacing his features. “You wanna take off your hoodie, at least, change into somethi—”

 “No!” This time, Peter’s response is frantic, almost wild, and Tony immediately regrets his suggestion. “No, p-please—”

 Horror flashes through Tony’s head; everything comes to a screeching halt. Please. It’s just one word, but it’s enough for Tony to know that something bad happened to his kid, something that brought Peter to such a point of suffering that he begged for it to stop. Tony wants to help him, to hug him, to hold him and tell him everything’s gonna be okay, but he can’t. Peter won’t let him touch him, and Tony’s not planning on violating his kid’s personal space when he’s scared. Tony’s not Howard; he won’t do that to Peter. Only one question flashes through his mind, burning hot: who hurt Peter? This whole situation is fucking terrifying Tony, and dark thoughts needle at the back of his mind, poking sharply—don’t be stupid, Tony, you know the symptoms, you know what happened to him, why else would he be so scared of taking off his clothes—and Tony’s hands clench into horrified, tense fists. No. Not Peter. No. He refuses to believe that. It’s too horrible to think about.

 The kid shivers, his teeth clacking like typewriter keys.

 Tony doesn’t want to force the kid to do anything, not in this fragile state, but he’s becoming seriously anxious about Peter’s physical health. He has to focus on something he can fix, and right now, Tony can help Peter stay healthy. “FRIDAY,” he orders, as Peter takes the blanket and wraps it around himself with trembling hands, “Peter’s vitals, please.”

 “Peter is currently experiencing a body temperature of 96 degrees, sir,” she responds carefully, “and rising. His heart rate is elevated. Otherwise, vitals are normal. He is in no immediate danger, but his brain waves signal significant distress.”

 Peter doesn’t even look up at the sound of the familiar AI. He just stands by the fire, shivering. Tony feels like there are two spools of thread tightening around his lungs, one tugging him towards Peter to comfort him, the other yanking him away, reminding him of the expression of absolute fear on Peter’s face when Tony touched him earlier. Tony gulps and presses the palm of his hand against his quickening heart. He has to help him. Although FRIDAY told him that Peter’s life isn’t in danger, he can’t keep himself from panicking. Significant distress, he echoes. Significant fucking distress. He’s never been in a situation like this before; Tony knows how to handle aliens, terrorists, and Stark Industries, but not the distraught, trembling, terrified mess of a kid in front of him. His kid, no less.

 At the sound of a muffled whimper, Tony’s head snaps up to find Peter Parker sobbing, snot and tears and all, into his hands, his shoulders quaking. Peter Parker, this fucking invincible kid that he loves so much, crumples like a tin can without warning, collapsing to his knees.

 And Tony can’t do anything about it. He can’t even touch Peter. Instead, he kneels beside the kid, whispering comforting phrases to him, things he would want to hear if he was having a breakdown. “Hey, kiddo, you’re okay, you’ll be okay… You’re safe with me, just breathe, Pete, you’re gonna be fine...”

 If this was a Lifetime movie, Peter would be hugging Tony now, embracing him like a son would do to a father, and he would tell him everything. Then he and Peter would ride off into the sunset, vowing to chase down the bad guy and lock him up for life.

 But this isn’t a movie. This is reality. So instead, Tony watches in anxious helplessness as his kid sobs, curling himself into a tight, lonely ball of shame before him. There is no sarcastic bravado or odd humor left in the boy: only Peter, his soul laid vulnerable before Tony’s eyes—

 —and Tony is gasping, straining for breath, and there’s a hand on his back, rubbing soothingly. “Bad dream, baby?”

 Tony is still grappling with the fact that his heart is racing at a million miles an hour, and it takes him a moment to realize that Pepper is sitting up with him, trying to comfort him.

 And the thing is, it wasn’t a nightmare. That moment had been all too real. Peter had arrived without any warning on a cold, rainy day in March, dangerously quiet and unable to be touched without a violent reaction. Tony’s anxiety had never taken such a drastic turn. In the end, Pepper and Tony discovered, through broken sentences and lost whispers, that a man who Peter had known as a child, was back on the streets of Queens. His name is Skip, Peter had said, his voice deadly quiet, and I never… I didn’t think I’d ever have to see him again. They weren’t able to get anything else out of him, and after that he’d come back the next week like nothing had happened, laughing like he hadn’t been sobbing on the floor of Tony’s kitchen only seven days prior.

 That was, by far, the worst moment of Tony’s parenthood, if he could call it that. Watching his kid suffer like that… Being completely unable to help him was like being set on fire.

 Tony is calmer now, and Pepper’s hand is over his chest, making sure that his heartbeat slows down to normal. “You okay?” she asks, watching his expression carefully.

 Tony’s left arm aches, and he grabs it subconsciously, rubbing his throbbing wrist. He doesn’t bother lying to Pepper; she knows him too well. “I dreamed about Peter,” he explains. If he wasn’t still reeling from the vivid dream, he would have cracked a joke about Finding Nemo and Pepper’s persistent fatherhood quips, but he’s too drained at the moment to do any of that.

 “About what happened in March?” she suggests, giving him a knowing look.

 Tony nods, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead.

 “Do you want to… Do you want to talk about it?”

 “No…” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m just gonna go to the lab, get my mind off of things.” He picks up the clock: 2:57 AM. “Oh, shit, Pepper, I’m sorry for waking you up, I know you have to go at like five, I didn’t mean—”

 “Hey,” she says with a smile, tapping a finger against his chin, “you know what I always say. You can’t be sorry for things you can’t control, Tony. And you can’t control having a bad dream, right?”

 That tightness in his chest loosens at her words, and he takes her hand, bringing it to his lips. He mumbles a “right” against her knuckles.

 After Pepper crawls back into bed, Tony pulls on a sweatshirt, some plaid pants, and a pair of flip-flops before heading downstairs. Since his mansion was destroyed in 2012, he moved into Stark Tower; it became the height of his technological prowess and intellectual ability, but after it was compromised several times (and after returning them only reminded him of the broken pieces of the former Avengers team), he sold the Tower and moved into the new Avengers facility. They’ve constructed it and reconstructed it dozens of times, but finally Tony can call it his home, not just his company property. It’s located in upstate New York, in a stretch of lush land surrounded by trees and water, and there are separate spaces for every use, all connected by winding brick walkways. There’s a massive warehouse for storing equipment (connected to a lab for him to work in), a main building where he and Pepper can do official business, an apartment complex for the Avengers (if, for some reason, they ever got back together), a separate house for him and Pepper, and several other facilities. They’d decided long ago that it was healthier for them to divide Tony’s home life and his work life. He used to spend days in his lab, surviving off of coffee and protein bars to finish projects, but now he almost always sleeps in bed with Pepper unless one of them is gone on a work trip. It’s new, specifically for Tony, to have a home that doesn’t belong to Stark Industries, and it’s life-changing. He spends time with his family now, just watching movies with Rhodey and cooking with Pepper and playing dumb video games that Peter shows him, just because he can.

 Now, he walks from his house to his lab; the grass is damp, tickling the sides of his feet. The moist air is refreshing, and his head is almost cleared in the five-minute walk to the workshop.

 Inside is his refuge: tables upon tables of machine parts, chemical compounds, and computers. He can stay in here for hours at a time, simply tinkering. Tony settles down at one of the worktables, immediately picking up one of his in-progress works: the gunfire sensory system that he and Peter had been creating the night before. He fiddles around with it for a while; giving himself something technological to do usually helps him out of a funk. But even editing the code on Project Kevlar can’t distract him. Not when he’s thinking about Peter.

 He contemplates calling Peter, just to make sure he’s okay, but it’s still three in the morning. Besides, Peter barely sleeps as it is without early morning phone calls from his mentor.

 So instead, he pops an earpiece into his left ear and orders FRIDAY to call Rhodey.

 It takes five calls to reach him. “Tony, it’s three fifteen.” His voice is a low, tired growl.

 Tony relaxes in his chair. “I do have a clock,” he quips, but his voice is shaky. “Just couldn’t sleep, Rhodey.”

 A series of shuffles. “Are you okay?”

 His head throbs. “Just peachy, Mom. Tell me a joke.” Pepper would’ve made him talk about it, to his therapist or to her, but Rhodey always tries to cheer him up instead. It’s the best thing about him; Rhodey knows that Tony’s a fucked up guy, but when they’re together, Tony feels normal.

 Rhodey, detecting that familiar, anxious quiver in his voice, doesn’t question Tony’s request. He starts telling a funny story about a cadet and a dog, and Tony loses himself in it, wanting to think of anything else. Rhodey talks until Tony’s mind is numb, disconnected from his nightmare. “...don’t you think, Tony?”

 Tony laughs weakly. “You know, your jokes really don’t get better with age.”

 “Think so? Bet you couldn’t tell one better.”

 “Rhodey, at least when I tell a story, people don’t start snoring after the first—”

 A wild screech shakes his eardrums, so violent and fucking loud that his whole body goes taut like a bowstring, going painfully rigid in a failed attempt to escape the sound—

 —pain hammers his head, but it’s only a vague afterthought compared to the horrible fucking sound quaking his brain like a speaker on steroids, like an MMA fighter shaking a rag doll—

 —colors flashing above him, pale blue and strawberry blonde; his brain is melting, exploding in sound, he can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can’t—

 —it dies to a dull roar, and Tony’s whole body uncoils as he comes back to his senses. His cheek against cold floor, thin fingers prying his hands away from his ears, two overlapping voices calling his name—

 He can still feel the sound there, like his head’s been filled with a thousand rubber hammers, and somehow he manages to uncoil himself and focus on the woman in front of him. Pepper. “Tony! Tony, look at me!” He blinks; a high-pitched whine oscillates in his eardrums, and he sways with the noise as he tries to right himself.

 There’s a sound in his left ear, another voice. “Tony? What’s going on? Can you hear me? Tony!”

 He swallows, for the first time since the noise began, and the action itself feels painful. He blinks (once, twice, three times), and finally he can see Pepper in front of him, trying to meet his wandering gaze. “Fuck” is the first thing he says, through gritted teeth. “My head…” He shifts, trying to sit up.

 “Don’t get up, Tony,” she warns, pushing him back down. “Just take a second.”

 He reaches up and touches his left ear, where the earpiece is still lodged. “Tony?” Rhodey prompts.

 “Yeah…” Tony winces. He can barely hear his own voice. “I’m fine, I’ll call you back.” He clicks the end button on the earpiece and pulls it out, still stunned.

 As he comes back to his senses, Pepper starts to explain, saying that FRIDAY had been compromised and set off a blaring alarm once her systems recognized an intruder. “That thing in your ear,” she says, picking it up, “played the sound a little too loud.”

 Tony nearly laughs out loud. Here he thought that he was going crazy, that he was suffering for all those weapons he’d fired, but it had just been FRIDAY’s odd alarm system. He groans, the ringing in his head now a dull whine. “FRIDAY, what happened? Compromised?”

 His lovely AI responds only with unnerving silence. Pepper helps Tony into a sitting position, examining his ear. “Yeah, Tony,” she states, “FRIDAY hasn’t been responding. Not since the alarm went off.”

 “Then how’d you turn it off?” he asks, confused.

 Pepper shrugs. “You’re the artificial intelligence guru; she just turned off, and she hasn’t said anything since.”

 Usually, Tony would be annoyed that FRIDAY had simply shut down like this, but it’s a well-received distraction from the Peter-heavy thoughts buzzing in his head. “Well, I guess I’ve got a job to do, then.”

 Once Pepper ensures that Tony is okay, save a little hearing loss, she heads out for her next meeting, one with a Chinese computer company in Boston. “I should be back by this evening, okay?” She kisses his forehead. “Take care of yourself,” she reminds him. “I know FRIDAY’s a little messed up, but that doesn’t mean you can just forget to eat, okay? I’ll send Happy to check on you around lunch. And get Cho to check out that ear. Don’t do anything stupid.”

 Tony, back in his spinning lab chair, turns to look at her. “Stupid? Me? Baby, I would never.”

 Pepper smirks at him, but it’s playful, and Tony finds himself still picturing her face even once she’s left the workshop. Despite the fact that it’s almost four in the morning, and there’s a little trickle of blood coming from his ear, he still feels a little safer, just because Pepper is here with him.

  APRIL 7 — 4:19 AM

 Peter’s mouth is a bitter handful of acidic soap, leaking down his throat and churning in his stomach. There’s a horrible pain in his lower abdomen, spreading wide inside of him, and every inch of his skin buzzes with paralysis. His limbs are heavy; his bones must be made of steel now—he can’t move them, he can’t move at all.

 He forces his eyes open, but his eyelids are heavy, too heavy, and he only recognizes flashes of bland color before they shut again. There’s a voice bouncing around him, one he recognizes, male and tired and scared.

 Pain dances through his skull—iron dancers with sharpened heels—and a sound escapes him, something low and guttural. He’s so far from reality that he’s floating, but now he’s sinking back down to Earth. He can feel something cold and bad inside him, and he fights it, shifting and stirring and shaking. He tries to talk, to plead for help, to cry out, but his words tumble out of his mouth like loose marbles, and then the background ramblings of the familiar voice stop, overlapped by newer, sharper voices.

 “He’s…”

 Peter’s hair tugged to pull his head back. Hands on his face.

 “Watch…”

 Exhaustion washing over him. Cold fingers prying at his eyes, open, open, open.

 “…but already…would…dangerous…”

 Someone fumbling at his sleeve, ripping. A foreign voice in his ear.

 “Doesn’t matter…give…more…”

 A pinch inside of his elbow. The world tilting before his half-closed eyes. A rush of cold, and then everything is blurry.

 “…going…”

 Peter’s eyes roll into the back of his head, and jagged darkness swallows him.

#mcu #marvel #peter parker #fanfiction #peter parker whump #tony stark whump #fanfic #writeblr #kidnapping #captivity #torture #whump #someday i'll make it out of here #all night or a hundred years #phoenix fanfic #angst

[aerondudley]

James Villiers || 33 || Earl of Jersey || FC: Aidan Turner

Biography:

James was raised by his family to always be obedient, expected to play the dutiful son and grow to be the respectable man who would one day inherit the Earldom of Jersey from his father. When his parents told him that he was to be wed, it was not something he questioned since he had been raised from birth to know that his duty was to marry and continue the success of the Villiers family. He was married to Rebecca Wells when he was eighteen, and it was expected that the two would soon begin their own family. He met her on the day of their wedding, and she seemed the typical blushing bride he had always imagined for himself. But once the wedding was over and they were alone for the first time, her smile was immediately replaced with an ice cold stare, her lip curled in resentment against her new husband. Whereas James had always accepted that he would be married off to someone of his family’s choosing, Rebecca had relished the freedom she had as an unmarried woman and resented him for taking it away from her. He tried to be the husband he thought she wanted - attentive, caring, even romantic - but it was all for nothing. It didn’t matter what kind of person he was, she would always see him as the reason for her lack of freedom. James was not her husband, but her jailer.

James didn’t want to spend the rest of his life trapped in a resentful marriage, so he offered his wife an agreement: he would allow her whatever freedoms she desired, any indulgence she had once enjoyed before the traditional expectations of a wife were thrust upon her, on the condition that she remain discreet and they play the respectable married couple in public for the sake of reputation. Rebecca was sceptical of this arrangement at first, but agreed and slowly began testing the waters. Realising early on that James had meant it when he said he would give her no shame or judgement for her indulgences, she began to partake in more of them. True to her word, she played her part as the obedient wife in public as well as she had on their wedding day and eventually she began to warm to her husband. Whereas before they had lived almost completely separate lives, now she would come home and talk to James about her day. As they spent more time together, the pair developed a bond and Rebecca encouraged James to indulge in his own freedoms as well. She pointed out that he was still playing the part of a respectful and dutiful husband to a wife who was not there and she had no issue with him doing as he pleased.

Slowly, James allowed Rebecca to introduce him to the fun she had been out having. He had been raised a perfect gentleman and now he was out drinking, gambling and engaging in multiple affairs while his own wife cheered him on. Time passed, and James and Rebecca’s bond only deepened. They loved each other, but only in the way that best friends do - neither saw the other one in a romantic light, but as someone who had brought the other out of the darkness and allowed them to be their true selves. Unfortunately, as time went on, the two of them became so caught up in their hedonistic lifestyle that they forgot their one rule: discretion. Their lack of care meant that their various exploits were being whispered all over town - The Countess of Jersey spotted gambling away her husband’s fortune in a den of ill repute, the Earl seen with a woman perched on his lap who was not his wife, pouring him cup after cup of ale. It wasn’t long before word of these indiscretions got back to their families. They ordered a stop to their debauchery and demanded that the two of them do what was expected of them in their marriage and produce heirs. Although it was their families who had once again brought up the subject of children, the idea did not seem entirely preposterous to the pair. Rebecca had always wanted to be a mother, but she had put that dream aside. She hadn’t expected her husband to become her best friend, and who better to raise a child with? Their love might not have been romantic, but the platonic love between them was stronger than most married couples. Sadly, it was not meant to be.

They spent years trying, but after three miscarriages, they just weren’t able to cope with the heartbreak anymore. They decided to stand up to their families and told them that they were not willing to continue this suffering. They would remain married and do their best to be upstanding and respectable, but no heirs would come of their union. The news was taken surprisingly well, and the two of them were ready to go back to how their lives had been before the subject of children had ever been reintroduced to them. Their renewed happiness barely lasted a month before fate struck the next cruel blow and Rebecca’s life was snatched away. She had not been feeling well in the week before her death, but they had both considered it to be a short and temporary illness. James had not expected to see his wife deteriorate so quickly and to be at her deathbed only a short time later. He was told that these things happen, that even the strongest can be felled by illness but still he could not make sense of it. She had been so full of life, how could it have been ripped away so quickly? As he made the preparations for his wife’s funeral, James began to notice a few unusual occurrences.. Their new kitchen maid, who had only been in her position a few months abruptly handed in her notice, giving up what was surely a most prosperous position for any girl of her station; whispered conversations that stopped suddenly when he entered the room; what seemed to be a small and specific part of their gardens destroyed. When the time came for Rebecca’s funeral, the final straw was as he stood by his late wife’s grave as her coffin was lowered into the ground, and he overheard his mother discussing options for his second marriage.

James refused to see his mother after that. She tried to visit, tried to reason with him, but James was falling down a dark hole where no one could not catch or follow him. His late wife had introduced him to the wonderful distraction that gambling was, and he used it well. It was an easy way to help him forget, to give him that rush of adrenaline and joy that he craved in these dark times. But even a talented gambler cannot win forever, and James realised that his funds were dwindling fast. If he did not take care, then he could lose his entire fortune. The money did not mean as much to him as it once had, but there were still people who depended on him for their livelihood and he knew it would be wrong to punish them for his vices. He resolved to settle his debts and focus on building the fortune back up. An industrious man, James did have some success in recouping some of his losses, but such things take time and he knew that if he was to recover before anyone noticed, he would need the assistance of another person’s wealth. Although it disgusted him to do it, James allowed his mother back into his life and she agreed to find him a wealthy new wife while subtly going behind his back to spread the rumours that any losses in the Villiers coffers had been caused solely by Rebecca and not her son. 

Different families and their eligible daughters were discussed often, until one night James attended the theatre to briefly escape his mother’s meddling. She never had enjoyed the theatre as she thought actors were painted puppets, but plays and the opera had often been an escape for him. It was that night where James watched Henrietta Fane cross the stage and she immediately caught his attention. He had briefly recognised her name in the program as the daughter of one wealthy family that his mother had discarded due to their lack of title, but James saw a spark in her that he hadn’t considered when he had been bombarded with so many names and suggestions from his mother. He found himself seeking out the shows that she was in and started to visit backstage after each performance. The two of them got along well, and he finally decided that this would be the right choice. He needed money and someone he could get along with, and Henrietta had both qualities. Bringing up the Fane family again earned him a snort of derision from his mother, but he was quick to point out that although Henrietta lacked a title, her dowry more than made up for it. Although still not entirely sold on the idea, his mother knew that they were running out of time and agreed to assist in presenting the idea to the Fanes. A wedding day was set, and although James felt nothing but resentment at himself at marrying again for money, he found himself making his marriage vows once more.

The years since then have been kind to James. With the assistance of his second wife’s money, he has been able to build up the Villiers coffers to the point where he is able to use the money to invest wisely and now their riches are double what they previously were. With the extra wealth and input of Henrietta, James has established himself as a patron of the arts, and there is not a theatre opening or art gallery that he can’t be found at. The man he is now that he has matured is a curious mix of old and new - his drinking and flirting link to the hedonistic period he indulged in with his late wife, but his patronage of the arts and wise investments hark back to the young man who was trained from birth in how to be a perfect gentleman. And yet there is even another side to him, moulded from his present circumstances - a man with a strong mind and sharp intelligence deemed fit to mentor the Prince of Wales. Stare into the Earl’s eyes for long enough and you will see every aspect of his life flash through them: from innocent boy to unleashed youth, a tragic figure struck by loss, the wit and charm of a man who knows how to get what he wants and finally the cold, hard stare of the master manipulator. He is comedy and tragedy, intelligence and idiocy, a figure of opposites scrambled together to make him who he is: James Villiers.

Relationships:

Henrietta Villiers - Wife. The two have been husband and wife for four years now and have settled into their marriage. Their relationship is friendly and supportive, and there is an attraction between them as they are known to fall into bed together when the mood is right, but James extends the same courtesy to Henrietta that he did with his first wife. He is aware of her dalliances outside of their marriage, just as she is with his, but there is no jealousy or judgement of either party. James makes a point to not discuss his late wife at all. He still holds so much grief and guilt over her death, but prefers to keep up his jovial facade which is difficult to hold in place when he talks about her.

Rebecca Villiers - First Wife; deceased. Although they were unsuited to be wed, James and Rebecca managed to make their marriage work for them over time. Allowing each other the freedom they wanted for themselves let them lead the exciting lives that they wanted. They were husband and wife in name only, as their relationship developed more into two friends who also happened to live together. She was his best friend, and as the one to bring him out of his shell, James feels as though only Rebecca has ever completely understood who he is. James still has suspicions over her untimely death and is convinced that there is more to it than just a sudden and tragic illness.

Lydia Cavendish - Current Flame. Relationship TBA

Frederick William Augustus - Mentee. Relationship TBA

Edgar Percival Spencer - Companion. Relationship TBA

Duke of Devonshire - Political Rival. Relationship TBA

#b #tw: miscarriage #tw: death #fair warning this is loooooong #and it'll only get longer because I'll end up adding to it #ls.intro

[rapeculturerealities]

At 1:18 a.m. on Jan. 16, 2018, Brittany Smith texted her mother: “Mom Todd has tried to kill me literally. Don’t act like anything is wrong…he will kill me if he knows.” Brittany’s mother, Ramona McCallie, then frantically called her daughter, her son Chris McCallie, and Joshua Todd Smith, an acquaintance of Brittany’s who went by Todd. But no one answered.

Minutes later, Chris arrived at Brittany’s home in Stevenson, Alabama, near Tennessee’s southern border, armed with a pistol and ready to defend his sister. Inside, Chris placed his gun on the counter and told Todd, who Brittany said had raped her earlier that night, to leave. Instead, according to statements provided to police, Todd put Chris in a headlock. As Todd punched Chris, Brittany ran into the kitchen, grabbed the gun, and warned Todd she was going to shoot him, according to a statement she gave to police. When Todd did not back off, she shot him once, unsure if the bullet hit him. After Todd continued to beat Chris, Brittany fired the weapon several more times, until Todd dropped to the floor. Brittany called 911 and Todd was rushed to the hospital, where he was pronounced dead. According to the medical examiner’s report, Todd had bullet wounds in his arm, shoulder, ribs, and abdomen.

Brittany told investigators from the Jackson County Sheriff’s Department that Todd became violent after she agreed to let him sleep on the couch at her house for the night. She said Todd brutally raped her twice, at one point knocking her unconscious. A rape crisis center report obtained by The Appeal describes 33 wounds on Brittany’s body, including bite marks on her neck and chin. A toxicology report found that Todd had methamphetamine and alcohol in his system.

Chris told sheriff’s department investigators that he shot Todd. But Brittany admitted the next day that she was responsible for his death. She was then arrested on a murder charge and held at the Jackson County Jail on $100,000 bond. In March 2018, Jackson County District Attorney Jason Rupert Pierce convened a grand jury and indicted Brittany for murder. “It’s like they want to make her out to be this cold-blooded murderer and she’s not,” Ramona McCallie told the Appeal. “It’s like something out of a bad Lifetime movie.”

read more

#tw murder #Alabama #voices #survivors

[emmakillianfan]

Illusions of Another Life Chapter 33

Previous Chapters – AO3 and FF.net

The wagon load of staff for the kitchen had left that night for the nearby houses and hovels that they called home, tired and weary from the added strain of cooking for the additional guests at the palace. Snow, who tried to be cognizant of such tension, had offered them an increased salary and time off in the future. However, patience was wearing thin and the rumblings of rumors of the King and Princess’s fate were growing louder. None of that concerned Regina who watched as a few of them milled about that next morning. While she stayed mostly in the shadows, it was not arrival did not have the former queen pacing and plotting through the possible scenarios in her head.

“I’m sorry, Regina,” Elsa said from the poorly lit alcove where she had met up with the former queen in the early morning hours. “It is a much stronger magic than before. We will need Emma to perform that sort of spell.”

“We could cut it with the Dark One’s dagger,” she said, tugging at the leather bounds at her wrist helplessly. “It can cut through any spell.”

While Elsa had not questioned her friend’s mother on why she had insisted upon locking up the dagger and not removing it yet, she had her suspicions. “I still think that waiting for Emma’s return is a smarter idea. I may have control of my inherent magical tendencies, but not so well as to break magical bonds. I could attempt to freeze it. There are dangers in that though.”

“I don’t wish to be handless in your inept attempts,” Regina spat, her brown eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You seem quite loyal to Snow. Isn’t that unusual for a queen to pledge allegiance to another queen?”

“I’d think you would know the ins and outs of such situations,” Elsa said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Diplomacy was never your strong suit though was it? You simply razed the villages that did not comply to your whims and dared others to defy you.”

“And you have studied my reign so thoroughly in your history books?”

Elsa’s thin hand rested at the framed archway, curling against the smooth stone and wood. “I would not be much of a ruler if I ignored the lessons of the past. I would not be a good person if I ignored the trials and challenges of my dearest friend. While you are here now and have shown remorse, I cannot forget that you were once held in regard as an enemy of Snow and her family. Emma grew up with a healthy fear of you. I believe in second chances and redemption, but I also believe in being wary.”

“And you have transferred that wariness to me?” Regina’s hands were on her hips and her lips thinned as she waited for a response. When one was not immediate, she continued. “I did not come here for redemption. I came here to keep my son safe from the Dark One. Now that the Dark One is imprisoned, I have every intention of vacating and…”

“Taking Emma’s son with you?” Elsa asked pointedly. “You see, Regina, that’s exactly why I think it is good to be wary. Emma’s son was ripped from her and given to you. While you might not have been complicit in the kidnapping, you have benefited.”

“I have raised him as my son. If Emma returns, she and I will have to have this conversation.”

***AAA***

It was Red who first noted the shifting yet still closed eyes of the King and his mumbled words signaling his awakened state just a bit after dawn. She stumbled from her bed roll with a graceless gallop, falling to his side and staring at his still closed eyes. Perhaps she had imagined it, she thought, wished it so hard that now her eyes were playing tricks on her mind.

“David?”

She got no answer for a moment, making her doubt that the King was going to awaken after all. She sank back down onto her heels and placed her folded hands on his still chest. While hardly an emotional woman, she knew that somewhere out there her dearest friend was aching for a sign that her husband and daughter were well. Snow was probably at her wits end trying to reconcile herself to the idea that they could never return.

“Red?”

The dark haired woman’s eyes fluttered as she locked gazes with the man who had been so badly injured. And while she did not fly at him with the enthusiasm of a loved one, she said a silent prayer of thanks and reached for the deerskin canteen that they had kept near him just in case. “You’re awake.”

“How long have I…”

“Not long, a little more than two days. You were badly injured, but Emma…well, she healed you. It was remarkable really. Her magic was as bright as anything. Just this radiant white light. And while you didn’t wake up immediately, it was clear that her efforts worked miracles. She’s quite special.”

He gave a tired and proud smile turning his head toward where others were sleeping. “Is she…Is she awake? I would like to see my daughter.”

“Oh my, yes. She’s been up taking her shift at watching for danger. You know she is like you and won’t do for special treatment.” Rising easily to her feet, Red adjusted the cape about her shoulders and looked toward the burning embers of the fire that had been blazing earlier. “She’s just over…”

The spot where Emma should have been was empty, the Princess nowhere to be found. Red threw back her head and sniffed the air before cursing under her breath and stalking away from David toward Killian. She called out his name three times before kicking him with the toe of her boot. “Wake up,” she hissed, not bothering to see if David was watching her unraveling. “Wake up?”

“Red? Buggering hell. What has happened?” He blinked at the woman above him, barely able to make out her face with her hair falling forward. It reminded him of a few times back at Granny’s tavern and inn when the dark haired beauty had woken him from a stupor to go back to his ship before Granny saw him. “Is it Emma? What’s wrong with Emma?”

“Where is she? She’s not over there.” Red’s jaw clenched as she demanded answers. Staggering a step back, she threw an arm in the direction of the spot they had selected as the best for watch. “See. Not there.” Her nostrils flared as she breathed in deeply. “Her scent is weakening. She’s likely been gone a while.”

Killian was to his feet in a second, clutching the long coat that he normally used to cover Emma rather than wore himself. It’s presence over him was enough of a clue to tell him that Emma had left on her own, choosing for some ungodly reason to abandon those who loved her. He was about to tell Red that when David spoke out, startling the pirate with his alert state of consciousness.

“Where’s my daughter?”

“We’re trying to figure that out, mate,” Killian snapped, then turned his head violently to stare at the King struggling to sit up. He rushed over to the man’s side, offering his arm and one hand in assistance. “I mean, David…your majesty…”

“I think the important thing is finding Emma. Titles and pleasantries can wait. We don’t have much time before they come.”

“Before who comes?” Killian asked, confused by both David’s statement, the man’s miraculous recovery and Red’s sniffing about in a wolfish way. “Bloody hell, how are you awake?”

“I was able to talk to Snow in my sleep,” David explained. “It’s…It’s complicated, but she will be sending the fairies to find us and light our path out of these woods.” He gave a weak cough and glance toward where Red was sniffing out a scent of Emma. “I didn’t realize she was missing when we made the plan.”

“We? You talked to your wife? Is this some sort of yarn? Your wife is safe at home in your palace…miles from here. You had a dream.” Killian’s coat billowed out as he turned back to Red, who knelt lower to the ground, craning her neck to inspect something he didn’t see.

“She contacted me. I assume with Regina and Elsa’s help. It was through a dream state. But I tell you that she is going to use Blue and the other fairies.”

Red approached them, her face set in a determined stare at them both. “Fine then,” she said, holding a hand up to Killian in an effort to silence his argument against the illogical statements of the King. “We have no time to waste. Hook and I will search out the Princess. I’ll wake Graham and have him build a larger fire so that we might see it to guide us back. The rope won’t do. We don’t have enough of it. With luck I can track her.”

“Why don’t you take Graham? He’s a fine tracker.” David moaned a bit as he turned on his side. “I think it might be…”

“Graham is, but Hook is a pirate – a true treasure hunter. He is far better at finding those that mean not to be found. I need Graham to stay here with you in case the fairies arrive before we get back. He can persuade them to wait or at least give us guidance to get us back too. Now,” she said, leaning down and adjusting the thin material they had thrown over him as a blanket. “You rest. Snow will skin the fur off me if I let anything more happen to you.”

***AAA***

Snow pressed her hand to the pillow on her husband’s side of the bed and sighed, the coolness of his absence tangible on the feathered rest. “I miss you,” she whispered into the still nearly dark room. She was not unaccustomed to sleeping alone, as she had done so on many of the nights when he went hunting or attended to diplomatic missions that did not need her attention. But combined with the fear of what was happening to him, Emma, and the others, Snow felt herself losing what grip she had on hope.

While she had a good feeling about the plan with the fairies, she worried it might be too late. Her best bird had returned a message still tied to its leg, having never found Emma or David. That bird could find anyone, yet there was no sign of them.

The knock at her door did not even startle her, but she took a moment and brushed her dark hair from her face and stole a deep breath to cleanse and calm. “You may enter,” she said, holding her dressing gown closed.

“Milady I hate to disturb, but Henry’s mother is not in her room,” Johanna said, her bumbling hands and words coinciding. “And the boy’s had a terrible fright of a nightmare.”

Snow did not correct the governess’s assumption of the boy’s paternity, though her heart felt heavy at hearing it. “Bring him to me. I will handle it.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“It is alright, Johanna. Just bring him here. I will soothe him.”

Johanna swallowed thickly, giving a glance at the open door and back to Snow before disappearing for a moment. When she returned she guided a young Henry toward the sitting area. “I don’t know what it was about, milady. He was crying though.”

Tears still fresh on his cheeks, Henry glared at the older woman. “I wasn’t. I mustn’t cry.”

Snow knelt down in front of the boy who was in fact her grandson and smoothed down a bit of his messy brown hair. “It’s alright, Henry. Did you know…” She paused, looking toward Johanna’s eager expression. “Johanna, if you will see to the other boys, please. Sometimes these things are contagious and with dawn breaking it is likely they will awaken soon.”

The round woman blushed and gathered her skirts in one hand. “Of course, milady. Ring when you are ready to have me take him back to the nursery.”

Snow did not respond or speak again until the door was shut. “I was going to ask if you knew what I was doing before you arrived this morning?”

Henry shook his head, his mouth opening slightly in question.

“I was crying. I don’t find that silly at all. You see, Henry, crying isn’t a sign of weakness. It is a sign you feel too much and are too filled with emotions to hold it back. It overflows out of you as tears.” She could tell from his scrunched up nose that he did not understand. With a determined breath, she led him over to the settee. “Do you know what emotions are?”

He shook his head, climbing carefully onto her lap and then looking worried she might not appreciate that. His worry was unfounded as she hugged him to her. “No, I don’t,” he said softly.

“Well, an emotion is a feeling,” she explained patiently. “How do you feel when you see your favorite dessert at dinner?”

He pondered his response longer than necessary. “Happy?”

“Yes, that’s right. And how do you feel when something scary happens in a book?”

“Afraid?”

“Yes, that’s right too. You are a very smart boy. There are lots of emotions. Anger, fear, happiness, sadness, and on and on. I think that sometimes we feel so much that our bodies can’t hold it in any longer. So we laugh or we cry. It must escape because there is no room for it all.”

“Because we overflow,” he repeated proud in this new knowledge. His face tilted upwards with a soft expression.  “I had a bad dream. I dreamed that I was all alone and a monster was trying to hurt me.”

Snow showed a measured concern for the boy’s dream as he spoke about it in greater detail. When he finished his head was at her shoulder and his right hand was gripping the material of her dressing gown tightly. “That does sound scary,” she consoled. “But I don’t think you should worry about being left alone like that. You have so many people who love you. So many that you might never count them all.”

“I’m good at counting.”

“Yes, I would guess that you are what with you being a smart boy.” She resisted the urge to hold him tight to her for fear she might never let him go. “Do you want to try to go back to bed or would you like to stay with me for a while?”

His face twisted with a concentration at the question. “I’d like very much to stay here. You’re very nice. Are you a mama?”

Her hand instinctively brushed down his cowlicked hair, smiling softly. “Yes, Henry. I have a daughter and a son. You know them. They are Leo and Emma.”

“You’re Leo’s mama?” he asked, studying her for either a resemblance or some unknown reason. “I like him. He’s a good friend.”

***AAA***

“I mean no harm at all,” Emma said, the frayed rope tight about her ankles and wrists. “I swear to you that I will…”

“Silence,” the tall lanky former black knight said from his spot on a nearby log. “Her majesty will pay a great sum for a treasure such as yourself.”

Emma stared at his faded uniform that had been patched not so neatly and sewn together after numerous tears. Shortened ropes and threads held the soles of his shoes onto him in what she realized were mismatched shoes that probably were stolen off bodies of those lost forever in the forest. “When was the last time you saw her?” she asked, her tongue in her cheek as he pondered the question with all seriousness.

“Never you mind that, lass. I am going to get my reward.”

Emma breathed heavily, lifting her tied arms up as an example. “Look, you have to realize that time has passed. I’m the daughter of Snow White and Prince James, also known as David. I’m a grown woman now. Do you honestly think there is a good bounty on me?”

“Silence,” he repeated. “Her majesty does not give up so easily. If you are who you say, surely she is looking for you as well. We’ll take you to her and let her sort it out.” His bottom jaw continued to move as if talking or chewing, long thin fingers scratching down his neck. “A good profit, indeed.”

From his stubborn glint and his crazed eyes, she could tell that arguing with him was a foolish venture. He was not aware of the over two decades that had passed since Snow was no longer on the run from Regina. Somehow these men had found themselves a way to live within the confines of the infinite forest, finding food and shelter where she feared there was none. Perhaps if she played along, the answer would come to her about how she could help her father, Killian, and the others. But she would have to earn his trust, she reasoned, make him believe that she was willing to submit herself to Regina’s punishment.

While there were a half dozen of these former black knights milling about, this one man was the only one talking to her. He seemed to be in charge and more at ease with the role than the others. She remembered only bits and pieces of the vague stories that Graham had spoken of in his own history as such a knight. The men who served in that role were unmarried and often without families to turn to even in their downtime. They were the job, he had told her one afternoon after a training session with her father. Their entire lives revolved around that task and making Regina feel happy and secure.

***AAA***

“She marked her trail,” Red told Killian as she stepped into the largest area of clearing she could find and turned her nose up at the wind. “But I am afraid that does little good in this maze.”

Looking paler than he had seemed back at the camp and even at the group’s lowest moments, Killian touched the bark of the tree and sliced into it with his hook to make a haphazard x mark on the surface. “It’s better than nothing,” he said, not really arguing any more than admitting his own helplessness in the situation. “I should have suspected. She was so concerned over the waning supplies and her father’s state. She’s gone to find help.”

“You may be close to her, but you can’t read her mind,” Red challenged back. Sniffing the air as if for confirmation, she pointed along the narrower of the paths in front of them and took off in that direction. “The good news is that she was raised by parents who insisted she learn tracking and other such techniques. While she is pampered as a princess, she’s a natural at surviving.”

“I pray your evaluation of her is right.”

Red’s sense of smell helped her stay on Emma’s trail, only losing track a few times. But she was quickly able to retrace the steps and find the scent again. Killian followed, both in awe and in hurried steps that seemed at times lumbering under the weight of guilt. He was loathe to admit that though, not wanting to indicate anything resembling weakness to the woman who was kind but still quite judgmental of him. And if they did ever escape from the woods, she had the King and Queen’s ear on all things, including their daughter’s duty and love life.

Emma had been worried about their supplies, concerned that they would perish from starvation before any of them found a way out. He should have taken that more seriously, he thought as he skimmed over the earth with his boots. There was truly no way he could have ever seen allowing her to disappear into the darkness the way she did. He should have gone in her place, volunteered before she ever even had the thought.

But he hadn’t. He’d thought that she would stay at his side. Not that he had any reason to assume that she would. He just thought that she would want to be there with him, fighting the battles together. When he found her, he thought, refusing to say if. When he found her, he wasn’t going to say a word about rescuing her. That would surely push her farther away. Instead he would say that he was joining her, fulfilling her wishes and not demeaning her or her abilities.

***AAA***

Belle stared at the packed bags and wondered if there was anything left for her at the home she had made with Rumpelstiltskin. She hadn’t asked to return there or even sent some of the staff in search of anything. It felt too much like hanging onto the past and admitting that things were changing. Having not seen her family or her home in years, she was not all that sure that there would be something worth coming back to anyway.

“I do appreciate all that you have done,” Snow said as she entered the sitting area where Belle was waiting. “He seems almost calmer when you were near him.”

Belle swallowed and ran her hand over her traveling cape draped over a nearby chair. “I know that it is best that I go back to my kingdom and to what is left of my family. It is your wish, your majesty. I would remiss if I did not express my desire to help. As you have just said, I am a calming influence on him. Perhaps I could be of some help to you, beyond the research in the palace studies. I could approach him, demand from him the return of your husband and daughter. If he knows a way, he would tell me. I am sure of it.”

Snow knew that the beautiful woman was not one to make bold or audacious statements such as that without reason. She also knew that this was a woman with a broken heart. For as much as her mind might have told her that Dark One was incapable of a loving relationship, the heart hoped for more and often spoke louder than the thoughts in her head. “He said that without enchantments and tools the quest would be quite hopeless. It was while being ordered with the dagger that he said those things. So there is little doubt that he spoke the truth.”

“He is quite clever, more than people realize. If there is a way that he can subvert the pull of that dagger in his quest, he will. While I would have hoped that my influence would be stronger, it is truly the Dark One’s son that has the most power over him. And Baelfire is apparently lost to him forever.”

Snow walked to the window, staring down on the green grounds where guards marched in an effort to protect her and the guests. Her son, grandson, and Roland played among them, ignoring their presence in an elaborate game that sent their legs pumping as they ran. “The loss of a child is a powerful motivator, Belle. I have little doubt of that. And while your offer to approach him is perhaps nothing more than a noble wish to be of assistance, I have fears that it is more.”

“You doubt me?” Belle questioned. “I suppose I can understand that.”

Far in the village the bells rang from a church, echoing even in the palace. Snow did not face the woman, staring instead into the reflection. “It is not doubt, Belle. It is simply that I am not sure of your loyalty and where it might reside now. When you were brought here it was not of your own free will. I have not slept much since my husband and daughter have been gone. That is reason enough for my lack of sleep. You though…you don’t seem to sleep either. The guards have spoken of your walking near the entrance to the dungeon where he is being held. They say you never ask for entry, just simply pace there deep in thought.”

“I should think that would be understandable.” Belle dropped her eyes, the lavender of her dress soft and beautiful against her pale skin and dark hair. “For as much as you and others have spoke of me going home, it is not my home. My father and the others sent me to the Dark One to protect them all from his machinations. It is not easy to fathom them welcoming me home again.”

Snow breathed slowly, her chest rising and falling with the efforts. “It may not ever be as you wish here,” she finally conceded. “He’s got to be contained. He’s probably going to be punished. It will be up to my daughter.”

“I know,” Belle whispered. “I know. I swear to you that I won’t betray you or your trust, your majesty. I only wish to help.”

***AAA***

Emma nibbled at the gamey meat and watched as the men drew out useless maps in the dirt with blunt sticks. They reminded her a bit of her brother and even her son playing pretend. She said nothing, grateful for the food even if it was badly cooked. She had no intention of indenturing herself to them, though she knew her mother had done similar with her uncles many years ago. The dwarves had made wonderful guards and friends for her mother, but they weren’t half crazed from years in the forest with no sense of time or reality any longer.

Reginald was the most talkative of the men, his eyes just a smidge kinder and his gruffness surely only a display in front of the others. She saw an opportunity with him and exchanged pleasantries when he seemed up for it that morning and early afternoon.

“I know a former black knight,” she told him when he offered her some water from a carved out gourd. “Graham.”

The tired expression on his face grew harder as he explained that Graham had been in his regiment. “His betrayal should have never been glossed over the way it was.” She didn’t have to ask which betrayal that was, as she knew he had both rescued her mother and spared his father. The royal couple had been grateful to him ever sense.

“He does not work for Regina any longer,” she explained. “He’s quite happy in his new role. I know that seems like it is impossible. But if you were to help me…”

“You speak quite familiarly of our Queen,” he said, standing back up and wiping his hands down his thin trousers as if wiping away the memory of the conversation. “I would be careful. She does not appreciate that at all.”

Emma winced. “Would you at least answer my question? How do you plan to get back to her when it has been years since you have last seen outside this forest? If you know the way, how…” She knew at once that it was the wrong tactic, as he did not argue with her at all. Instead he simply walked away and left her there with her wrists and ankles tied as he joined the others. Without even looking in her direction, he and the others whispered among themselves over their hastily done maps in the dirt.

She knew that her time was growing short. These men would not be so willing to let her live if they gave up hope of their reward. She would be seen as nothing but a hindrance to them. And while they might find a way to use her forcefully before snuffing the life out of her, she knew the end result was the same. Taking her dimmed green eyes off of them, she stared down at the rope that circled her wrists. While frayed, it was still impossibly thick and nothing she would ever find a way to cut through with even the sharpest stone. That meant she would have to find another way, but the choices were not many. Perhaps she could earn the trust of one of the men, hoping that he would loosen the ties. That seemed like it might take too long, leaving Killian, her father, and the others in peril of starvation when she did not return right away with assistance or food. Then there was her magic.

It could not be so different as making things appear and disappear, she thought as she studied the braided strands that bound her. The answer could be as simple as to make the rope simply disappear, leaving her free to run from these men who were older and far weaker than her at that moment. Their one asset was knowing this area of the forest, something she would not make up for in time and agility. She would have to run back the way she came. But what if she simply led them back to camp. Her father would not be there to fight them, but Graham and Killian would be and Red could become the wolf and scare off the rest if she did not eat them first.

She half closed her eyes and stared at the rope with the image of it disappearing behind her eyes. Just as Regina and Elsa had taught her, she breathed in focused all her energy on the task. If the men were to catch a glimpse of her now she would appear to be in contemplation or prayer. However, there was no flash of light and no change in the rope. Sighing, she looked upward and the umbrella of the trees above. It may have been too much, she thought critically. The weight of her magic feeling heavy despite its not working.

Worrying her lips between her teeth, she looked at the rope again, this time concentrating on the knot that was impressive for men on land to have tied. Her thoughts instantly went to Killian and his impressive ability to tie much more fancy knots with his one hand. She had seen him showing her brother, Roland, and Henry the technique. He had been so patient with them that her heart had clenched with the sight of it. Men were typically not that way. At least that is what she had been told. Yet there he had sat in the garden with Leo in front of him and Henry draped on one leg and Roland on the other as he spun yarns of krakens and other beasts their young lives had not crossed except in storybooks.

While he had told her that he loved her, showed her that she was more precious to him than his innate sense of adventure, she wondered if that would extend to her son. Henry would have so many changes if she returned. Though she doubted herself, she knew she could not allow him to be raised by Regina with no knowledge of his mother truly wanting him. Would Captain Hook make for the water in haste with that added burden? Or would he… She smiled, the knot already feeling looser. Killian had told her he had every intention of speaking to her father and mother about properly courting her. And while they had already broken with propriety and rules with stolen kisses and time alone, she knew that he had been careful with her and respectful of her reputation and station.

The thought of his kisses warmed her, making her wish for more and feel loved and cherished at the same time. There was no denying his passionate desire for her, but he tempered that with tender reverence. Her eyes fluttered shut with the memory of his warm lips against hers, coaxing and urging her into his embrace. It was then she felt the glow of her magic like the heat of a fire nearby. The blood returned to her hands as she waved them about before deftly untying the knots around her ankles. She was free.

Once she stood she would surely garner the attention of Regina’s most loyal of knights. But she could not sit there forever. Stealing in a deep breath, she stood abruptly and darted for the line of trees behind her. It was the way they had come in and with a bit of luck and magic on her side, she hoped it would lead her to the path she had made before.

***AAA***

Regina flexed and extended her right hand, a motion that until she had been bound by the magic cuffs had resulted in a fire ball. Yes, it might have been just as easy to call for a servant to light the fire in the day room, something that would have been done without hesitation had she been in charge. Her black gown was accented with a deep red, something very akin to what she would have worn back then.

Pulling back the thick curtains, she saw the carriage that had been called forward to carry Belle back to her kingdom. It still remained empty, giving her just the tiniest flicker of hope that the woman might not retreat into the distance. With the dagger securely protected and Snow unwilling to budge on that, she knew that Belle was her best bet in enticing the Dark One to at least tell her how to make sure that Emma never laid claim to Henry. Elsa and even Robin were not going to be very good pawns in her game of chess, leaving her with the Dark One’s lover as her only hope for that.

“She’s staying on,” Robin interrupted. His footsteps had been so quiet that she had not heard him approach. “She’s determined to help Snow convince the Dark One to save the ones who are lost.”

“The dagger could force him if it was possible.” She did not turn, her hand gripping the brocade. “But she’s scared of it.”

“If he were to somehow get it from her, the results would be disastrous, my darling. He would not only regain his control and powers, but would have even more vengeance to satisfy. No, I believe Queen Snow is being overly cautious and not to her detriment.” He lowered his quiver to the table and propped it there before taking a seat. “Surely things will change once the Princess Emma and the others are rescued. I heard the Queen say that she was leaving the Dark One’s fate to her daughter, as she was the one who had suffered at his machinations the most as of late.”

“I’m not talking about vengeance,” Regina said, her hand again curling and releasing as if the result would be different. “I need to protect my son. And so long as the Dark One wants him, he’s not safe. Emma is not the true enemy here.”

His eyebrow shot up. “Are you sure you feel that way, as I recall it wasn’t that clear last night. You seemed to think that Emma is somehow crossing a line if she should want a relationship with her own flesh and blood. Is it that way?”

“We may never know,” Regina said, allowing herself the brief luxury of glaring in his direction. He looked taken aback by her. “I only mean that it is a tall order to believe they are to ever be seen again.”

He rubbed at his chin, studying her closely. “It is hard to trust the fairies, but the Queen is quite hopeful about it. Though I do get the sense that is a natural state with her.”

“Quite annoying, actually. I think the intention is good, but the execution might need some work.” She twisted the material and then let it go. “I don’t intend to lose my son. If having my magic returned is not in the cards, I will simply take him away and make a new life for us. Before she was the woman I knew, my mother was a poor miller’s daughter. Don’t think I couldn’t blend in with the peasantry.”

***AAA***

Emma stumbled through the thick brush, too focused to turn back and see if anyone was chasing her. Dodging impediments to her path and the guards who might be on her trail, she struggled to breath and was thankful that both she and Red had dislodged their corsets earlier in their travels to be used in the harnesses. Having her ribs able to breathe in and out was so much easier.

There was another of the small clearings ahead, perhaps the same that she had passed at least twice but she wasn’t sure. While the clearings offered no protection or privacy, she longed to feel sunlight on her skin. She would only be a moment, she told herself, gathering the torn skirt and stepping over a dislodged rock.

“Emma!” Red said with a vehement tone. “It’s you!” Before Emma could even recognize that she had been both spotted and rescued in a way, she was swept up into a hug by her mother’s dearest friend. Red grabbed both of Emma’s forearms as she pulled away, inspecting her eagerly. “You’re well, aren’t you? Not hurt?” She tilted her head back and sniffed. “I don’t smell blood.”

“I’m well,” Emma managed to say before being pulled into another hug. “And father? Killian? Graham?”

“Your father is awake,” Red enthused, still holding onto her. “He woke not long after you snuck away. Whatever made you do that? You could have been lost. We still could be. Your father said the fairies are coming to lead us home.���

Emma tried her best to process that information, unsure about it all and what the fairies had to with anything. She simply bobbed her head as Red sniffed the air again, turning and peering into the dark woods. “Killian?”

A slow smile spread on the woman’s face. “He’s fine. Worried about you, I daresay. It’s quite a sight. Once he knew you had left, he’s been nearly impossible. Searching every corner for you. We saw a flash of light earlier and he took off in that direction. We assumed it to be your magic.”

“There was no way to leave word,” Emma said, pulling her arms out of Red’s grip. “I wanted to find help. All I found was…”

Red threw a hand up, tilting her head in the direction of the path and closed her eyes. While Red was known for having her wolf like olfactory sense, her hearing was also quite sensitive. Her lips parted slightly and her eyes scanned the dark recesses of the treeline. “There,” she said, gathering her own torn skirts into her hands and darting in the direction she had pointed. “I hear something. It sounds like…” The lines of her forehead deepened, though she moved so fast that Emma could not make out that detail as she struggled to keep up. “Swords. That’s a sword.”

They saw Killian with one of the black knights while still under the cover of the trees, his long arms and legs spread graciously as he thrust the sword at the clearly out of practice knight. He made no overt threat, but only demanded to know where Emma was at that moment. There was no answer and Killian pushed the sword toward the man again. “Where is she?”

Emma could not help but stare at Killian both in awe of his finesse and skill and in fear that he would be hurt. She took a step forward as if to reveal herself and end the fight, but Red pulled her back. “Do they know you’re here?” she hissed.

“I got away from them,” she said softly, realizing the dilemma. “They worked for Regina and have been lost in this forest since before her reign ended. They want to return me to her for a reward.”

Red nodded knowingly, still gripping her goddaughter’s arm. “I’m going to sneak over to the other side and make a noise,” she said. Perhaps it will distract the knight and let us escape with the Captain.”

Before she could go, Emma shook her head quickly. “No, the knight is not alone. There are others nearby. We can’t be seen. We need to get Killian’s attention and then run.”

Fidgeting with the familiar red cloak, Red stared skyward with the realization that the moon had hours to go before it would rise. It was not wolf’s time, which left her helpless in a way. Her sight shifted around them, looking for any solution among the damp ground and foliage. “There must be something,” she said softly.

Emma paid her no mind, her own green eyes locked on a medium size rock about the size of her hand. It lay just a few feet from where Killian and the knight were dueling. With every ounce of her concentration, she made her mind lift the rock until it was about shoulder high. She hoped that none of the hidden knights could see it floating in the air. Then with an almost imperceptible flick of her wrist, she sent the rock flying out as if thrown by an invisible hand. The knight stopped in his tracks, sword still raised high in preparation for attack. Without losing a moment, Killian surged forward and knocked the weapon from his foe’s hands and held back a groan as the knight ran toward where he assumed the rock was thrown.

“Men, she’s over there,” the knight called out a few points of blood already showing through from where Killian had gotten in more than three good attacks. From behind the other trees the shabbily dressed army retreated in search of what they assumed to be their meal ticket. Killian took two steps after them and stopped short as he heard her quiet but steady voice call to him.

“You were trying to save me?” she asked, holding up a fern branch and appearing to him like someone in a dream.

“Aye, but you denied me the honor and the privilege, milady,” he said, sheathing his sword and hurrying to her. “You see I saw that flash of magic and thought you to be in trouble.”

“I was, but I was able to escape,” she said, cupping both sides of his face in her hands. “My father’s truly awake? And the fairies are coming?”

“So he says, but it might just be a dream. So might this, Emma. I thought…I thought I might never see you again.” He flinched as she pressed her chest against his, unable to mask the pain of the one good shot the knight had managed to land. “Easy there, my love.”

“Should I try to heal you?” she asked almost coyly. “Apparently I am better at it than I first thought.” She did not wait for an answer, crashing her lips against his in a way that was most inappropriate.

Red stepped toward them with a half amused and half belligerent sort of smile on her face. “That’s all well, but let’s get out of this area before those men return. And let us get back to camp before those fairies arrive. As much as your mother may miss your father, I think she would be disappointed to see that you were still stuck here. And I don’t know how Granny would feel about having to replace me in the tavern with Graham.”

Killian swept his handless arm toward the path and gave a short bow. “Lead the way, Lady Red. We won’t be far behind you. After all, we don’t want to get stuck out here with you after dark. At least I don’t.”

#captain swan #cs ff #ouat fanfiction #captain duckling #almost done

[supertrendingnewsarticles]

Kerry Kennedy on the civil rights leader she knew – and why the bridge at the heart of Bloody Sunday should be renamedJohn Lewis’s office on Capitol Hill resembled a civil rights museum, with monochrome photos in neat white borders and black frames and a TV for visitors to watch a documentary. Prominent in the room was both a campaign poster and bust of Robert Kennedy, one of Lewis’s closest friends and allies.As America prepares to mourn the civil rights hero who died last week aged 80 with a series of events, Kennedy’s daughter, Kerry, has spoken of her family’s deep sense of loss and joined calls for the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama, to be renamed for Lewis.“I loved John,” Kennedy, a member of one of America’s most prominent political dynasties, told the Guardian. “I’ll always miss him and so will my whole family. He means – he meant so much to all of us. The swirl of text messages and emails and phone calls with my whole family when he died was beautiful: ‘Are you OK?’ ‘Can I help you?’ ‘Want to take a walk, be together?’ It was really like somebody in our family had died.”Kennedy, 60, is president of Robert F Kennedy Human Rights, an advocacy organisation Lewis served as a board member. She adds: “He is my hero, not only in the history, but also his demeanour, his love, his style, his peacefulness, his humility. Just somebody who we all want to emulate in every way. Nobody that I know of in the civil rights movement took more knocks to the head and then got up and organised the next protest and did it all over and over and over and over again.”Lewis, who grew up on a farm in the Jim Crow south, and Robert Kennedy, born into east coast political aristocracy and white privilege-plus, were an unlikely pair. As attorney general under his brother, President John F Kennedy, Robert Kennedy approved the wiretapping and surveillance of Martin Luther King. But in May 1963 he hosted a group of black artists and intellectuals, including James Baldwin, and received a humbling lesson in how the administration needed to more ambitious on civil rights.His commitment deepened as he proved willing to travel, engage and grow. That summer he listened to students who endured arrests and beatings in their efforts to desegregate Cambridge, Maryland. Lewis later recalled that during a break in the meetings, Robert Kennedy told him: “John, now I understand. The young people, the students have educated me. You have changed me.”He formed a special bond with Lewis, a Freedom Rider (riding commercial interstate buses across the south to protest segregation), firebrand organiser of the March on Washington and apostle of nonviolent protest he famously called “good trouble”. In Selma in 1965, Lewis suffered a skull fracture when Alabama state troopers unleashed tear gas, whips and batons on marchers at the Edmund Pettus Bridge, on what became known as “Bloody Sunday”.Speaking from Cape Cod, Massachusetts, where she is helping keep her 92-year-old mother, Ethel, isolated from the coronavirus, Kennedy reflects: “I think the value my father admired most after love was courage and there was no group that he admired more during the civil rights era than the Freedom Riders. He was was awed by their courage and wanted to understand and John’s conversations with him were about getting to yes.“They weren’t about anger slogans or the outrage that, of course, John totally deserved to feel. It was about how do we get the Voting Rights Act passed and how do we resolve this crisis in Maryland and how do we find a bus driver to bring the Freedom Riders from Birmingham to Montgomery and protect them along the way?”> I think the value my father admired most after love was courage> > Kerry KennedyWhen Robert Kennedy launched his own bid for the presidency in 1968, he requested that Lewis help organise the black community in Indiana, including a rally in the biggest black neighbourhood of Indianapolis. But when Robert Kennedy flew in, the city’s white mayor, Richard Lugar, called him to say King had been assassinated in Memphis and the event would have to be cancelled.Kennedy continues: “Lugar said to him, Martin Luther King has been killed by a white man, there are cities burning, protests and looting in cities across the country, you cannot go to that rally. There is no way to provide your safety if you go. I will not allow the police to go with you.“Daddy called John Lewis, who said: ‘Come, these are your people, they’ve been waiting for hours. The people in the front of the crowd had, in fact, been waiting for hours and they hadn’t heard the news but people in the back of the crowd had heard the news and a bunch of them came with bicycle chains and chair legs and molotov cocktails, and they were ready to riot.“My father said to Richard Lugar, ‘You might want not to go there but I could go there tonight with my 10 children and my pregnant wife and sleep on the street and we’d be perfectly safe.’ He said that not out of bravado but because he had worked for so long and so intimately with John Lewis and the other community organisers there, so he had credibility. This was not like walking into some foreign country for him. It was like walking home for him.”Robert Kennedy did attend the rally and, with rare eloquence that caught the mood of the nation, broke the news of King’s death to those who did not know. His daughter says: “He could give that speech, and it had the impact it had, because of the depth of that relationship and trust and also because John Lewis had so much credibility.”The next day, at Kennedy’s request, Lewis went to Memphis to help organise for King’s body to be returned to Atlanta. Lewis also arranged for Kennedy to meet King’s widow, Coretta Scott King, the night before the funeral.The election continued. In California, Lewis was in charge of organising the black vote while the labour leaders Cesar Chavez and Dolores Huerta organised the Latinx vote. Chavez and Lewis would sometimes canvass together. Kennedy continues: “Oh, my gosh, imagine opening your door and finding Cesar Chavez and John Lewis.“They went to the Ambassador hotel [in Los Angeles] that night and Daddy said to John: ‘I’m very disappointed in you because a higher Latinx vote came out than black.’ So they were joking around and he said: ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes. I just have to go give this speech.’”Shortly after giving a victory speech in the hotel, Robert Kennedy made his way through the kitchen to avoid the surging crowd. Shot at close range, he died aged 42.His daughter recalls: “John was in the hotel room and he said that he just fell to the floor and cried. He cried the whole way back from LA to Atlanta. It was so moving hearing him say: ‘We were flying over the hills and the mountains, and you could still see snow, even though it was June.’”Half a century later, Lewis would later tell Kerry Kennedy in an interview for her book Ripples of Hope: “If it hadn’t been for Bobby, I wouldn’t be involved in American politics … I truly believe something died in all of us. I know something died in me.” ‘More than a mentor’If Robert Kennedy had won the White House instead of Richard Nixon, Lewis’s career would surely have been different. Kennedy, the ex-wife of New York’s governor, Andrew Cuomo, speculates: “One hundred per cent John would have been involved with the administration. I don’t know at what level he would have been.> John was always there for me personally. I know he was always there for many people“I think the first couple of weeks my father was in the justice department he said: ‘There’s no black lawyers here, what are we doing? We have to recruit from traditionally black colleges and universities and we have to change this and we need more diversity.’ So that was certainly a priority, but who knows what would have happened in 1968.”Instead Lewis represented a Georgia district in the House of Representatives for 33 years, earning a reputation as “the conscience of Congress”, and continued his efforts for social and economic justice.Kennedy says: “I felt like he was always there for me personally. I know he was always there for many people personally but I just felt here’s somebody who’s on your side, who feels your pain when something goes wrong and just wants whatever you’re doing to be good.“It’s very loving: more than a mentor, really kind of a father figure in a lot of ways. I asked him to do things all the time. He never said no, whatever march we were asking to him get in or whatever letter we wanted him to sign or piece of legislation we asked him to co-sign or event we asked him to show up for. It was a drumbeat of yes.”Lewis also helped keep the memory of Robert Kennedy alive.“The thing that he also did is he talked to me and my brothers and sisters and my children and my nieces and nephews about my father in a very personal way. There’s a lot of history so you understand the actions but it’s different to have somebody like John Lewis say this is what he was like, these are our conversations, this is how he treated me.”After Lewis succumbed to pancreatic cancer, he received tributes from Barack Obama and people around the world. On Sunday his casket will make a final crossing of the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma before lying in state at the US Capitol in Washington. Kennedy endorses the movement to have the bridge renamed after him instead of Pettus, a lawyer and Confederate general who became a US senator and leader in the Ku Klux Klan.“I think it would be great because Edmund Pettus was a terrible white supremacist and there should not be anything named after him,” she says.“It would be a symbol to Selma and to our country and to the world that we recognise the violence of the past and we are going to atone for it and we are on our way to becoming a more perfect union – one where all people are respected and where every person is treated with dignity.”

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/30J5DIi

#Blogger #World News

[ngulliepija]

Kerry Kennedy on the civil rights leader she knew – and why the bridge at the heart of Bloody Sunday should be renamedJohn Lewis’s office on Capitol Hill resembled a civil rights museum, with monochrome photos in neat white borders and black frames and a TV for visitors to watch a documentary. Prominent in the room was both a campaign poster and bust of Robert Kennedy, one of Lewis’s closest friends and allies.As America prepares to mourn the civil rights hero who died last week aged 80 with a series of events, Kennedy’s daughter, Kerry, has spoken of her family’s deep sense of loss and joined calls for the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama, to be renamed for Lewis.“I loved John,” Kennedy, a member of one of America’s most prominent political dynasties, told the Guardian. “I’ll always miss him and so will my whole family. He means – he meant so much to all of us. The swirl of text messages and emails and phone calls with my whole family when he died was beautiful: ‘Are you OK?’ ‘Can I help you?’ ‘Want to take a walk, be together?’ It was really like somebody in our family had died.”Kennedy, 60, is president of Robert F Kennedy Human Rights, an advocacy organisation Lewis served as a board member. She adds: “He is my hero, not only in the history, but also his demeanour, his love, his style, his peacefulness, his humility. Just somebody who we all want to emulate in every way. Nobody that I know of in the civil rights movement took more knocks to the head and then got up and organised the next protest and did it all over and over and over and over again.”Lewis, who grew up on a farm in the Jim Crow south, and Robert Kennedy, born into east coast political aristocracy and white privilege-plus, were an unlikely pair. As attorney general under his brother, President John F Kennedy, Robert Kennedy approved the wiretapping and surveillance of Martin Luther King. But in May 1963 he hosted a group of black artists and intellectuals, including James Baldwin, and received a humbling lesson in how the administration needed to more ambitious on civil rights.His commitment deepened as he proved willing to travel, engage and grow. That summer he listened to students who endured arrests and beatings in their efforts to desegregate Cambridge, Maryland. Lewis later recalled that during a break in the meetings, Robert Kennedy told him: “John, now I understand. The young people, the students have educated me. You have changed me.”He formed a special bond with Lewis, a Freedom Rider (riding commercial interstate buses across the south to protest segregation), firebrand organiser of the March on Washington and apostle of nonviolent protest he famously called “good trouble”. In Selma in 1965, Lewis suffered a skull fracture when Alabama state troopers unleashed tear gas, whips and batons on marchers at the Edmund Pettus Bridge, on what became known as “Bloody Sunday”.Speaking from Cape Cod, Massachusetts, where she is helping keep her 92-year-old mother, Ethel, isolated from the coronavirus, Kennedy reflects: “I think the value my father admired most after love was courage and there was no group that he admired more during the civil rights era than the Freedom Riders. He was was awed by their courage and wanted to understand and John’s conversations with him were about getting to yes.“They weren’t about anger slogans or the outrage that, of course, John totally deserved to feel. It was about how do we get the Voting Rights Act passed and how do we resolve this crisis in Maryland and how do we find a bus driver to bring the Freedom Riders from Birmingham to Montgomery and protect them along the way?”> I think the value my father admired most after love was courage> > Kerry KennedyWhen Robert Kennedy launched his own bid for the presidency in 1968, he requested that Lewis help organise the black community in Indiana, including a rally in the biggest black neighbourhood of Indianapolis. But when Robert Kennedy flew in, the city’s white mayor, Richard Lugar, called him to say King had been assassinated in Memphis and the event would have to be cancelled.Kennedy continues: “Lugar said to him, Martin Luther King has been killed by a white man, there are cities burning, protests and looting in cities across the country, you cannot go to that rally. There is no way to provide your safety if you go. I will not allow the police to go with you.“Daddy called John Lewis, who said: ‘Come, these are your people, they’ve been waiting for hours. The people in the front of the crowd had, in fact, been waiting for hours and they hadn’t heard the news but people in the back of the crowd had heard the news and a bunch of them came with bicycle chains and chair legs and molotov cocktails, and they were ready to riot.“My father said to Richard Lugar, ‘You might want not to go there but I could go there tonight with my 10 children and my pregnant wife and sleep on the street and we’d be perfectly safe.’ He said that not out of bravado but because he had worked for so long and so intimately with John Lewis and the other community organisers there, so he had credibility. This was not like walking into some foreign country for him. It was like walking home for him.”Robert Kennedy did attend the rally and, with rare eloquence that caught the mood of the nation, broke the news of King’s death to those who did not know. His daughter says: “He could give that speech, and it had the impact it had, because of the depth of that relationship and trust and also because John Lewis had so much credibility.”The next day, at Kennedy’s request, Lewis went to Memphis to help organise for King’s body to be returned to Atlanta. Lewis also arranged for Kennedy to meet King’s widow, Coretta Scott King, the night before the funeral.The election continued. In California, Lewis was in charge of organising the black vote while the labour leaders Cesar Chavez and Dolores Huerta organised the Latinx vote. Chavez and Lewis would sometimes canvass together. Kennedy continues: “Oh, my gosh, imagine opening your door and finding Cesar Chavez and John Lewis.“They went to the Ambassador hotel [in Los Angeles] that night and Daddy said to John: ‘I’m very disappointed in you because a higher Latinx vote came out than black.’ So they were joking around and he said: ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes. I just have to go give this speech.’”Shortly after giving a victory speech in the hotel, Robert Kennedy made his way through the kitchen to avoid the surging crowd. Shot at close range, he died aged 42.His daughter recalls: “John was in the hotel room and he said that he just fell to the floor and cried. He cried the whole way back from LA to Atlanta. It was so moving hearing him say: ‘We were flying over the hills and the mountains, and you could still see snow, even though it was June.’”Half a century later, Lewis would later tell Kerry Kennedy in an interview for her book Ripples of Hope: “If it hadn’t been for Bobby, I wouldn’t be involved in American politics … I truly believe something died in all of us. I know something died in me.” ‘More than a mentor’If Robert Kennedy had won the White House instead of Richard Nixon, Lewis’s career would surely have been different. Kennedy, the ex-wife of New York’s governor, Andrew Cuomo, speculates: “One hundred per cent John would have been involved with the administration. I don’t know at what level he would have been.> John was always there for me personally. I know he was always there for many people“I think the first couple of weeks my father was in the justice department he said: ‘There’s no black lawyers here, what are we doing? We have to recruit from traditionally black colleges and universities and we have to change this and we need more diversity.’ So that was certainly a priority, but who knows what would have happened in 1968.”Instead Lewis represented a Georgia district in the House of Representatives for 33 years, earning a reputation as “the conscience of Congress”, and continued his efforts for social and economic justice.Kennedy says: “I felt like he was always there for me personally. I know he was always there for many people personally but I just felt here’s somebody who’s on your side, who feels your pain when something goes wrong and just wants whatever you’re doing to be good.“It’s very loving: more than a mentor, really kind of a father figure in a lot of ways. I asked him to do things all the time. He never said no, whatever march we were asking to him get in or whatever letter we wanted him to sign or piece of legislation we asked him to co-sign or event we asked him to show up for. It was a drumbeat of yes.”Lewis also helped keep the memory of Robert Kennedy alive.“The thing that he also did is he talked to me and my brothers and sisters and my children and my nieces and nephews about my father in a very personal way. There’s a lot of history so you understand the actions but it’s different to have somebody like John Lewis say this is what he was like, these are our conversations, this is how he treated me.”After Lewis succumbed to pancreatic cancer, he received tributes from Barack Obama and people around the world. On Sunday his casket will make a final crossing of the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma before lying in state at the US Capitol in Washington. Kennedy endorses the movement to have the bridge renamed after him instead of Pettus, a lawyer and Confederate general who became a US senator and leader in the Ku Klux Klan.“I think it would be great because Edmund Pettus was a terrible white supremacist and there should not be anything named after him,” she says.“It would be a symbol to Selma and to our country and to the world that we recognise the violence of the past and we are going to atone for it and we are on our way to becoming a more perfect union – one where all people are respected and where every person is treated with dignity.”

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/30J5DIi

#Blogger

[newslegendry]

Kerry Kennedy on the civil rights leader she knew – and why the bridge at the heart of Bloody Sunday should be renamedJohn Lewis’s office on Capitol Hill resembled a civil rights museum, with monochrome photos in neat white borders and black frames and a TV for visitors to watch a documentary. Prominent in the room was both a campaign poster and bust of Robert Kennedy, one of Lewis’s closest friends and allies.As America prepares to mourn the civil rights hero who died last week aged 80 with a series of events, Kennedy’s daughter, Kerry, has spoken of her family’s deep sense of loss and joined calls for the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama, to be renamed for Lewis.“I loved John,” Kennedy, a member of one of America’s most prominent political dynasties, told the Guardian. “I’ll always miss him and so will my whole family. He means – he meant so much to all of us. The swirl of text messages and emails and phone calls with my whole family when he died was beautiful: ‘Are you OK?’ ‘Can I help you?’ ‘Want to take a walk, be together?’ It was really like somebody in our family had died.”Kennedy, 60, is president of Robert F Kennedy Human Rights, an advocacy organisation Lewis served as a board member. She adds: “He is my hero, not only in the history, but also his demeanour, his love, his style, his peacefulness, his humility. Just somebody who we all want to emulate in every way. Nobody that I know of in the civil rights movement took more knocks to the head and then got up and organised the next protest and did it all over and over and over and over again.”Lewis, who grew up on a farm in the Jim Crow south, and Robert Kennedy, born into east coast political aristocracy and white privilege-plus, were an unlikely pair. As attorney general under his brother, President John F Kennedy, Robert Kennedy approved the wiretapping and surveillance of Martin Luther King. But in May 1963 he hosted a group of black artists and intellectuals, including James Baldwin, and received a humbling lesson in how the administration needed to more ambitious on civil rights.His commitment deepened as he proved willing to travel, engage and grow. That summer he listened to students who endured arrests and beatings in their efforts to desegregate Cambridge, Maryland. Lewis later recalled that during a break in the meetings, Robert Kennedy told him: “John, now I understand. The young people, the students have educated me. You have changed me.”He formed a special bond with Lewis, a Freedom Rider (riding commercial interstate buses across the south to protest segregation), firebrand organiser of the March on Washington and apostle of nonviolent protest he famously called “good trouble”. In Selma in 1965, Lewis suffered a skull fracture when Alabama state troopers unleashed tear gas, whips and batons on marchers at the Edmund Pettus Bridge, on what became known as “Bloody Sunday”.Speaking from Cape Cod, Massachusetts, where she is helping keep her 92-year-old mother, Ethel, isolated from the coronavirus, Kennedy reflects: “I think the value my father admired most after love was courage and there was no group that he admired more during the civil rights era than the Freedom Riders. He was was awed by their courage and wanted to understand and John’s conversations with him were about getting to yes.“They weren’t about anger slogans or the outrage that, of course, John totally deserved to feel. It was about how do we get the Voting Rights Act passed and how do we resolve this crisis in Maryland and how do we find a bus driver to bring the Freedom Riders from Birmingham to Montgomery and protect them along the way?”> I think the value my father admired most after love was courage> > Kerry KennedyWhen Robert Kennedy launched his own bid for the presidency in 1968, he requested that Lewis help organise the black community in Indiana, including a rally in the biggest black neighbourhood of Indianapolis. But when Robert Kennedy flew in, the city’s white mayor, Richard Lugar, called him to say King had been assassinated in Memphis and the event would have to be cancelled.Kennedy continues: “Lugar said to him, Martin Luther King has been killed by a white man, there are cities burning, protests and looting in cities across the country, you cannot go to that rally. There is no way to provide your safety if you go. I will not allow the police to go with you.“Daddy called John Lewis, who said: ‘Come, these are your people, they’ve been waiting for hours. The people in the front of the crowd had, in fact, been waiting for hours and they hadn’t heard the news but people in the back of the crowd had heard the news and a bunch of them came with bicycle chains and chair legs and molotov cocktails, and they were ready to riot.“My father said to Richard Lugar, ‘You might want not to go there but I could go there tonight with my 10 children and my pregnant wife and sleep on the street and we’d be perfectly safe.’ He said that not out of bravado but because he had worked for so long and so intimately with John Lewis and the other community organisers there, so he had credibility. This was not like walking into some foreign country for him. It was like walking home for him.”Robert Kennedy did attend the rally and, with rare eloquence that caught the mood of the nation, broke the news of King’s death to those who did not know. His daughter says: “He could give that speech, and it had the impact it had, because of the depth of that relationship and trust and also because John Lewis had so much credibility.”The next day, at Kennedy’s request, Lewis went to Memphis to help organise for King’s body to be returned to Atlanta. Lewis also arranged for Kennedy to meet King’s widow, Coretta Scott King, the night before the funeral.The election continued. In California, Lewis was in charge of organising the black vote while the labour leaders Cesar Chavez and Dolores Huerta organised the Latinx vote. Chavez and Lewis would sometimes canvass together. Kennedy continues: “Oh, my gosh, imagine opening your door and finding Cesar Chavez and John Lewis.“They went to the Ambassador hotel [in Los Angeles] that night and Daddy said to John: ‘I’m very disappointed in you because a higher Latinx vote came out than black.’ So they were joking around and he said: ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes. I just have to go give this speech.’”Shortly after giving a victory speech in the hotel, Robert Kennedy made his way through the kitchen to avoid the surging crowd. Shot at close range, he died aged 42.His daughter recalls: “John was in the hotel room and he said that he just fell to the floor and cried. He cried the whole way back from LA to Atlanta. It was so moving hearing him say: ‘We were flying over the hills and the mountains, and you could still see snow, even though it was June.’”Half a century later, Lewis would later tell Kerry Kennedy in an interview for her book Ripples of Hope: “If it hadn’t been for Bobby, I wouldn’t be involved in American politics … I truly believe something died in all of us. I know something died in me.” ‘More than a mentor’If Robert Kennedy had won the White House instead of Richard Nixon, Lewis’s career would surely have been different. Kennedy, the ex-wife of New York’s governor, Andrew Cuomo, speculates: “One hundred per cent John would have been involved with the administration. I don’t know at what level he would have been.> John was always there for me personally. I know he was always there for many people“I think the first couple of weeks my father was in the justice department he said: ‘There’s no black lawyers here, what are we doing? We have to recruit from traditionally black colleges and universities and we have to change this and we need more diversity.’ So that was certainly a priority, but who knows what would have happened in 1968.”Instead Lewis represented a Georgia district in the House of Representatives for 33 years, earning a reputation as “the conscience of Congress”, and continued his efforts for social and economic justice.Kennedy says: “I felt like he was always there for me personally. I know he was always there for many people personally but I just felt here’s somebody who’s on your side, who feels your pain when something goes wrong and just wants whatever you’re doing to be good.“It’s very loving: more than a mentor, really kind of a father figure in a lot of ways. I asked him to do things all the time. He never said no, whatever march we were asking to him get in or whatever letter we wanted him to sign or piece of legislation we asked him to co-sign or event we asked him to show up for. It was a drumbeat of yes.”Lewis also helped keep the memory of Robert Kennedy alive.“The thing that he also did is he talked to me and my brothers and sisters and my children and my nieces and nephews about my father in a very personal way. There’s a lot of history so you understand the actions but it’s different to have somebody like John Lewis say this is what he was like, these are our conversations, this is how he treated me.”After Lewis succumbed to pancreatic cancer, he received tributes from Barack Obama and people around the world. On Sunday his casket will make a final crossing of the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma before lying in state at the US Capitol in Washington. Kennedy endorses the movement to have the bridge renamed after him instead of Pettus, a lawyer and Confederate general who became a US senator and leader in the Ku Klux Klan.“I think it would be great because Edmund Pettus was a terrible white supremacist and there should not be anything named after him,” she says.“It would be a symbol to Selma and to our country and to the world that we recognise the violence of the past and we are going to atone for it and we are on our way to becoming a more perfect union – one where all people are respected and where every person is treated with dignity.” from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/30J5DIi

http://newslegendry.blogspot.com/2020/07/i-loved-john-lewis-how-he-and-robert.html

#news #newspaper #googlenews #breakignnews #newstody #foxnews #sportsnews

[kurtpollock]

Design Theme

This multi-residential design project focuses on creating an environment for households which share one common interest or experience.

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Although they may lead different lifestyles, the common interest is what forms the connection between those families and is the rezoning behind them wanting to live together within that environment.

Design Topic

Because of the site’s close proximity to a baseball stadium I thought it would be appropriate for my topic to focus on building an environment for a client who’s interests are in the sport of baseball, hence the following topic of choice.

The site is located near the Taoyuan International Baseball Stadium.

Exif_JPEG_PICTURE

One Team, Seven Home Runs

This is a play on words. ‘One Team, Seven Homeruns’ symbolises the unity of seven households whos common interest lies in the love of the sport baseball. It also hints to the historic event which originally brought these households together.

Clients’ Details

Background

These 9 boys grew up together playing on the same baseball team in elementary school. They became very close with their coach. In a spectacular feat, their team won a match after hitting seven consecutive home runs. This lead one of the members to make it to the Major League.That moment solidified their friendship which lasted through the loss of a team member who unfortunately passed away. It caused them to go separate ways for a couple years but their love for the sport lead them to pursue various careers in the field. Although they were distances apart they remained like close relatives. Some of them have families of their own. They want their kids to be raised in an environment where they can share an experience and grow to appreciate the sport. Some would like to retire from their careers preferably somewhere quiet. After attending the wedding ceremony of one of the members, the family bond grew even more. They saw all the benefits the continued nurturing of their common interest. So together they have all decided to settle conveniently close to the Taoyuan International Baseball Stadium.

Design Requirements

Each household has their own unique spatial requirements based on their individual lifestyles. These spatial requirements include but are not limited to living rooms, dining rooms, kitchens, laundry rooms, bedrooms, bathrooms, etc.

First Household

This household consists of only one memeber. He is professional photographer and sports news reporter at the age of 35.

As a photographer he has spent most of his career capturing some of the most spectacular moments in the history of baseball so he would like to put his work on display for others to see. He would prefer the ability to work in close proximity to where he lives.

The spatial requirements for this household includes:

A photo studio

A gallery

An office

A master suite

At least one guest bedroom

Second Household

This household consist of a father age 35, mother age 34 and their two children ages 8 and 10. The parents of this household are completely invested in their children’s daily sporting activities with the hopes of them succeeding in in some form of sport in their adult lives. The parents have been collecting and writing a variety of literature on anything relating to sports and raising athlete children.

The spatial requirements for this household include:

A game room for the kid’s entertainment. The game room will feature games that can keep the kids physically active and engaged in various sporting activities.

A library for the parent’s growing collection of books on sports and an adjacent or connected office space.

A master suite.

At least three other bedrooms, one of which will serve as the guest bedroom.

Third Household

This household consist of three members, all male, all at the age of 35. Together they started a band during thier studies in university and performed at many sporting events. Since then, these three men have been living together for the convenience of keeping the band together becuase it’s what pays for their studies.

The spatial requirements for this household inculde:

A study

Three master suites

Three guest bedrooms

A space for hosting parties when there is a sporting event.

Fourth Household

This household consists of a retired baseball coach age 75 who loves watching sports on television, and his wife at age 70 who is a medical doctor that is well experienced at treating athletes with their various health issues. At their age, their children are now building families of their own so they have a great number of family members that will visit them on occasion. With the wife nearing retirement they have both preferred to settle down in a quite scenic environment where they can actively go on evening walks.

The spatial requirements for this household include:

An environment where a large group of people can gather and watch live baseball competitions.

A master suite.

At least three guest bedrooms.

A great view of the scenery.

Fifth Household

This household consists of a medical doctor age 35 and his wife age 34 who is a veterinarian. They have a daughter age 10 and a family pet dog. The husband has had a successful career helping athletes with their various medical issues. His mother had recently become disabled and requires special medical attention. As a doctor the husband wants to take full responsiblity to look after his mother and wants his mother to live with him.

The spatial requirements for this household include:

Two  master suites.

At least two guest bedrooms.

Accommodations for the disabled.

A pet friendly environment.

An office/ Study

Sixth Household

This household consists of a wealthy professional baseball payer at the end of his very succesful career, age 35 and his wife age 33 and children ages 3 and 9. This legendary baseball player is extremely proud of his successes and wants to put his collection of trophies and other memorabilia on display for everyone to see. His wife is a highly skilled choreographer so she wants to have a space where she can teach dance and yoga to individuals of all ages. Their daughter, much like her father, loves playing baseball herself.

The spatial requirements for this household include:

A gym

A game room

A trophy room

A master suite

At least one guest bedroom

Seventh Household

This household consists of a newly wedded couple.

The male age 35 is a high school baseball coach and his wife, age 35, is an Olympic swimming gold medalist.

They both are engaged in living healthy active lifestyles and would like to train others about doing just that.

The spatial requirements for this household include:

A master suite.

At least one guest bedroom

A pool

A gym

Design Concept

A baseball has three exterior aesthetic features which are the two irregularly shaped faces and the continuous seam line which weaves them together. The Seam Line Concept serves as a symbolic representation of the weaving together of multiple households who wish to continue building a bond surrounding the sport of baseball. This is visually expressed on the exterior of the design with a series of continuous alternating loops resembling the irregularly shaped faces of a baseball.

The concept also includes an outfitted curving steel structure with zigzagging elements that resembles the seam of a baseball and appears to hug the walls and floors weaving them together. This steel structure will be able to grow flowers can will act as a green wall.

The concept was applied once an analysis of the site conditions and required space was done. The mass model indicates how the spaces were divided and arranged based on the analysis.

The sun’s path was also taken into account and is part of the reason for the tapering feature at the top. This feature allows the suns light shine on the exterior of the common space for an extended time during the day.

Design Description

Common Spaces

The design features common spaces on two separate floors. Common spaces on the first floor are considered more public spaces and include:

An exhibition room This room will be used to place trophies, memorabilia and photographs on display.

A multi-purpose room with an adjacent sports bar. This room will be used to host large gatherings such as ceremonies, yoga classes, dance classes, parties, etc and is connected to a large outdoor garden.

A photo studio

The common spaces on the fifth floor are considered more private and include:

A gym The gym is not limited to use by members of the seven households. Classes will be offered by household members to interested outsiders.

A swimming pool This pool can be converted into an outdoor deck for the seven households to use for large private gatherings.

A sports bar This is where members of the seven households will privately gather on occasion to watch sports together.

A game room This space will feature various games like pool, table tennis, table hocky and a miniature indoor baseball field for kids.

Household Private Spaces

Each household have their own individual private spaces. That includes living rooms, dining rooms, kitchens, laundry rooms, bedrooms, bathrooms, etc. Some of these households share similar balconies that take advantage of either the view of the nearby park or the natural sunlight.

Drawings

Structure

Renderings

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Interior VR 360 Views

Scan the QR code with your device to view the VR.

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Level 5 Bar and Pool

Level 2 Unit 2 Living Room

Level 2 Unit 1 Master Bedroom

Level 2 Unit 1 Kitchen

Level 1 Photo Studio

Level 1 Exhibition Room

This multi-residential design is an environment for households that share one common interest. Design Theme This multi-residential design project focuses on creating an environment for households which share one common interest or experience.

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