#I made this with a migraine while battling my computer

[benevolenttbee]

What the hell

Hair version I guess

[missdawnandherdusk]

No Place Like Home

Draco X Hufflepuff!Reader

An Alternate Reality (read the entire series here)

Summary: In a world with no such thing as magic, or wars, or potions, what happens when you find yourself in a muggle school with an equally confused Draco... and your very alive father? It’s a perfect world... but it’s not home. 

A/n: So, I watched WandaVision, and well I have a few things to say. Anyway here’s out Hufflepuff darling in the same situation and me toying with what she would choose on a much shorter time line. Let me know if this hurts you as much as it hurts me. 

“Miss Y/l/n!” The loud voice woke me from my slumber, and I sat up abruptly. “Please sleep on your own time and not in my classroom!”

“Sorry, professor,” I rubbed my eyes, blinking.

The room was a bright cream color with vibrant posters on the walls. The desks were a cheap knock off wood and the chairs were plastic and metal. The floor was tile. The projector showed... chemistry. The notebook under my arms was filled with chemistry notes all done in pencil. The kids around me weren’t in uniform. They were... muggle.

I was in a muggle school.

Internalizing my panic, I started to think furiously about how in the world I had ended up in a muggle school. I should be at... and I should be with... and I had a... with... and I was planning...

A splintering agony surged through my head. I gasped and pressed against my temples, trying to ease the pain.

“Miss Y/l/n! If you are going to disrupt my class, then please remove yourself!” My eyes flashed up to a stranger. I didn’t know a face that surrounded me.

I stumbled out of my seat and out of the classroom into the hallway. Again, the floors were tile and the walls an awful plaster painted an off-white. A bulletin board gave information about school spirit and upcoming events. All of the paper was an obnoxious neon color that did not aid my headache. My hand went to my bag to get out a... I frowned. I normally had them on me. They... they were...

In my painful fervor, I ran into someone. My headache subsided at the sight of him. 

“Draco!” I sighed in relief.

“Yes? Do I know you?” He raised an eyebrow at me, a cold look on his face. I took a small step back my brows furrowing. My hand went to the hollow of my neck where my locket normally hung, but it was gone.

“Draco,” I couldn’t believe it. “You don’t.... you don’t know who I am?”

“Well, I’ve seen you around school, but no.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know you knew my name,”

I know a lot more than just your name, I thought in vain. I worried my lip, trying to find the best course of action. There was no answer for me.

“I’m... Y/n,” I spoke slowly, to be sure of my words. “Could you... help me?” 

“Are you alright?” He almost scoffed.

“Uh... no not really,” I admitted. “I have a terrible headache and it feels like the room is spinning a bit,”

He sighed and rubbed his face. “Alright, I’ll take you to the nurse,” I didn’t expect his kindness. I don’t think he expected it either judging by the furrow of his brow and the indignation in his eyes.

As we walked along in the hall, I attempted to memorize the route, or even find some sort of marker that differentiated one hall from the next but there was nothing. It was a maze of mundane.

The only comfort I had was walking by Draco’s side. There was still something off. I yearned to reach and hold his hand. The longer we walked along the quicker my headache subsided. I had glimpses into memories of laughing with him. Dancing, walking, kissing, smiling, fighting...

I looked down at my hands and for the blink of an eye they were covered in blood. I gasped and the pain in my head intensified.

“Hey, woah, are you okay?” Draco asked, steadying me.

“No,” I screwed my eyes shut. “Something... something’s... Merlin I wish I could remember!” 

“Did... Did you just say Merlin?”

“...Yes,” I dared to open my eyes to see curiosity in Draco’s.

“Who in the world are you?” He was mystified, reaching out to steady me. As soon as his hand touched my shoulder, everything came into perspective.

A thousand memories came flooding back. Train rides and magic. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. Harry Potter and Quidditch. Wands and short hair. Robes and castles. And Draco, a thousand times Draco. In every memory, woven into every part of my psyche. It always came back to him. It always centered on him.

“Draco, something is wrong,” I stressed, pacing the hall, the pain in my head gone now that my memories returned. “This... this isn’t right,”

“Well of course it isn’t right,” His words sparked a flicker of hope in my chest. Maybe I wasn’t crazy after all. “I shouldn’t be here. We should both be in class.”

“But you should be here!” I raised my voice. “How can you not remember me, Draco! How can you not remember everything we went through together!? Why does no one remember!? Where are we!?” My hands went to my hair to run through it anxiously but the perfectly done updo constrained me. “Oh this stupid hair!” I started to pull out the pins and ties that held it into place and muss it up until it was falling at odd angles around my shoulders. “Oh, I wish I had my wand so I could chop it all off!”

Draco’s eyes flashed to mine at my final statements, something familiar in his eyes. The Draco that I knew. The one who I loved. But it was soon gone replaced by the caring ditz of a schoolboy.

“No,” I refuted, wanting that look back. “Wait,” I paused, going to him. “You remembered something. I know that look,”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He stood, turning his back to me.

“Draco Malfoy,” I snapped. “You remember! Merlin all it took was me shouting at you! You arrogant egotistical little twat!” I was giddy with the fact that Draco remembered.

“I don’t—” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “I... I can’t see it all. Just... flashes. Brief glimpses... then it’s gone,” He turned to me, his brows knitted together. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “There’s just... there’s something off. Something missing. There’s supposed to be magic. And wands, and something called Hogwarts... and... Voldemort,”

Draco hissed and glared at me. “Don’t you ever say that name!” He pinned me to the hallway wall.

My eyes widened in shock at his outburst, but it was a brief moment because suddenly Draco was struggling to stand, staggering over to adjacent wall to steady him.

“Draco?” The concern in my voice was evident.

“I... I think I need to lie down,” He choked out.

“You do remember,” The revelation quelled my old fears but brought on new ones.

“I... my head hurts,”

“I know,” I comforted softly, reaching out for him. “Let’s get you to the nurse,”

“You have no idea where that is,” He muttered, leaning against me as a crutch.

“Not really,” A smile played at my lips.

“I liked your hair shorter... I can almost see it...” He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Why do you remember fully, and I can’t?”

“I don’t know...” I mused. “I don’t know if I’m even supposed to remember anything. This has to be some sort of spell... a curse.”

We had found our way to the office, Draco conscious enough that he remembered the way. The receptionist eyed us, but Draco with his usual schmooze, lied elegantly. It made me smile, knowing that he was still just as clever here as back... back home.

“Alright sweetie,” The receptionist clacked on her computer and smiled sweetly. “I’ll just call your dad and have him come and get you,”

“My dad? You’ll call my dad?” I stammered out, leaning against the raised front desk for support.

“Or I can call your mom if it’s too much trouble,” The receptionist smiled kindly. “Are you sure you’re alright dearie?” The nurse asked.

“She’s had a long day,” Draco held my shoulder, giving a tight smile. “It’s her migraine. It throws her off the rest of the day, hence our reason for coming.”

The receptionist smiled kindly and made the call... to my dad. Draco and I waited for a while in the lobby, near a fake Ficus that had no hope to flourish in the florescent lighting. He held my hand the entire time and let me lean on him for comfort and strength. I didn’t doubt that he could feel anxiety rolling off me in waves. Merlin, I wish I had a potion or two on me! It would allow me to think straight even for a moment.

“Is that my little sunshine?” The voice made me jump out of my skin and turn.

“Papa?” I gasped and broke free from Draco’s grasp and ran into my father’s arms, tears stinging my eyes.

“Hey there pumpkin,” My dad chuckled. “You haven’t called me that since you were two... you feeling alright sunshine?”

I drew away, staring... memorizing him. Photos didn’t do the kindness in his eyes any justice. And the warmth of his hold was intoxicating. It was everything I ever wanted.

“Just tell me it’s gonna be okay,” I whispered without thinking.

“Of course, it is,” He smiled, petting my hair softly. “Everything is going to be just fine,” 

“Dad?” I asked. He looked at me expectant. “I love you,”

“I love you too, sunshine,” His smile reached and lit up his eyes. “Now let’s get you home. You’ve had a long day,” He looked over my shoulder, to Draco. “Thank you, son, for taking care of her,”

The look in Draco’s eyes told me how much those few words meant to him, and how much Draco remembered.

“Hang on, dad,” I paused taking a step toward Draco.

It was a choice before me. Draco and a life of magic and danger and true love and battles between good and evil. Or my father and the chance at a normal, magic free life at a muggle school with no danger or fears that Draco could be a part of... that my dad could be a part of. The gravity of the situation made me reach to my locket for comfort but was met with the tangled waves of my long hair.

“This isn’t right,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “Don’t make me choose,” 

“Let’s go home, sunshine,” My dad spoke as if I hadn’t. As if I weren’t crying. I looked back at him one last time.

“I’m sorry,” I was really crying now. “But this isn’t my home. I love you, dad,”

Tears blurred my vision, but I felt Draco stand firm and ready beside me. My hand reached for a wand that wasn’t there.

“You couldn’t just be happy?” A voice echoed in the now vacant office. Draco hovering beside me, my breath quickened. “I tried to give you everything! A happy ending! Couldn’t you just be happy!?”

“...Mother?” I blinked rapidly, clearing my tears. “What did you do!?” I shouted at no one, at the disembodied voice.

“Just once, couldn’t you be happy? And play your part?” She materialized in front of us. “You could have been happy, my darling,”

“This?” I gestured around me at the white sterile scene and florescent lighting. I glanced up at Draco. “I’m not happy if I’m not where I belong,”

“In the middle of a war?” My mother sounded desperate. “As the leader of all of Hogwarts? In danger!? Fatherless!?” I flinched at that.

“With Draco,” I took his hand in mine. “And my friends. And... Abby.” I gasped, suddenly recalling. “And...”

“Pansy,” Draco breathed out, struggling to form more of the memory. 

“We have to go back,” There was no denying that. “This isn’t right,”

“If you want them, they can be here too. Anything you want.” She was desperate to make me stay, “You could be happy here. Walt... Your father could be here, no one could hurt you,” There were tears in her eyes. “You’d be safe,”

“I want to go home,” I choked out.

The world changed around me, and I felt a weight off my shoulders. Quite literally. My hair was short and cropped again, and a familiar weight hung around my neck. I reached up and ran my fingers over my locket.

“It isn’t safe, but it is good,” I murmured.

.

masterlist

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more like this:

hufflepuff series

the serpent beneath

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[petersonofloki]

Chapter 2

Peter didn’t come down from his room until late evening. He could still feel the aftermath of his migraine, but it was down to a bearable level again. Tony put a plate in front of him with his saved dinner. He wasn’t really hungry, but he tried to eat anyway. 

“How’s your head?” Tony asked and sat down next to him.

“It’s bearable...” Peter said, trying to focus on moving the fork to his mouth.

“We’re going to see another doctor about this,” Tony stated.

Peter groaned. They had already seen too many doctors to count about Peter’s headaches. They all said the same; that these migraines are most definitely serious, but it was impossible to say what was the cause of them.

“Is it really necessary?” he asked Tony.

“To ensure your health? Yes it is.” Tony softened a little at Peter’s expression. “Kid, we’re worried about you. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I know, but I’m getting tired of it. these doctor’s appointments just feels so... you know, pointless. Because no matter who we turn to, they have no answer to give us.”

Tony put his arm on his shoulders to comfort him.

“I know, Kiddo. But we have to keep searching, either until we find what’s causing you so much pain, or until there simply is no doctors left to ask.”

After Peter had forced down at least half of the plate, they went to join Stephen and Morgan on the couch. Stephen had been somewhat successful in his attempt at making an eatable pie and they spent the rest of the Friday night eating pie and watching movies. Morgan had snuggled up in Tony’s lap and Peter had curled up next to Stephen, hiding his face from the bright screen in his adopted dad’s robes. When the movie ended Morgan sleepily walked away towards her room. Tony and Stephen worked together to get the sleeping teenager tucked into bed.

“Did May manage to contact the principal?” Stephen asked when they left Peter’s room.

“Yes. We will be meeting them this Thuesday.”

“Good.”

Tony took Peter with him in the lab at the compound the following day. There wasn’t that much to do. It was simpliy time to relax while tinkering with a screwdriver.

The background music was kept at a low volume for the sake of Peter’s head, even though the teen himself insisted that it was not necessary. Tony, being used to Peter’s tendency to overlook his own needs in favor of others, ignored that statement.

It was around lunch time when FRIDAY informed Tony that Thor and Loki was in the lobby, wanting to see him.

“Tell them we’re in the lab,” Tony told the AI.

“Hm? You didn’t tell me Thor and Loki were coming.”

“I didn’t know they were coming. This must be a spontaneous visit.”

Peter nodded and continued tinkering with the computer device in his hand. He had never gotten the chance to meet eighter of the Asgradian gods. He had seen them during the battle of earth, but they were all just a little too busy fighting a mad titan and his army to get an introduction. It would be nice to get to meet them properly.

When the doors opened, Thor stepped into the room with a huge grin on his face. Loki was nowhere to be seen.

“Anthony Stark, Man of Iron! Marvelous to see you again! It surley has been far too long!” Thor exclaimed while enfolding Tony in a giant bear hug.

“Yes... yes too long. Good to see you too Pointbreak.” Tony patted the god’s shoulder. “Now please don’t break my ribbs, I would really appriciate if you didn’t break my ribbs.”

Thor released him.

���Where’s Reindeer games, FRIDAY said they were with you?”

“That machine of vending refused to give my sibling their m&m.” Thor smiled. “They’ll be here as soon as they have defeated the machine of vending in battle.”

Tony frowned but didn’t comment on it, just made a mental note to tell Pepper they might need a new vending machine. 

“Now enlighten me! What’s new in this part of Midgard? How much have I missed?”

“Oh, a lot of stuff,” Tony said while he went back to what he had previously been working on. “A lot of celebrity drama, people trying to get society back on it’s feet, some new younger heroes rising...”

“Ah, yes! Like that little man of spiders that held on to my hammer with that spider webbing of his? Yes, I know about him!” Thor proudly replied.

That caught Tony’s attention.

“You do?”

“Why, yes!” Thor exclaimed. “I was rather impressed with his moves during the battle of earth, especially since he appeared to be rather young, so I asked around about him a bit afterwards. And that Strange wizard-”

“You mean Dr. Strange?”

“Yes, him!” Thor exlcaimed. “He could tell me a little about the man of spiders, and it got me quiet curious, so while I was trying to get New Asgard back into a stable condition I did some research during that little spare time I got. I gotta say, that Jona J son of James really appears to unreasonly hate that person. I really do not understand why, he stops really bad people while looking out for the little guy. A true hero at heart, I tell you!”

At this point Peter was almost blushing. From what he was hearing, it sounded like Thor, the God of Thunder, had joined his fan base.

“He sure is,” Tony agreed.

“You are going to recruit him, aren’t you?” Thor asked.

“One step ahead of you there, Pointbreak!” Tony almost laughed as he closed one of the holographic screens, making Peter visible to the god. “He’s right here!”

Thor looked over at Peter, who smiled and waved shyly at him. Then he broke into a huge grin.

“Why of course! That makes perfect sense!” 

And in just a second, Thor had sprinted over to the kid and almost crushed him with his hug.

“Young little Peter! I haven’t seen you in years now, you’ve grown so much! And become a hero yourself! What an honorable man you’ve grown into, your family would be proud!”

“Um, what?”

Peter had thought it was awesome to get a chance to meet the god of thunder but... he did not expect this. Thor was acting like the two had known each other for years, which Peter was rather sure were not the case. 

Thor eventually seemed to notice something was off when Peter didn’t return the embrace. He gave the kid a concerned look as he released him.

“Is there something wrong, little Pete?”

Peter grasped the edge of the table to keep himself steady while ignoring the increasing pain in his head.

“Um, I’m sorry but, I think you might be mistaking me for someone else.”

Thor was confused. Peter didn’t seem to recognize him at all, could he really be mistaken? But checking him up and down it was definitely Peter’s brown curly hair and brown eyes that Thor remembered clearly.

“Oh, very funny there, little Peter! You almost had me fooled there for a moment.”

“Um, no. Really, don’t get me wrong, it’s an honor to meet you, sir. But I haven’t met you before, especially not without my mask.”

Now, it seemed to be a weird coincidence that Thor would just have happend to met someone who looked similar to Peter, and who was also named Peter, but it was a common name. So while it seemed improbable, it probably wasn’t impossible. Peter shut his eyes and turned away as his headache suddenly made all the lights in the room unbearable.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, my head just really hurts sometimes...”

Tony woke up from his frozen state and set to action.

“Come on, Pete. Let’s sit down a minute.”

He led Peter to a chair and had him sit down.

Thor observed the two. He was a little hurt that Peter genuinely didn’t seem to remember him at all. The boy had been ten years old last time he saw him, surley he couldn’t have just forgotten him already?

But if Peter really had forgotten him, was there a chance that he had also-

“I have at last, finally defeated the moronic machine of vendig, and so, claimd what is rightfully mine!” Loki’s voice echoed through the room.

Thor turned around and saw his sibling in the door opening with their m&ms in hand. Before anyone got the chance to greet them Thor pushed them back out of the room.

“How very well, my sibling! But it appears to be relatively bad timing for visits here at the moment.” Thor turned to Tony. “We will come visit again at another time.”

Then the door shut behind the Norse gods, leaving Tony and Peter alone.

“What was that all about?” Peter asked between the whining.

“Oh, the one who knew that...” Tony sighed.

“Ngh, please don’t talk so loud.”

“Sorry,” Tony whispered and picked up his phone. “ I’m calling Stephen, we’re putting you in bed.”

Peter didn’t protest.

“Are you, by any chance going to tell me what that was all about, brother?” 

Loki was annoyed. Thor had not only physically pushed them out of the room, he had also made them spill some of their m&m.

“I’m sorry about that... Anthony had... an apprentice that he needed to help at the moment, so it was a bad moment to visit... yeah...”

“I see, Anthony does not want me to be around. That’s reasonable.” Loki started picking up their spilled m&ms. “I’m off to Queens, then. I’ll see you later.”

“NO!”

Loki frowned at their brother.

“If you wish to come with me, I’ll have to calmly ask you not to. I’m going to see Peter for the first time since he was eleven and I want that moment to be between him and me, alone. Please respect that.”

“NO!... That’s not a good idea, my sibling... Peter and his aunt and uncle might not be home at the moment.”

Loki glared at their brother, obviously not buying any of it.

“Alright, brother, spill the beans. What is going on?”

Thor relented, realizing there was no point in trying to lie to the god of lies. But this would surley break their hearth.

“Very well, Peter was with Anthony.” Thor waited for a reaction but continued when he didn’t get any. “But he didn’t recognize me. I believe he had suffered through some form of memory loss. I don’t think it is a good idea for you to see him right now, because he would probably not remember you eighter.”

Thor waited. He could see the anger, and disbelief rise and burning in Loki’s eyes. It felt like an ethernity before they finally said something.

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no. You’re wrong! I do not know what it was you think you might have seen, but clearly, you must be mistaken! Peter is my child, and there is no way that a child could ever truly forget their parent!”

Their voice was trembling at the end, Thor watched them shaking on the spot for a moment before Loki turned around and stalked towards the exit.

“I’ll prove it to you! I’m going to Queens, I’m going to see my son, and do not try to stop me!”

[sicprowl]

The Fell-Star

Next     AO3

Sigh.

He was so bored.  So, so bored.

The red head leaned back in his seat, wiggling the pen between his lip and nose while he dazed lazily up at the ceiling.

Siiiiiiiigh.

“Sylvain,”  Ingrid tensed beside him, but her fingers continued to glide across the screen of her navigation system as various symbols lit up on the screen in an array of colors.  “Can you please stop that?”

The communications expert paused a moment, giving his childhood companion a side eye before looking back up at the ceiling.

Groooooan.

“What?”  He laughed and took the pen off his lip to wave it at her, “It’s not the same thing~.”

She wanted to pull her hair out, long braid and all, then strangle him with it.  “Why don’t you go do something productive?!”

“Like what?”  Sylvain gestured around the empty command deck, “There’s nothing to do.”

Ingrid went back to piloting, tick mark pulsing on her forehead.  “You’re supposed to be doing your job.”

“Right, my job…”

Sylvain frowned and put the pen back between his nose and lip.  One glance at his terminal showed nothing but a blank map; black, lifeless, boring. 

He’d gone to the Officers Academy for *this?*  To sit at some desk and listening out into the void, waiting for someone to say hello.  The red head had thought he’d hear some juicy gossip, get paid to chat people up, and maybe even answer distress calls to isolated colonies of beautiful women.

Instead all he got was the latter.  Minus the isolated colony of beautiful women.

Sylvain gave Ingrid a pout, “My job sucks.”

Ingrid wished his seat was closer just so she could smack him.  “Then why didn’t you study something else?!”

“Meh,” he shrugged and leaned back in his seat.  “This seemed the easiest.”

She was getting a migraine, “Can you just….Just go bother someone else?  I can watch everything here.”

Like always.

“They’re all busy.”

Ingrid huffed while focusing on her console again.  “That never stopped you before.  Felix isn’t on duty - I’m sure he could use some company.”

Sylvain deflated and the pen dropped to his lap.  “He’s in the armory having a mood.”

Ingrid looked at him questioningly, but he didn’t elaborate.  He merely waved his hand and spun slowly in his chair.  She squinted at him as he stared at his lap.

“What did you do this time?”

He jerked, “It wasn’t me!!”

The doors to the command deck opened and they both looked to see three members of the crew walk in.

Ingrid stood immediately in a salute, gazing at their Captain with stern obedience that was beat into them throughout their Academy days.  “My Lord!”

Sylvain was slower to stand, not really liking the formalities of it all.  They were all former classmates, most even childhood friends and confidents.  Heck, they’ve spent FIVE YEARS running and gunning Empire ships!  Surely that meant they could relax in their off time?

He glanced at his friend’s Captain’s face, avoiding the eye patch that covered the ghastly scar from a battle long since forgotten.  The heavy bags laid under his eyes as a constant reminder that the man never seemed to sleep and always seemed to be ready to strike.  His blonde hair looked unkempt and long as it curled slightly at his collar.  His black armor was worn from desperate battle after desperate battle while a long blue cloak with snow lion pelt at the collar.  It all made him look like a towering giant; broad, powerful, deadly.

Then there was that lance.

Sylvain gulped, noting the emblem in the middle of the blade cackled like blue lightning.  Thankfully it was merely flickers and not the thunderous storm that seemed to erupt from his old friend during battle.  But Sylvain didn’t need the lance to tell him that the blonde was aching for battle.  The bloodlust in his icy-blue eye was enough of a giveaway.

The red head looked away, unable to handle to see the once calm, and friendly boy of his youth turn into this.  Sylvain focused on Annette instead, the cute and cheerful scientist of the group.

“What’s up?”

The small girl jerked in surprise, feeling as if she were back in school and the teacher had called on her.

“Oh!  Ashe and I were calibrating the engine when we caught a strange signal on our computers!”

Panic settled on Sylvain’s face as he looked at his screen to see one, lone blinking red light right in the middle of his screen.  

Oops.

“Oh!”  Sylvain laughed nervously as all turned to him, “Sorry about that.”

Ingrid groaned while Dedue gave him a look of disapproval.

Dimitri ignored them all as he walked over to his chair, his heavily armored boots making the floor vibrate beneath all their feet.  He plopped down in his chair, his whole body taking over the spot like a predator staking it’s claim.

“Show it to me.”

The red head didn’t need to be told twice.  He sat back down and zeroed in on the signal, fingers dashing across the keys with ease as he turned on the flight screens for everyone.

Annette gasped in awe as the black, white, and blue panels covering the front half of the command deck’s ceiling changed into a vast expanse of stars.  They twinkled like fire flies in streams as a lone nebula laid light years away.  It shined bright in an aurora of periwinkle greens and cobalt blues, reaching out like in large wings that could easily dwarf a Faerghus warship.

It was breathtaking.

Dimitri gripped his lance as the screen zoomed in on a flying ship that zipped across the stars like a comet.  His gaze narrowed as he raked it over the hull of the spaceship, then gave a sharp tooth grin when he found the symbol he so desperately hated.

The emblem in his lance began to spark and Dedue was immediately at his side, ready for orders.  He was Dimitri’s second in command on this ship and closest confidant.  The large man was ever loyal to the lost Prince of Faerghus and has been after he saved him from the Purge of Duscar.  

He was his everything the moment Dimitri pulled him from the rubble.

“Sire?”

The blonde chuckled, making Sylvain’s hair practically stand on end.  “It’s time to hunt some rats.”

>>>>>

Felix’s upper lip snarled in distaste at the litter of corpses that laid in the narrow hallway, blood splattered over the floor and ceiling like it was a morbid painting.  Most of the bodies had been gouged out with a blade while a few were headless or worse…  He always looked away from the worst.

“What a disgusting brute.”

Sylvain didn’t respond as he checked one of the bodies for ammo, putting the ethics of it all in the back of his mind.  He’d unpack this all later.  Right now, he needed to make sure they were prepared.  Felix may have his family shield with him, but that thing couldn’t protect the both of them.  Not unless they wanted to straddle each other.

The red head felt the corner of his lip turn up at the idea, knowing it’d annoy the hell out of his prickly friend.

He stood and touched the comm in his ear, “All clear on the lower deck.”

”I don’t see anyone in the barracks.”  Ashe responded, having gone with Annette as a third wave in case the first two groups missed anyone.

Dedue and Dimitri had charged in headfirst….Well, Dimitri had, Dedue followed after him with his heavy weapons and armor to keep the enemies off the Lord.  Felix and Sylvain had followed after the first few minutes in case anyone came out of hiding to flank them, but lost them when a group of soldiers stormed from another hall.  Speaking of…

”We found something in the engine room.”

Sylvain raised a brow, itching to ask what the Duscar man had found, but could only get out a ‘on our way’ as Felix stroke forward.

“Whoa, wait up!”

Felix glared at the path ahead, “Someone should take that thing away from him.”

Sylvain scratched the back of his head, knowing what his friend was talking about.  “Yeah…probably.”

Except who’d be stupid enough to try?

“Look at this-this MESS!”  Felix gestured around them as they turned the corner to find more blood and lifeless bodies.  “It’s changing him!  He’s sick!”

The red head bit his lip, not wanting to think about Dimitri being sick.  Really, truly sick.

Dimitri had all the signs, all the madness that came with carrying one of the old relics.  The irrationality, the paranoia, the hatred.  He had to be forced to sleep and eat.  They’d find him staring out into space, whispering and pledging to the dead that his goals would be met.  

It made getting a drink at night…unsettling.

Sylvain kept his own lance in his room, not really caring for the alien object.  The old weapons had always creeped him out.  They looked too wrong to be normal and he could only wonder in amazement as to why their ancestors decided to play with them after discovering a tomb on some far off planet.  Sure, they could cut through any armor and barrier like butter, and others could stop bullets and blasts.  But holding them too long came with a price.  A terrible price their Prince was paying for the longer he dwelled on his anger.

Heh.  Thousands and thousands of years later and humans still fight with swords and daggers if angry enough.

Ashe and Annette had made it to the engine before them, both unharmed and standing side by side with the Captain and his Second as they stared at the back wall and talked.  Sylvain raised a brow, wondering what could be so interesting about some machinery.

“It looks like a pod,” Annette said while bending her torso slightly to get a closer look without having to step forward.

Ashe looked excited, but uncertain.  “Maybe it’s some kind of cryo-chamber?”

Annette turned her head when he heard their steps and gestured them over, making room for the two to stop and stare at the strange contraption before them.

Sylvain’s jaw dropped.  “What the hell is that?”

Sitting on a pedestal was a marble.  A giant, green marble that could roll over them all over with the right push.  It was like some big, dull colored crystal ball just…sitting in some corner!

“Is this supposed to be important?”  Felix asked with a wave of his hand.

Ashe was looking behind them, hand on his chin.  “How did they get it through the door?”

“They had heavy guards protecting it and were quite determined to keep us away,” Dedue said thoughtfully.

“It’s kind of pretty.”  Annette finally stepped closer, wanting to poke it.

Dimitri raised his lance and pierced it before the girl could even touch it.  She screamed in shock while every hurried to stop him.

“You’re highness!”

“Whoa, dude!”

“BOAR!!”

But it was already too late, the blade of the deadly lance pierced the object with ease while it’s blue emblem roared to life.  Sparks flew and a bright blue electric current rushed over the marble in a wave as a drip of lime green water started to drip out.

Everyone stood still, frozen mid grab for their Captain as he tore through the membrane like material (not glass like Sylvain had thought).  They all gasped as a dribble of liquid spilled out.

Felix hissed, “You idiot!  Are you trying to get us kill-!?!“

The object suddenly bursted open as swamp like water pooled at their feet and a cloud of gas sprayed out.  It hit Dimitri first as he raised his arm to cover his mouth while the others quickly followed.  The only sound that filled the room was their coughing and the hissing of gas that seemed louder then the ship’s own engines.

“D-Don’t breathe in!”  Annette cried out, squinting her eyes through the slowing fog to try and see what was happening.  

Ashe was already pulling out a small device to scan the air, his arms shaking with fear that they’d all suddenly drop dead.  He blinked and slowly pulled his hand away, only to sneeze.

“O-Oh,” he rubbed his nose.  “It’s safe.  Nothing you wouldn’t find in a rainforest on Almyra.”

Everyone sighed in relief, opening their eyes and looking around at the strange conditions.  The engine room felt less dark and dank and more…bright, nature-y.

Felix jerked away when something touched his cheek and quickly raised his gun, “What is this!?”

Sylvain couldn’t help but laugh.  His friend was waving his weapon around at what looked like giant, glowing dandelion seeds.

Annette’s eyes sparkled as one floated past her face.  “So pretty~!”

“Step back, my Lord!”

They all looked to see Dedue suddenly in front of Dimitri, his arm out to shield him while his other held his large gun, pointed and ready to fire at the broken marble.  No one knew what was happening until the gas began to thin and the spores lit the room up like little lamps.  Sylvain held his breath as a dainty figure stepped out of the object.

“Oh!”  Annette covered her mouth while Felix aimed his gun, all of them wide eyed as a woman with glowing green hair stepped out.  Wait, even her eyes!  

Everything about her seemed to be bright, yet soft.  Like a warm night light that lulled children to a peaceful sleep.  

Her skin looked porcelain, fragile and mark free of any kind of battle or accident.  Her features beautiful, sharp and blank, almost…inhuman.  Then they noticed her ears and Ashe jolted with amazement.

“I-Is she…?!”  He daren’t say it.  

Space had been in their grasp for a good while now.  Their race had traveled many light years and colonized many planets, moons, and even asteroids.  But they’d always be alone with no sign of others living in this vast universe.  But now…?

The woman(?) swept her gaze over them, stopping to stare at each of their faces as they all stood still in shock.  It took her to fully step out for Dedue to aim his gun again.

“Halt, or I will be forced to shoot!”

She continued to stare at them all blankly, her eyes blinking at Dedue’s weapon.  The girl tilted her head, her hand on her cheek as if in deep thought as she studied the heavy gun.  Then her lips parted slightly, a small puff of air coming out in surprise(???) when she saw Dimitri’s lance.

Her hand reached for it and Dedue shot at her feet.  

Annette paled when the strange woman didn’t react to the shot, her eyes now glowing as bright as the orb on Dimitri’s weapon.  The lance practically shook as their Captain snarled, unwilling to let this stranger take what was his.  He raised his lance as he had with the marble and shot forward, aiming straight for her head-!!

There was a scream and a scrambling of feet as half of the team backed away and the other stepped forward, ready to fight - but the scuffle never came.  Nor did the blood or mangled body falling to the floor like all their enemies.  

Instead they could only stare in awe as the blade froze in mid air, the shaft shaking in Dimitri’s hands as he seemed to be fighting to spear her.

“W-What is this!?”

She didn’t react to his snarl, her focus solely on the orb as it continued on with it’s thunderous rage.  A small hand reached out again, ghosting over the emblem with a soft caress.  It did not quell under touch, but also seemed to grow brighter the moment her skin made contact.

Dimitri snarled and the woman looked at his face, her own void of any emotion as she moved both her hands to his chest.  The blonde recoiled, but didn’t move again when the mist in the room finally faded away.

Sylvain blinked, once, twice.  Three times he had to make sure he knew what he was seeing.

“She’s naked!”  Annette gasped while Ashe covered his eyes - all of them more or less agreeing this *was* a woman.

Dimitri’s gaze flickered down then shot right back up, cheeks turning a ruddy red as his arms began to twist.

“Idiot!”  Felix hissed as she moved closer to lay her head on his chest.  “Grab her!!”

Sylvain had to hold in a guffaw when their Captain looked over his shoulder with panic, one hand now holding his weapon while the other tried to find a place to grab.  

“W-Where?!”

“Anywhere!”

He didn’t seem to like that answer.  It meant he had to look at her again, take in her form and try to…restrain her.  Sylvain could only look on fondly as Dimitri began to fluster as the woman seemed to be resting against where his heart was.  It reminded the red head how painfully bad Dimitri was with women.

Who would have thought this raging beast would fall apart before some girl?

Dimitri swallowed hard when she looked up, eye wild with uncertainty as she reached up to cup his cheeks.  He held his breath, thankful for the armor that separated his body from hers.  All he had to do was not look too far down at her…ample….c-c-c-chest.

But he didn’t have to worry about that, not when she was tugging his head down into a kiss that made him drop his lance.

Annette gasped, Ashe asked what was happening from behind his arm while Felix and Dedue seemed at a loss.  Sylvain was the only one doing something about the situation, and that was taking a few sneaky pictures to laugh at later.

The Prince was no better, his body tense in shock as the woman’s soft lips pressed his cracked ones.  She held fast to his face while turning her head slightly, her eyes closed as if this was her long lost lover.  Dimitri almost, almost closed his eye too, not wanting to admit that it was…nice.  Yes, very nice.

But she had stopped before he could, letting his face go and staring up at him expectantly.

Dimitri blinked, body trembling like a teenage girl as he stared back.  

Ashe finally took the time to look, having missed the strange kiss during his nervousness.  But now he was interested and he couldn’t help but finally say it.  “D-Did we just make first contact?!”

Sylvain snickered, glancing at their lost Captain.  “Someone here sure did~”

[ohgoddard]

Fist of Fire.2.19. The End pt.1

“......progress is coming along remarkably in the…”

Eyes begin to move in the darkness. Ears start to pick up voices.

“...yes sir, she has been injected with the blood. No, we don’t know if the process will..”

Every vein bulged with effort to move, paining with each centimetre shuffled.

“.....Yes, sorry, yes we will have her ready by tomorrow. Thank you, Lord.”

The sound of an old analog phone being hung up with a loud thunk fills the black nothingness that is Jade’s reality.

Bright lights start the make their way into her eyesight, only to be filled once again with pure tar.

The voice that she heard earlier was now hovering over her, the warmth of their body being so close to hers would have made her cringe if not for the restraints and liquid ice she felt in her veins.

“No, no you can’t be awake just yet. Just a few more days until you are all ...swapped out.”

The voice was of a German accent, but that was all Jade could recall as the touch of pointed steel stabbed into her skin and once more she was gone.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The airplane cabin vibrated with a constant drone. It was the fourth that Joseph Ellington had been seated in during the last five days, and he has been growing angrier every hour. Not only because of the general garbage experience of airplane flight in business or coach, but because he had to use this method at all.

The night that Jade was taken from him, he had Omegaman take him immediately to the hero agency center in the city. And he demanded he be allowed to go get her back. And for the first time in his hero career, he was laughed at. The admin had looked at Joseph and laughed at him. He said that they would send someone when they had the chance. That a single kidnapping was not the biggest deal of the agency at the moment. And, for icing on the cake, they would be sure to send someone who could walk. They could do a better job than the broken man before him.

Omegaman had to physically hold Joseph back from the attendant, who very quickly realized after a quick lookup of his name who he was talking to. The only respite that Joseph had in that moment of unrestrained rage that only the number 1 in the nation could hold him back was seeing the color drain from the admin’s face. 

Still.

His condition and previous violations of property laws had meant not only was his Hero License revoked in its entirety, he couldn’t have gone even if it wasn’t. Omegaman had promised Joseph he would make this top priority. He looked him in the eyes and said, “I will not let her go, Joseph. I will not let Emesh take her from you. And I will not let injustice continue.” After that, Omegaman shot into the sky, presumably in the direction of Emesh’s hideout.

There has been zero contact since that night. 

Of course, Joseph was not going to follow any directions. The night he was laughed at and rejected, after Omegaman shot up and away, he wheeled himself alone to the home of Mary Laurens. She opened the door to him and asked if Jade was at Riley’s, as she was not with him. Joseph’s silence at her question answered more than she asked for. A grieving mother, worried about her only child’s life, was another weight put upon Joseph’s mind. No, no he would not follow the orders of any administration. He had only done so once, and that was to a great man. There were no good men in bureaucracy. 

And so that night, while the weeping and sobbing of a mother hurt filled his ears, Joseph Ellingston packed his bags. Clothes for the night, clothes for the Desert. For stealth. Gear for protection.

Clothes for her. 

As his bags were packed, and he was about to roll out the door, a knock came.

He opened the door, bags slung across the back of his wheelchair, to see Riley standing before him. Still dressed in her white undershirt and dress pants. Still blood on the front. Carrying a bag in her off hand, and a long box in the other.

“No. No you are not going.” Joseph knew what she was here for instantly, and he would not allow it to happen. “I am not going to lose two students. I am not going to let you throw your life away on this, It is illegal for you to accompany me on this, you know that right? What will your parents think? They are going to be terrified when their daughter doesn’t come home for who knows how long.”

Riley just stood there, staring down Joseph. Her face stayed bold and determined, though she said nothing.

“I know how you feel Riley, but this isn’t going to happen. You are still a student. You don’t even have your provincial license yet. What you are doing, if you are caught, could send you away for life. Not even to mention how dangerous it is. Do you even know who we’re fighting? Because I don’t. It certainly isn’t Emesh, like everyone thinks it is. I should know. It's someone far worse.”

Riley still just stood there.

“Riley , if you don’t move right now I will call your parents, the school, the police whatever. You will not come. There is nothing you can do or say that will convince me otherwise.” Just as he said that, Riley tossed him the long box under her arm. It landed with a heavy thud at the bottom of his wheelchair. He gave it a curious look, before returning to the determined eyes of Riley. His own were fighting a battle of will. For even though he wanted all the help he could get, he could not rely on any other for this. Especially not a child.

But then she spoke.

“My father works for the medical field. He created personalized devices. You were my favorite hero growing up, and in doing so I made him a fan of yours as well. I went to all your signings you did when you came down here. When I told him who the new Hero combat teacher was, he almost cried with enjoyment. He was devastated at your death, relieved at your survival, but crushed again at your immobility.” Her eyes darted to the wheelchair quickly before returning. “So he got to working, thinking. And eventually, he made this. He was planning to give it to you after a few bugs were worked out. However, I took it from his lab a few minutes ago.”

Joseph, face still set and stern, was turned curious as he listened. He looked at the long box, and thought to himself. This couldn’t possibly be…

He bent over and threw off the top of the box to reveal…

“The only stipulation of you keeping these is that I come with you.”

Joseph Ellington looked up at Riley, but his face had changed from its former aggression to one of shock. And a small grin at the edges.

“Atleast get changed first.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That had been five days ago. Riley sits next to Joseph on the plane, though she is asleep. Joseph on the other hand stays awake, to think. How is this plan going to work out? Are they really just going to walk in and leave with Jade? How deep does it go? He remembers Omegaman’s info, about the caverns of space they have below them. Jade could be held in theoretically any crack in the wall. No, they would need information first.

Joseph’s hands rubbed his knees, the phantom pain still there from months ago when his legs were shorn from his body. But that won’t hold him back anymore. His body aches when thinking about the upcoming battle. Even though he hopes for a clean entrance and exit, deep down he knows that is nothing but a pipe dream. The years have finally caught up to him, going on more than twenty straight years of nail biting action and tough ground work, the strain on his body was acceptable due to his quirk. But the months of inactivity has finally allowed all of that to return. 

His final fight approaches, and this time there won’t be a miraculous survival if he dies.

But that doesn't matter right now. He needs to focus on saving Jade. Like he promised to do.

A couple of hours later, after Joseph had been thinking long and hard on the approach, Riley awoke to the plane beginning it’s touchdown. She was dressed in pure sweats and a pair of black converse shoes. She still groans when she sits up, migraines becoming a common visitor in her head after being hit in the head. “We’re here. The final stretch. Riley, this is your last chance to turn back.”

She doesn’t turn to face Joseph. “I owe it to her. I need to do this.”

Joseph didn’t say anything, but Riley saw out the side of her eyes that he nodded.

The Pilot’s voice came over the intercom announcing their arrival to the McCarran International Airport, Nevada. Riley stood up to grab her bags from the overhead storage as the other passengers began to stand and leave for the door. “Do you want me to get your bags?” Riley asked.

“No, I can get them myself.” And at that Joseph stood up and grabbed his duffle bag from the overhead, and walked with Riley to the hatch out of the airplane. She looks down at him,”Are they working out well for you?”  Joseph and Riley were walking down to the front of the airport, walking to a rental car center that was nearby.

“It's like I never lost them.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jade Laurens woke up to freezing cold water being poured onto her face. The sharp change in temperature and suffocation shocked her brain into throwing her into the world of the awake and living. The sudden bringing about brought an assault of color and noise into her senses. High pitch wails and blinding chromatic orbs of light was all she could feel. The same icy pain was felt in her veins, and any movement brought about a pained response from her body. Her mind was too clouded and drugged to even bring about a response to anything. Which, unbeknownst to her, was a blessing. For when her vision finally cleared, her situation became very apparent.

Chained to a cave wall with iron cuffs, like a prisoner. Her clothes were gone, replaced with a prison jumpsuit. There were no bars infront of her, but why would there be? She has nowhere to go. Her eyes darted from one wall to another, and upon each was filled with more and more fear.

On one end she saw a wall of computers and equipment, organs floating in jars, rows upon rows of gun racks, dozens of people walking around the huge cavern carrying various boxes and specialized equipment. But none of it mattered compared to what she saw in front of her. 

A giant ring of metal, easily almost a hundred feet in diameter and height. The ring floated effortlessly in the air, suspended by nothing. In the center of the ring was, by all accounts, a disgrace to natural biology. It looked humanoid, but its attributes were far beyond what man was meant to have. It’s body was small. Too small. It pulsated with the movement of the heart and other organs within. It had too many tubes to count pumping unknown liquids into it. It’s head was the most discomforting though. Long, ballooned into a great size and expanding on what used to be the human skull but was now something more. This was no longer human. This was a brain with a vestige that resembled a person.

“Ah, so you see why I have brought you here. My magnum opus.”

Jade turned her head, the pain shooting within her, to see the golden haired boy who had tried to take her from the games. He stood before her in a baby blue suit, and a yellow neck tie. And in his hand was a cane, though he did not need one.  No, this suit was meant to mean something. He drops a bucket to the floor, a small amount of water leaks from the bottom.

“And not a moment too late. Don’t you think it's beautiful?” He turned from her, and gestured to the ring and its occupant. “I do not mean to be so prideful, but so much time and effort it seems a shame to not at least revel in some of it. Of course, you would understand wouldn’t you? Oh wait.”

He flashes her an evil smile.

“You have nothing to be prideful of.”

The boy’s face was no longer sporting the injuries Jade had inflicted upon him at the stadium, looking as if the fight never happened at all.

“So, I expect you’d want to know why you’re here, hm?”

Jade opened her mouth to speak, and was only barely able to speak before being smack across her face with the cane. Her teeth hurt.

“I didn’t want you to really ask it, you know. Your voice annoys and irritates me. Just like your father’s.”

Jade, bruised, looked at the boy with a look of confusion on her face.

“Ah! Yes, you don’t know me in this form. Well,” the boy took three steps backwards and spread his arms wide,”We are Emesh.”

In tandem, all the people moving in the cavern stopped at once and dropped what they were doing. They all turned to face Jade, chained to the wall, and spoke in unison “We are Emesh.”

The Golden Boy laughed, clapping like a giddy child.

“Yes yes! See all those years ago when your father and his team of disgustingly loyal lapdogs foiled my DC plan - oh foiled is such an evil person word! - I had to begin planning a magnificent return! So I hid myself away while Tapout ruined all my connections in the world. But he missed me the whole time.”

The Golden Boy snaps his fingers and all the workers begin moving once more, a well oiled machine. The monster in the ring groaned, shaking the cavern and causing dust to fall upon Jade’s face. The Golden Boy simply brushed his suit off and continued.

“My Research was hidden away, far from the prying eyes of one Victor Laurens and his crew of do-gooders.  Oh, I am NASTY with these cliches aren’t I? No, It was too important to keep around them. And for good reason. It allowed me to avoid the same fate as Victor, but oh at what a cost!” He spoke at the end with a fake air of sadness and played it up like a middle school play.

This man has lost it. Jade thought.

“I had to sacrifice so much to keep what I had here, but it worked out in the end! True, my body is no longer what it was then, now only a hub of activity and psychic power. But my mind is the only thing that mattered. My mind was the only thing I needed. I could live without life as it were. My consciousness grew beyond myself!”

It was then Jade realized with a horror what the monster in the ring truly was. It was the decrepit and shriveled body of The Planeteer. He had abandoned his humanity and turned himself into something awful. But why?

“Why? I’ll tell you why!” He spun in a little circle, laughing. “Oh my how I’ve missed this! The body of a young boy really is just pouring out with energy. So much potential here. Of course, the same cannot be said for you. Victor was the peak of heroism, you have barely even scratched the surface of what he could do. This boy was grown to be me, and I must say he works perfectly! That other me? A prototype not worth keeping any more. But why do you ask? Why go through all this?!”

He skipped forward to Jade, did a small hop, and then smacked her face across with his cane once more. Jade then found herself yanked forward by the air itself and facing him. Time and time again he hit her with his cane, making deep bruise markings all over. And each time he laughed a bellowing laugh that shook the cavern.

“BECAUSE”another hit”YOU ARE WHAT REMAINS”a slash across the head”OF THE MAN I DESPISE!”  He lets Jade fall back into the cavern wall, a small drop of blood falling from her mouth. The Golden Boy, Emesh, stands there heaving and tightly gripping his cane. “That's why..I will destroy all that he made. In you resides the last of his blood, both real and figuratively.”

He stands up, and spits on Jade. “I replaced your blood with his, to finally get a bit of Revenge on all that remains of him. Sure i killed him but look at me!? Have I not suffered enough that those fucking garbage divers cannot leave me be? No, no this has been a long time coming.”

Jade could hang there in horror as he walked away from her, laughing into the open cavern.

He can turn anyone’s mind into his own. He’s immortal...

A tear rolled down her face as she stared into the lifeless and hollow eyes of the being that used to be The Planeteer. That used to be a young man named Quientin who saved the world countless times. The thing that had killed her father. And now..

“I’m..gonna die here..” 

The Golden Boy stopped his retreat, and cocked his back at her.

“My, you’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Is the car stashed?” Riley nods at Joseph, who looks back through his binoculars.

The desert had turned from its boiling orange sky to its softer and now freezing purple and black. Out here, far from the lights of Las Vegas, the stars peek out from their hiding. They along with the full moon provide ample lightning. Joseph looks at the biker bar at the side of the road, the place Omegaman had spoken of. And he sees the two guards outside, just as he said there would be. He lowers his binoculars and shimmies down the hill he had been laying on.

“Alright, we are going to need to be absolutely secret about this. A quiet entrance, a quick exit. We can be loud when we have her, but until then… silence.” Riley nodded. They duo had changed from their traveling clothes to pure camouflage, desert camo. Underneath were black suits that would allow them to more easily fall into the shadows. Joseph’s pant legs did not fully cover his new legs, so he wrapped his prosthetics in electrical tape.

The two slinked from rock to rock, ever slowly approaching the two guards. Eventually, after crossing the street, in a mad dash when the two armed men outside weren’t looking. Now hiding behind cars in the parking lot of the bar, Joseph turns to face Riley and gives a quick nod. Instantly, she disappears and so do the two men standing in front of the bar. When she returns she looks tired but unhurt.

“How far away?”

“90 miles. Took their phones and their communicators as well.”

Joseph smirks and slowly approaches the bar entrance. As he slowly opens the door and enters, he sees that there is no one in the place. All that is present is an empty and unstocked bar counter, several unoccupied tables and stools, and a silver elevator.

Joseph turns his head to Riley.

“Going down?”

[ganbarimaster]

The Campaign of Liu Ji Part 3 (Final!)

A continuation from this post, and the conclusion to this most recent play-through of Romance of the Three Kingdoms 14. When it came to beginning the inevitable battle with Cao Cao, I was a little hesitant at first. It seemed like it was going to take a while and I wasn’t sure how interesting it would be to play. But I soldiered on. It was a bit of a stalemate for a while, with neither of us gaining or losing any ground, but the computer had a tendency to over-extend itself and leave places vulnerable. And I already had more cities and troops, so it was really only a matter of time. I spent one entire evening just shuffling around officers and moving troops and resources from place-to-place. If I hadn’t been writing out this loose narrative for my campaign, I doubt I’d have been motivated to finish it. I’ll be interested to see how this game changes when the power up kit is eventually released, as at the moment its a little bare-bones, and most turns are spent rewarding officers to maintain their loyalty and accepting mundane suggestions from advisors which increase agriculture or whatever in a town by ten points. I feel like the narrative I wrote out for this campaign would have been much more interesting to read if I had been more strict with myself about roleplaying the position whilst playing, in terms of (for example) who I could or couldn’t hire, of sometimes losing territory to my enemies when it made sense, and so on. But as it stands, I don’t think this game has enough tools to keep things interesting and varied. Nevertheless, Cao Cao has been backed into a corner and the conflict approaches its end. The fate of the famous three sworn brothers revealed. If you want to know more about the destiny of one Liu Ji, styled Jingyu, read on!

Cao Cao, along with his advisors Guo Jia and Xun Yu, had developed an idea early on of separating the three brothers Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei—in order to prevent them from causing any trouble. Liu Bei would be based in Xuchang with the Emperor, Zhang Fei was to hold the frontlines against Ma Teng in the northwest, and Guan Yu had been involved in conflict in the northeast against Gongsun Zan. Liu Bei desired greatly to travel south to join the forces of Liu Ji, but he was effectively a prisoner, and did not want to be parted from his brothers. If Guan Yu or Zhang Fei shirked their duties in the north, it would have been very costly for Liu Bei and his family. In the years after the conflict with those forces came to an end, Cao Cao turned his attention southward to Liu Ji—with the three brothers still separated across the realm.

To prevent Liu Ji from gaining access to Chang’an, Cao Cao turned his forces toward Liu Ji’s position at Hangzhong, whilst simultaneously advancing on Liu Ji’s bases in Xinye, Shouchun, and in Jianye. It was easily the largest conflict in recent history. Liu Ji was unable to maintain control of Hanzhong, which was a key base for moving on Chang’an. Once the area had been subdued by Cao Cao’s forces, Zhang Fei was placed in charge of the unit now stationed at Hanzhong—presumably to intimidate Liu Ji and prevent him from advancing. But when Cao Cao’s forces came to join Zhang Fei for a full-scale invasion of the riverlands, Zhang Fei refused to open the doors to the city they had occupied. Not long after, he was somehow joined by his sworn brother Liu Bei, who had escaped captivity in Xuchang during the ongoing conflicts with Liu Ji and had snuck his way over to Hanzhong with the help of some supporters in Cao Cao’s territory. As Cao Cao directed his forces to advance upon Zhang Fei at Hanzhong, Liu Ji sent his own generals to support that same position. It transpired that Fa Zheng had also been in contact with Zhang Fei over the past few months—which had made this surprising turn of events possible. Guan Yu was yet to be seen, but the conflict between Cao Cao and Liu Ji had begun in earnest.

Taishi Ci, Ling Tong, Huang Zhong, Wei Yan and Ma Chao were his most capable generals, and had become the pillar of his military force—his five Tiger Generals. Zhuge Liang was promoted to Prime Minister, and Lu Xun became the Director General. He was not lacking for intelligent advisors, but they did not often agree. Even so, Liu Ji enjoyed weighing the value of the various suggestions presented to him, and actively encouraged lively and good-spirited debate within his halls. Spiteful, personal attacks and underhanded comments were not tolerated. This contributed towards a sense of camaraderie among the intelligent officers of his force, and ensured they were motivated and focused on the task at hand, working hard to develop their ideas and consider alternatives which might be suggested by their interlocutors.

Recognizing the value of maintaining a hold on Hanzhong, and furious at the betrayal of Zhang Fei and Liu Bei, Cao Cao dedicated himself to securing the area once more. He sent their sworn brother, Guan Yu—who had become so indebted to Cao Cao through his service over the years, and who had been poisoned with lies about the behavior of his sworn brothers. Zhang Fei met Guan Yu on the field, enraged that Guan Yu hadn’t already come to join his brothers, and was yet a peon under Cao Cao. The two clashed in an intense duel, rending heaven and earth. 

Pushing one another to their limits in a battle which had both armies enraptured, more than two-hundred bouts had been concluded. Liu Bei yelled at both brothers to lower their arms and remember their oath. He got between the two in the midst of their duel without a weapon of his own, which took them by surprise. Liu Bei was accidentally struck in the head and bled from his ears. He died soon after. In their distress, both Zhang Fei and Guan Yu took their own lives. Soldiers on both sides attempted to prevent them from doing so, but to no avail. In the chaos that followed, Cao Cao regained control of Hanzhong for a short time. But being spread thin, and fearing Xuchang would fall, was unable to hold it for long.

Across the realm, Cao Cao’s bases had begun to fall to Liu Ji—Cao Mai’s navy was overrun off the shore of Guangling by He Qi and Lu Dai, enabling Liu Ji to build upon his forces on the northern shores of the Changjiang. Sensing that Cao Cao had acted too late to mount a meaningful opposition against Liu Ji, Zhang He turned on Cao Cao’s force at Wan Castle, joining with Liu Ji and providing them access to the castle. Xuchang was now within reach, and efforts were being made by Cao Cao to relocate the capital, and thereby the Emperor, north of the Huanghe to Ye, the Capital of Ji Province.

Xu Province had already been captured by Liu Ji, and the escape route to Ji Province had been cut off. Xuchang swiftly fell. Cao Cao barely escaped with his life, but he was unable to bring the Emperor with him. The carriage of the Emperor was surrounded by Huang Zhong and Wei Yan before it could reach the river. Liu Ji himself led a force through Hu Lao Gate to capture Luo Yang, with Taishi Ci, Ling Cao, and Lu Dai—some of his longest serving generals. Luo Yang was re-established as the capital city and the Emperor was encouraged to resume his role, but he vehemently opposed the idea, exhausted by playing his role as puppet Emperor. He threatened to kill himself if Liu Ji did not assume the throne and continue the Han Dynasty as an imperial ancestor. Hesitant at first, it was only at the insistence of his advisors that Liu Ji capitulated and accepted. He was named Emperor Da of Yang.

Cao Cao had become very ill, often bedridden by severe migraines. Sima Yi took care of most of his duties, which largely involved re-structuring and re-organizing their forces north of the Huanghe. Of his most capable generals, only Xu Huang and Xiahou Yuan were with him in Ye, but both were now over fifty years of age. Xiahou Dun was stationed in Liang Province, cut off from the rest of Cao Cao’s force.

A small force led by Ma Chao slowly encroached upon Xiahou Dun in Liang Province. Although he fought fiercely, being cut off from Cao Cao’s main force, supplies were lacking. The sparse fields of Liang were not enough to support a standing army, and morale was low. It is said that Xiahou Dun fought until his last breath. Ma Chao was elated to be able to recapture the lands rightfully belonging to his family.

This was now a time for Emperor Da and his forces to rest and recuperate, and focus on domestic affairs. A great deal of discussion centred on moving the capital again to somewhere in the south, but such discussions were tabled until a time when the realm had been completely unified. Liu Ji, now almost 40, had a daughter, but had yet fathered no sons—and this was another active point of discussion.

Many messages were sent to Cao Cao to entreat him to surrender his forces, but he adamantly refused. After a few years, the Emperor commanded that an enormous force cross the Huanghe and capture You, Ji, and Bing. But before the conflict could begin, Cao Cao suddenly passed away in the spring of 221AD. Sima Yi was the architect of the discussions which followed, pledging fealty to the new Han Emperor and surrendering their forces. Gongsun Gong eventually followed suit, and the realm was completely unified by 223AD.

Some years of peace and prosperity followed, but unrest remained surrounding the Imperial lineage. Sima Yi worked diligently at involving his family in Imperial affairs, ingratiating himself to the Emperor—he petitioned to have one of his sons marry the Emperor’s daughter and become Prince. The remaining members of the Sun family sought recognition for having supported the Emperor since His earliest days, and demanded the Emperor’s daughter marry one of their number. Any talk of moving the capital to the southlands was seen as tacit support for the Sun family, and so the conversation stagnated. As tensions flared, and years passed, the princess became aware of her own significance and the power it afforded her. She would sometimes leverage her own life in order to secure her own autonomy. It was announced that she would marry in her own time, on her own terms, as she intended to become the first Empress. Legislation was written to support her claim.

When Emperor Da passed away almost thirty years later, she ascended to the throne. But in the years which followed, internal conflict escalated and the land began to fracture once more, many refusing to accept this new state of affairs, and some making their own claims to the Imperial throne. A new age of conflict had begun.

[barbariccia]

well, before we jet off anywhere, we better drop in on our friends old and new, the ones we’ll be directly working with.

hey, joker, how’s the new normandy treating you? any lingering ptsd from watching your old friend and commander get spaced saving you from the same fate? feel ready to fly? excellent!

Joker: Can you believe this, Commander? It’s my baby, better than new! It fits me like a glove! And leather seats! Military may set the hardware standard, but on a first-gen frigate they could care less if the seats breathe. Civilian sector comfort by design.

EDI: The reproduction is not intended to be perfect, Mr. Moreau. Seamless improvements were made.

joker........... does not like EDI. EDI is a blip in the machine to him, an ultimately unnecessary addition to the thing he considers to be his real arms and legs, so to speak. and EDI has terminals all over the ship, including one right next to joker, which communicates with him regarding piloting necessities that a human can’t manage in even half the time it manages.

worth noting, by the way, that despite EDI’s blobby avatar, it’s designed to have a feminine voice; a little lower than might be considered traditionally feminine and echoing with robotic undertones, but feminine nonetheless. it is very easy to consider EDI a she from just its voice alone, but at the end of the day it’s an AI, completely synthetic.

Joker: We’re staying, though, right? I mean, this seat is real leather.

Shepard: Good to see you’re keeping it all in perspective, Joker.

Joker: Uh, leather.

he spins away from you, but we grab the back of the chair - metaphorically speaking - and yank him right back. not so fast, mister, it’s been two years. the first thing we ask is how he feels about the normandy, has he settled in? and he wants to put it through its paces, to find out just how similar it feels to fly. EDI chimes in to say that it’s against safety standards - you know, those things that joker flew us right into the heart of during the battle of the citadel.

Joker: Commander, can we shut this thing off? I don’t need it in my day-to-day.

Shepard: If you don’t want to hear it, turn the damn sound off.

Joker: That doesn’t change anything. It’s still watching. Like some creepy kid staring at the back of your head in comp-sci. You just want to... punch him. But he’s “special” and sets fires or something.

Joker: ...Okay, a little too far there, but you know what I mean.

well, good to see that the old joke of “people with disabilities hate other people with different disabilities” still rings strong.

you go right ahead.

next we ask him about the good old days, because... well. it’s been two years for him, sure, but i guess shep’s still trying to adjust to that.

Joker: They seem like the good old days now, but come on. It was hell at the time. Geth, Saren, Sovereign. And then we got dumped. We’re stuck in a weird place, sure, but back then it wasn’t all sunshine and bunnies.

Shepard: What happened to the rest of the old crew? I heard most survived.

Joker: Most did. Pressly didn’t. The rest of us just sort of drifted apart. The Alliance didn’t care. I don’t think they liked all the non-humans in your crew. We were your team, Commander. With the Normandy destroyed and you gone, there wasn’t much keeping us together.

yeah, we really were the glue holding the team in place. a real shame - but then, there’s no reason for them to have stayed. not the non-humans, anyway, which is a sweet term and one that i’m getting on board with immediately, because i’ve never liked the term “aliens” in a galaxy where... well, humans are also technically aliens from a different perspective!

Shepard: What about the people we’re picking up?

Joker: Well... I would never say anything against Miranda. And expect to survive the reprisal. And Jacob is way too nice a guy for the number of ways he knows how to kill people. Uh, that’s just my opinion, though. There’s really no need to go spreading it around.

like i’ve mentioned before - yeah, they really do both feel like kaidan and ashley replacements, but weaker, too. miranda’s closed-off just for the sake of being closed-off at this point, rather than ashley’s mistrust of non-humans but willingness to fight with them if ordered to, and... okay, jacob and kaidan actually have a fair amount in common insofar as “nice dudes, also deadly dudes”. jacob doesn’t have a little bouffant, which is a point in his favour, imo.

hell, while i’m here i’ll talk to EDI.

Shepard: I want to know more about the people I’m working with.

EDI: Much of that data is classified. Do you have a specific inquiry?

HOO boy EDI ain’t wrong about that! almost everything you can ask her won’t net you answers; it merely tells you that there’s a block preventing it from giving you the information you seek. it does, however, give you some basic info on cerberus.

EDI: Cerberus is organized into task-oriented cells. Each operates in isolation. Members from one cell cannot recognize the members of another. Each cell’s agents are led by a single operator. We are called the Lazarus cell, which is directed by Operator Lawson.

that’s miranda.

well, our other questions are blocked, so fuck it. how you getting on, EDI?

EDI: Mr. Moreau does not trust me. It offends him that I am installed aboard “his ship’s” computers.

Joker: Yeah, the last Normandy did just fine without an AI reminding me the airlock is ajar.

you can ask it about the meaning behind its name (an acronym of Enhanced Defense Intelligence), and what it does, which is electronics operation, weapons guidance and jamming ... and collection of data for TIM, which we shouldn’t be surprised about. it also has hidden achievements; items it’s programmed for that even EDI doesn’t know what their function is, due to some of its hardware being kept offline. it’s happy (???) enough to work for us, though, since organic beings will never be as quick as AI tech.

EDI: This is a role that can only be filled by an Artificial Intelligence. Unfortunately, we are suspect.

Joker: Might have something to do with how an AI almost destroyed galactic civilization. Just putting it out there.

ok, lovebirds, enjoy your married life.

joker isn’t the only member of the original crew, actually. go down to the medical bay, and you’ll be met with none other than karin chakwas, who was notable in me1 for... uh, telling us about kaidan’s migraines.

Shepard: I’m shocked. You’re serving on a Cerberus vessel now?

Chakwas: Surprising, even to me. Yet, here I am.

Chakwas: The kind of trauma you endured would’ve changed most people, but not you, I see. Welcome back, Shepard.

uh, let’s not get too hasty there.

chakwas is set up comfortably enough, serviced by all the equipment she needs, but she’s missing private reserves of... whatever supplies. she’s also missing a bottle of brandy that she was saving “for a special occasion”, and we can promise we’ll keep an eye out to replace for her if we can see it.

Shepard: Doctor, you’ve been with the Alliance for years. Why leave now?

Chakwas: After the Normandy was lost, the surviving crew was reassigned. I was stationed at the Mars Naval Medical Center. A very respectable position, but it wasn’t on a starship. I’ve spent most of my life on war ships, never knowing what the next mission might bring. I’m used to the hum of engines, the creaking of bulkheads, that subtle vertigo when the momentum dampeners kick in. Life planet-side is just too static, too boring.

Shepard: You’re not the Cerberus type, though.

Chakwas: I don’t work for Cerberus; I work for you -- on a mission that may be crucial to the survial of the human race. I have faith that your dealings with Cerberus will be ethical. I trust you, Commander.

uh... sure, i guess.

Shepard: There’s a very good chance this mission will be one-way only. Are you prepared for that?

Chakwas: I’ve been through the Reclaiming of Shanxi, the Skyllian Blitz... We survived the Battle of the Citadel and the destruction of the Normandy together. I’ve lived a full life -- no regrets. I’d like to make sure the crew gets the same opportunity.

this is way too much responsibility, oh boy. oh boy!!!!

[avengerscompound]

Home - Chapter 4

Home: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word Count:  2880

Warnings:  Angst, parenthood, sexual manipulation, action, injuries, underage drinking and drug-taking.

Synopsis:  16 Years after the death of Daisy, Steve and Bucky have successfully raised two teenage kids with telepathy. Teens are never easy to live with though. Sarah in particular likes to test boundaries. Now on top of all the usual challenges of parenting, they have to deal with troublemaking demigods, a daughter who just wants to be accepted for who she is and running the Avengers. That’s when the children of other super-powered individuals start going missing.

Chapter 4

Bucky leaned against the bus stop shelter on Tenth Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen. He watched his son pace up and down the Street corner. He’d stop for a minute and hold his forehead before pacing again. After a while Jamie strode over to Bucky, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed.

“I dunno, dad. I think you should have brought Sarah out for this. That all city scanning thing is more her expertise. I’m better at the altering people’s thought pattern thing.” Jamie said, running his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, but your sister has school,” Bucky said. “I know you can do it. We just need one person who saw anything. Keep trying. I have faith in you.”

Jamie shook his head. “There’s just so much noise. I can’t …” He trailed off, perking up and looking at a woman across the road.

“Got something?” Bucky asked.

Jamie pointed at the woman. An elderly white woman, pulling a bright pink shopping trolley behind her. “Can you go ask her if she saw anything. Even if she denies it, she’ll think about it.”

Bucky dashed across the broad avenue, darting in and out of the cars, much to the vocal annoyance of their drivers. He reached the woman and stepped in front of her. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He said. Pulling a photo of Danielle Cage from his jacket pocket. “I’m Bucky Barnes. You may have heard of me. I work with the Avengers.”

The woman eyed him suspiciously. “You’re the one with the metal arm.” She said it like it was an accusation.

Bucky smiled and held out his hand, flexing his fingers. “That’s me.” He said. “I’m just looking into the disappearance of this girl.” He held out the photo of Danielle to the woman. “Her name is Danielle Cage. She went missing from around here four days ago. Do you recognize her? Remember anything strange happening?”

Something dark flashed over the woman’s features and she winced like she was in pain. Her eyes clouded and when she finally spoke it was in a strangely chipper voice that didn’t match what she’d been saying previously. “I’m sorry, young man. I haven’t seen anything unusual. At least no more so than normal.”

“Are you sure, ma’am? Think real hard. Her parents are worried sick.” Bucky asked. He glanced back across the street to Jamie. He had one hand on his temple and the other was twitching like he was using one of Stark’s holographic computers and sorting through some files.

The woman scrunched up her face and actually made a sound like someone had hit her. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry. I need to go home. I think I’m getting a migraine.”

Bucky thanked her and made his way back across the road. “Anything?” He asked.

“Some people blocked off the street. They shot Danielle. No warning or anything. They must have had some of those bullets that were developed especially for Cage. I thought they’d run out of those… anyway, she just dropped. They dragged her into a van and then rounded up all the witnesses and injected them with something. I don’t know what but that memory was clouded something fierce. I think no one’s talking because no one remembered it happening.”

Bucky scowled. This was really bad. Not just some spur of the moment scheme. This has been plotted and executed flawlessly. “Could you tell who they were?”

Jamie frowned and wrung his hands. “Her memory was clouded. But dad, I think it was Hydra.”

Sarah sat in the back of the car with Olive and McKenna while Steve drove them to Artmania. Bucky was riding shotgun and McKenna was pretty obviously smitten with him.

It had taken all of three minutes after meeting Steve and Bucky for the two girls to realize that their best friends two dads that she rarely ever spoke about were, in fact, Captain America and The Winter Soldier. After some extreme fangirling that had made Sarah want to wipe their memories and kick them out of the car, things had finally settled down. While Sarah and Olive happily chatted about the bands they were going to see, McKenna drilled Bucky with questions.

She asked him about battles he’d been in, what it was like ‘in the olden days’, about his arm. She was obsessed with the arm. Could he feel with it? Did it hurt? How strong was it? She’d touch it and ask him if he felt it.

Eventually, Sarah snapped and told her to cut it out which made Steve smirk and Bucky punch him in the leg.

Steve pulled the car up to a drop off zone near the front gates. He turned his chair and looked back at the girls.

“We’re trusting you with a lot here, Sarah. You’re here to listen to music. Not meet boys. Not to drink. Not to take drugs. Don’t let us down.” He said.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Ugh, I know, dad. Can we go?”

“Alright. Have fun. If you get in trouble call me.” He answered. The girls jumped out of the car and Steve watched as Sarah grabbed Olive’s hand and the three girls made their way to the entrance laughing.

“Don’t think you’re gonna have to worry about boys there, Stevie,” Bucky smirked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked.

“I think our girl might be into girls,” Bucky said. “Look at her.”

Steve shrugged and started to pull the car out turning it in the direction of home. “Girls are just like that. It’s not like when you and I were growing up either. Everyone is always touching.”

Bucky threw his head back, roaring with laughter. “I can’t believe you of all people can’t recognize when a person might be trying to hide their feelings in case they’re not reciprocated. She’s totally into that Olive girl.”

Steve scowled trying to remember if Sarah had ever mentioned crushes she had at all. She certainly wasn’t the boy-crazy type they paint teenage girls as on TV. She also liked to follow Carol around like a lost puppy. He’d always assumed it was because she saw her as a mother figure and she had powers that Sarah was envious of. What if that wasn’t it at all?

“Oh god, Buck. I have to give her a whole different talk.” Steve said, mortified.

“Why didn’t you tell us those were your dads?” McKenna squealed, as they made their way towards the festival entrance.

“Yeah, well look at how you reacted.” Sarah groaned.

“Did they adopt you or like are you related to one of them?” McKenna said.

Olive’s eyes went wide. “You can’t ask her that!” She yelped.

Sarah sighed. “No, it’s fine. Might as well get it all out on the table. Ask away.”

They joined a line for bag checks and McKenna jumped up and down clapping her hands. “Well, that one first. Like adopted. Surrogate. What?”

“It’s complicated. My dads both were with a woman as well. My brother’s biological dad is Bucky and mine is Steve.” Sarah said.

“That’s so weird!” McKenna squealed.

“McKenna!” Olive groaned covering her face.

“What happened to your mom? Did they break up?” McKenna asked.

“She died. Not long after I was born.” Sarah explained. They reached security pausing the conversation while they had their bags checked.

“So was she super-powered too?” McKenna asked.

Sarah nodded.

McKenna’s hands flew to her mouth. “Are you super-powered? Oh my god you are, aren’t you? What can you do?”

Sarah sighed. This was it. This was the day she lost her friends. “I have the strength …”

“Oh. My. God! How strong are you?”

“Pretty fuckin’ strong. Also, I can do this head stuff.”

McKenna grabbed her by both arms stopping them in their tracks. “What kind of head stuff?”

Sarah picked McKenna up and moved her from the path. McKenna squealed with delight and jogged after her. “I can read minds. Control people. Change memories.”

McKenna’s eyes went wide. “You can read my mind? What am I thinking now?”

“You’re thinking about how hot my dad is. Which is gross by the way. You know he’s like literally over a hundred years old.” Sarah groaned.

“He’s still hot. Both of them are. They used to share a girlfriend, you say? So they’re bi, not gay. Maybe they’d like to have another one?” McKenna said, throwing her arm over Sarah’s shoulder.

“You’re disgusting,” Sarah whined.

“Hey don’t talk to your new mother like that. You’re grounded, young lady.”

They made their way through the ticket gates and towards the main stage. Olive had started leaving room between her and Sarah. Sarah sighed. The whole festival was going to be soured by this. Olive had worked out what it meant to have a friend who can read your mind and now she didn’t want to be friends anymore.

Sarah approached her and put her arm around her waist.

Olive shrugged her off and stared at her. “Sarah …”

“I can read minds. I don’t do it to my friends.” Sarah said. It was a lie sure. But Sarah didn’t know what else to do. Either lie or have no friends. Olive noticeably relaxed.

The three girls spent a few hours listening to bands at the main stage and then decided to go take a walk around the festival. The bought some foods from food trucks and decided to eat it sitting around a fire pit.

“I didn’t realize how cold I was until we sat in front of this fire,” Olive said, scooting closer to Sarah.

A couple of guys in their mid-twenties whispered something to each other. “We’ve got something that will help you warm up.” One of them said offering a flask to the girls.

McKenna took it hesitantly. “What is it?” She asked.

“It’s just whiskey. You aren’t scared are you?” The guy says.

McKenna pulled a face and defiantly took a drink before handing it to Olive. She started coughing as the liquid hit the back of her throat. Olive followed suit and passed the flask to Sarah.

Sarah toyed with the flask. She’d promised her dad she wouldn’t drink but she also knew it wouldn’t affect her. She raised it to her lips and stared at the guys over the fire and then skulled the whole container in one go. She tossed the flask to the guys who were staring at her with their mouths hanging open.

“Holy shit, Sarah!” McKenna said. “Is that because…”

Sarah nodded and made the zip it gesture over her lips.

Sarah’s stunt had the opposite effect to what she wanted. The guys were spurred on in their attempts to hit on her and her friends. They bought more drinks and kept plying the girls with them. As Olive and McKenna got drunker Sarah just started to get jealous. Other drugs were offered to them and once again Sarah remained completely sober.

“You guys should really stop now,” Sarah grumbled.

“That blond guy is cute, don’t you think?” Olive said, ignore Sarah and rubbing her face on Sarah’s arm.

“You don’t even like boys,” Sarah said.

Olive looked at her with her eyes wide. “You said you didn’t read my mind.” She said. “You’re a freak. I do like boys. Leave me alone.” She pushed Sarah and then moved around the fire, sitting next to the blond. She glared at Sarah and the blond put his arm around her.

Sarah sighed. “And so it begins.” She muttered to herself.

“Hello, princess.” A familiar voice said, from behind her. Sarah turned to see Loki standing behind her.

“Loki? Did dad send you to watch me?” She asked.

Loki sat down next to her. He was dressed in casual black clothes. Blending in well with the crowd at the festival. He laughed. “You think either of your fathers would trust me to watch you.”

Sarah giggled. “I guess you’re right. What are you doing here?”

Loki ran his hand through Sarah’s hair, twirling a lock of it around his finger. “I can tell when something is bothering my future queen.”

Sarah elbowed him. “Cut it out, creeper.”

“You know you are above all these insects. You should not concern yourself with their mortal problems.” Loki purred.

Sarah frowned. “But look at them. Dad told me not to drink or do drugs. But why bother telling me? It doesn’t do anything. I could take all the drugs at this festival and just walk out of here. I just want to be a teenager and fuck up and make mistakes like a teenager.”

Loki played with Sarah’s hair for a moment in silence. “I have something you can take.” He said. “It should affect you.”

Sarah looked at him twisting her hands together. Olive had started kissing the guy she was sitting with. Sarah could feel that she wasn’t enjoying it. It was just to upset her.

“What does it do?” She asked.

“For an Asgardian it makes us see other realities. It opens our minds and connects us with all things. It can cause paranoia. Being connected to everything can make the evils come to the forefront.” Loki explained.

“I already feel connected to everything,” Sarah said, frowning.

“On this realm. Yes.” Loki said. “It’s up to you. I know what it feels like to not belong.”

Sarah looked back at her friends. They did seem to be having a kind of fun she was jealous of and worried that she wouldn’t be able to understand.

“Okay.” She said.

“Open your mouth.”

Sarah tilted her head back and opened her mouth. Loki dripped some liquid from an ornate glass vial onto her tongue. It affected her almost immediately. Her pupils dilated and the world suddenly cleared. She looked at the fire and she could see lifeforms skip from the flames. Glowing green threads seemed to run between each person, binding them together. She looked at Loki. He shimmered blue.

She raised his hand so it faced palm out and hovered it in front of hers. Sparks traveled between them, blue from him and red from her. They stood out compared to everyone else there.

“Can you see that, Loki?” Sarah breathed.

“I have seen it. Yes.”

“Why are we different to everyone else?” She asked.

Loki chuckled. “Because we are gods, my darling. Why do you think I’ve started pursuing you like I have?”

Sarah started dancing her fingers over Loki’s palm, watching how their sparks intermingled. “I’m a god? But my parents weren’t gods. Not like you are.”

“No, you’re something new,” Loki said. He moved his hand to her back and slowly ran his palm up and down her back. He knew the risk of this high turning into something dark and dangerous. He spoke softly. Soothing her.

Sarah rested her head on Loki’s shoulder watching the fire dance. “Loki can you be a girl again?”

“Certainly.” His form shimmered. Sarah stared at her and poked her breast.

“How come I can feel them?” She asked.

Loki laughed. “It’s not an illusion, my love. I can be what you need me to be.”

“How come the mundies didn’t notice you change?”

“They are feeble witted. They only notice what they want to.” Loki said, still stroking his hand up and down her back.

Sarah looked back over at her friends. They were both flirting and kissing with the guys opposite her. She sighed.

“What’s wrong, princess?” Loki asked.

“How come the only person who’s interested in me is like a million years older than me and has known me my whole life? It’s weird.” She said.

“These mortals fear all who are different to them. I, however, see you for who you are. I see your value. I can wait for you. You are worth the wait.” Loki replied.

Sarah looked into Loki’s eyes and swallowed. “No one has ever even kissed me.” She said.

Loki stroked her fingers over Sarah’s jaw. “What do you want, my darling?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Loki asked.

“I - I - I want you to …” She started leaning into Loki and her head suddenly snapped to the side staring at her friends. The thoughts from the men over there had filled her head. They were planning on taking Olive and McKenna somewhere quiet to fuck them whether they wanted to or not.

Sarah jumped to her feet and stormed over to them. “Get the fuck away from my friends!” She shouted.

Her vision went dark and she felt like something was clutching at her. She spun around to see nothing. The fire was green not red. When she turned back one of the men was on his feet yelling. She could hear him and she couldn’t. There were so many voices. She punched out and he went flying.

McKenna jumped to her feet and grabbed Sarah by the shoulders shaking her. “What the fuck, Sarah?” She shouted.

“He was gonna - gonna do stuff.” Sarah grabbed her head. It was all becoming jumbled. She turned to where Loki had been sitting. He was gone.

Sarah grabbed Olive and McKenna by the hands. “We have to go!” She said and started pulling them to the exit.

// NEXT

[pastelwitchling]

Malex one-shot Angst/Fluff Prompt List #9 (Prompt #3)

3. “What happened to you?”

***

               “Maybe we’ll find something in his journals,” Kyle said, already making his way to the pile of notebooks and loose paper.

               “Great idea,” Michael said dryly, his feet on the table in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “The old man’s diary entries, that ought to be helpful.”

               “Do you have anything useful to say, or do you just plan on sitting there all night?”

               “Most useful thing I have to say, Valenti, I’ve already said it. Trusting you is a bad idea, especially considering the fact that I’m just now finding out that you and Alex have been getting awfully cozy in this bunker for months –”

               “We’re partners,” Kyle said, and Michael’s expression hardened. “I trust him a lot more than I trust any of you to work with on this, and believe me, if it hadn’t been for him, you would not be here right now.”

               He stood. “You and Alex aren’t partners. Don’t use that word again. He only got roped into this because of you and your big mouth.”

               “So you’re upset he knows the truth now? Were you having that much fun lying to his face every day?”

               “You son of a bitch –”

               “Enough!” Alex snapped. His hands were clenched into fists on the console, and there was a slight slump in his shoulders as if standing for so long was draining. He looked over his shoulder, annoyed. “You’re giving me a migraine with all this ridiculous bickering, can you please give it a rest for two minutes and focus?!”

               Michael leaned against the table with a scoff, but said nothing. Alex huffed, and said, “I read through the journals—”

               “-All of them?” Michael asked, his brows raised slightly in surprise.

               “-and none of them have said anything about aliens, mentioned the letters, or explains why they’re written in that new language.” He looked over his shoulder at Kyle. “You’d probably have a better chance at finding something, if anything’s there at all. He may have used a special word or nickname that I’m just unfamiliar with.”

               “Gotcha,” Kyle nodded once, and Michael couldn’t help but be bitter at how familiar they sounded. He knew they’d been working with each other for months, but part of him had imagined – or hoped, really – that Alex had hated every second of it, had forced himself to be around Kyle for the sake of uncovering a mystery and making things right.

               Now, as Alex nodded back to Kyle and turned to resume his work without question, Michael could see the amount of trust they shared.

               We’re partners, Kyle’s words rang in his ears, and he pursed his lips, watching with a glare as Kyle glanced at him before taking the notebooks and leaving.

               In the quiet, Michael could hear Alex muttering to himself, typing rapidly on the keyboard as if he knew what each next move was.

               “What’re you doing?” Michael asked, pulling himself off the table and taking a step towards him.

               “Cross-referencing the symbols from that broken UFO piece to any kind of ancient epigraphy. Jim Valenti was clearly working on the same alien symbols, even used them himself, which means they’re a language. If I can locate a similar written pattern recorded at any point in Roswell, especially around the initial crash time, I can find whoever else Jim might’ve been in contact with.”

               Michael stared. “You used to play guitar. Do you still do that?”

               Alex blinked, as if Michael’s statement made no sense, as if he wasn’t talking about Alex at all. “What?”

               Michael came closer, and leaned his back against the console, his eyes on Alex. “You used to play guitar. You used to wear makeup, and ripped jeans, and you talked about wanting to making music.”

               “So did you,” Alex said with a smile that did nothing to hide the pain in his eyes. Michael shook his head. Had Alex always looked so… sad?

               “What happened to you, Alex? Now you’re talking about coordinates a-and ancient languages and you’re using words like in contact with. And this isn’t because of the alien crap, you were like this when you were still making jokes that it didn’t exist.”

               “War happened, Guerin,” Alex said very matter-of-factly. There was no venom in his voice, no cruelty, no taunting… but it still made Michael’s face fall, any false humor in his tone gone.

               “I’m smarter than you give me credit for, you know,” he smirked, and Michael didn’t fail to miss the hurt that flashed his face, as if he thought Michael had considered him incapable of anything to do with intelligence. Michael wanted to close the gap between them and take Alex in his arms, but Alex had gone rigged all over, signaling he didn’t want to be touched.

               “I got good, quickly, and the better I got, the more they wanted me to do.” He scoffed. “It’s a tough mindset to get out of when you’ve been in it long enough. There’s always a war, a fight, a battle to be won or lost. Always.”

               Michael swallowed, his fingers digging into his arms as he kept them crossed. “Why didn’t you ever say no? You could’ve walked away. You could’ve come home.”

               Alex smirked. “Home. What, to my dad, who hates me? My brothers who think I’m a waste of space? Liz, who had left Roswell and gone off to who-knew-where? Maria had her own problems, Kyle and I barely looked at each other at the time, and you…” he trailed off, and resumed his typing, his eyes focused on the screen.

               “I didn’t have a home to come back to, Guerin.”

               “But now you do?”

               Alex’s fingers hesitated over the keyboard, and Michael pained at how easy it was for Alex to dismiss having no one to be there for him. He was used to it, so expectant of it, that when he talked, Michael felt it as a sort of resignation. Alex thought he had been abandoned by everyone. He still thought that way, and the worst part was… he didn’t mind.

               “Now,” he said, pulling Michael out of his thoughts, “I have this.” He gestured to the screen with his chin, and went back to work. “It’s something.”

               Michael said nothing for a moment – what could he say? – and Alex chuckled. “Don’t feel too bad for me, Guerin. I got hurt saving my brothers-in-arms, I can proudly and confidently say that. There are worse ways to lose a limb. And for what it’s worth, Kyle didn’t tell me anything about the alien stuff, I figured it out on my own. Like I said; I’m smarter than you give me credit for.”

               Michael stared at Alex as he searched his screen, unable to look away. He stretched an arm out, his hand hovering over Alex’s head, his fingers close to brushing his hair. He wanted to touch Alex, to hold him tightly and breathe in his scent, if only to prove to himself that while Alex had changed, he was still here. With him. And he wasn’t going to disappear anywhere else, ever again.

               But then the door opened, and Kyle walked back in, an entirely new stack of notebooks tucked into one arm, the recent ones in his other.

               He set them on a table with a loud thump, and Michael took a step back from Alex, unable to help but glance at him even as Kyle watched him.

               “I brought everything I could find that he ever wrote in,” Kyle said, his eyes having gone to Alex as he plopped down in a chair beside the table. “Better get started, huh?”

               “I’ll help you look through them again,” Alex said, turning away from the computer and taking a seat beside him.

               “Good idea, it’d be a lot faster,” Kyle agreed.

               “Just tell me if there was any secret word or phrase that you shared, something that might help us decode whatever clue there might be in here…”

               Michael tilted his head as he watched them, their heads huddled together, pouring over the journal entries. He felt a jealousy burning in his stomach, but there was something else beside it. Something scarier and darker and sadder. Michael realized with an uncomfortable jolt that forced him to look away from the two as they worked that Alex had made a family when he returned to Roswell, but it wasn’t him. It was Kyle.

***

The prompt is courtesy of @hellsdemonictrinity.

Kyle Valenti deserves all the love in the world for being the first and only person to properly appreciate Alex. I’m completely in love and dedicated to Malex, but some Kylex was in order, I think.

[wevegottogetaway]

The one where the night turns sour but then it turns sweet

Y/n’s kitchen is a mess. Pots and pans queuing up to be washed. Crumbs from her morning toast lingering on countertops. Veggies peelings from her infamous zucchini/ground beef lasagna she’d made for lunch still hanging out on the cutting board. But no matter how bad the battlefield in her kitchen, y/n herself is an even bigger mess. A proper wreck she would say if she wasn’t so absorbed by the problem at hand. Pacing her small apartment, phone clutched by her ear, she is one nerve away from having a mental breakdown.

She doesn’t have the time to take care of the deplorable state of her kitchen though. Not when her boss is scolding her like some punk kid caught stealing from the till, about a work catastrophe that she didn’t even cause. And that’s without saying that it’s fucking Sunday past 6pm and her best friend Harry is meant to be arriving anytime soon (the thought makes her hiss each time she so much as glimpses at the pile of dishes still dwelling besides the sink). It’s been a good 30 minutes since the screaming had started now, but y/n has yet to get a word in edgeways. Instead she silently implores her boss to stop swamping her with his unrelenting fury for both her sanity’s sake and the fact she’s expecting company. 

"This is unacceptable y/n, your stunt just might have put our most precious client’s account in jeopardy and you aren’t even present to fix this fucking mess." Of course I’m not present you dumbass, it’s Sunday she wants so desperately to yell back. She will most certainly get fired if she levels her tone to her boss’ though, so she takes a long breathe and answers in the most put-together voice she can muster.

"Mr Griffith, I still have Mr Nicholson’s file on my computer. I promise I will do all that’s in my power to rectify this situation." Technically it’s not her concern. She knows she didn’t do anything wrong, but she’s fairly new to the company and fairly young and in today’s society that fairly accounts to having to prove yourself. Maybe saving the day will be the small push she needs for her hard work to get legitimate recognition. 

"If it’s not fixed by tomorrow 10am you’ll regret ever footing step in my company y/n."

"Duly noted Mr Griffiths, enjoy the rest of your week-end," she retorts before hanging up. It is probably way to abrupt as a farewell, but y/n feels like her ears would have started bleeding had she not cut it short. Shoulders hunching in a dejected manner, she merely has the time to reach the kitchen before her doorbell rings. 

"It’s open!" she says barely loud enough.

Then Harry serenely strides in, having already discarded his coat in the closet by the front door. As soon as he takes in her sight though, he knows something’s wrong. It’s not so much that y/n is an open book (the first time they met he thought she was quite the enigma), but Harry likes to think he’s been around long enough by now, to be well versed in decoding y/n’s kinetics. So instantly he recognizes the stiffness in her posture, can discern her usual in-thoughts frown from the migraine one she’s wearing right now, and already forecasts some kind of bad news just by the way she’s fiddling with her fingers. 

"’S wrong, love?" he inquires with concern, and y/n absolutely hates that she’s about to put a damper on his night too. Loathes it even because of how soft he looks, standing a few feet from her, wearing a cozy navy blue jumper. His cheeks are slightly pink-tinted from the sharp weather raging outside, and she can tell he refrained from taking her hands in his when he voiced is worry because he knows they’d feel like icicles on her skin at the moment. Y/n sighs as she finally plunges her tired eyes in his shining emerald ones.

"God, I’m so sorry Harry, you have no idea how much I want to just hang out with you but something came up at work and-"

"At work? But it’s Sunday!" he cries out somewhat indignantly.

"Trust me, I know… But apparently there was a huge screw-up and now the office is in some kind of uproar, my boss is this close to kicking my butt out of the company and now I have to fix it-" Y/n explains frantically. She’d surf on the wave of anger during the phone call with her boss but now that she’s off the adrenaline high, she’s just a massive bundle of nerves ready to implode. 

Lowering her head in her hands defeatedly, she flinches at the sudden contact of Harry’s freezing hands on her arms (just like he’s predicted but he decides the moment really calls for it). "Slow down, angel. Can’t be working yourself up, ’s bad fo’ your ‘ealth. ‘Sides, I’m sure we can work summat out" he adds while rubbing his thumbs over her shirt soothingly. Y/n then tilts her head back up and makes eye-contact once again as she paces her breathing in long inspirations. Once she’s recuperated, she brings her own hands under Harry’s forearms and gives him a morose smile.

"I really need to do this Harry, I don’t have much choice." Seeing how distraught she looks, Harry simply nods and swallows his disappointment. "I don’t know how long it’s gonna take, I have to make a few phone calls and that might be all there needs to be…or it might take the whole night. I don’t know, we can raincheck or if you want to wait around for a bit… It’s up to you." She knows it’s not fair to keep him around if she’s gonna spend the next few hours rubbing elbows with her computer and her phone instead of him. She knows she should let him go for the night and reschedule but she misses him so much. They haven’t seen each other in a while and, well, y/n’s heart always has a mind of its own when it comes to Harry (against her better judgement). So instead she leaves it to his choice.

He doesn’t have to think twice before agreeing though. "‘Course, love. I got nothin’ to do anyway so might as well do nothin’ ‘ere." 

He makes it sound like it’s whatever, but truth is, he’s been looking forward to this for days. The last couple of weeks have been filled with so many work commitments and deadlines to meet, now that he has the next few off he’s just yearning for a casual night of take away, rom coms and cuddles if he’s lucky. And maybe his resilience has also something (a lot) to do with the pang lashing out at his heart at the thought of postponing their reunion. He won’t relay that information to her though.

"How ‘bout you go ‘head an’ do what it is you need to do, and I, can go buy some sweet an’ sour chow mein from that Chinese place ya always raving about?" he offers softly.

"It’s okay Harry you don’t have to do that, you’re supposed to be enjoying your time off, not run other people’s errands."

"No, none o’ that, angel. It’s no bother, I promise" he reassures her. "That way we’ll have more time for a movie or summat." 

Typically, y/n wouldn’t give up that easily. She can be quite a stubborn feisty little thing when pushed too far. However, tonight she’ll have to pick her battles if she wants to have all her wits to clean her colleague’s goddamn mess. So she lets out a small ‘fine’ and drops her arms back at her sides. Harry gives her one last smile for moral support before he’s turning back towards the front door. As she hears him shuffling his coat and boots back on, she bites back a small smile of her own. She’s really lucky to have him, she thinks, not for the first time. All the more reasons to keep her blossoming feelings in a secret box, never to be opened by a certain 6 foot curly-haired British brunette who wears his heart on his sleeve and never fails to make her feel warm. 

The sound of the door shutting is what pulls her out of her trance, before she despondently makes her way to her coffee table where lays her laptop and cellphone. Bracing herself for the upcoming crusade awaiting her, y/n puts her work glasses on and gets down to business with a small glimmer of hope that her night will end as originally planned. 

When Harry comes back — not only holding dinner but also bearing a family-size package of M&M’s (he knows it’s her guilty pleasure and he thinks she really deserves it tonight) — the first thing he hears is y/n’s stern but diplomatic voice. He never really gets to witness this side of her, all professional and ‘takes no shit from nobody’ attitude, so he’s a little curious when he finally makes his way to her living room. And well, God helps him if he doesn’t find sweet y/n pacing her place head high, shoulders back and fiery eyes, to be really hot. Quite the contrast to her usually warm and relaxing aura, but still, the pang in his chest resumes with greater intensity. 

"Mr Nicholson, your reluctance to further collaborate with Lyon Investment Factor is absolutely understandable considering we’ve played a part in the precarious situation that just transpired. I fully acknowledge the newfound mistrust you might feel towards our company, but if I may point out to you - and with all the respect that I owe you - despite its misstep, Lyon Investment has demonstrate its ability to operate quickly in the face of a critical emergency."… "Mr Nicholson,  I was hoping the past 24 hours would have comforted you with the knowledge that you can rely on our company to deflect any other foreseeable complication that may occur."…"Thank you Mr Nicholson. This goes without saying that I offer you my most sincere apologies on the behalf of Lyon Investment."

Harry thinks she’s genius. Using the very own mistake of the company to show its impeccable response to crisis and problem-solving abilities…that is downright brilliant. A really coup de maître of sure. Whilst it’s true they fucked up, they (or more like y/n) also managed to efficiently resorb the problem at hand. Mr Nicholson’s company is not in any harm’s way anymore, all thanks to her fighting long and hard to right the wrong that had been done. Harry’s heart is bursting with pride and awe as y/n smoothly wraps the phone call up, comforting Mr. Nicholson times and times again to rest assured that Lyon Investment wouldn’t let anything bad happen to his company.

It’s only once she half-throws away her phone on the couch that y/n takes in Harry’s return. She’s usually really good at sensing his presence but the last 30 minutes drained her to the bone. He looks even softer if it’s even possible. Head tilted on the side as if he’d been observing her this all time, he seems somewhat thoughtful. And for a few one too many seconds they just gaze at each other and bask in the silence. Then Harry finally breaks the intensity with a soft chuckle and a smile.

"Jesus, angel, ya look like ya need a hug," he says while putting the bags of food on the kitchen counter.

"Ugh. I’ll be honest, not my best night so far."

"Good thing I’m ‘ere to make it all better then. I even gotcha M&M’s to end things on a sweet note. Know ya can resist ‘em," he proudly announces and y/n might as well turn into to a puddle as his feet with how sweet he is. Sweeter than the stupid candy without a doubt.

"God, Harry you’re the best. I’m so glad you decided to stay" she admits while getting close to him. She could really use a hug, he knows her so well. And a hug it is, as she doesn’t even need to say anything before he engulfs her between two strong arms and a soft chest. Reveling in the feeling of his hands running down her back supportingly, she just breathes him in the most inconspicuous way she can. She doesn’t know it, but he does just the same.

"You work so ‘ard, angel. I’m so proud o’ you." The sentiment makes her smile in his neck, and when she leans back out of his embrace and takes a look at him, she thinks her night is not totally ruined. 

"Thank you Harry, it means a lot" more than you know, she could add. 

Finally ready to let the festivities begin, they are then making their way to the kitchen. Harry helps pulling out the plates and cutlery since by now he’s just as familiar with her kitchen as she is (despite it being a few months since the last time they did something at hers). 

"So, what ‘appened at the office that they had you kickin’ asses on a Sunday evenin’?" Harry asks while serving them both some of the sweet and sour he’s bought. 

"Barely kicked anyone’s ass" she grumbles. "If anything, I’d be lucky not to get mine kicked tomorrow at work."

"Didn’t sound like it. You were so…" Harry starts saying as he tries to find the right words, "…confident and intransigent when I ‘eard ya on the phone." She smiles once again at the dripping fondness in his voice. 

Plates in hands, they revert back to the living room and make themselves comfortable on the sofa, cautiously sitting not too close but not too far either from each other.

"Nah, you just caught me when I was tired, frustrated and frankly? angry. I’m just glad I didn’t go ballistic on him…then we would have truly lost Mr Nicholson and this time it would have been entirely my fault," she says before shoving a piece of sweet and sour pork in her mouth.

"Wait, you mean you ‘ad nothin’ to do with what ‘appened?"

Y/n lets out a long sigh at Harry’s confusion. First, because yes, technically she could have stepped out of the problem — though her boss could probably care less about her innocence in the matter — and just enjoy her Sunday evening as arranged. Second, because somehow she knows Harry will disapprove. He already thinks she’s working to hard and despises her office for not acknowledging how absolutely brilliant she is (granted, he’s probably a bit more than biased on the subject). 

Now that he asked though, she can’t get out of it. "Technically speaking? No. I was the one investigating Mr Nicholson’s new investors and when I noticed something odd with one of them, I wrote a note on the file so that Shirley would take matters into her own hands. When I came by her office to pass on the file though, she was distant and barely listened or looked at me. I mean you know how she’s always been with me…" Harry slowly nods as he recalls many a night  where y/n would rant to him about Furie Shirley whose only purpose is apparently to turn her time at the office into her own personal purgatory. "I still told her about the note, but apparently she failed to do something about it because next thing we know, Mr Nicholson’s account is missing a few pennies." 

"Jesus y/n, why dyou go through all that stress ‘f you weren’t even responsible for it?" Harry does’t understand. Is it because her kindness is so, that she couldn’t say no to those who need her help? He’s seen that happen quite a few times in his time with y/n. Once they’d been walking to the cinema when some old lady asked y/n if she could watch her dog while she was grocery shopping. They’d waited for over 30 minutes outside the store and barely made it in time for the movie… It was just one of those things that made her y/n and that always left Harry endeared. 

"I just…Harry you don’t understand how hard it is to make a place of my own in that office. I’m young and new, and people are still not completely trusting my competences…so yeah, sometimes I have to go the extra mile to show them; make them see that I deserve to be there, because I love my job and I worked hard to get in that company in the first place. But I’ll be damned if I don’t put my whole in what I do, it’s the only way I’ll get recognition for it. I just owe it to myself." 

At this point they’re both facing each other on the couch, food abandoned on the coffee table. There’s a pregnant pause but none of them are willing to put an end to it. Y/n, because she’s trying to decipher what’s going on in Harry’s head, her eyes going back and forth between the two of his. Harry, because, well, the butterflies in his chest are so strong he can’t act like a functional human being right now. She’s just so beautiful: chapped lips, disheveled hair, eyes circled with exhaustion and all. She’s the cutest mess he’s ever seen and he can feel his heart winning over his reason. Can’t resist the magnetic pull he’s always experienced when near her. Can’t stand by his initial inhibition anymore.

Ever so slowly as to not set her off, he leans in, lips slightly opened because breathing through his nose is too complicated of a task at the moment. He’s got the smallest frown like a remote part of him realizes what he’s about to do and braces itself for the aftermath. He comes to a halt millimeters from her lips as a silence way to give her one last out, but when her own lips part to let a shaky breathe out, he just closes the infinitesimal distant remaining between the two of them.

Then it’s just lips tenderly waltzing to an unchained melody of unraveling secrets and muted feelings set free. The kiss is a silent conversation between two relieved souls who can finally be unconditionally honest with each other. Harry can’t believe it’s really happening as he cups her jaw in his hand, thumb delicately brushing over her cheek. As soon as their lips made contact he’d closed his eyes to fully soak up the moment. He just can’t get enough. He loves the softness of her skin under his fingers, the feel of her irregular breathing against his face and the way her hands have moved to rest around his neck and clutch at his sweater. He’s never felt more connected to her in that moment. 

Alas, every good thing has to come to an end, and all living beings need to breathe. Reluctantly so, they both lean back an inch playing with the idea of going for a repeat, before coming to the realization of what that kiss means. The shift that will undeniably result from it and the necessity for them to talk it out. Harry decides he should speak first since he was the one to initiate it all. 

"Umm, I’m sorry…but not really" he finally says huskily with swollen lips and flushed cheeks (and this time the weather has nothing to do with it).

That’s enough to break the tension as they both start laughing softly, foreheads touching. After their laughters die down Harry gives a small push to her head, to which y/n responds with one of her own. Her mind feels fuzzy, her self-control slipping away bit by bit. She can’t tone down the smile that’s tickling her eyes, can’t prevent the goosebumps from erupting all over her body and can’t get her fingers to stop fidgeting. She’s taking comfort in the fact that Harry’s not doing much better body language wise.  

"You kissed me" she states after clearing her throat. 

"I did." 

"Sooo, what was that all about?" she inquires quietly but still beaming. He chuckles at that, desperately trying to find a way to buy himself time in order to formulate a proper answer; one that conveys how much he likes her without scaring her off.

"Well, we get on really good, don’ we? From the beginnin’. An' it’s like, you became really important to me so fast, an’ I value our friendship. So much, angel. An’ because o’ that, I could never get myself to make a move because the worst case scenarios always ou’weighed the best one. I just couldn’t, an’ still can’t afford to lose ya."

Y/n is amazed. First because his words are music to her ears. It’s what she’s been craving to hear from him for months. Second, because she’s never seen Harry quite so…shy. After confessing his feelings, he looks down at his lap as if still not a 100% convinced that she reciprocates the sentiment. So y/n gingerly takes his hands in her, threading her fingers between his.

"Harry…I don’t think I could ever cut ties with you. Feelings or not." Realizing how that may sound, she adds frantically. "Not that I don’t have feelings for you, because I do." She pauses. "I really do."

There was a rawness in her voice that wasn’t there seconds before. Now it’s her turn to feel the weight of months of secrets taken off her shoulders. And when she feels him squeezing her hands and takes in the radiant smile on Harry’s features, she thinks this is the right this to do. 

It seems Harry’s confidence has returned as well, if the small smirk making it’s way on his face is anything to go by.  Then he’s wrinkling his nose and slowly shaking his head from side to side. "Damn, we’re just bloody idiots, aren’t we." 

"Apparently so, yeah" y/n answers before they start giggling in unison. 

"So, where do we go from there?" she asks once they settle back in a more serious mood.

"An’ where ’s it that we are, darling?" Well, not serious per se for Harry who’s apparently still hanging on the banter.

"Ugh, Harry you’re a pain."

"Ohhh, so 3 minutes ago you were kissin’ the hell out o’ me an’ now I’m a pain? Can’t find the logic in tha’, love."

"What?! I wasn’t kissing the hell out of you! And may I remind you, you started kissing me, not the other way around."

"’S right, love. I kissed you heaven, ‘cause ya were just too damn beautiful." She can’t help the blush coloring her cheeks, as she listens to his charming words. "The way I see it, I like you, an’ ’t seems like you like me back…so let’s just be together an’ see where it goes. No pressure, no expectations. Just what feels right, ‘kay? An’ no more hiding what we feel from the other. An’ I got unlimited access to your lips"

"Yeah okay, I think I could live with that." Y/n answers before kissing him again.

This time there is more playfulness involved; they know this will be far from the last. Hands are also more curious and less hesitant as they tug at hair and jaws, and just overall roam the new surface they were given to explore. It gets to the point where their smiles are getting in the way, but they have a hard time parting anyway. They are just basking in the kind of moment where wishful thinking becomes tangible reality and the longing for mutual affection is finally sated. 

When they finally lean away with unsteady breaths, they are still grinning like fools. Then their eyes align and they are struck by the two fold nature of the moment. Everything has changed whilst everything is the same. They hold the same adoration for each other, share the same kind of banter, use the same techniques for moral support (this isn’t the first sweet and sour emergency procedure Harry has had to perform). And yet, they now flaunt smiles wide enough to annoy bystanders, transparent eyes that no longer hold mystery and unrestrained movements led by the simple desire to be closer to the other.

"Wanna watch a movie then?" Harry asks absentmindedly as he's caressing her cheek.

"Think I wanna go for something more stimulating actually." That draws back his full attention faster than she can say ‘hands off mister'. She wants to wipe the smugness off his face (tough she secretly loves it), but decides she can beat him at his own game as she leans forward until her lips are brushing the tip of his ear. "I’d rather kick your ass at Scrabble again if you don’t mind."

And really Harry wasn’t expecting that and he has to close his eyes and pinch at his nose to rein himself back in. "That was one time, love. You beat me one time. By 5 points. An’ I was down wit’ the flu. Besides, wit’ the stunt you just pulled I wonder whose ass needs reshaping…" He counters while taking a bite of his own at her earlobe. 

"Behave, Styles." 

"Yes ma’am" he obeys but not without leaving a tender kiss to her neck. "So, you get the game, I get us tea?"

"Atta boy" y/n can’t help but teasing before dismounting the couch and heading for her living room closet.

30 minutes later, they are both sitting, facing each other on the floor, sides resting on the front of the couch. The Scrabble board is wedged between their legs, half completed and it’s y/n’s turn to place her letters. She’s got a giant smirk on her face that Harry has yet to notice in his imperturbable concentration. He’s determined to prove her wrong, she knows. Y/n has always found his competitive nature to be quite adorable. Especially when things are not looking in his favor and he gets that deep frown on his face and maybe even pouts a little if he’s trying to impress a certain someone in that moment. 

That’s why once he finally looks up at her, his face changes color radically. There is no doubt she’s onto something, and by the look of it, her next move might be signing his defeat.

"Nuh uh, you don’t ‘ave a Bingo." It’d be the only reason for such a reaction on her part. He just knows her so well.

"Oh what was that again Mister Scrabble King? I’m sorry, I got distracted because, I, have a Bingo, all thanks to that S you just put down. Amazing, no?" All the while, she starts putting her letters down sporting a shit-eating grin. Harry doesn’t know what to say as his eyes fall on the songbird she’s just spelt, so he pouts just like she knew he would. 

"’S fine, sweetheart, just givin’ you a head start. Don’t want the defeat to hurt too bad." He’s such a sore loser, but that’s no flash news for y/n. She’s quite use to it actually, and has learnt by now to just roll her eyes.

"Sure thing, Styles, sure thing. Just play if you can’t except defeat."

They keep playing, sipping tea every now and then, y/n watching him like hawk over the rim of her mug. Because she knows he’s planning mischief. He’s playing far too innocent and being far too okay with the fact he’s only got two of her three-digit score. 

It happens merely ten minutes later. Y/n is pondering over her choices, she’s got letters do spell both rate and tear but she can’t decide what’s best. (She can’t figure out that double and triple letter score nonsense like Harry does. He just always placing 2 letters in odd places that give him 34 points in one go, while she wastes her gray matter away trying to come up with seven-letter words just to end up with 12 points. It’s infuriating, really.)

The place has been eerily quiet for the past few minutes and with that thought she pauses her internal debate. It’s been quiet for too long. When she looks up at Harry, he’s sporting the same smirk she was a few moments ago. 

"What?" she asks incredulously. "What!?"

"Got a bingo, darling." And really, she hates it when he calls her that because he always uses it in a patronizing tone (always meant for teasing, it goes without saying). 

For a moment, y/n is overcome by the same feeling of discontent she’s had to deal with at the beginning of the evening. She really thought she was about to beat him this time. Now if he wins, she’ll be twice as bummed because she would have been so close and Harry will never let her live this down. Instead he’ll be constantly raving about how no-one can beat him at Scrabble even the strongest of contenders (and y/n sure is one of them, even he will admit)

But then Harry starts laying down the letters on the board and she has to blink twice to make sure she’s reading right. Damn, this is a first. She never thought he would revert to this.  

"Um, Harry?" He hums in acknowledgement. "That’s not a word."

"Sure is, pet. I use it all the time." He answers so nonchalantly, like everything is normal and he’s just so right about this. 

"Alright. Use it in a sentence then." He looks up at her with the same smirk.

"Throwin’ me under the bus, love? ’S not very nice. I didn’t question you when you nailed ya bingo." She’s seeing right through his stall-the-conversation game though.

"That’s because I had an actual word, you ass!" She exclaims outrageously. However, her smile hasn’t vanished from her face, because this means she’s still winning. He’s just being a sneaky little shit about it, is all. "Come on Styles, I wanna hear you use that stupid word of yours!"

"Damn, you’re a lioness tonight. Didn’ know I outta bring me some bodyguard to save me from your claws." Once he sees the deadpanned look she’s giving him, he puts on a fake thinking face, right hand around his chin and left arm crossed over the other. "Fine, let’s see… Hum…I…"

"Harry" y/n says in a stern voice. She can’t believe he’s still trying to get out of this.

"This situation is grootling? I am grootled?" He can’t even take himself half-seriously, knowing he was busted the moment she first read it. As they share a look, they’re like two pressure-cookers on the edge of explosion: eyes creased and cheeks puffed out from trying to rein in the fit of laughter that is begging to be relieved. 

There’s no avoiding it though, boisterous cackles filling up the room, it feels like a massive relief for y/n. Relief from the work pressure she could still feel in her joints. Relief because she wouldn’t change the night for the world. Relief for the fact that Harry’s still her best-friend and can still make her laugh harder than anyone ever. Relief at the thought that she’s found her person. One that supports her in every thing she does no matter what; that is there for casual (at least in her book) Scrabble games but who doesn’t shy away when she’s at a vulnerable point and needs someone to hold the pieces back together. 

So without a care, she crosses the game board, completely disrupting the pieces, and kisses him. Knees against his thigh and fingers messily tangled in his hair, she presses her soft lips to his with vibrant intention and Harry, albeit surprised, is embracing her blazing affection to the fullest. Circling her waist with one arm to bring her down and forward on his lap and carefully holding her neck with his other hand, he surrenders himself to the warmth and pleasure running thought his bloodstream. All too willingly succumbs to the flames licking at his heart and tingling the tips of his fingers. And lets his instinct guide him through the kiss, as he pours his feeling into it unabashedly. 

After making their lungs starve for oxygen once again, they break the kiss in one last giggle. 

"So, if only for future anecdote purposes, what does grootle mean?" Y/n asks before capturing her lower lip between her teeth. The game is screwed now, pieces all over the place except on the board; but she doesn't regret screwing it up herself even when she was that close to finally shut his bragging cake-hole. She’d rather do it with her lips anyway.

"Fuck, gimme a mo’ angel. Just kissed me breathless, an’ this time ’s true." A blush immediate creeps up her cheeks at his words, so she dives and hides her face on the crook of his neck. The action has him chuckling as he runs his hand up and down her back and thinks of his next answer.

"Ya see, grootle is a fascinating word. Can be an adjective, like in ‘I’m so fucking grootle to have you, I can’t believe you’re lettin’ me be yours’. But it can also be a verb as in ‘you’re amazing an’ I wanna grootle the shit out of you’ if ya know what I mean," he adds with a smirk and raises his eyebrows twice flirtingly. 

"God, you’re such a dork, Harry." 

"Just shut up and come kiss your dork." He simply answers while pulling her to his lips and y/n thinks she’s had worst nights.

➪ Masterlist

[k-l-neidecker]

One Person’s Take on what the Infinity War Pitch Room Conversation was Like — K. L. Neidecker

One Person’s Take on what the Infinity War Pitch Room Conversation was Like

A week or so back, I finally broke down and watched Avengers: Infinity War.

It took me a long time to get around to it. I’m not sure, but I think, perhaps, I’ve seen the requisite number of superhero movies one must watch to be considered a happy and productive human in modern society. Check that box, one piece of being an American consumer fully in place, now on to the next strange trend…

Not that I hate comic book movies. In fact, I enjoy them. Just, hey, a few dozen a year is more than enough, thanks! And let’s not even mention that we are stuck with Marvel movies as DC seems to be having…trouble…making movies that don’t suck since the third movie of the Nolan Batman series.

So, considering the spoilers about Infinity War which assaulted my eyes for months, and the fact I knew what was going to happen…the supposed “big moment”…I simply felt no great rush to see it. Sure, I’d see it sooner or later, but it was way down on the the list of things to do—somewhere below a visit to the proctologist and spraying out the inside of the garbage cans.

But, hey, I figured it would be fine for a movie night.

And from minute one, I knew I made a terrible mistake, one which proves karma is a bitch and in a past life I must have been a terrible person. Maybe Attila the Hun’s third cousin twice removed, Bob the Hunnish.

I’d like to present to you my imaginings if what the pitching and brainstorming room must have been like as they planned Infinity War out.

Neon lights flicker and highlight nicotine stained drop ceiling panels. The energy is high, the air buzzing with electricity, though that could always just be the faulty wiring buried in walls which have been privy to so many great ideas in better days…

“Ok, so me and the boys have been talking,” Jim said, gesturing to a pile of sock puppets discarded in a dingy corner, button-eyes staring blankly into the distance, “and we got some ideas for the next Avengers movie.”

The writer’s room hushed in anticipation. A head writer for Iron Man 2, an artichoke heart pickled in brine, wetly rolled from its perch.

“Ok, so we open with a battle! Action is good, right? People love that stuff.”

A cricket farted in the distance, the mating call falling on dead ears.

“I mean, just some fighting, on a space ship. In space! Bunch of stuff happens. Sure, it will be confusing, and maybe some viewers will wonder, hey, did I miss an entire movie or something, because this scene feels like it’s part of some larger whole…

“And then we kill off some important characters! Yeah, baby, yeah! That will get people invested.”

A murmur of assent rippled through the room, taking the form of various belches and the whisper quiet rustle of a nostril mined for ore by a probing digit.

“Ok, and then the Hulk enters the picture, a being so powerful he’s been sent into space because of how dangerous he is to have around…but Thanos mops the floor with him. And guess what? That’s the last time we see the Hulk for the rest of the movie!” Jim leaned back and placed dirty boots on the table, grinning.

He continued, “So, no Hulk, because hell, who needs him anyway, and it fixes the plot hole where he would simply own Thanos early on, end of movie.

“Then, we add in every Marvel hero we have into the mix. So many, in fact, that they all only get five minute snippets on screen, and we just keep cutting between everyone fast enough to send a third of our viewers into epileptic fits. Thank goodness for CGI because we need a half-thousand sets to marionette these characters over.

“Thor, even though he’s been around multiple earthlings over a bunch of movies, will act dumb as hell and confused about words like ‘moron’”

Moron twitched in his sleep, the sound of his name nearly pulling him out of his comfortable dreamland.

“Also, some of the best characters in our universe, the space cadets from Gargantuans of the Galaxy or whatever it was we made a few years back, will run into Thor at random in the almost infinite reaches of the unfathomable soul sucking emptiness that is the ever expanding universe. Good timing!

“Let’s see…ah, right, Thanos just keeps winning non stop, and our heroes simply throw the same tactics at him over and over to no avail. You know, like punches and missiles and some Kung fu or some shit. Hey, the dude owned Hulk, so why wouldn’t Captain America try punching him in the gob?”

Tim, the newest writer, one not yet broken in by Marvel and not yet fitted out for his Marvel Brand Gimp Suit™, broke his silence when he could take no more. “Hey, uh, this all sounds great and all, but don’t you think—“

“No, I try not to, Tim. Thinking is the direct cause of migraines and bed wetting. Ok, so, we have wizards doing the circle things with their palms, some space folk bopping around almost disconnected from the rest of the story, Avengers not calling other Avengers even though fifty percent of the life of the entire universe hangs in the balance…damn, what else was I going to say,” Jim grasped a bong like an infant would a bottle and ripped on it before smashing it on his own head in victory.

“Right. The love story. Every great tale needs a love story: Romeo and Juliet, Ren and Stimpy, all the greats. So, we have a budding relationship between Vision and whatsherface. Let’s make the viewer care, get them invested.”

Tim nodded, “Right, that’s a solid idea man, sounds—“

Jim cut him off, “Of course, with fifty main characters and a two hour runtime, we won’t actually see any of this love or whatever. We’ll just hint at it a bit, you know. Gotta save screen time for purple ballsack, er, I mean Thanos, to wax laconically about how nice a bro he really is on the inside.”

“Hey, no, I don’t think—“ Tim stuttered.

“Good, my man, good. I think you’ll fit in here with that attitude. So, then let’s kill of all the fun characters. Let’s start with the people of color. First scene to last scene, let’s off some green folk, dissolve some Wakanda heroes, let’s go for broke.

“Again, no Hulk. Just Bruce in a CGI suit, so it’s kinda like the Hulk but suckier. You know, we wouldn’t want that actor to actually be in the movie or anything. Just CGI his ass at all times. Note to self, can we just completely CGI his likeness and not have to have an actor at all?

“Let’s have Dr. Strangelove or whatever his name is willingly hand over the one item his entire order was formed to protect… You know, stay true to the characters.”

The sounds of shattering glass echoed from wall to wall as two writers leapt naked through the windows, fist-bumping one another and shouting, “Brooooooooo!”

“See, Tim,” Jim said, “that’s the kind of energy we need here. Get your shit together. Ok, and lastly, let’s dissolve all the interesting characters we have left. Black Panther for one! Oh, and did I bring up the White Wolf? No? Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have an arc in the movie anyway. Hell, no one needs a character arc here. It’s only half a story, after all, and doesn’t need to stand alone or anything.”

Joseph the Randy Donkey brayed a lonely song at the water cooler before defecating a sad pile on the floor.

“Damn, I love that donkey,” Jim said while cleaning his left ear with his right big toe. “So, you see where I’m going here, right? For year people have complained we are formulaic, but look at us being all badass and breaking the mold! We will take a decade worth of characters and squash them together, making half a movie that means nothing on it’s own, simply designed to set up our next million dollar movie in a year, needlessly kill off dozens of the best characters in a way that means nothing and will be reversed within the first quarter of the next movie, dabble in romance sorta, and wipe out half the life in the universe to save everyone from running out of food and stuff!”

The room erupted in cheers and whoops. Three men dueled to the death in celebration, Moron awoke from his long slumber in time to vote in the midterms and drive without using his blinkers, seven Hollywood executives took time away from sexually harassing the donkey the stamp and squeal in delight, a motley mob of slatterns boxed with a dusty group of heroin addicts in a mock Walmart, and the seventh seal was opened in the distance.

But a hush fell on the room like a smothering pillow as Tim cleared his throat.

“Hey, um, if Thanos can control time and matter with a mere thought, wielding enough power to kill fifty percent of all living things at the blink of an eye…why doesn’t he simply will infinite resources into being instead of killing untold trillions due to limited resources?”

The silence in the room laid so thick in the air that a large housefly, fat and well fed on over-ripe Hollywood movie drech, collapsed like a crumpled piece of tinfoil from the mere pressure in the room.

Lucky for the brave writers of Infinity War, there was a handy and already broken window to defenestrate Tim from before calling the seventy-five actors and warming up the computers for modern CGI magic.

https://klneidecker.com/2018/10/22/one-persons-take-on-what-the-infinity-war-pitch-room-conversation-was-like/

[asryakino]

Okay

Okay yeah

I’m under a LOT more stress than normal right now. And my stupid little brain is compartmentalizing it into trauma size and worry which is a nice thing for it to do. But it results in me feeling like I’m super stressed and not expressing it enough becuase the Emergency Shutoff valve for Emotion (tm) has been hit and I’m just... numb now.

Just fucking numb. Started off with coming home between shifts (as usual) to discover the battery in my laptop had decided to bulge and the registration I did four years ago never fucking took. It was out of warrenty by now anyway but still. Panic. Called company, got battery part number - had to call while in front of mom because THAT was when they picked up - immediately set off one of mom’s triggers about how shitty her laptop is because she chose to go back to the one she hates over learning to use the tablet computer. Stepped out to the mailbox only to discover that we’ve been reported for having (gasp* BOXES on our screened-in front porch. I had to call city ordienence and hope this was a misunderstanding about my ugly ass container garden made of upcycled kitty litter containers. The woman who wrote the violation? Not answering the phone. So I get to stress about this because the LAST violation WARNING please note this is a WARNING that’s IT a notification of the rule being broken. My mom HOUNDED about it for TEN FUCKING YEARS. And I only JUST got her to shut the fuck up about it. I could not, for the sake of my sanity, allow her to find out we’d been reported by some scumbag in the neighbourhood. Left a message, stressed more about what to say/do/how to deal with this situation.

okay... dealt with that. Then went to work for second shift - stressed and on edge because my driver’s been getting onto me about every little thing because her sister has been visiting, and she’s been unconsciously bringing THAT stress onto the bus and affecting her work. I’ve been respectfully silent on the matter while she’s chewed me out over every little thing. I was battling a migraine by this point and covered my eyes to fend off as much stimulation as possible while I try to conserve enough fucking energy to pretend to be a functioning adult while the kids are on. Stress more about whether our trouble kid will be riding because I do not have the brainpower to deal with them.

Trouble doesn’t ride, other kids are as alright as can be expected. Driver is still being distant. City Code woman calls mid shift, and I have to tell her I have to talk to her when I’m NOT at work. But OH she won’t be in her office again until WEDNESDAY. Which puts the posted time limit on the fucking violation SHE WROTE at fucking HALF before I even find out what I have to do to correct for this shit in the first place.

YAY more stress. yippie.

By now my jaw is hurting, my head is throbbing, my knees and ankles are killing me and my elbows have popped due to fidgeting flex and tension dislocating my fucking joints again.

Drop kids off, try to finish paperwork as necessary, think I have everything done, make escape to have a cry in the car and try to relax just a LITTLE bit to deal with this shit.

Go home- mom is still in bad mood, no relaxing happening tonight. Get a text from driver where she announces that she’s going to have to get a new aide who can do all the paperwork properly (I missed one part of one section) and that “won’t eat, sleep and play games instead of doing work. [I] have NEVER had an aide act like this!”

Note - I don’t sleep on the bus. I put my head down to counter the overstimulation of afternoon sun, passing traffic, and scenery.

I don’t “play games” on my phone. I READ. And since we’re allowed books, there should be no problem allowing electronic books. But when she complained I stopped even doing THAT because it upset my driver.

So I don’t put my head down to keep out overstimulation, and I can’t read to provide my own stimulation. So instead? I’ve been staring and zoning out at the back of the seat ahead of me instead. This she has interperted as me sleeping apparently.

Eating - she eats every day, and I eat most days because I don’t do well on the whole -eating- thing so I MAKE myself eat small snacks to keep from passing out.

She has an obsessive need to have a floor on a schoolbus you can apparently eat off of. And compulsively cleans the bus 2-5 times a DAY, with SPECIAL attention around MY seat because either consciously or unconsciously she considers ME a mess. She ALSO considers the children messes, and has yelled at them and insisted I enforce a stupid ass level of cleanliness that most NICU don’t enforce. Example - the kids are not allowed to TOUCH the windows or it upsets her. They are all visibly upset and scared of being yelled at by her for touching the windows.

her text just set me off the deep end and I shut down immediately to respond that I was sorry for my failings and she has made it extremely clear that I am not fit for this work and job and that if she wants a new aide I will set aside so she can have one that better fits her. My mind is already made up, I’m requesting another assignment for next year - literally any other assignment at this point because she has made it EXTREMELY clear thorugh her words and actions that I am not welcome in her space and she doesn’t feel I am able to perform my work at all.

When I had to write up a kid, I wrote out the exact details and times of what happened. She took it upon herself to rewrite the write up and put her own version of events. Which was esclated as to what really happened and caused issues when trying to explain the situation.

So I came home to all that bullshit, then drove an hour to do a grooming job that helped somewhat with the stress. But the stress immediately returned when my mind was no longer on the topic of grooming cats.

Coming home I stopped for pizza as a way to placate mother - and noticed my engine was making a bad knocking sound. The sound worsened until saturday morning when it sounded as if I was going to blow a piston out of the engine block. Oil was bone dry, transmission was dry, added each and additive to help... sound still there and steadily getting worse. Go to mechanic on the way to my dad’s. NOW having to deal with a panicked mother who is panic stressing about the engine noise that we can literally do nothing about. Go to mechanic, who says it’s a piston or arm and the engine is fucked and on a timer to self destruction - I just dropped 2k in repairs on it about two months ago.

MORE STRESS

Fan fucking tastic.

go to store to get dinner, go to dad’s...

dinner and movie is good, tablet is chugging and won’t play games. Eh.. is fine.

Put mom to bed, watch final movie with dad, go to bed.

Discover 8d music - some stress removed.

Mom starts having a massive seizure- shaking, foaming at the mouth, non responsive, eyes rolled back grand maal seizure. Get dad, call 911, have to direct them how to get to her bedroom, direct them how to get her out of the house and to the ambulance because my dad’s house is weird...

follow to hospital

sit in ER for nearly 14 hours for them to determine they have no idea what happened, but that she def had a seizure in front of them (an absent one) and what I describe is a grand maal, and that they just don’t know what happened.

truck still sounds like shit

dad finds replacement truck in my city for 2500$

cool cool

dad already dealing with dropped house insurance, busted ass roof, and possibility of being kicked out of his house because of tax prices and bullshit because he can’t hold a job because of shit that happened 30 years ago.

yay more fucking stress.

so yeah

I just really fucking feel like dying right now mkay?

[sebspocketsquare]

Little Do You Know

Pairing: TJ Hammond x fem!Reader

Story Summary: Soulmate AU. On your 21st birthday, you begin to hear the innermost thoughts of your soulmate. What will happen when your soulmate just so happens to be a drug addict struggling to recover? Did I mention that he may or may not be incredibly gay? Warnings: bi!TJ, Addiction, language, brief sexual content, drugs, emotional abuse, Bud being a fucking perv as usual and making women feel uncomfortable, emotional abuse. A/N: Hi guys! Here’s the first part of another one of my favorites from my old account. Enjoy!

‘You’re fine. You’re fine. You don’t need it.’ His voice was something you’d grown used to over the past 5 years. ‘Maybe just a little bump. Just a little one.’ Your soul-mate had an issue with drugs, one that he was trying to overcome, and you’d always get caught in his inner battle to stay sober. You wished this worked both ways, that you could talk him down from it, it seemed like the only time he could hear you is when he was high. That, or he was just very good at ignoring you. ‘It’s going to be okay. You don’t need it. Just breathe.’ You thought, closing your eyes and concentrating, as if doing that would make your message more clear to him, but his voice rang through your mind again. ‘I need it.’ You let out an audible sigh, causing your coworker, Laura, to look over from where she sat at her desk. “Are you okay?” She wondered and you nodded, opening your eyes up to force a small smile at her. “Is it him again?” She asked, her lips forming a small frown. She knew about the voice in your head and how hard you tried to get through to him. She knew how much it hurt your heart to hear the person you’re destined to be with suffer so badly.

“Have you tried to find him?” She prodded, turning her attention back to her computer screen as she typed. You nodded, chewing the skin off your bottom lip. “He never gives me any clues to who he might be, except that he’s a drug addict.. And I think he might be bisexual?” You spoke, the words coming out as more of a question than a statement. This captured her attention once again, her wide eyes meeting yours. “What makes you say that?” She managed to squeak out. You chuckled, shaking your head as a blush formed on your cheeks. “I’ve.. heard his thoughts while he was getting fucked by some guy..” You whispered, and her cheeks turned just as red as your own. “You don’t think he’s gay, do you?” She asked and you laughed once more. “God, I hope not.”

When you arrived home from work, your head was pounding from a migraine that had been building up for the past few days. You immediately made a beeline for your bathroom, your hands rummaging through the medicine cabinet until you found a small bottle of ibuprofen. You read over the label quietly, seeing how many you should take, when his voice popped in your head again. ‘Take the whole bottle.’ Your eyes widened and you immediately dropped the bottle in the sink, taking a few steps back and placing a hand over your heart. He’d never spoken to you directly, before. ‘Do it. You won’t.’ You shook your head, running your fingers through your hair quickly, trying to calm your breathing. ‘You don’t mean that.’ You thought, closing your eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. His voice didn’t respond and you left your bathroom, your head still pounding in rhythm with your heart. You thought that maybe a glass of water would help calm you down, so you headed to your fridge, grabbing the pitcher out and nearly dropping it when his voice popped into your mind again. ‘You’re the reason I have to stay high.’ You set the pitcher on the counter, his words making your headache even worse. ‘I don’t understand.’ You thought, grabbing a glass from your dish drain, your hands shaking. ‘I could never love you, but I’m stuck with you.’ Your lower lip trembled at his response as you filled your glass with the clear liquid, telling yourself that he didn’t mean it. He was messed up, right now. In the morning, things would be better. ‘I don’t need you. I don’t want you inside my head.’ His voice came again and you shook your head before sipping on your water. ‘You don’t mean that.’ You thought again, chewing on your lip, as usual. ‘I’ll show you.’ His voice came again, before your mind went blank.

He was silent for a few hours, and in that time, you managed to get your headache under control. You were now cuddled up on your couch, watching Moulin Rouge, your eyes tearing up as you neared the end of the film, when his voice came through again. ‘Mmm, fuck. That feels so good.’ Your cheeks immediately turned scarlet. You knew he was doing this to get a rise out of you, to make you jealous. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you silently vowed to not give him the satisfaction of doing so. ‘You could never make me feel like this.. fuck.’ You stood up from the couch quickly, grabbing your headphones out of your purse and pushing them into your ears with trembling hands. ‘I don’t need you. I don’t want you. You’ll never be what I need.’ You quickly plugged the wire into your phone, pulling up Spotify and turning on random song by Sia, putting the volume as loud as it would go. You didn’t care if it hurt your eardrums, as long as his voice was drowned out for just a little while. As long as you couldn’t hear him purposely trying to break your heart.

When you awoke the next morning, you were sprawled out on your couch, headphones still in your ears and your phone was beyond dead, clenched tightly in your hand. Looking at the time on your cable box, you shot up off the couch, realizing that you were going to be late for work. You quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a button up shirt, pulling your hair up into a messy bun and grabbing your purse and phone charger before darting out the door. ‘Fuck, my head..’ His voice sounded in your mind. You rolled your eyes, grumbling softly to yourself as you approached your car and climbed in, throwing your belongings into the passenger seat. ‘Bet you feel real stupid, don’t you?’ He was silent for most of your ride into work, aside from a few irritated thoughts about why his mother was forcing him to go to some sort of party. ‘I don’t even enjoy going to parties anymore.. I’d much rather just hang out at home. Why the fuck does she do this to me?’ You decided to just ignore him until you got inside and sat down at your desk, flashing Laura a quick smile. “How are you feeling today?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow as she took a sip from her large coffee mug. You shrugged, turning on your computer. “I feel a little better.. Had a killer headache last night, though.” Her smile grew a little. “Because of him?” She wondered and you bit your lip, shrugging again as you turned to your keyboard and typed in your log in information. “Look, Y/N.. I know we’re not particularly close, but.. Would you like to go to this party with me tonight?.. I really don’t want to go alone, and maybe it would get your mind off of him for a bit.” She chewed her lip as she waited for your answer, her smile dropping an inch when it took you too long to reply. ‘Might as well, right? I never get to have any fun..’ You thought to yourself before turning to her with an excited smile and nodding. “Yeah. I’d love to. I look like a wreck right now, though, so I’ll have to go home and change..” You trailed off, looking down at your jeans and flannel and then back up at her. She was grinning from ear to ear. “We look like we’re about the same size. I’ve got a red dress that’ll look so good on you. You can just come over after work.” She said, setting her mug down on her desk and clapping her hands happily. “This is going to be so fun. I promise you won’t regret it.”

When you arrived at Laura’s apartment, you were in awe of how nice it was, taking your time to look at each of the paintings she had hanging in her living room. She came out of her bedroom with a floor length red dress in her arms, smiling softly as she followed your gaze to a Rembrandt she had framed above her couch. “My father got it as a gift when he was the campaign manager for this woman.. Elaine, I think? Wasn’t really his style, so he gave it to me.” She spoke as she came to stand next to you. “Its beautiful.” You whispered before looking over at her. She nodded slowly, her eyes scanning over each detail in the painting. “Yeah.. I thought so, too..” She seemed lost in thought for a moment before she cleared her throat and turned to you, holding out the dress. “Here ya are. You can change in the bathroom, its right over there..” She pointed to her left and down a hallway. “And then I’ll help you with your hair and whatnot.” She finished with a smile and you nodded, taking her direction and walking slowly to the bathroom. The dress was beautiful and silky smooth, the fabric clung to your curves in all the right places and really accentuated your chest, which made your skin burn a little in embarrassment. ‘I’ve never worn something this nice..’ You thought to yourself, smoothing out the silk with your palms as you looked yourself over in the mirror. Your soul-mate seemed to be keeping his thoughts to himself for the most part, and you were happy about that, but it also made you worry.. Was he okay? He’d never been so quiet before.

You were walking out of the bathroom when his voice sounded in your head again, making you jump. ‘I hate wearing ties. Who the fuck invented these?’ You couldn’t help but giggle as you approached Laura in the living room, who was busy checking her phone when she looked up at you with a confused expression. You pointed to your head, smiling a little and she nodded in understanding. “He hates ties, apparently.” You told her as she took her time looking you over in the dress. “Y/N.. You look stunning, you realize that, don’t you?” She said, pulling at the skirt of the dress as she continued to look you over. “You don’t even need makeup.. Maybe we’ll just curl your hair a little..” She continued, bringing her hand up to take the hair tie out of your hair, letting it cascade around your shoulders. “Well, what are you wearing?” You asked her, seeing that she was still in her work clothes. She smirked and started heading towards the other side of her apartment, her index finger beckoning you to follow her.

When the two of you arrived at the event, it was much more fancy than Laura had led you to believe. There were bouncers outside, paparazzi was being held back from the entrance with those fancy ropes that you usually see at red carpet events. Climbing out of the car, you turned to look at her, forcing a nervous smile. “Laura.. What kind of party is this..?” You whispered as she stood beside you, a sly smile on her face. “Trust me. It’s gonna be fun.” Was all she said before she took your hand, leading you inside through the flashing lights and reporters screaming her name. You let out a breath that you didn’t realize you had been holding in once you were clear of the camera flashes, taking in your surroundings. It was dark, but you could see several tables set up on one side of the room with nice tablecloths and candles on each one, and on the other side of the room, there was a large dance floor with a live band, playing a tune you thought you recognized. “This is beautiful.” You breathed, looking over at Laura and she smiled at you. “My father hates these charity events, but I love them. All the money that they raise here tonight gets donated..” She paused, shrugging. “Makes me feel a little better about all of the awful things my father has done in his line of work.” She forced a small smile before her attention was captured by someone across the room. “C’mon, there’s some people I want you to meet.” She said, taking your hand and pulling you along. You went with her, but you were a bit distracted when his voice rang in your mind. ‘These parties are always so crowded. I hate being touched by strangers.’ You felt your heart ache a little for him, because you understood how he felt in that moment, as each stranger you passed bumped shoulders with you or touched your arm in some way. The contact made you cringe. Laura led you over to a tall man with the same dark hair and enchanting dark eyes that she had, who smiled upon seeing her. “L, It’s so nice of you to come.” He said softly, pulling her into a tight embrace. “Well, daddy, if I wouldn’t have shown up, neither would you.” She said in a light tone, but you could tell she was being serious. When the embrace ended, he turned to you, raising his eyebrow. “And who is this lovely creature?” He wondered, holding his hand out to you. You placed your hand in his delicately, blushing when his lips touched your skin. “Dad, this is Y/N.. She works with me. She was kind enough to keep me company this evening.” Laura spoke, narrowing her eyes at her father until he dropped your hand. “Pleasure.” He murmured softly, licking his lips and adverting his eyes. ‘So many old men preying on young girls.. It’s disgusting.’ His voice sounded in your head again, and you couldn’t help but blush again. ‘They all remind me of my father… Would do anything for a great set of tits.’ Laura seemed to notice that your mind was elsewhere, grabbing a champagne glass from a waiter who passed by and handing it to you. “Here.. It’ll help.” She said with a small smile and you nodded, taking the glass and sipping it slowly.

After your third glass of champagne, you could feel yourself growing more and more tipsy, finally deciding that the best course of action for you was to sit down. Laura escorted you to the table that the two of you had been assigned to, smiling softly at you. “How’s your head?” She asked, sipping on her own glass. You shrugged, swirling the bubbly liquid around as you stared at it, starting to wonder what you were doing at a party like this. It wasn’t like you. ‘Here goes nothing..’ You heard his voice in your mind again, laced with nervousness, and it made you feel anxious, too. What was he going to do, now? You were brought out of your thoughts by someone tapping on a microphone and clearing their throat. “Is this thing working?” He spoke, and you thought your heart was going to stop in your chest. His voice sounded so familiar, so lovely.. So much like home. Goosebumps began to rise on the exposed skin of your arms and you forgot how to breathe. Your head snapped up towards the dance floor, your lips parting slightly when you saw the man who’s voice had been haunting you for 5 years, the man that had caused you so much inner turmoil. “Y/N..?” Laura whispered, sensing something weird about your reaction, but the man spoke again. “As you all may know, my mother, Elaine, has had a great deal to do with planning this wonderful event, and I know that she is in awe of how many of you agreed to come. Just in the past two hours, we have managed to raise almost $10,000.” He paused, flashing a dazzling smile as the crowd around you cheered loudly. “Laur.. Who is that..?” You asked, your eyes following his every move. “That’s TJ Hammond.. I used to hang out with him when my father was his mother’s campaign manager.. Super gay.” She snorted, her face falling when she saw that you were still staring at him intently. You could hear your heart beating in your ears as your mouth continued to hang open. ‘God, you are so beautiful.’ You couldn’t help but think to yourself, gasping softly when you saw his facial expression fall a fraction. “Um..” He stuttered nervously as his eyes scanned the room. He was looking for you. After a few moments, he cleared his throat, straightening out his tie. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you again, so much for being here tonight.. I’d like to introduce someone very special, the woman of the hour, my mother, Elaine Barrish.” His voice was different, now, you could tell he was distracted. Even as his mother approached him and wrapped him in a tight hug before taking the microphone, you could see his eyes searching through the crowd. ‘I know you’re here. Where are you?’ You gulped and picked up your glass, finishing off the last of the bubbly liquid in one quick gulp. “TJ’s your soul-mate, isn’t he?” Laura whispered, her eyes wide. You flashed her a tight lipped smile before grabbing your purse off the table. “I have to go.” Without another word, you stood and turned, walking swiftly towards the exit. ‘Please. I know you know who I am, now.. It’s only fair that I know who you are.’ You shook your head at yourself, feeling your lower lip tremble. ‘No. You don’t need me, remember?’ You knew the thought was harsh, but you didn’t care. You knew who he was, now. You could live the rest of your life without him knowing who you were. You had just about reached the door when you felt a hand grip your upper arm tightly, stopping you in your tracks. Looking over your shoulder, you came face to face with an older man you had yet to meet, who was visibly inebriated. “Leaving so soon, love?” He asked, his eyes scanning your form as he licked his lips. You tried to pull your arm out of his grasp, but he just held on tighter. “Let go.” You whimpered, and he shook his head, tugging you towards the dance floor. “Not until I get a dance with the most beautiful woman in the room”

The band started playing one of your favorite songs, and you closed your eyes, letting out a breath as you reluctantly allowed him to drag you across the room. ‘I don’t want to do this.. Please.. Don’t make me..’ You silently pleaded as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest and brushing his nose against your jaw. “You’re beautiful..” He whispered and you shut your eyes tighter, lower lip trembling once again. ‘God, just please, stop touching me..’ Was what you wanted to say, but the words stayed in your mind. “I need to go.” You told him weakly, but he laughed, his breath tickling your neck and making you shiver. He opened his mouth to speak again, when someone placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from pushing himself any closer to you. “Dad.. I think that’s enough. People are staring.” It was TJ. You felt your heart flutter at the sound of his voice, opening your eyes slowly, keeping them cast downward. The older man who was still holding onto you tightly placed a sloppy kiss on your cheek before pulling away and smiling down at you. “Thanks for the dance, sugar. It was fun.” He slurred and you forced a smile, stepping out of his grasp and turning to head back towards the exit, when his voice spoke to you. “I’m sorry about my dad.. He’s a real jerk sometimes. Are you okay?” You didn’t meet his eyes or speak, just nodded and continued to make your way towards the exit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” He spoke again, following behind you like a lost puppy. You cleared your throat, shaking your head as you continued to walk. “Wait, please.” He pleaded, catching your arm and spinning you to look at him. “It’s you.. isn’t it?” He whispered, his hand gently grasping your chin and guiding your eyes to meet his. You gulped, biting your lower lip as you gazed into his eyes for a moment, a line of tears forming on your lower eyelids when his lip formed a small pout. He really was so beautiful. When you were finally able to speak, it came out as a breathless whisper. “I have to go.”

[lamazeclasssitn646-blog]

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It will aid you map out the specifics of your business and find some unknowns. A couple of crucial topics to take into consideration are: Fortunately we have done a lot of this study for you. Just like many businesses, location is key. Make the effort to find a space that sees a good offer of pedestrian website traffic daily.

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Because of this, buying locations are an ideal location, as much of the pedestrians are enjoying a leisurely walk. The typical expense of a 400 square foot optical shop is $30-$ 50 per square foot. When you have your area, there are a number of various other products you'll require to budget for, such as: Displays Devices and also tools - to aid in decreasing expenses, several company proprietors acquisition things utilized or lease much of these items can be purchased made use of or leased, whichever fits best into your budget Inventory Company monitoring software program Bank card device as well as sales register Computer system Appropriate illumination is vital in this sector Sector leaders estimate start-up expenses at between $20,000 and also $85,000, depending upon the details solutions you wish to use at your store.

To certify, Pearle Vision requires business owners to have $100,000 in liquid capital, with a total assets of a minimum http://edition.cnn.com/search/?text=optical & glasses shop of $300,000. Profits financial investment gets to between $410,000 and also $622,000. While the first financial investment is rather steep, aligning yourself with a reputable business commonly quickens company development. Continuous expenses are relatively low, with payroll taking in the bulk of your budget.

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A study conducted by the Vision Council of America exposed that almost 75% of grownups require vision improvement of some kind. 64% of those polled choose glasses over contacts. These people will certainly comprise a big portion of your customer base. Children as well as teenagers seeking restorative lenses will likewise come to you for aid.

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A generic pair of glasses will certainly opt for $69, while a developer set can set you back upwards of $900. Inventory ought to match the wants and needs of your customers. Developed optical shops report average monthly sales of $125,000 to $205,000 per month. Your organization's profit is dependent upon the amount of people you use, the quantity of supply got every month, and operational prices.

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You need to also ensure that you straighten your organisation with a supplier that uses a fair exchange plan. Lots of shop owners have actually located success working with an optical dispensary management firm (ODM). These consulting companies provide management services especially made to fit your requirements. Choosing the right name is very crucial.

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There are lots of organisation frameworks to pick from including: Companies, LLC's, and also DBA's. Review our Guide to Type Your Own LLC Have an Expert Service Type your LLC for You Two such reputable solutions: Have a look at https://www.eyeoptic.co.il the Top Company Formation Services from our pals at StartupSavant. You need to also take into consideration making use of a signed up representative service to aid secure your privacy as well as stay certified.

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In company legislation, this is described as puncturing your corporate shroud. This separates your personal possessions from your company's assets, which is necessary for personal asset protection. It also makes accounting and tax obligation filing simpler. You can get $200 when you open a Chase business inspecting account with certifying activities.

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Learn much more about licensing demands in your state by checking out SBA's referral to state licenses as well as permits. To get more information concerning how sales tax obligation will certainly impact your company, read our write-up, Sales Tax Obligation for Local Business. Glasses shops might also desire to consider obtaining a resale certificate, as a resale certification enables merchants to purchase goods meant for resale without paying sales tax.

For additional information: A glasses store can be run out of a store. Companies running out of a physical location commonly call for a Certification of Occupancy (CO). A CO validates that all structure codes, zoning laws and also federal government regulations have been satisfied. If you prepare to lease office: It is generally the property manager's obligation to get a CO.

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After a significant improvement, a brand-new CO frequently requires to be issued. If your business will certainly be restored before opening, it is suggested to include language in your lease arrangement stating that lease settlements will not start till a legitimate CO is provided. If you intend to acquire or develop office area: You will be liable for obtaining a valid Carbon Monoxide from a local government authority.

Insurance coverage is extremely suggested for all organisation owners. If you employ employees, employees compensation insurance coverage may be a legal need in your state. Your brand name is what your company stands for, along with just how your service is perceived by the public. A solid brand name will certainly assist your service stand out from competitors.

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Create connections with doctors as well as glasses service technicians in your bordering area as well as function out a recommendation system. Learn more about the needs of your customer base. Supply the racks with those things and also market straight to them. Social network is a terrific resource for promoting your company, sharing the most recent fads, and also educating your customers of upcoming news and also specials.

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EYE OPTIC

Ahuza St 97, Ra'anana

09-743-1020

[brie-haus]

DNA

I, like many people I know on this same health and wellness journey, have always struggled with weight. I heard the terms ‘big-boned’ and ‘slow metabolism’ thrown around a lot inside and around my family when I was growing up. Starting around puberty I started having to fight like hell to keep from being bigger. At my lowest point I resorted to horrible habits that lead down the dark path of disordered eating that so many can relate to. That journey alone could, and probably one day when I am ready, will be its own blog post. From the time I was old enough to realize that some people can dispense nearly anything, in any quantity into their body and still maintain a slim physique and others of us have to painstakingly watch every calorie we consume, I began to resent my genetic coding.

              Surely that was the problem, right? If some people could eat the same things that I did and didn’t need to work out as hard as I did, or even at all to stay smaller than me, surely my metabolism must be the issue. I realized there was no way to remedy this, it was just the way I was made. I had never really noticed during my childhood that both of my parents and also the overwhelming majority of my family was overweight. Until my mother’s battle with fibromyalgia and multiple sclerosis began, a little extra weight had never stopped them from doing anything. My mom used to zoom around our little three bedroom in Winston-Salem keeping a damn near immaculate house (it would have been immaculate if not for me and my brother). My father taught my brother and I how to play basketball, baseball, volleyball, tennis, even badminton from a young age and even served as coach on a few of our teams over the years.

              But here I was, standing in front of this seemingly insurmountable issue: my body was not built equal to others. I want to be clear, it is not that being overweight (eventually even being labeled as ‘morbidly obese’) was my only issue. I began having headaches and migraines when I was just ten years old. When I was eighteen I was diagnosed with acute recurring pancreatitis. My freshman year of high school I realized that my adapting body was now allergic and intolerant to a number of things that I had never had issue with prior. I was in high school when I was told I (already) was showing signs of arthritis in my ankles and knees. These issues are all treatable and I have found ways to cope with every single one of them; they pale in comparison to what millions of people face daily, but I want you to know what I was feeling internally when my initial efforts to lose weight were failing.

              At this point, I was probably 25 or 26. I wasn’t happy with my body shape after I had graduated from college. Like many students, I ate poorly in school and didn’t make exercise the priority that I should have. I overloaded my schedule to ensure I could graduate a full year early and in the process took on an unrealistic amount of stress. I had then, after graduating, thrown myself head first into the work force. Working shortly as a bank teller on my feet all day until I started what is now my career at a lab company. My weight had shot up well above 225 by this point and after injuring myself, I had to sideline myself from the little exercise I had been doing – running with my dog. It certainly seems dramatic now, but at the time I felt thoroughly defeated. Like my body just would not cooperate. I let myself sink deeper and deeper into a depression. My psychiatrist prescribed me medication after medication, each one packing on more pounds. I once took an antipsychotic drug that packed over sixty pounds on me in a little over a month’s time. I knew something needed to change but I couldn’t muster the will to do anything.

              Fast forward to February 2019. I was sitting around one evening looking at some pictures my husband and I had printed from our trip to Bermuda the previous year. He had long since settled in and started playing games on his Xbox for the night but I couldn’t stop studying them. I was so big, the biggest I had ever been. That summer I had been prompted to join Weight Watchers. My starting weight at the beginning of this journey was just over 287 lbs. It startles me even now as I look at the computer screen and see that number staring back. I was a shell of the athlete I had once been. Weight Watchers had not done much, if anything for me. I was flirting with disordered eating again as a result of the plan and had settled back into using exercise as punishment for overeating or not eating the right things before I had decided to quit for my sanity. But February 28, 2019 as I sat there looking at those photos, something inside me clicked into place. I decided that I needed to start exercising again. In a healthy way. In a structured way. On a schedule that I could incorporate into my schedule and stick to. Above all, I needed to be able to hold myself accountable. Or I would fail. I had done it over and over again, failure always the endgame.

              So that Thursday evening, I got up and searched for an overnight bag small enough to serve as a gym bag. I packed all the essentials I would need to get ready in various sized plastic baggies and tucked them all into my makeshift gym bag along with a towel, work outfit and accessories, earbuds, straight iron, and hair dryer. I set my alarms. I sat out a water bottle for the morning. I laid out the closest thing I had to workout clothes, some black yoga pants, a tshirt, and a sports bra. Sat them on top of my socks and shoes. Something amazing happened the next morning that shocked even me: I got up and actually went to the gym. I don’t even remember how long I did each thing or what all I did, only that I went and gave it my all. And then I kept going and kept going.

              That first morning at the gym I posted to my story on Instagram about my workout. It was my way of keeping myself accountable. I knew I had to put myself out there and risk everyone knowing if I failed to keep myself determined and accountable. Those accountability posts evolved over time and now include pics of my Fitbit showing my workout stats, a sweaty selfie (always now!), and the screens from machines I’ve used showing distance, or various pieces of equipment I’ve used during a workout. Over time I eventually decided to repurpose an old Instagram account specifically for my fitness journey to help inspire others who are trying to find the motivation to do amazing things in their own lives, or need an accountability buddy.

              Everything was going pretty well until one night last summer my mom called me and told me they were taking dad to the emergency room for chest pain. They were sure it was just horrible indigestion but Byron and I felt differently. Our worst fears were confirmed when he required a second dose of nitroglycerin. They transferred him after some testing to a bigger area hospital and he was admitted. They scheduled a scan to determine damage, blockages, etc. Then everything was moved up. I left work and Byron did too. They determined that my dad had a total of five blockages and would require a quadruple bypass. In between meetings with the medical staff, trying to keep my dad’s spirits up, and calming my mother’s nerves I looked up as much about the procedures, long term effects, required hospitalization, etc until I couldn’t read anymore. The day came for his surgery with what felt like turbo speed. A kind staff volunteer led me back to the prep room where my dad was being prepped for surgery and meeting his various team members. I told my dad how much I loved him, what he meant to us and kissed him before stepping out into the hallway, rounding the corner and collapsing. I cried harder in those five minutes than I have ever cried in my entire life. And my husband can tell you, I am a crier. I hoped my dad would make it through the surgery, but we had no certainty. And if he did make it, I was almost certain things would never be the same.

              I did all the things you are supposed to do when a relative discovers they have heart disease: told my PCP, got blood work done, had a visit with a cardiologist, underwent the ECG and stress tests to determine I am not at risk right now. I was so frustrated when I made the first of those appointments, thinking selfishly to myself how my genetics were just the gift that keeps on giving. I know it seems callous but that was my honest thought coming through all of this. If we weren’t at risk, none of this would have happened.

              I’ll fast forward again here, my dad recovered fine and entered the cardiac rehab program via the hospital. The Cardiac Rehab program was an immense blessing to our family. Many of the family’s questions regarding the new normal and expectations during recovery were answered. It taught my parents healthier alternatives for meals and what my dad should be eating to keep his risks for a repeat event as low as possible. Additionally, the rehab program helped him build his strength back up by slowing introducing a cardio routine. Even though by this point I had been working on regularly for the better part of the year, I still learned quite a few things from my dad’s rehab instruction. He is still not 100% but he is well on his way, with new habits in hand to boot.

              During my dad’s cardiac rehab program, I gave him one of my old Fitbit watches that I was no longer using. We synced up and started challenging one another to weekly step challenges. On days that I barely felt like getting up and going to work, let alone working out, I found my dad’s journey especially inspirational in helping me get out of bed and exercise anyway. If he could have his chest opened up, his ribs broken and sewn back together and his heart literally stopped for a short while and he could recover and show my ass up on a challenge, I needed to up my game. I needed to dig deeper. And I have always been up for a good challenge.

              One morning I was at Planet Fitness on the treadmill, when a song by Kendrick Lamar came on my playlist. I had heard it what seems like 1,000 times before and it had always been a ‘get your blood flowing’ kind of song, like most of his stuff is for me. But this particular morning, it really struck a chord with me. “DNA” talks about how one is built, whether you have ambition, whether you hustle hard. I knew in that moment, taking in every single second of this rap song with new eyes, that your DNA isn’t about your metabolism, or your hair color, or your susceptibility to allergies or headaches. Your DNA is about what is instilled in you. Whether you have grit. Whether you get back up every time you get knocked down or you stay down and make excuses. My dad, my hero, my first role model, has shown me not just in our coaching years but in his fire to get back up and show life what he’s got is what DNA is all about. That fire that burns deeply within me is in large part due to him. I am so thankful that he is still here and for this kick-ass DNA that he has given me.

[swanandapirate]

Access Granted (1/1)

So a couple of weeks ago, I made a post about a Hacker!Killian, FBI!Emma fic and voila, here is the whole thing. This is dedicated to (just) Ruhi @ofshipsandswans because she practically forced me to write it and she selfishly made me change my entire ending (shame on you rohana), but she also made me this amazing banner, gave me the title (which makes this boring fic seem way more exhilariating) and she just spread a whole lotta love in general which I am hoping to return with this. <3

~10,800 words

ff.net

Finding the code to success of being a good hacker is easier than one would think. It's all about knowing and understanding your opponent and adapting your tactics as you go.

Small websites are like young, inexperienced fighters. There's sloppiness and there are unguarded bits and spaces; they use all of their energy in the first ten minutes, trying to wear their opponent down, but end up tired themselves and even laxer. That's when you attack and strike the death-blow.

The key to hacking a multinational lies somewhere else. Think of them as the big, muscular, intimidatingly staring fellows whose arms are adorned with black tattoo lines and whose teeth are in dire need of attention. There is no way in hell you would win in a head to head battle; there's no point in even trying. What do you do instead? You look for their weak spot, their Achilles heel just waiting to be uncovered. You study their every movement, their system, how they function. And when the bright, neon arrow starts flickering; well, that's when the fun begins.

"Are you telling me not one of you is able to do this?"

Her eyes widen as she glances over the room and the people perched behind the computers, avoiding her gaze. Emma raises her eyebrow in disbelief. How could the most talented and skilled people in the country, chosen through various selection processes of the highest quality, be unable to do this one simple thing she was requesting?

"I'm sorry, Boss," Tink hesitantly apologizes, "but all of Gold's servers are air-tight, there's no way in."

Emma huffs and places her hands on her temples, her fingers rotating to offer some relief against an impending migraine. If there's one thing that will ruin her mood, it's this. And people who lie relentlessly. And when her cocoa has no cinnamon in it. And people who walk slowly; why must people always walk slowly right when she's in hurry? Alright, a lot of things can ruin her mood, but with the levels of stress and pressure she encounters on a daily basis, as one does in this line of work, that tends to happen.

"And you've tried every possible approach?" she asks, emphasizing her last words with small breaks in between, giving them one last chance to come up with a brilliant solution.

"Everything in this team's capability, yes."

An opportunity that they did not use properly.

"Fine," Emma says, but her tone reflects that it is most definitely not fine. She is not going to accept mediocrity, especially when it comes to such an important case as the Gold one. This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation, for crying out loud. They thrive on excellence. "Then I'm going to need to find another way to crack this case. On my own, seeing that I'm apparently surrounded by incapable employees."

She steps aside, masterfully avoiding the newly formed puddles of rain between the cobblestones. The rain falls with soft thuds, creating a steady cadence on her black umbrella. Its color matches that of her coat and that of her pants, of her entire outfit, actually. There's no coincidence about it, everything sharing the same dark hue, because there's just no color better to shield someone – their face, their motives – than black. And that's something Emma can use; obscurity.

"August," she greets him, approaching until the shadows of the night are chased away and the light of the buzzing lamppost finds his face again.

He's sitting on his bike, eating an apple, dressed in a dark brown leather jacket. The epitome of casualty, of calmness. His hair is wet; small, clear droplets are clinging to the strands, attaching themselves until they inevitably let go again.

"Emma," August retorts as he tips his head as a sign of recognition. The small gesture, as well as the little tick of his lips, reveals their history, the shared past only they are aware of. "Sure no one followed you?" One of his eyebrows shoots up with the question and Emma can't help but roll her eyes.

"August," she scoffs, attempting to remind him of all the years they've known each other. "I've been with the FBI for six years. I think I can spot when someone is trailing me."

He lets her have that one, admits that she is right and that it was idiotic of him with a quick rise of his eyebrows. It's one of her favorite things about him. August knows her and he respects her, who she is and what she represents.

"What do you need?"

His blue irises shine with openness, with a willingness to help her, as he has done so many times before. Help her for a price, of course, because nothing in this world is free. There is always some underlying reason or drive hidden by a falsely reassuring smile. In most cases, it's money they are seeking. It may sound pessimistic, but, like Emma said before, she's been in this business for six years and her belief in fairytales has been gone for way longer. Information always comes with a price.

"A hacker. A good one." There's a small pause. "No, scratch that. An incredible one," Emma specifies. "Someone who isn't just a tech nerd. I need someone who can think out of the box."

August lifts the pocket knife in his hand and the dimmed and orange-toned light from the lamppost reflects off of it. The knife ruthlessly cuts into the green apple, separating a piece of fruit and lifting it to his mouth. His eyes intently staring over Emma's shoulder, August's jaw clenches as his teeth bite down and down. She can see the introspection he's doing, the deep-thinking process of sifting through all of his mental resources. Suddenly, he nods.

"I know someone. And I think he's exactly what you're looking for."

Her hand slips into one of the big pockets of her trench coat and rummages around until her fingertips comes into contact with a familiar shape. Emma grabs the post-it block and the pen she always carries with her, ready to take note of the person that will hopefully crack this case for her, that will play her personal IT savior.

"What's his name?"

"He goes by Captain Hook online. His real name, I don't know." His eyes narrow.

With her one hand serving as a flat canvas, Emma's right one flows over the yellow square, leaving two words written in black ink in its wake.

"And you're sure he's capable of doing what I need him to do?"

"More than," August assures her. "He's been wreaking all sorts of havoc in the last couple of weeks. I heard he was hired by one of the biggest cigarette counterfeiting criminals at the moment. He singlehandedly hacked a private chat owned by her biggest enemy."

"Cigarette counterfeiting?" Emma asks, the words ringing a bell somewhere in her head. "You're not talking about Cruella DeVil, are you?"

"That's the one. A piece of work, isn't she?"

"Tell me about it. I'm happy her case got moved to another division because she was really starting to bother me." The note is quickly folded and hidden in the inner pocket of her trench coat. "Thanks for the information, August. I appreciate it. As always…" Emma retrieves an envelope from the opposite pocket. It is thick and unfolded, its insides filled with a very rich content.

Emma has to give props to August; he looks like he's hesitating to accept the money, as if he doesn't want it, while they both know he has no other choice but to accept. He is in dire need of cash. Emma doesn't know what he does to make ends meet; can't actually because there's a serious risk that she'd have to arrest him if she did. So, this is what she does, help him out, because they've known each other for so long and because that's what friends do for each other.

"Be careful, alright?" she requests, leaving her carefully-crafted facade to reveal the genuine fear and worry that tends to loiter in the back of her mind.

"Always am, Ems. Always am."

He salutes her before putting his riding helmet on and awakening the engine of his motorcycle. The bike roars off into the night, disturbing its previous calm. She watches him leave and sighs briefly while she hopes, wishes, prays that he'll return when she needs him, unharmed and unchanged. Losing someone close to her is not something she wants to experience.

The umbrella unfolds in one swift motion, being held above Emma's head once again as she walks back.

It is time to find Captain Hook.

"Humbert." Emma walks in with a determined stride and a cup of coffee in her hand. She takes off her blazer, revealing a burgundy blouse.

"Yes, boss?" Her employee turns in his chair, an open expression on his face. The fabric of his vest is slightly rumpled and Emma can spot the remnants of a donut on his desk but decides not to mention it.

"I need you to find me any and everything there is on a hacker called Captain Hook," she orders.

Obediently and without a word of objection, he turns back to his bright screen to start his search. Emma leans a bit closer and peers over his shoulder to follow his actions.

"Sure. Let me see." Graham's fingers swiftly move over his keyboard while his face is contorted in a concentrated scowl. The light thuds continue for a while but it seems that no combination of letters and numbers can lead to an answer to her question. "I can't find anything, sorry," Humbert says, reaffirming her hunch. "They're clearly covering their tracks."

"Can we trace his IP address?" Emma asks, already knowing the answer before Graham shakes his head. If he's a notorious hacker, he would not be stupid enough to leave his IP address out in the open, for everyone to uncover.

"It's encrypted. Do you have any idea what his last hack was?" His gray eyes look up at her.

"I know he was hired by Cruella recently to hack some chat owned by Isaac Heller, but I have no idea how long ago that was."

"Isaac Heller, the author?" The surprise in his voice makes his Irish accent stand out.

Emma shrugs to show that she doesn't understand the connection either. "Apparently they have some kind of major drama going on."

"Sounds like our Cruella. Hmmm." Humbert presses his lips together and rakes his fingers through his beard. "Maybe I can trace her payment to his bank account. We all know Cruella isn't the most subtle person, so her transactions should be easy to view."

"Alright." Emma stretches her back and backs away from Graham's desk. "Keep me updated," she requests, making her way to her office. A stack of paperwork awaits her, sadly enough.

The pile has shrunk by half when Graham calls her office, saying that he found something. There is no real use for her to go back to his desk, he could tell her his findings via phone, but Emma always has preferred some sort of visual, some sort of proof to back up his words.

"And?" Her black heels click against the linoleum floor.

"Cruella spends a horrendous amount of money on liquor," he informs her, but there is nothing Emma can do with that information. One, she had already concluded that from the amount Cruella drinks, and two, it is not a valuable addition to this investigation.

"Humbert, focus please," she reprimands in a stern voice. "You know that's not the information I need."

"Sorry," is rushed out of his mouth and he looks taken aback by her comment. He quickly starts telling her the info she is interested in. "Cruella wired one hundred thousand dollars to an offshore account in Switzerland, figures," he adds. "About two weeks ago."

"Yeah, that could be it." Emma nods. "My source talked about the last couple of weeks or so."

He frowns and a worried look flashes across his eyes. "Your source?"

Emma sighs softly. Graham is getting too attached to her. She has suspected that his connection to her went way further than the appropriate superior officer/employee for a while now, but she kept on trying to convince herself that she was just imagining things. Doing that is becoming more difficult every day.

"My source is reliable and I trust them," she reassures.

"I know, but it could be dangerous."

"Graham, I can handle myself," she tells him a bit too firmly. He means well, she knows that and he's just a genuinely good and kind guy but his puppy eyes are starting to become too difficult to face every second of every day. "Besides, I'm your boss, you're not supposed to question my actions." Her tone is final, ending the conversation right then and there. "Do we have a name to match to that account?"

His head held low, the mass of curls reply. "It belongs to James Hook."

"Why is this guy so obsessed with Peter Pan?" she whispers under her breath.

She purses her lips in thought. What could she do with this information? It clearly is an alias, the connection between Captain Hook and James Hook evident so there will be no census to look through or records to consult.

"James Hook also rents a postbox in Storybrooke, Maine," Humbert interrupts her thinking, simultaneously giving her her next step in her game plan.

"Storybrooke, Maine? Really?" There is not a chance in hell–or Neverland–that this is all a coincidence. This guy clearly spent a lot of time crafting his persona and Emma doesn't know if she should be impressed or feel sorry for him. "I guess it's time to make a phone call to the Storybrooke Post Office."

Emma retreats to her office again, sits down in her black leather chair and picks up the receiver of her telephone. Eyes focused on the sheet of paper next to her, she blindly types in the number. She straightens her back as she brings the phone closer. The continuous tone of the dialing resonates in her ear until it's abruptly cut.

"Storybrooke Mail, how may I help you?" a chipper, young voice greets her.

"Hi," Emma replies, the pep taking over her usual business tone. "My name is Leia Johnson. I'd like to send a package to my friend James Hook but I want to be a 100% sure that it reaches its recipient."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, ma'am. All mail and packages for Mr. Hook are carefully stored with us and are then picked up by his assistant," the young woman shares.

"His assistant?" Emma pricks up her ears.

"Yes, Killian Jones," the post employee divulges. "Mr. Hook is quite reclusive so Mr. Jones takes care of all his business. He's like his spokesperson." A light laugh reaches her ear and Emma joins to make sure she doesn't break character. The fake nature of the cackle is lost in transmission.

"Sounds like James to have one," Emma continues the charade. "Well, thank you very much."

"You are very welcome! Have a nice day!"

"You too," is the last thing Emma says before the call is ended and therefore her acting as well.

"Small town people are too loose-lipped." Her head softly shakes with her observation.

She quickly writes the name, the man behind the moniker, down. The next step on her to-do-list is to run an extensive search on him. Find out what drives him, what his story is. There are a lot of perks of working at the FBI; finding out everything on a person's life, past, ambitions... in one single mouse click must be one of her favorite ones.

She dials another number, this time one she knows by heart, and the person on the other side of the line instantly picks up.

"David?" Her question is excessive because who else would answer the phone on his desk?

"Yes?" His familiar voice responds.

"Did you solve that Walsh Woods case?" Emma lightly spins on her chair.

"I did, yes. Why?" he asks.

"I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me on a trip for the Gold case."

"Alright," he agrees without hesitation and fully trusting her. "Am I just coming along because you don't want Mills to criticize you?"

"What do you mean, David?" She pretends to be completely taken aback by his accusation, but she knows David had already figured her out. "I just want to take a road trip with one of my best friends."

"So definitely to avoid Mills' wrath." David chuckles. "But I don't mind. So, where are we going?"

"Storybrooke, Maine," Emma announces.

Her foot impatiently taps against the concrete. This guy needs to be home or else Mills will kill her for wasting half a day driving to and from a town in the middle of nowhere to have achieved exactly nothing.

"Hello?" he croaks through the speaker of the intercom.

Relief surges in her body; relief that she survived another day of Mills tolerating her; relief that she would live another day without having her heart ripped right out of her chest.

"I have a UPS package for a Mr. Killian Jones."

Knowing his kind, he will never let her in if she tells him the truth, if she introduces herself with her name and profession. And the chances of him regularly receiving visitors are probably low as well, so this was the only believable, plausible cover.

"Uhm," Jones clears his throat. "Could you leave it by the door?"

"You have to sign for it, sir," Emma insists, hoping he will fall for it and let her enter the building.

He considers it – contemplates it, if the silence tells her anything – for a moment.

"Alright." The agreement is followed by a sigh. "Come on up. It's the third floor."

The door buzzes open and Emma quickly heads for it, opening before the sound stops and the lock comes into force again. In lieu of the stairs, she decides to take the elevator because it does make more of an entrance than arriving on his floor panting and with a layer of sweat on her forehead. Stairs in these heels were deadly. She strides to his door, head held high and shoulders straight and lets her knuckles touch the door in three short but powerful knocks.

The door swings open and reveals a man around her age. He is about as tall as she is, though Emma suspects that, without her heels, he would tower over her. His hair is messy, a blur of dark strands and light stubble adorning his jaw. Emma already knew all of this, his age, his height, and what he looked like, courtesy of her thorough studies on him and his life, though she has to admit that seeing him in person does affect her. No picture can capture the blue she is witnessing; it's impossible to transfer the color or the sparkle of his eyes onto paper.

"You do not look like a UPS deliverer," he comments, his irritation accompanied by grogginess.

Another addition to her previous assessment: he looks like he had just woken up in the middle of the afternoon.

"That's because I'm not," Emma tells him truthfully. "Killian Jones, I assume?" Her eyebrow soars.

"Aye." He narrows his eyes. "And you are?"

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones. Emma Swan." She extends her hand, but he only eyes it warily. "I have an offer to make."

Before Jones can realize, Emma invites herself into his apartment, swiftly stepping inside. He lets her, leans back and opens the door wider for her but it's more out of avoidance of a collision than it is out of hospitality or warmth.

Her eyes roam around in the apartment, curious about the home base of one of the most feared hackers, but there's not much to see. The entire space looks empty and void. No big pompous art or designer items that could betray his very large income. Not more than the bare essential one could need.

"Emma Swan or Leia Johnson?"

He sucks her attention back to him and Emma smiles. He clearly has a perceptive side to him, a talent to pick up suspicious signs. Him figuring her out doesn't bother her, far from it, she even feels amused. Covering her tracks or being subtle about all of this, was never something she focused on, and the fact that he managed to connect the dots means that he will fit in her team, that he is a viable candidate for the open position.

His question gets deflected and ignored. "I want you to come work for me, Mr. Jones."

There's no trace of surprise in his expression, no flinch on his composed face and Emma finds it a bit curious. His passivity gives way for a salacious grin on his lips, indicating nothing good about the words to follow.

"I'm sorry but I won't accept your money. If you want to partake in more pleasurable activities, all you have to do is ask, Swan." He adds the nickname, articulates it as if they've known each other for years and as if his proposition isn't highly inappropriate.

A skeptical "are you kidding me right now" eyebrow goes up. One minute in his presence and this guy is already hitting on her. It does help to expand the file on him in her head, to assess his personality and to turn him from a couple words and pictures printed on a page into a living, breathing human.

She pushes her lips forwards and turns her eyes into slits, her look of authority, the look that got her to Supervisory Special Agent at the age of twenty-nine.

"Let me make things more clear for you, Hook," she says with disdain. "I am Special Agent Emma Swan. I work for the FBI and the only services I'll be needing from you are those that have to do with computers. So, will you accept my offer?"

"And why would I do that?" he questions arrogantly. "To have a meager salary to live off? I'm sorry, lass, but I do prefer the money I'm earning now."

Of course the only thing he can think of is money. She hasn't even shared how much he would earn and it's already too little, too inadequate for Captain Hook. But she expected this to happen. Money isn't the way to convince him, but from what she's noticed by peering around, something else might.

"First of all: I'm not a girl, I'm a woman and second of all: do you mean all of the money you're not spending?" she inquires, motioning to the spartan surroundings, to the empty walls and empty cabinets. "Look, Jones, I can't offer you a lot of money or fame," she admits, "but I can offer you something you clearly don't have right now."

"And what is that?" His lips form a snide grimace.

"A purpose," Emma tells him. "Something to do for the greater good. The guy I'm trying to arrest is bad; he's done a lot of terrible things to people and he still hasn't paid for it. If you were to agree, you would make a major difference. You would actually make the world a better place instead of only thinking of yourself and only picking your victims because you have something to gain out of it. You can be a part of something or you can just stay behind your computer in your empty apartment and be alone."

"You're quite passionate, Swan." His eyes move over her face, assessing her, trying to figure her out. Her speech must've worked, must've incited something inside of him as the hostility shifts into something more neutral.

"Some say that's why I'm so good at doing my job. Are you in?" she questions.

She doesn't let him see her nervousness, the slight clench of her teeth and the layer of sweat gathering on the palm of her hands, but it's there. Along with the understanding that he really is her last hope. Emma can try a hundred other approaches to try and solve this case, but they will all be the same, not one of them will be drastic enough to make a difference. Hook will be.

"Aye." Their eyes connect. "I will need to see some more details, but aye."

Her heart makes a jump of happiness. She is on the right path, one step closer to getting sleazy Gold locked up.

"If you want and if you're not too sleepy–" she jabs about his outfit of choice, "–my coworker and I can take you to the FBI HQ in Boston right now."

"Can I just clarify that a lot of my clients live abroad and that I have an unusual sleeping schedule to respond to their needs."

"Okay." Emma sounds unconvinced. "I don't really care, Hook. Are you coming to the HQ with us? I'll make sure you're home on time but seeing that you have an unusual sleeping schedule," her fingers form air quotes, "I can't see how that could be a problem."

"Oh, you're a tough lass, aren't you?" His question is accompanied by a grin that betrays his enquiry as more of the rhetorical kind.

She rolls her eyes. "Go change. The car is downstairs." Emma leaves him alone, making her way back to David and already damning herself for being hellbent on hiring this guy. Hook was going to make her regret it, of that she was already certain.

"So, do you think you can agree with these conditions?"

Emma looks at Hook for an answer. He occupies the place opposite hers, the chair he sits on smaller, less luxurious, and directed towards the plaque that bears her name. All small reminders of who is in charge.

"I think I can, lass–" Jones suddenly halts and he corrects himself, "–boss, I meant. Apologies."

It seems to work. He is learning to behave, to respect her and her superiority. Good. Maybe this collaboration isn't going to be such a challenge as she first feared.

"Great." Emma files the papers into the folder, the sheets rustling as they slide over one another. She thumbs through the pages one last time to make sure everything is present and hands him the maroon binder when she concludes that the paperwork is complete. "Go home, read the contract," Emma orders. "You'll be expected to visit HR sometime tomorrow, so they can take care of the legal side. After you get their clear, you are in."

"Thank you, Swan."

The gratitude in his face, in the slight curl of his lips and the softness of his eyes, strikes her. It makes breathing just that little bit harder. He's staring at the bland colored dossier as if it contains the most valuable content, a cure of all the diseases in the world, a secret to the happiness in life. Emma senses the drift of his gaze which falls onto her. She is his salvation, his savior, or at least his expression conveys that impression. To think that just a couple of hours ago, he was completely against the idea. What changed? How and why did Killian Jones go through an intense transformation in just the span of five hours?

"Don't thank me yet," she speaks courtly and grabs some paperwork to keep her hands and, most importantly, her mind busy.

He follows her instructions meticulously, stands at her desk the next morning, paperwork signed, a green light from HR in his hands and a proud smile on his face. It makes Emma wonder; what time did he get up to have driven all the way from Maine to Boston? She assigns him a desk, the tiny one next to Tink's, with just enough space for a screen, keyboard, and a mouse – everything he would need for this job – and lets the petite blonde fill him in about the essentials he has to know. Emma can think of a better way to spend her busy time.

Emma gets about twenty minutes of good, solid, uninterrupted work until her door suddenly swings open. Her annoyed look leaves her screen and is on its way to the intruder but it dissolves immediately as she sees who burst into her office. Mills, in all of her regality, stands at the door.

"Agent Swan, a word?" The woman's severe posture removes any air of choice. This was not a request, this was an order, an obligation.

They've never had the best dynamic, she and Regina. She joined the Bureau when Mills just got her promotion to Headquarters Supervisor and, as luck would have it, Emma almost got killed during her second week. Nothing regarding that incident could actually be blamed on Emma; the additional agents were stuck in traffic; their target figured out that his date wasn't really looking for a fun night; he wasn't supposed to be carrying a gun but he was and she got shot in the shoulder (it was a minor wound and what hurt Emma the most was the red stain on her favorite dress she never was able to get rid of).

So, Mills hates her and she can't really stand Mills (though she does have massive respect for the woman, for being a trailblazer and for making Emma's life in a man-centered world a little bit easier—not a lot because it is still the FBI she's talking about).

If Mills came out of her tower and into her office instead of Emma going upstairs and reporting on any progress, it means trouble. Big trouble. The black raven clearly reached the queen.

"Yes, Ms. Mills?"

"Do tell me why you thought it necessary to bring someone from the outside, someone without any training, to work on one of our most important cases?" Her arms are crossed across her chest, burgundy polished nails impatiently tapping against the black fabric of her tight, cut-out couture dress.

"I needed his expertise," is her simple explanation, but it isn't a good enough reason for Mills.

"And you couldn't find that in one of our own IT specialists?" Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches.

"No," Emma answers earnestly, frowning and shaking her head. "Not what he has."

"What he has is a hook."

Which is why Captain Hook is his hacker name. Emma is quite happy that that's the reasoning behind it and not some creepy, borderline psychotic obsession with fairytales. She noticed the hook the minute he opened the door back in Storybrooke, but it didn't matter. It still doesn't. Why would it matter?

"So? I fail to see the importance of that. Having one hand will not affect his knowledge or talent."

Emma is aware of Regina's hatred towards her defensiveness, towards those situations when she fights with everything she's got against her boss. They're both powerful women but when it comes to stubbornness, Emma takes the crown, no doubt about it. It's that defiance that spurs Regina to go even further into forbidden territory. The woman would never let her have the last word, at least not voluntarily.

"You are certain this doesn't have to do with certain other assets he has."

"Excuse me?" Emma's voice rises with her disbelief. "What exactly are you insinuating?"

Emma doesn't give her boss the time to reveal what she was insinuating, as she already knows. She wants to defend Jones, wants to keep his whole being from being reduced to pretty looks and the lack of his left hand. He's more than that and he deserves more than that.

"I do my job with dedication and perseverance and I do my job well, Ms. Mills," she says with conviction. "Even though you are my supervisor, I will not tolerate this. Jones is here because the Bureau needs him, and because he is the only way of solving this case and that's where it ends."

Not able to stomach her boss anymore, she storms out of her own office. Mills won't appreciate that, but she frankly doesn't care about Mills right this second. Tension is rising inside of her and the only way to release some pressure is a smoke. It's a bad habit, she knows, one she tries to limit but sometimes the ache in her body screams for it.

The outside air is crisp, tingling against her cheeks and erecting the small hairs on her skin. A spark instigates the flame of the lighter and it scorches the tip of the cigarette. She takes a long drag, the warmth fighting against the cold air, and releases the smoke again.

"You do know smoking causes all kinds of diseases, right?"

The voice startles her, forces her to stop absentmindedly staring at the gray gravel beneath her feet and makes her look up. Jones stands next to her, his hand lingering on the door handle, as if he is hesitant to join and ready to retreat if necessary,

"Shouldn't you be hacking something?"

"Oh, they didn't tell you? I guessed Gold's password. It was 1234. Et voila, access granted."

"Jones, please," she begs, closing her eyes while doing so. "I'm trying to relax here and you are not helping me in the slightest."

"Sorry."

There's something in her demeanor, her words that must reassure him or give him permission to stay because his hand releases the metal knob and he approaches her. Emma highly doubts that he read her correctly.

He leans against the wall she stands against as well, crossing his legs and arms, and scans her. She doesn't like the feeling. He's only known her for two days and it feels like he's already figured out most of the riddles to her heart.

"So what's bothering you?"

Emma purses her lips to let some smoke escape. "Regina." Her lungs fill with fresh air again. "Mills, I mean."

"I haven't had the honor to make her acquaintance yet, but Tink told me some stories."

"Oh, she'll definitely summon you at some point. Probably to yell at you. She does that a lot," Emma shares.

"Hmm. What did she do to you?"

"It wasn't really something she did." Her shoulders go up in a shrug and she stops talking until his hand encourages her to continue. "She thought it necessary to question if you had all of the qualities to do this job."

Emma doesn't delve into it further, knowing he'll struggle with being deemed as less.

"Ah, the hook," he figures out himself and Emma doesn't have it in her to lie and deny that that was what they discussed earlier. A self-deprecating huff follows and in the blink of an eye, his look of hurt evolves into something else, but the hurt was there, nevertheless.

"Yeah," she says softly. Emma doesn't want to linger in this gloom, this dark cloud of deficiency surrounding them, so she continues her tale. "Then she proceeded with doubting if I hadn't just hired you to have some personal eye candy."

It works as Jones barks a laugh.

"Well, I am devilishly handsome."

He waggles his eyebrows and the urge to roll her eyes rises again but she fights against it by taking another drag.

"Yeah," she reacts mindlessly, "but that has nothing to do with this."

The corners of his mouth suddenly widen, baring his teeth in a big smile. Why is he smiling? She throws him a questioning look before what she had just said dawns on her. She admitted that he is handsome. Which he is, anyone with eyes can see that but that doesn't mean he needs to know it.

"Hook, please don't start. I'm not in the mood," she cuts him off before he can even begin.

"I won't." His hook and hand go up to assure her. "Don't let Regina get you down, love, and definitely don't worry about me."

Worry... about him. She is. So much. More than is appropriate. It's the first time he has called her love, the first time she's heard his accent wrap around the syllable and a strange feeling stirs inside of her. Oh god. What if she becomes the female version of Graham? Constantly worrying about him and wanting to protect him and– No, this can't happen. The only people she has such an urge to protect are her son and her best friends. That's all and those are the only ones she should want to protect. Suddenly this random guy she's known for two days stands at the gate of her walls, ready to enter if he's granted a key. She can't. Emma abruptly buds out her cigarette and opens the heavy door to return inside, leaving him in the little courtyard.

Emma examines the large room, supervising the work being done by her employees. It's more quiet and empty than it usually is but that can be blamed on the additional training some of them were summoned to. Jones sits behind his desk, sipping some coffee from the mug that fits perfectly in his hook and enthusiastically typing with his free hand. He's been here for a week and clearly feels at home already. Her attention still on him, Emma walks towards another desk.

"Humbert," she requests Graham's attention. "How's the new guy doing?

"Jones?" She nods to confirm. "I don't like him. He spends way too much time flaunting his looks around."

For a split second, Emma isn't sure if she wants to laugh or groan. A mixture of both would be fine too.

"Graham, I mean how is he doing his job?" she stresses.

"You should ask Tink. She's the one spending all of her time with him."

"Okay." A frown appears on Emma's forehead. "I'll ask her when she returns from her training."

Too confused to directly go back to work, Emma diverts herself to the courtyard for a smoke. The sun is out, sending warmth towards her and it elicits a smile on her lips. A smile that doesn't last long because she hears the door thud shut and sees Jones joining her again.

"Jones, why are you always here? You don't even smoke," she asks exasperatedly, lighting her cigarette.

"If you can take a break so can I," he says and she can't really deny that he is right. "Besides, the weather is very nice, can't hurt to spend some time outside." She can't deny that he's right again.

They stand in silence, Emma inhaling smoke and Jones fiddling with his hook.

"What's up with Humbert?" he asks out of the blue.

"What do you mean?" Emma lowers her eyebrows.

He turns to her, leans his weight against the wall on only one shoulder instead of two. "Every time you come close to me, he starts staring daggers. He looks at you as if you're the sun. Do I need to continue?"

He doesn't and he knows it.

"Oh that," her simple reaction sounds. "Yeah, I know. I'm trying to handle it."

"You're not interested?"

She softly shakes her head. It isn't as if Graham is ugly or unkind or such a terrible person. He is far from any of that. There simply isn't a spark, no connection to make her fingers tingle or her heart beat faster.

"He's a good friend but nothing more. And even if I was, I'm his boss, Mills would not appreciate that. At all. Plus, dating is just difficult in my line of work."

How does he keep easing her into opening up? Her lips have to remain shut, nothing else can come out and be handed to him on a silver platter.

"Have you ever even been in love?" he asks and while Emma was expecting the question, she also wasn't.

"No, I've never been in love." It's not even close to the truth but he doesn't need to know that. "This job is more than enough to handle," she diverts the subject.

His attentive eyes observe her for some time, the intense feeling causing prickles that run up her spine and multiply all through her body. She brings the cigarette back to her lips to distract herself from the feeling and to delude him into thinking that she remains unaffected by the brilliant blue of his irises.

"You're not who you pretend to be." His head tilts as it moves from left to right.

"You don't know me," she reminds him and reassures herself.

"Love," he chuckles, "you're something of an open book. Regardless of the short time we have known each other, I'm quite positive I already know you better than you know yourself."

"Go to work, Jones. This case won't solve itself," she dismisses him, certain that her attempted unaffectedness won't last long.

"As you wish."

The next time she goes to smoke is postponed until she sees Jones has just returned from his lunch break, until she knows that he would not be able to join her again.

As much as Emma loves her job, she loves her free Sundays even more. A day without expectations, tension, and where the only responsibility is to make up all of the lost time with her son. It's the day where she gets to listen to Henry's enthusiastic babbling about his week and his friends and school and the new stories he has written without a single interruption.

"Swan! Swan!" someone yells.

She tries to ignore it because no one calls her that except people from work and that is exactly the type people she does not want to encounter on a Sunday, casually dressed, in a park with her son.

Henry throws her a funny look, silently asking why she's not responding but she just shakes her head. He doesn't have to worry; she's just not feeling up for it.

They continue walking, a bit faster than before but that certainly had nothing to do with the person who was yelling her name across Boston Public Garden.

"Swan." He sounds very close to her, close enough for her to recognize the British accent and low timbre. She subconsciously probably already did, hence the running away.

Except for occasional glances during work, they haven't had any contact since that one time, no more smoke breaks, no more checkups. Just nothing. And it was deliberate, at least on her part.

"You make a man work for your attention, bloody hell," Jones says out of breath.

"Language please," she scolds, immediately falling back into her superior officer role.

He looks at her with furrowed brow; she never really minded a bad word or two, especially since she tends to go into raging rants when things didn't go as they should. Emma uses her eyes to guide his gaze to her son partially hidden behind her as she protectively stands before him.

"Sorry, lad, I hadn't seen you right there."

Henry shrugs with a small smile on his face. Reluctantly, Emma has to admit that she swears at home as well, too much. Henry, smart kid that he is, introduced a swear jar and since then his weekly allowance is systematically doubled every week.

"Henry Swan, nice to meet you," her kid says while extending his hand.

He is growing up so fast.

"Killian Jones." He grabs Henry's smaller hand – but the difference is minimal – and gives it a good shake. "I work with your mother."

"So you work at the cupcake shop as well?" Henry peers up, the innocence beaming out of his big brown eyes.

"Um… aye." Killian scratches behind his ear. "Aye," he says more determinedly. "I work... as one of the bakers. I make a mean chocolate cake."

Henry looks up at her again, barely because he's almost as tall as she is, and there's a beat before they both start laughing, freely and uncontrolled. The laughter ripples through her, the movement causing her locks to dance.

Jones' confused and curious gaze jumps back and forth between the two of them, looking for an explanation to be able to join their amusement.

"I know my mom works for the FBI," Henry helps him with a wide grin.

The fit passes and Emma takes a deep breath to recover, lets the oxygen enter through her nose and lets the carbon dioxide leave through her mouth.

"Nice one, kid." Turning towards him, she raises her hand and Henry immediately catches on as his palm hits hers only seconds after she does.

"Bad form fooling someone you've just met but well played, lad, well played," Killian compliments him.

Henry seems to enjoy the verbal pat on the back and the pride makes him straighten his shoulders and stand a bit taller. Yet again, Emma is overcome with motherly feels. Damn these Sundays.

"So…" As an effort to keep the overly emotional mom tears at bay, she addresses Jones. "What are you doing here?"

"As you might derive from my outfit of choice, Swan, I'm engaged in some physical diversion."

A simple question with a possible, easy one-word answer and of course, he had to respond with the most Britishly-posh sentence she has ever heard.

Emma hadn't even noticed his shirt, or shorts, or the earbuds in his hand. So transfixed on the light in his eyes and the curl of his lips that she looked past the beads of sweat lingering on his forehead and the footwear that is unacceptable in any situation except for the one that involves some kind of sport.

"You don't think I can keep my handsomeness without working for it?" he adds with a wink when she fails to reply.

"Jones." Her eyes flutter shut as she sighs. He's incorrigible. "I don't really go around thinking about that."

Only occasionally. Late at night. When she was all alone. After she'd consumed a couple of glasses of Merlot. It's her own little secret no one really needs to know about and definitely no one in her company right now.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, Henry and I are going to get some cupcakes." Her hand settles on her son's shoulder, ready to lead him away from Jones, but Henry shies away from her touch. Before she can ask what he's up to, he directs himself to Killian.

"Excuse my mother's poor manners, Mr. Jones," Henry says. "What she means is: would you like to join us for Sunday cupcakes?"

"Henry!"

They are not inviting Captain Hook to happily have Sunday cupcakes, their sacred ritual, with them. The lines between her business life and her personal one are already starting to blur because of Killian Jones; Emma doesn't need her son to give him permission to casually step over it.

"Mom." His eyebrows quirk up, challenging her.

"Next time, maybe," Jones politely declines, interfering in their conversation via stares. "It wouldn't feel right if I ate more calories than I burned during this workout. I appreciate the offer, however, and please, call me Killian."

"That's too bad." The insincerity of her words is palpable. "We best get going Henry if we want to make it in time for the movie later."

"Young man. Swan," Jones acknowledges them both with a brief nod. "Enjoy your Sunday." His hand gathers the earbuds hanging from his collar and in that moment, she notices that his hook is gone and his blunted wrist is bare for the first time in a month. The silvery scars reflect in the sunlight and the ache quelches her heart.

"You too, Killian!" Henry yells, breaking Emma out of her abstraction just in time to see Killian run in the opposite direction.

When he's out of sight, Henry gives her a look.

"What?"

"Nothing, mom. Nothing." But he sounds a smidge too exasperated for her to believe him.

The succession of several warm, sunny, slightly breezy days announces the official start of spring and the end of staying holed up inside with three layers of clothing. Emma decided to utilize this gorgeous weather to consume her lunch outside, in a park bench with sunglasses and sunscreen, somewhere far away from Mills, and Humbert, and Jones.

"Coincidence meeting you here, Swan."

He towers over Emma, stands in the middle of the path of the sunlight to her. The rays are creating his own personal aura while he casts a shadow over her.

Someone must be fucking kidding her right now. How do they keep running into each other? How does he keep finding her everywhere? She is trying to keep her distance, to do the right thing; why does the universe keep making them encounter one another?

"I'm on the verge of having a headache, Jones. Please, don't make it worse."

"Do you want me to get some painkillers?" he gallantly offers, a worried crease between his brows.

"No, I'll survive." She was only slightly exaggerating

"You're on your lunchbreak?"

"Yeah." Emma rearranges her blonde locks. "You too?

"Aye." He awkwardly stares around, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Sit down, Jones," Emma says. "I give you permission."

Looking slightly too relieved, Jones takes a seat next to her on the wooden bench, keeping a respectable distance between his body and hers.

Emma continues to munch on her fruit salad, fishing out a grape and popping it into her mouth. He takes a bite of his sandwich, his eyes trained on the patch of flowers dancing along the wind's song.

"Can I ask you something?" The question is hesitant and comes out slightly stuttered.

He nods.

Emma nibbles on her lower lip.

"Last week when you ran into Henry and me, you weren't wearing your hook."

It isn't really a question, Emma realizes after ending her sentence. She doesn't add to her statement, that would only make things more uncomfortable, simply hopes he understands what she wants to know.

"I tend to take it off more ever since you summoned me." She tries to not let that mention of her, of how she changed him settle into her heart, but it does, regardless. "Before, I would just go running with the prosthetic hand I have, but I left that back in my apartment in Storybrooke on purpose. Boston is less prone to judging, I suppose. More open minded and people gossip less than in such a small town. Typing and writing code goes easier with the hook, so that's all I really need."

Emma hums. There's a little desire to ask him how he lost the hand. His file has a section about it but it was very brief and lacked any sort of clarity. She doesn't ask though, because she knows he's probably sick of talking about it and done with nosy, prying people.

The silence returns, the only sound their chewing and the wind softly swaying.

"My brother Liam–" he starts unexpectedly, "–was the one who raised me. Our parents left, because they were forced by illness in my mother's case or just because they didn't care enough to stay in my father's case. So he, a fifteen-year-old boy, decided to raise a ten-year-old, purely on character. Liam was my hero," Killian says with the utmost respect.

"We struggled every day of every month for years. He was old enough to join the Navy so he did and I followed him a couple of years later. We went on several missions and after a while, we decided to slow down a bit to teach the new recruits. With our salaries, we saved enough to buy a boat; she was small but she was ours.

"Three months later, the boat's engine malfunctioned in the middle of the ocean and caused an explosion. Liam died, I lost my hand. The boat's manufacturer was at fault; they were the one to blame but their attorneys found a way to shove the blame onto Liam, claiming that he wasn't fit to command a boat, that he had a drinking problem and anger issues. He didn't though." He shakes his head.

"Liam was a good man; the best I knew. I didn't get a settlement, but was left with all of the bills while learning to cope with living with one hand. It wasn't even about the money for me. They tarnished my brother's reputation; they smeared the legacy of someone who died way too young because they made a mistake. I got a dishonorable discharge from the Navy for insubordination. I was livid and that's when I spiraled. I drank so much and eventually, I realized that it wasn't helping one bit. That I wasn't going to be able to avenge Liam by getting drunk every day. So, I started scheming. I watched the company's movements like a hawk. I was able to hack the plans of the boat where it clearly states that the materials they were using were not suitable and lacking. The company was sued, fined, had to repay all of the victims, and bankrupted." A sigh escapes his lips.

Despite the sunny weather, chills are running up and down her arms, leaving goosebumps in their path. Fuck. Emma doesn't know how she's supposed to feel. There are several emotions colliding with each other inside of her right now. Pity, but she knows Killian won't want that from her. Grief, but how can she grieve someone she's never met? Hatred is the only emotion that isn't limited; hatred towards the world that has treated him so wrongly.

"Why did you continue? With the hacking?"

"I had my revenge, but it didn't bring Liam back. It didn't take away that grief. And I was good at it, so I might as well make some money off of it."

Emma makes a small sound of understanding, of empathy. She truly gets it.

"What about you?" Killian asks. "I'm sure your journey to being one of the Bureau's finest at such a young age must've been a special one as well."

"Depends on what your definition of special is."

He simply raises his eyebrows, a sign for her to stop beating around the bush and start telling her tale.

"I was abandoned as a baby on the side of the road and I went from group home to foster family and then back to group homes. I worked my ass off to be able to go to college where I studied social sciences because I wanted to help kids like me. Then I met my dick ex-boyfriend, who tried to frame me for some robbery he committed. I nearly went to jail but luckily the FBI figured out that he had committed large-scale robberies in other states as well and I was released. Discovered I was pregnant due to my dick ex-boyfriend, gave birth to my son. That's when I switched to Criminology and started dreaming of a career with the Bureau. I finished college while raising my son, applied, went to training, had an amazing best friend who took care of Henry, got accepted and worked my ass off again. And that's my very intriguing tale," she ends, summarizing thirty years into one, rattled timeline.

Killian stares at her for a moment to process her hasty words before he gently smiles.

"And I thought you were an impressive woman before. Swan, you are incredible."

"Swan." Killian barges through her office door. He looks shocked, his chest heaving and his eyes wide.

Emma jumps up. "What's– What's wrong?" she asks, thinking and expecting the worst.

Suddenly a huge grin breaks out on his face, like the sun unexpectedly appearing from behind a cloud bank, warming her face and bringing a smile to her lips as well.

"I did it." His shoulders shake with the rumble of his laugh. "I've solved the case."

"You did what?" Her jaw drops and she leans forwards. "Holy fuck! Killian. Show me now."

In four quick strides, he bridges the distance between the door and her desk, the exact distance between him and her. A couple of clicks brings him to where he wants to be.

She watches him animatedly explain all his steps, his hand and hook sculpting the story before her eyes. She isn't really listening, not with her full attention, because her eyes can't stop being drawn to the shine in his irises and the smile embellishing his mouth and the dimple in his cheek.

His summary ends and he stares at her expectantly, waiting for her next move. It should be congratulations or a handshake or something appropriate among colleagues, but it isn't. Emma places her hands on his cheeks and pulls him closer, creating an encounter of their lips. It takes him two seconds, not that she counted, to figure out what they're doing and to act on it. He kisses her back with as much passion, as much fervor as she did. His hook feels cold against the skin of her back. It's a welcome cool touch against her burning skin, however. Killian's thumb is tracing circles on her hipbone. His teeth tug on her lip, the sting turning her on even more. Emma moans, tightening her arms around him and letting her hands wander through his hair.

They're forced to break apart when they're in dire need for air and reality comes crashing down as they do. She's his boss, they're in her office, he's going to leave. When did she ever start believing in fairy tales again? There was a reason she had given them up. They only lead to disappointment and heartbreak.

"That was…"

"A mistake." She gently shakes her head to come to her senses. "I'll– I'll go inform Mills." Eyes directed to the ground, she leaves him.

Emma decides to visit the restroom first. A good thing she does. Pupils blown wide, lips swollen with a little discoloration where Killian was a bit too enthusiastic, hair a mess, blouse out of her skirt; she looks absolutely fuckstruck. Her heart is pounding one hundred miles an hour. It feels as if her chest is about to break under the pressure. She tries to slow her heartbeat down, splashes some water on her face, neatly tucks her blouse back; it all seems pretty useless but at least it makes her think it makes a difference.

She knocks on the ebony door.

"What is it?" Regina asks.

Emma understands the underlying invitation to enter. She opens the door slowly because the fear isn't completely gone.

"Jones solved the Gold case," she announces.

"He did what?" For the first time in her six years working with Mills, she seems to have run out of words, no more witty comebacks or sarcastic quips. "How?"

"There was a lot of technical stuff involved that I don't understand, but I checked and we have full access to everything. He did it."

"Well," Mills responds. "He was hired to."

Emma lets out an inaudible sigh. Regina is never going to change. Killian deserves a compliment; hell, she deserves a compliment for hiring him but Regina isn't the person they are going to get it from. She gives up and returns to her own office. This has to be done, she has to face him now and then it's all over.

"So," he says, his eyes lighting up when she enters again and his smile soft and dreamy, still carrying the effects of their kiss.

"So," she replies.

"I guess this puts an end to our cooperation."

"It does."

"Swan." Her name is a sigh on his lips, full of reluctance.

"The FBI will forever be grateful for your addition to this investigation." She summons all of her courage, all of her strength to play the part of detached and cold agent.

It's not difficult to see his worry, to discern the bewilderment in his expression.

"Swan."

Perhaps he thinks repeating her name will spark something inside of her, make her remember. It's an idle attempt; she won't crack because if there's one thing Emma Swan is, it's determined.

"You made a major difference and without your expertise, a criminal would continue to roam this country," Emma continues.

Avoiding his gaze, she stares at the table, the wall, the stain on the ceiling, anything except for him.

"Emma."

Finally, she looks up and distinguishes the plea in his eyes, the plea not to do this, to let him stay, to at least try. Her eyelids shut and she shakes her head, denying him his wish. Killian will understand and knowing him, he'll grant her hers. She doesn't want him to leave, she wants him to stay; she wants to hear his laugh and talk with him. But she doesn't have the right to; he has a life back in Storybrooke. A relationship here would be doomed. So she lets him leave.

"Tink?" The small blonde turns around at the call of her name. "Can you transfer that security tape of Fiona Schwarzenberg pushing that kid off the stairs to me? I have to send it to Judge Blue. She needs it to grant us a warrant.

"Coming right away!" she sprightly replies.

"Thanks!"

Emma sits down in her chair and hears the notification of a new message in her mail only five seconds later. Tink meant the right away part. She looks through the footage again, making sure it's the right part and starts crafting her email to the Judge, telling the story of the criminal, how she stole babies in poor countries and sold them to wealthy Americans looking to adopt.

There's a light knocking, so subdued that she wonders for a minute if she didn't just imagine it.

The door opens and before her stands a man she hasn't seen in a month; the real version at least because every time his absence started to tinge too much, she squelched the ache by imagining him, his laugh, the way he spoke. It helped, sometimes.

"Jones?"

This is the real him, however, breathing and with a pulse, not just a duplication made by her memory.

"Did you miss me?" His stupid expressive eyebrows go up.

"What're you doing here?" she asks, shaking her head and not understanding why he is in Boston. He should be in quaint, little, fairytale Storybrooke, living his quiet hacker life.

"I've been here for a while. I was waiting until you took your smoke break to surprise you."

"Oh, well you would've waited a while. I quit," Emma explains.

"Really?" He looks pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah. But that doesn't really answer my question. Why are you here?" Emma stands up and circles around her desk.

"It seemed that Regina was in dire need of my services again."

It isn't surprising that they communicated if Mills wanted to hire him but it still stings. She was the one that consulted August, drove to Storybrooke, hired Jones, fought relentlessly and it earned her a lot of angry Mills. She was the link between them.

"And is Regina the only reason you returned?" She sounds desperate but she needs to know if she fucked everything up beyond repair last month, if there's only the tiniest bit of hope

Emma spent days fluctuating between "it was the right thing to do" and "it was the most stupid thing to do". She almost called him nineteen times and considered driving to Storybrooke six times, but in the end, the anxiety won and she did nothing.

"That and certain Special Agent I missed. Seeing that Regina moved me into Nolan's team, you're not my boss anymore and I hoped that that would change some things. Give me another chance."

"If anyone should be given another chance, it's me," Emma admits. "I ruined everything last time."

"I'd be happy to forgive you if you agreed to go on a date with me."

"Sure," she says nonchalantly. "Coincidence would have it that my lunch break is coming up in twenty minutes."

"That is very convenient indeed." Killian smiles and he comes closer to her. "Maybe we could even stop by your cupcake shop to get something sweet?"

"My cupcake shop? Where did you get that idea?"

Their hands touch and fingers intertwine.

"Hmmm, I would not know."

"Swan, Jones, stop flirting with each other," someone commands, making them both turn towards the open door and Mills standing in the hallway. "FBI stands for Federal Bureau of Investigation, not Flirting Bunch of Investigators."

"And that's my cue to leave," Killian decides, his hand still firmly holding her. His hook gently brushes a lock away from her face. "I'll see you in twenty." Before leaving and closing the door behind him, he winks causing Emma to giggle. No doubt about it, she is going to grant him the key.

Also major thanks to @captainwiley for beta-ing this and making me laugh with her hilarious comments, to @zengoalie for checking everything a second time, and to the other lovely ladies of the Hub for all of the fun times <3 @the-reason-to-sail-home  @artandteaandstuff  @killians-tinkabelle @lenfaz @katie-dub @dassala @killiancygnus @acaptainswaneternity 

Other people who expressed interest in this (sorry if you didn't actually want a tag): @pirateherokillian @csforscience  @shady-swan-jones @myideaofperfect @pursuinghappynes @idristardis @lassluna @hiccstrid-rucas-percabeth @xellewoods @onceuponataarna @nalisa3star @lillyanjones @kingkillian @fleurreads @natalias @zannereid27 @effulgentmind @pocketful-of-sunflowers @caskett82 @storybrookeswans @kdy-oncer4life-77 @hxxkxd @galadriel26