#file name: This Cell Has Oddly Good Lighting

[starlight-eclipsed]

“I’m here to ruin whatever stupid quest you have your heroes on. So don’t bother with the tricks, your holiness. Just kill me and be done with it.”

Top ten activities to do when waking up after a near death experience: number 3 might surprise you! (Brought to you by the fic A Dark Among the Lights by LuckyLectio on AO3.

[15-dogs]

hey lover |s.r.|

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer wants to ask you on a date but his fear of rejection causes him to write you a letter. however, he’s made the miniscule and idiotic mistake of forgetting to sign it. (fluff, mutual pining, and miscommunication!!)

warnings: very light swearing, description of murders/crime scenes (criminal minds level gore/description), food mention

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name, (Y/N/N) = your nickname, italics = letter

word count: 3.2K

a/n: asjkdfhkj this is my first spencer fic i hope it turned out ok!!

***

It seemed like a good idea at first. Derek’s ideas always seem good at first. Spencer wasn’t sure why he trusted things would work out without error. Yet there he was, letter in hand and eyes wide at the stupid, miniscule mistake he made while you awaited his answer.

***

You had just begun working at the BAU no more than 3 months ago as the new communications liaison, replacing JJ while she was absent on maternity leave. You were quickly integrated into the carefully woven quilt that was the BAU and, in turn, you had built some very close relationships with your coworkers. 

However, there was one person who you had grown extraordinarily fond of: Spencer Reid. You didn’t want to admit how smitten you were with the doctor, seeing as you were only working at the BAU for so long, but it was an indisputable fact you had fallen for him.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer felt the exact same way. Your courageous and selfless demeanor struck him as something he hadn’t seen in anyone in quite some time. Not to mention how incredibly beautiful you were. Spencer knew it was impossible for anyone to be perfect but, when you made him feel the way he did, he began to question his thinking.

Spencer was quite terrible at hiding his feelings, finding himself staring at you a second too long when you walked to your office in the morning or bringing you extra breakfast and coffee because the store just happened to have an extra muffin they wanted to get rid of. It was so obvious yet you couldn’t pick it up for the life of you and Spencer really thought he was flirting to the fullest extent of his ability.

One morning you were running late. You had yet to arrive but you called Hotch to let him know you’d be at the office in no more than 30 minutes because the train was down for the time being. You also had texted Spencer, asking him if he wanted something at the small coffee shop around the corner while you waited. So as Spencer gave you his order with one hand, he downed the coffees he had made for you and himself in the other.

“Whoa, kid,” Morgan chuckled, prying the cup from his hand, “slow down. Your toothpick-body can’t take all that caffeine.”

Spencer swatted at Derek in an attempt to get the cup back only to see him lift it to his lips. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Morgan started with mock innocence, “was this for a certain communications liaison that a certain doctor has a crush on?”

Spencer rolled his eyes but felt the back of his neck heat up. “I don’t have a crush on her.” He made his way back to his desk, ignoring Morgan’s eyes boring into him.

“Oh, really? That’s a shame,” he could practically hear the teasing grin in Morgan’s words, “because she likes you.”

Spencer went rigid. He spun slowly on his heel until he saw Morgan’s smirking face, feeling his stomach drop again. He couldn’t believe he fell for that. Spencer retreated to his desk with Derek chasing after him.

“Kid, kid, listen! I know you like her! I was just-”

“Be quiet!” hissed Spencer, his cheeks now coated in a healthy flush.

However, Morgan wasn’t quiet enough. Emily perked up from her desk, rolling her chair over to join the conversation. “What are we talking about?”

Spencer tensed his hands and shook his head, turning to face his work again when Morgan explained, “How pretty boy’s got it bad for (Y/L/N) and won’t do a damn thing about it.”

“What?!” Spencer whipped around, his jaw slack from panic. Morgan and Emily were cackling to themselves at his shock, not even bothering to silence themselves.

“Reid,” Emily began, clutching her stomach from laughter, “it’s okay, I know you like her-”

“What?!”

Spencer’s increasing panic only furthered the pair to laugh even harder. Was he that easy to read? Did everyone know how he felt towards you? Dread began to set into his stomach at the thought of you knowing. His overthinking mind started to wander, assuming you knew how he felt and had led him on to get free breakfast every morning. He quickly scolded himself for thinking that— he’d been hurt too many times before, making that line of thinking second nature. But you weren’t someone who wanted to see people hurt; you were too kind, too caring to do that to anyone.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Emily asked. “She obviously likes you, too.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up for a second at the thought of you feeling the same but he caught himself. A moment too late, however. Emily and Morgan teased him, batting their lashes and making kissy faces at him, leading to Spencer throwing his head in hands to hide from their stares.

The two were no later interrupted as Hotch called Emily up to his office to go over a report she had put in, leaving Spencer and Morgan alone. Derek nudged Spencer’s leg, Spencer frowning at him as he met his eyes.

“Listen, kid, Prentiss was right. Why don’t you ask her out?”

If what Derek and Emily had said was true, why couldn’t he? He imagined himself walking up to you and asking you on a date, his heart fluttering at the thought. His fantasy soon turned sour as you snorted at his question, shaking your head vigorously and pushing him out of your office.

“I don’t think I could look her in the eyes if she rejects me.” Spencer’s voice was no more than a whisper as he announced his realization.

Morgan laid a hand on his shoulder, the other reaching around Spencer’s desk to hand him a piece of paper and a pen. “Then we’re going to do this the old fashioned way. Women love it when they get love letters, so write her one.” Spencer’s eyes bulged at Morgan’s words. “Love might be a bit strong, I get it, but you get the sentiment, right? Write her a letter about why you like her, ask her out at the end of the letter, and then slip it under her door.”

Spencer nodded slowly before shooing Morgan away, already hunched over the first draft of the letter. He worked it over and over again, feeling like each copy wasn’t good enough for you until he saw his phone buzz. It was a text from you. You were heading up. Spencer panicked, folding his latest draft and slipping it under the door to your office before settling back at his desk.

You waddled in from the elevators, attempting to balance a carry-out tray of coffees and a bag of croissants in one hand and your work bag in the other. Spencer jumped up from his seat, relieving you of the items belonging to him in an instant.

“Thank you so much, Spence. I was seconds away from dropping my breakfast.” You shouldered him gently in place of a grateful gesture. He nodded, ducking his head in hopes you hadn’t noticed the blush creeping up his cheeks.

Before Spencer could say anything, your phone rang. Sending him an apologetic smile, you managed to slip it out of your pocket and place it on your shoulder, shrugging it up to your ear as you answered. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

Spencer watched you walk off towards your office, taking a short sip from the coffee he definitely didn’t need. You stepped in and flicked the lights on with your elbow before tossing your bag onto your desk, freeing a hand to hold your cell phone. You took another step in before stumbling, your shoes caught on a loose paper by your door.

It was go time.

Spencer hurried back to his desk and pretended he wasn’t looking at you, even though it was extremely obvious he was. You set your breakfast on your desk and bent over to pick up the note, skimming it as you spoke. Your head snapped up and you turned to face the window that exposed the bullpen, Spencer ducking his head down and innocently reading the newspaper on his desk. He chanced a look up only to see you frown and hurriedly shut the blinds.

Spencer thought he was going to be sick. He paled and ran his hands over his face before digging the heel of his palms into his temples, massaging them roughly. You looked upset— disgusted. Why did he think you’d ever like him?

Before he could indulge in his own pity party, you stormed out of your office with a large file in hand. You raised it in the air to gather the attention of the team as you announced, “We have a case!”

The team scurried in after you, everyone finding their places in the conference room as you clicked on your presentation. The pictures of two young couples appeared on the screen as you passed the files around.

“Four victims from Atlantic City have been found dead in their homes.” You clicked to the crime scene photos, wincing at the sight. “The husbands’ C.O.D. being a slice through the carotid and the wives’ a shot through the head execution style. The husbands have also had their...hands removed.”

Hotch looked up from the file, brows furrowed. “This all happened in the span of 3 days so we need to be vigilant. He could be planning his next attack right now. Wheels up in 20.”

***

On the plane ride to New Jersey, the team had finished being briefed by Garcia’s intel quicker than usual and were left to ponder their own thoughts. You sat off by yourself at a table in the back of the jet, opening your bag to sneak out the letter left at your office earlier. You scanned the words and frowned again before being hit with a genius idea.

You stood from your seat and settled next to Spencer on the couch. Oddly, he went rigid at your presence, sitting up straight and avoiding eye contact. You shook it off and continued on with your plan.

“Spence, hey, can I ask you something?” you whispered.

Spencer’s mouth went dry. He knew what you were going to ask about. What else could you be asking about? “S-sure.”

“You’re the guy who’s good at identifying handwriting, right? Like matching it and stuff?”

His eyes flickered up, mouth opening and closing a few times before he settled on a nod. His mind swarmed with questions but none of them came out. He decided it might be best if he were silent, anyway.

“Great. Then can you help me out with” —you pulled the letter from your bag and handed it to Spencer— “this? I think I might have a secret admirer or something. Whoever it was either wanted to stay anonymous on purpose or forgot to sign their name. Either way, could you help me out?”

And that’s when Spencer started to blame Morgan for his terrible idea. Well, it wasn’t exactly his fault but Spencer couldn’t take the blame for something so embarrassing. There his letter was, his handwriting, his words, his admission, and he forgot to sign his name.

Spencer debated the logistics of admitting to his error; he wouldn’t have you pining over a mystery man, but then again he would be asking you out in real time. The whole point of the letter writing was to not see your face and if he told you he wrote it you could reject him straight to his face. He couldn’t deal with the thought of that. So Spencer, fear consuming him, shoved the letter back in your hands with a nonchalant shrug.

“Sorry, (Y/N/N), I don’t recognize the handwriting.”

“Oh,” you muttered, standing up. “That’s okay. Thanks for looking.”

And as you returned to your seat on the other end of the plane, a pit formed in your stomach. You were no profiler but you hoped you could have read Spencer better, seeing if he let on any signs the letter was his, that he liked you. But at that moment you had to push it aside. There was work to be done.

***

After a few days in the case, the team had a breakthrough. They had discovered all the women had been drugged and used a bargaining chip to lead the men back to their homes before getting killed. The unsub had been targeting wealthy couples at casinos and the only way the team could catch him is if he was drawn out of hiding. The whole explanation was a long winded way of Hotch telling you you needed to go undercover as Spencer’s wife.

You begged him to let Emily take your place but Hotch assured she would be better as a lone guest to cover your perimeter. Frowning, you explained you didn’t have any undercover experience but Hotch assured you you’d be fine, that the unsub would fall easily for your charade because of your close identification with the victim pool.

So there you were, in your hotel room sitting in a dress you didn’t care for with a wire far too uncomfortable running up the length of your sleeve. Your body thrummed with nerves so, in an attempt to calm down, you reached for the letter and reread it, practically having it memorized by now.

(Y/N),

I don’t normally do these sorts of things but you deserve these sorts of things— nice things. You deserve the best things. You deserve the things that make you happy, that make you smile, that make you laugh. You deserve all of that and more.

I’ve only known you for some time but I can safely say I’ve completely fallen for you. To be entirely honest, I don’t know how everyone here hasn’t as well. You have this gorgeous smile that makes everyone light up around you. Not to mention your laugh; it’s harmonic and encapsulating, like good music you never want to turn off.

I like you. A lot. And I know you’re too good for me but I can’t help but try. I get scared because people might see right through us— through me— and you’ll realize it, too, that you’re too good for me. 

But now isn’t the time to worry about the future (even though I may have a tendency to do so). I’m sorry for not being the best at words. And I’m sorry for not being able to say this to your face but I like you, (Y/N), and I want to go on a date with you.

You were sure you had the confidence to spur forward with the night.

You left your room, ready to knock on Spencer’s door when you heard hushed whispers coming from inside. From the sound of it, Spencer was trying to opt out of the night while Hotch was trying to convince him to stay.

“You’re the only one on this team that can play some convincing poker, Reid-”

“That’s not the point!” Spencer huffed. “It’s...it’s (Y/N). People might see right through us— through me— and they’ll realize she’s too good for me. They won’t buy it. Not when she looks like herself and I look like, well, me.”

Something about his words hung around in your head. It was disquieting. His words weren’t true, of course. He was everything you could’ve wanted and the sheer fact he didn’t see himself that way broke your heart. But it wasn’t just that, there was something else. Something hidden in his words triggering a memory in you.

You were pulled from your thoughts as Spencer and Hotch walked out of Spencer’s room, giving you curt smiles before leaving towards the undercover van outside.

***

Fortunately, the night went as planned. The unsub was apprehended and you managed to stay cool undercover. Mostly cool. Your head was up in the air for a bit as you tried to recall what exactly Spencer had said that reminded you of something. Spencer had to focus you back in a few times but didn’t think anything of your lack of focus. Or, at least, he didn’t say it.

The jet couldn’t leave until the next morning so the team was stuck overnight at the trashy little motel the bureau had paid for. You tossed and turned in your bed, unease settling in your stomach. You decided it might be best for you to read the letter again, seeing as how it brought you such comfort earlier. But the second you scanned the words, the realization hit you squarely in the face.

Disregarding the late hour and the fact you were in pajamas, you ran out of your room and up to Spencer’s knocking on the door with haste. Spencer also seemed to be awake, answering just as quickly as you knocked.

“(Y/N)?” His voice was gravelly and low, like he had been in and out of sleep. You bit back a grin at the adorable pajamas he wore: plaid flannel bottoms and a t-shirt reading “I LOVE LAS VEGAS!” in bright gold lettering. Spencer tracked your eyes roving over his body before clearing his throat to get your attention again. “What’re you doing up at 3:00-”

“I know you wrote the letter.”

You didn’t mean to blurt it out but you just...did. Spencer coughed awkwardly and avoided your stare, shaking his head.

“I don’t...I don’t know what you’re…”

“Spence,” you began, taking his hand in yours, “I overheard you and Hotch talking earlier, about how people would see right through us. It’s the same thing in the letter— nearly identical.”

Spencer, positive he was completely red in the face, muttered, “Must’ve been a coincidence.”

“But it wasn’t, because I know you, Spencer.” You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “Because I like you, Spencer.”

Spencer cocked his head, a smile tugging at his lips like he didn’t want to believe what you said. “You...you like me?”

You took a step towards the doctor, locking your hands around the back of his neck with a chuckle. “Yeah, Spencer, I like you.”

Spencer reached a careful hand up, brushing your hair out of your eyes and running his knuckles down your cheek with an adoring smile before connecting your lips. The kiss was soft and unsure but worth exploring. As you began to deepen it, you heard a door click open from behind you.

“Nice pajamas, you two,” Rossi teased. Spencer glared at him over your shoulder for disrupting what was the most perfect kiss he ever had. Rossi chuckled, holding his hands up in defense. “I saw nothing!”

Rossi slipped back into his room, laughing to himself about the interruption. You tucked your head against Spencer’s chest, feeling him place a soft kiss against the top of your head while his arms looped around your back, pulling you impossibly tighter towards him.

“You know,” he began, his chest rumbling against your ear in the most comforting way, “I’m beginning to think I should be writing you more letters.”

“A few more couldn’t hurt.”

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (1/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 8.3K and just a lot more than originally planned AN: It’s me. Incapable of writing a multi-chapter until starting a new job, and having other prompts to fill, and I really will fill those other prompts, so prepare yourselves for an onslaught of Christmas fic. Of which this is only kind of that. It takes place at Christmas. But also involves time travel, and way more canon divergence than I’ve ever written, and kissing. Because of who I am as a person. Blame @klynn-stormz​​ if you must. Or don’t, because she sent a very good prompt and is very nice and I hope she enjoys this mess of words. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

————

She’s so goddamn hot. It’s absurd. And disgusting. But mostly absurd. 

Sweat pools at the base of Emma’s spine, drips down the sides of her cheeks and falls from the edge of her jaw. Makes her skin crawl, the kind of heat that’s far too oppressive and she’s already having enough trouble breathing, so all of this seems like overkill. Which is Neverland’s schtick, she imagines. 

Licking her lips doesn’t help. Moving is a lost cause before she’s even considered clamoring to her feet, and she’s genuinely not sure if she’d be able to unbend her knees anyway, crouched as she is in whatever foliage surrounds the mouth of the Echo Caves. 

It smells. 

The foliage — and Emma, she supposes. Most of her thoughts drift away from body odor rather quickly though, right back into that cave and she can’t figure out who made the cell Neal was in, but she also told Neal she wished he was actually dead while he was in that cell and she figures that makes her something of an asshole. 

Feeling clenches in her chest, quite possibly the physical manifestation of her anxiety and growing fear and every single second that passes is another second they haven’t used to find Henry and—

“Ah, shit,” Emma hisses, not able to get her sword out of its makeshift scabbard in time. Maybe she shouldn’t keep it on her back. 

Hook lifts his eyebrows. 

“Are you alright, love?” “Shut up. What are you doing out here? It’s not your turn to watch.” Scoffing, he lets his tongue trace across the front of his teeth, which is only vaguely obscene, and Emma’s far too warm to deal with this. In both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. It’s ridiculous that he’s still wearing his jacket. “Aren’t you hot?” she asks, words tumbling out of her before she’s really considered them and she wishes that trend would stop. 

Quickly. Immediately, even. 

Not crying after her mother’s Echo Cave admission might be one of Emma’s great accomplishments to date. 

“Should all of your statements sound so much like insults?” Hook quips, his tongue continuing to torment Emma. Staring at his tongue is becoming something of a very real issue for her. 

Presumably because she’s now all too aware of what that tongue is capable of, and they’d been very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. Better than she thought, honestly. And she refuses to acknowledge how often she thought about it. 

She still hasn’t been able to get her sword out of its scabbard entirely. “I’m going to take your rather pointed silence as confirmation of the insults,” Hook continues. Rocking forward, the edges of his jacket threaten to brush Emma’s bent legs and she honestly has no idea what she’ll do if that happens, so leaning back seems like a reasonable response and not one that’s going to make his eyes do that thing. Where they dim ever so slightly, teasing disappearing and evolving into understanding she both hates and wants on some sort of fundamental level and—

“I’m sorry.”

On the nonexistent list of things Emma doesn’t expect, that might be numbers one through seven. Maybe even up to eight. 

“You don’t—” she shakes her head, hair sticking to her skin in the process, “Well, no that’s not actually true, because you probably shouldn’t have said anything about the making out—” “—I don’t believe I used that particular phrase.”

He actually has the gall to smirk when Emma glares at him, eyebrows twisted in the kind of unspoken challenge that regularly makes her stomach flip. Emma doesn’t have time for stomach flipping. She’s got to find her kid. Possibly get, like, twenty-four minutes of uninterrupted sleep. “Even so,” Hook adds, “it was…” There’s enough fabric on that monstrosity of a jacket that Emma can only imagine he’s got plenty of pocket options to stuff his hands into, but his thumb just finds his belt loop and the exhale he lets out is rife with emotion. The same kind she’s trying to avoid, in tandem with the stomach flipping. “Your father keeps glaring at me.”

Laughing is a patently absurd reaction to that. 

Her father is dying, apparently. Or tethered to this island, and that’s not much better, but it absolutely does not surprise Emma that he’s falling directly back into overprotective and if she’s going to be the asshole she absolutely is, then she should also probably admit how nice it was

to be hugged with that kind of determination before. 

That might not be the right word. 

Whatever, it’s the thought that counts. She thinks she might be able to fall asleep if her dad were here. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Emma lies, barely opening her mouth. Like even that can’t believe what she’s trying to claim. “Although I am sorry about my dad, I can—I mean I can say something if you want.” “No, no, that wasn’t what I was suggesting, at all. I’m sure the prince has better things to worry about than—” “You and me?”

Hook hums. Keeps his thumb where it is, and his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. 

Her stomach noticeably sinks. 

“Of course, not—no, I just…” Stammering Captain Hook catches Emma off guard, eyeing the toe of his boot as it digs a fairly impressive divot into the ground that is no doubt staining her jeans. And she’s about to do something, really she is. Say something almost positive, or reassuring, or maybe simply jump back to her feet, bent knees be damned, so she can grab the lapels of that nearly-offensive jacket and kiss the ever-loving daylights out of him. Again. But something snaps behind her, and every single inch of Kill—no, no, Hook, still Captain Hook. 

That’s more unimportant syntax. 

Because all of him tenses as immediately as Emma had been hoping for before, a soft noise on the wind that’s strong enough to ruffle those sweat-drenched strands of her hair. Her mouth goes dry, the laughter making her pulse sputter traitorously and Hook’s sword all but flies out of its scabbard. 

“Emma, you need to move,” he says, calm as anything. It’s an act. She knows — can tell even when it appears the jungle is getting darker, and the stars above them are going out, but then again, she’s always been able to tell with him, and it’s very disappointing that her rather dramatic swallow doesn’t do anything to help the state of her mouth. 

He used her name. 

Eventually that will feel very important. 

“What? Why, it’s—”

“Please, love,” Hook presses, “I need you to come with me. Right now. How long have you been out here?” Shrugging is harder than Emma expects it to be. As if the heat is actually a weight, pressing directly into her shoulders and rooting her exactly where she is. “We need to move, Swan. You shouldn’t be here.” “Well, that’s kind of rude.”

Widening his eyes makes it even more obvious how blue they are, and they are so ridiculously blue sometimes Emma wonders if she could simply drown in them. Sometimes that doesn’t seem like all that unappealing a prospect. 

God, he was good at kissing. 

“You told me to shut up earlier. Turnabout is fair play, darling.” “Running the gamut of nicknames, aren’t we? Is that a power move?” “Endearments, really. And no, it’s not. Disappointing that wasn’t clearer what with my intention to apologize and make sure you were alright.”

“Sounds suspiciously like playing knight in pirate armor.” “Can’t imagine armor would be very comfortable. Not much freedom of movement, you see.”

She laughs. Without thinking too much about the sound, mostly because the sound seems to bubble out of Emma and that’s not right. She doesn’t bubble. She stews, and sits and—

Something springs from the ground. Spring is generous, honestly. Cracks form under Emma’s splayed out fingers, tiny green vines that file up with a smell that make her vision swim and her senses fog, and she’s dimly aware of a hand on her shoulder. Tugging her forward, but Emma’s legs simply are not interested in functioning, and she’s so comfortable here. Standing seems even more unreasonable than before, especially when all of her inhales come with that scent. Reminding her of something she can’t quite understand, and it’s suspiciously similar to the tide coming in, and he’s still yelling. 

And swinging his sword. Light gleams off the blade, probably because whatever is pushing out of the ground is also glowing, and Emma’s mind can’t really cope with glowing plants right now. 

She squeezes her eyes closed. Burrows her face into the very solid chest she’s somehow level with, and Emma’s not entirely sure when that happened, but she also can’t bring herself to complain about it. Especially when it feels like his lips graze her temple. More than once. 

“Swan, c’mon love we’ve got to go.”

Groaning, Emma’s head doesn’t ache. Nothing does, actually. She’s oddly comfortably and her internal-body temperature appears to be biologically accurate, but she’s admittedly not totally confident about her knowledge of that second thing, and whatever is underneath her left cheek is also quite obviously not the very solid, slightly uncovered chest of a pirate captain she’d like to make out with again. 

Her stomach flies into her throat that time. So, there’s something to be said for a change of pace. 

Emma blinks. Swallows. More than once. Licks her lips, to absolutely no avail — but she can’t be bothered with that when it’s clear her heart is doing its damndest to beat its way out of her chest, and she’s not in Neverland anymore. 

For one thing, there’s a distinct lack of smells. Bad ones, at least. Wherever she is smells suspiciously liked baked goods and the forest, which makes sense as soon as Emma blinks open her eyes. There’s a rather large tree across from her. 

Covered in garland and lights that blink back at her, ornaments hang from nearly every branch, and there are enough presents underneath that she briefly wonders which bank they had to rob to buy all of that. Snow flurries dance outside windows that are frosted over, and there are a lot of windows in this room. 

Some of them look out towards an expansive backyard, while others make it clear just how close they are to the water, and Emma thinks she can almost smell the water, but that might be wishful thinking and—

“Holy shit,” she breathes, gaze finally landing on the voice in front of her and she knew the voice, even when she didn’t want to admit it. That’s something of a theme for her now. “What—what are you wearing?” Tilting his head in confusion, strands of hair threaten to fall into Hook’s eyes. The same blue as always, if not a little sharper because it’s obvious he doesn’t understand what’s going on, and Emma’s going to cling to that. So it feels like they’re on slightly more even footing. 

“Clothes,” he drawls, and that's the same too. Emma can’t move. Is having quite a lot of trouble breathing, and clothes is a vast understatement. 

Pants that are somehow tighter than any of the leather he’d previously sported make his legs look ridiculous, especially when there’s a noticeable lack of sword and Emma was kind of getting used to the sword. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, nothing covering the brace at the end of his arm, but she’s also admittedly preoccupied with the number of buttons he’s undone and the vest that’s hanging loosely from his shoulders, and this might actually be the first time she’s seen him without a jacket on. 

Her stomach will probably just stay in her throat, then. 

“You’ll do dangerous things to my ego, if you keep staring like that,” Hook warns, but any passably snarky response gets caught behind Emma’s increasingly problematic tongue and her brain still hasn’t caught up yet. 

To the glint of light reflecting from his hand. 

And one very specific finger. 

Mouth dropping and breath practically flying out of her, Emma nearly steps on both of his feet when she jumps to hers, trying without much success to stay upright. Her hands fly towards him of their own accord, or so she will argue forever, and that can’t possibly be her first mistake. 

Putting her goddamn scabbard on her back was, probably. 

As it is, whatever number she’s at is suddenly the only number that matters, because her flat palms make it undeniably clear that she’s got her own bit of jewelry on her own specific finger, and Killian’s hand keeps moving. Up and down her spine, like that’s something it’s allowed to do. There is not enough oxygen in the world to sigh as loudly as she’d like to. 

“Steady on, love,” Hook murmurs, and that about does it. Neck giving up and knees threatening to buckle underneath her, Emma’s fingers curl into this absolutely ridiculous shirt at the same time her forehead collides with his collarbone, and he doesn’t really flinch. 

Tenses, slightly — although she figures that’s because of the worry she can practically fele radiating off him, and his hand stills. So as to ensure that his arm can also tighten around her middle, while his lips brush across her temple and the top of her hair. 

Anywhere he can reach, it seems. 

“Nightmare?” he asks, pulling her closer. They fit very well together, Emma realizes. Like pieces of a puzzle, and that’s admittedly sentimental, but she’s also ninety-six percent certain she’s still dreaming. That’s the only reasonable explanation. 

She can’t be dead. Not from a plant attack in Neverland. And Kill—Hook, goddamnit, Hook, wouldn’t have let that happen. She’s sure of that, at least. 

“Um, yeah, yeah,” she stammers. “I—sorry, I don’t think I meant to fall asleep.” “Nothing to apologize for. You’ve been baking for a small army the last couple of days, only serves that’d be exhausting.”

“Have I?” Leaning back, he narrows his eyes, and that’s fair. None of this makes sense. Rings, and trees, and baking. She’s never baked in her life. If she had, it wouldn’t smell nearly this good. 

“Who, um—” Emma continues, eyes widening when the realization hits her. “Henry! Where’s Henry?” Running is not easy with the arm still around seemingly getting tighter by the second, but her fear has already evolved into the kind of maternal-based adrenaline they do scientific studies on. “Let go of me,” she sneers, and he does. Immediately. The sound of his hands hitting his jeans is far too loud. “Where’s my kid? Why isn’t he here?” The tongue thing. 

Swiping across the front of Hook’s teeth, the tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth and the inside of his cheek, jutting out with questions and the almost audible cranking of metaphorical gears in his head. “It’s not Christmas yet,” Hook explains, voice oddly similar to a few minutes before, but Emma’s starting to realize that was not a few minutes before and she’s starting to feel a little nauseous. 

“Yuh huh.” “Are you alright, love?” He says it soft enough that something flutters in the back of Emma’s brain, some long-forgotten hint of emotion that she refuses to acknowledge. She doesn’t have time for it. There’s baking to do, supposedly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m, uh—I’m fine,” Emma promises, only one side of Hook’s mouth tilting up. “Just...tired, I guess.” “Because of the nightmare.” “Say that again when it doesn’t sound quite so much like an accusation.” “No accusation,” he objects, but it rings as sincere as her promise and the light’s got to be messing with her now. Bouncing off his ring the way it is. “Haven’t had a nightmare in some time, but that’s neither here nor there.” “Wow, you suck at that.”

There goes the other side of his mouth. Emma might be staring at his mouth. “Occasionally,” Hook agrees. “What’d you dream about, then?” Lying is very appealing. Coming up with a story Emma knows he’ll only half believe, but she assumes she’s got plausible deniability too, and she can’t think of a single thing to say. That’s disappointing. 

“I was in Neverland.”

If nothing else, staring at his mouth — and the rest of his admittedly attractive face — makes it easy to tell the moment Hook’s jaw clenches. Nerves color his gaze, almost as if he’s trying to remember something he’s already forgotten, but Emma appears to be the only one having some sort of existential crisis and the hint of grey at his temples suggests its been some time since Neverland. Figuring out how much time exactly, will probably be a bit of a challenge. “And?” “And what?” “And there’s plenty of terrors to warrant nightmares in Neverland,” Hook says, stepping out of Emma’s space. Also disappointing. “What exactly was it?” Shaking her head slowly, Emma’s hair doesn’t move. She’s not nearly as sweaty as she was either, the blanket at her feet proof positive of that, although her skin feels almost clammy and the magic in her veins has started to buzz. If Killian doesn’t stop moving his tongue in his mouth, she’s going to scream. 

Ah, goddamn. 

“I don’t know,” she says, not the lie she still wants it to be, “just some weird plant thing and you wanted me to come with you, but that was probably now, right?” There’s no way he’s comfortable with his neck at that angle. “Maybe. Do you still want to go?” “To, uh—” “—Doc called this morning, said the paint was ready to pick up.” “Paint,” Emma echoes, another confusing string of words that threatens to knock her back on the couch. It was a comfortable couch though, so maybe that’s not the worst thing that could happen to her. Neither is waking up in a reality where Hook wears jeans like that and stares at her like she’s his—she drops back. Onto the comfortable couch. 

“Mmhm, the color we picked out last week? He claimed he had to order it, but your father claims he’s just nervous because he doesn’t want to offend me and—” “—Why would you get offended by a dwarf?” Dots of pink appear on his cheeks. The bits not covered with stubble, and there’s some grey in that as well. It works, honestly. “He mercilessly overcharges for her services,” Hook says, clearly not the first time this particular rant has been voiced, “and it’s because he’s the only hardware store in town. Which is why you wanted to go. Help small businesses and the economy of the realm, even when Regina claimed we could order it just as easily off Amazon. But that only led to your denouncement of Jeff Bezos, and I do love it when you openly flout capitalism, so—” He shrugs. Emma might be going into shock. “Here we are, with slightly delayed, if not well-mixed paint, enough baked goods to mask the smell, and your parents guarantee that there’s more than enough room for all of us on Christmas Eve.”

“We’re painting on Christmas Eve?” Concern continues to ripple around him, made all the more clear by the pinch between his eyebrows and how often he rocks forward before shaking his head. It’s four times. “No, we’re painting—well, whenever we have time really, but you did mention Friday evening, and that way Hope could stay at the farm. Naturally she’s thrilled at the prospect.” “Right, right, right, that’s....yeah, that’s right.” She’s so bad at lying. To Hook, specifically. Open book practically broadcasts itself from every twitch of his mouth, and Emma is still doing a God awful job of not staring at his mouth, but her head is spinning and she can’t understand any of this and she’s kind of curious about what paint color they picked. 

And who Hope is. 

She refuses to acknowledge the flicker of familiarity in the back corner of her brain. 

She’s got to get out of here. Away from the couch, and whatever color the paint might be, back to Neverland, which is not something she ever thought she’d want, but they haven’t found Henry yet and who knows what Pan is planning next and— “Where’s Henry?” Emma whispers, far too aware of the desperation in those two words. Hook’s lips thin. When he presses them together. “I know he’s not going to be here until Christmas, but is—he’s ok, right?” “Swan, are you—” “—Just tell me where my kid is, Hook!” Those words fly out of her, voice rising on every letter until it feels as if they’re cutting their way out of Emma’s soul, leaving lacerations behind and the blood that’s appeared on the tip of her tongue makes her recoil. She fully expects him to take another step back, not sure when she stood up again, only that her knees are knocking together now, so naturally that’s not what happens at all. 

Hook moves back into her space, made all the easier by the lack of weapons between them, hand finding her cheek as easily as it traced her spine, and Emma doesn’t want to lean into the touch, but he’s so ridiculously warm and she’s teetering on the edge of undeniable insanity, so she’s going to give herself this. For at least six seconds. 

“Visiting Ella’s stepsister, so while he’s probably not having the best time, Lu’s always been a rather large fan of that particular realm, and Drizella is a bit of a pushover. I’d imagine the little lass is going gangbusters on the present front.”

Emma’s breathing out of her mouth. 

That seems fair as well. Trying to piece together any of that information with the life she’s currently living is all but impossible, and it’s only a matter of time until her knees give up again. Honestly, not crying continues to be her greatest talent. 

“Maybe I should just go to the store,” Hook says, “and let you try and get some more rest.”

Even the thought of being left here alone makes Emma’s magic boil in the pit of her stomach — wherever it might be sitting now, and she’s already shaking her head. “No, no, I want to make sure it’s the right color.” “Yuh huh.” “Sounding less than agreeable, Captain.” It’s a mean trick. One she knows will work, and it does. Hook’s eyes flash, and his brows jump, the hand that returned to her hip at some point tightening ever so slightly. “Tell me that you’re alright, and I’ll consider it.” “I’m fine.” “You’re a woefully bad liar is what you are, Your Highness.” Scrunching her nose, Emma tries very hard to temper the fluttering between her ribs. Magic mixes with nerves and flirting that’s not necessarily easier than it’s been, but certainly more fine-tuned. As if it’s a dance both of them are used to. “You can’t pull your sword on Doc, you know that, right?” “That hasn’t happened in years.” “Hook either, that might honestly be worse.” “He’s got a stranglehold on the hardware economy in this town. It’s not right. Gives him leave to charge an arm and a leg.” “If I tell you I’m fine again, will that distract you from your questionable obsession with hardware-based economies?” “Probably not,” Hook grins, more teasing and fluttering and his eyebrows jump again. As soon as Emma licks her lips. 

“No challenging the dwarfs to a duel.” Saluting is only passably overwhelming, but that appears to be the way this is going, and Emma cannot come up with an appropriate adjective to describe whatever sound she makes. As soon as he kisses her cheek. Giggling is out of the realm of possibility. “Noted,” Hook says, “c’mon, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can pick up the little sea monster.”

At this point, Emma would almost welcome a battle with a sea monster. Get her blood flowing, provide an outlet for all her adrenaline and, she hopes at least, if she dies in this dream, she’ll wake up back in Neverland. 

This has to be a dream. 

So, it seems they live in a mansion. 

Stepping outside, Emma’s breath catches loudly as she stares at the wraparound porch and there are somehow more windows than she’d originally noticed, and a turret-type thing involved that’s only vaguely absurd. Almost as much as the way people greet them on Main Street, familiar faces mixing in with strangers, all of whom nod and smile and some who even reach a hand out to Hook like he’s not a pirate or only recently returned to Storybrooke with the one thing they needed to get to Neverland, but Emma also supposes that was years ago, even if the math is still admittedly kind of messing with her. 

That was never her strongest subject in school. 

And there’s no sword strapped to his hip when the bell over the hardware store door rings, but Hook’s called “Doc” still sounds appropriately threatening, the scuffle of shoes and slightly panted breaths making Emma almost smile in spite of herself and her mathematical failings. “Captain,” Doc exhales, shuffling behind the counter that spans the far wall of the store. Tools and cans of paint line the shelves above his head, a name tag pinned to his shirt that seems unnecessary, but Emma’s nearly charmed by that as well and wholly unprepared for Doc to glance her way, adding—“Your Highness, it’s so nice to see you. I’ve got your order all ready, if you’d like to…”

Whatever else he says disappears in a haze of buzzing magic and malfunctioning joints, Emma’s fingers fluttering at her side while it sounds like Killian does his best to argue the price. For the paint. That they’re going to use. In their mansion. 

She didn’t ask which room they were going to paint. 

That felt like a flashing-neon sign, announcing how little she belongs in this place and Emma’s fairly certain Hook can tell, but that’s also another sign she’s not entirely ready to deal with at the moment and Doc flinches when the literal hook drops onto the counter. 

Emma presses her lips together. 

So as not to laugh. Like a person nearing their psychotic breaking point. 

“But Captain,” Doc argues, “we did agree on that mark, and—” “—Aye, but that was before it took an extra three days to receive the color, and I think there should be some sort of fee reduction for that.” “There aren’t any fees, just—” “—The overall cost, then.”

Pain flutters at the back of her consciousness when her teeth continue to dig into her lips, but the feeling twits with amusement and that looming sense of insanity, and Hook hardly even moves when Emma does. So she can rest her hand on his shoulder. 

“Maybe it’s not that big of a deal,” she ventures. 

Hook gapes at her. “Traitor.” “Pirate,’ she counters. “But I think we can afford it. Y’know, just to help the—” “—Locals,” he finishes, “aye, it’s something I’ve heard several thousand times before, love. But it is the principle of the thing.” “The thing being what, exactly?” “Efficiency,” Hook replies, as cool as any vegetable Emma could come up with, and Doc’s eyes go comically wide behind his glasses. The whole thing is actually pretty impressive. Attractive, maybe. She doesn’t have time for that. She has to—

Get back home is not the right string of words at all. Home is some abstract concept that certainly does not exist in the reality Emma came from, and even less so in a place like Neverland, but she doesn’t belong here, with the jewelry and the house, and she can’t quite get over the way his face twisted. When she called him Hook. 

“Naturally,” Emma mutters. “Can we just get the paint, Doc? Then we’ll be out of your hair.” Doc hums, but he doesn’t move and Emma can’t believe he doesn’t move. She’s given him an out. A reason to scamper back to wherever he’s keeping their paint, away from Hook’s appraising stare and the hand that’s already inching back towards hers, and he’s somehow even more tactile than usual. 

It makes her mouth go dry again. 

“Of course, Your Highness. If your husband could just agree to the terms of price, then—” Hook rolls his whole head, hair shifting in the process, and that’s minimally distracting when Emma’s heart constricts in her chest. Because she knew. Has eyes, after all. And the notable ability to stare. But there’s something about hearing the word that makes it all the more real, and Hook’s argument doesn’t have anything to do with relationship monikers. 

She’s starting to have several assumptions as to who Hope is. One assumption, really. 

Pulling her hand away from Hook’s is easier when he’s so preoccupied, twisting the ring around her finger and staring at the stone and it’s—well, it’s gorgeous, honestly. Exactly what Emma would imagine if she’d ever let herself imagine such a thing, and that’s got to be another sign or something at least in the realm of positive, and it turns out they’re painting the dining room. Blue, and that’s something of a cliche, but anything Emma has to say about that gets stuck halfway out of her undeniably chapped lips when Killian ushers her out of the store, a smile tugging at the ends of his mouth because— “Color reminds me a bit of that gown of yours.”

She’s atrocious at this. Schooling her features, or acting like every word out of his mouth isn’t a punch to her literal gut. It’s a miracle she hasn’t just keeled over. In the middle of goddamn Main Street, where the guy who is very clearly her husband has stopped them. 

So as to stare at her incredulously. 

“You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” “Presumptuous.” “Not an answer, m’dear.” Maybe Emma will start keeping track of endearments. Just to give her mind something to latch onto. There appear to be more than she’s used to. “You wore a very blue gown to Elsa’s wedding, made some rather wonderful comments about how it matched my eyes that also made you blush rather severely, all of which I will admit to still thinking about with almost startling regularity.” She’s got no idea who the fuck Elsa is, or why they’d go to her wedding. Wearing a gown. And making sweepingly sentimental statements. 

Her smile is weak at best. “Sorry, just—that paint smell got to me, I think.” “Sure it did,” Hook says, clearly not convinced, “maybe we should go see Regina.” “Why would we do that?” Leveling her with a slightly different expression, Hook’s tongue shifts behind his closed mouth. Emma juts her chin out. In misplaced defiance, and inherent stubbornness. She’ll find Regina later. When she’s not at least partially thinking about kissing this version of Kill—

Hook, Hook, Hook, Ho—she wonders how he proposed. If he proposed. Maybe she did, what does Emma know? Nothing, apparently. “Do you remember what those plants looked like?” “What?” Emma asks. “Maybe you’re the one who got messed up by paint fumes.” “Absolutely scathing, Swan. Answer the question, please.” There’s an undercurrent of command in his voice — like she’s a member of his crew, and she doesn’t know if he has a crew anymore, but Emma bristles at the thought of being part of it all the same and the muscles in her neck do not appreciate being angled like this. “I told you, it was just a dream.” “Aye, you did. And as you would so lovingly put it, that particular lie sucked quite a bit. So once more, what were you dreaming about and where were you in the dream?” Opening her mouth, Emma’s sarcastic and inevitably snark-filled response evaporates as soon as she hears the clack of heels on the sidewalk next to them and the woman walking towards them has shockingly red hair. And a kid clinging to her side. Who immediately tries to launch herself at Hook. 

“Codfish heads,” the woman mumbles, Killian not able to hold back his chuckle or keep his arms at his side. The same ones that catch the kid and pull her close to his chest, peppering either one of her cheeks with kisses. 

Emma seriously considers dying right there. 

Dying will absolutely wake her up, she’s convinced. 

“Articulate as always,” Hook grins. The woman sticks her tongue out. “What are you doing here? I thought—ah,” he grunts, a knee slamming into his side, “control the limbs Mel, or I’m going to drop you and then your mom will be even more angry than she is.” The dexterity of this woman’s face is astounding. As is the width of Hook’s smile. “I’m not angry,” she objects, “and I’m here because you didn’t answer your phone. There’s some kind of disaster happening at the realm line.” “What kind of disaster?” “Something to do with magic, and it looks like some of Lancelot’s knights are exploring the forest here, looking for some kind of something because you know they have to have a quest.” “David can’t do anything about that?” “Was more than willing to if you actually decided to acknowledge him today. Hence the frustration over your phone issues.” “An insult roll,” Killian laughs, the sound almost more surprising than anything else Emma’s encountered today. She’s heard him laugh before. Of course she has. But it’s usually cynical, or occasionally even a little evil, and this guy can’t be evil. Not standing there, acting as a human jungle gym to a kid, and a woman Emma’s mind has also started to make assumptions about. The hair was a pretty good clue. No, this isn’t the first time she’s heard him laugh, but it’s certainly her favorite and if she plays the sound on loop in her head for at least several hours, then she hopes no one will ever be the wiser. 

Emma hardly notices that she’s referred to him as Killian. 

That’s probably for the best. 

“And,” he adds, “we finally finished with Doc, so we can go relieve the prince of his duties, even though he offered. Multiple times.” Ariel, Emma assumes this is the goddam Little Mermaid, throws her head back. “Oh Gods, did you terrify him? Is that why you’re being like this? Y’know the paint was back ordered, that’s why it took so long.” “There was no terrifying involved, and if that was the case, he should have made it known. All I heard was that he didn’t have it in stock, and it was going to take a few more days and—” 

He cuts himself off when Ariel waves an impatient hand in his face, turning towards Emma expectantly. “Did he terrify Doc?” Emma nods out of instinct, some dark and distant part of her wanting to be involved in this banter and this place, and this place isn’t real, so that’s a dangerous line of thinking, but she can’t seem to stop herself. In the same way Killian can’t seem to do anything except tug her against his side. And kiss the top of her hair. 

He really likes to do that. 

Especially impressive with the kid still hanging from him. 

“She’s a bloody traitor,” he announces, “but one of the other dwarfs is bringing the paint home, and, like I said, we were on our way to pick up the sea monster, so David can deal with the knights. They only listen to one of their own, anyway.” “No honor amongst thieves, huh?” Ariel asks knowingly. 

Killian scowls. It’s frustratingly adorable. 

“Fine, fine,” she shakes her head, “I retract any annoyance about your refusal to turn the sound on your phone on, if only because you gave my arms a break, and your dining room will look very good in that color.” “It’s a good color.” The arm around her shoulders is the only thing that keeps Emma from melting into the pavement beneath her boots. She had at least six pairs of boots in their hallway closet. Also absurd. And she hears the lilt in Killian’s voice, even if Ariel doesn’t — the soft intensity that sounds eerily similar to the way he promised he understood what it felt to lose hope, how quickly he agreed to her plan, demands, after the kiss and she imagines they kiss quite a lot in this reality. 

If her other assumptions are right. 

Ariel stares at them for a beat longer, one that Emma worries will end in a longer conversation and inevitable discussion of the awkward way she’s standing, but then the mermaid with legs is pulling her kid back and quieting the riot that causes, and Killian’s arm stays exactly where it is. “Send some pictures when you paint the first wall, ok?”

Killian nods. Stiffer than it should be, but Emma’s only barely managing to stay conscious at this point, and she doesn’t object when he directs her past Granny’s and down a road she’s never noticed before. 

His arm doesn’t move. 

In the days that will follow, Emma will never be entirely sure how she manages it. Tears sting her eyes almost as soon as the screen door slams behind her, more than one voice drifting down the hall, and there are pictures everywhere. Her own face smiles back at her from multiple times, eyes jumping from frame to frame and back again, a life that isn’t hers playing out despite her own misgivings, and if she’d thought the overall width of Killian’s smile was something ten minutes earlier, it’s got nothing on the several here. 

Wearing a tuxedo that does something unfamiliar to her heart, and gazing back from an ornate frame that also holds a grown-up face that’s still able to remind her of the boy she left in Neverland, and another with his arm around Emma’s shoulders again, exhaustion clear even from here, but there’s something cradled in her arms and a tiny hat that makes her whole soul ache and—

“Swan,” Hook breathes, and at least they’re back to that. In her head, where she's clearly going insane. “Emma love, I really need you to tell me what’s going on.”

That’s impossible. Not for any other reason than Emma’s vocal chords appear to have stopped working, and she never actually cries. 

It’s a Christmas miracle. 

Of the shittiest variety, because Hook’s hovering far too close to her and Emma wonders if he notices the magic coursing through her, or if this is just how he normally stands and none of it matters when two sets of feet sprint down the hallway. 

Frames rattle in their wake, both of them shouting and jumping before Emma’s even remotely prepared. She can’t imagine she ever would be. Maybe in a different lifetime. This one, possibly. 

Not hers. 

Not as is. 

And as it is, Hook ducks down before the blur rushing towards Emma’s shin can knock her over, hauling the giggling and smiling bundle over his shoulder. More kisses are dispensed, laughter ringing out around them and only slightly muted by the mess of dark curls that threatens to cover Hook’s face. 

He tries to blow it away, several times. 

“Emma,” another voice says, tugging at the end of her jacket and it’s a little overwhelming to see her father’s eyes staring up at her. From a kid. Who isn’t very old, but feels like a memory she can’t place, and if her mind doesn’t stop piecing things together Emma is going to scream. 

She doesn’t want to know. 

Absolutely cannot cope, honestly. 

“Emma,” he repeats, “if you and Killian are going to stay here for Christmas, can we make snowmen again? Because Henry said we could and Aunt Gina said she’d magic them so they wouldn’t melt and you’re way better at rolling than Mom is.” Someone huffs, Mary Margaret’s arms crossing over her chest and there’s an apron tied around her waist. Just to drive the domestic point home. “I resent that, and Dad is totally going to be better at rolling snowballs this year. He’s promised we’re going to win.” Emma’s mouth drops. In confusion, and several other adjectives. All of which Hook quite clearly recognizes, and that’s messing with her too. 

Reading her as well as he does should leave her feeling off-kilter. Reeling, even. It doesn’t. It’s like some sort of metaphorical anchor, and Emma finds herself constantly glancing over her shoulder, hoping for that one specific tilt of his lips and— “Let’s wait to go over rules until Henry gets here, alright mate? Don’t want to get into specifics when he’s going to have his own demands.”

Opening his mouth, the kid’s argument disappears once Mary Margaret makes another noise, adding a soft “Neal,” and only one of Emma’s knees bends. That’s lame. Very un-Savior like. 

And she doesn’t know how Killian manages it, either. She also does not care. Leaning into the hand that’s suddenly cemented to her back, Emma nods like someone has asked her a question, and there are more footsteps and smiles and she bites her tongue. David doesn’t disappear. He’s here. In this place he shouldn’t be, some sort of farm that had an almost kitschy mat outside that screen door and chickens lingering along the side of the front yard, and Killian’s voice is in her ear. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” “I’ll kick you,” Emma warns.

“I’d drop the sea monster that way.” She’s just about to ask the wholly unnecessary question of who the fuck is the sea monster when the beast in question tries very hard to stand on Hook's shoulders. All limbs and hair in desperate need of a cut, both Mary Margaret and David look overjoyed by her mere presence, warmth blooming of its own volition in Emma’s chest. “Mama,” she yells, resting her chin on top of Killian’s head, “are you going to magic the snowmen too?”

More than one pair of eyes flash towards Emma, suddenly frozen with a maelstrom of fear and words echoing between her ears and she’s got to talk. She can’t talk. Her tongue is growing in her mouth, no doubt a byproduct of that now occurring insanity, and her own eyes keep moving. Tracing over the lines of her daughter’s face, and the questionably cute clothes she’s wearing and her eyes are almost alarmingly blue. 

Tears fall on Emma’s cheeks. 

“Emma,” David mutters, but she barely hears him. Reaching out a hand that’s shaking much more than she’d like, her fingers graze Hope’s cheek and the skin there is soft and warm and obviously loved, like that’s something that’s possible. This new reality doesn’t have any rules, though. So maybe that works here. 

She must nod. Emma’s hair moves, so that’s got to mean something and she’s clinging to every victory she can get at this point. “I’ll try,” Emma says, not quite the promise she'd like it to be. Hook's fingers twist under the hem of her shirt, grazing across her actual spine and it’s disappointing when she tenses. 

Noticeably. 

David’s eyes turn appraising — but he doesn’t immediately look at Mary Margaret like Emma expects. He glances at Hook, a quick jerk of his shoulders that she only notices when they bump hers. “Did you hear about the knights, then?” “Ariel accosted us on our way here. What do they want, exactly?” “As far as I can tell, they’re just scouting, but who knows with those Camelot idiots.” Mary Margaret scoffs. David might actually blush. “I’m going to go out and talk to them now, and Snow sent a bird.” The hand at Emma’s back flattens. So as to keep her upright. 

“Lance usually responds quickly,” Mary Margaret says, “but you know the cross-realm travel, it’s always hit or miss. Especially with the weather. Hopefully we’ll know what they’re doing sooner rather than later.” Humming in what sounds like agreement, Hook shifts Hope and keeps Emma pulled against his side. His eyes dart back towards David, an unspoken conversation Emma doesn’t entirely want to hear. When it’s obviously about her. 

And her father doesn’t respond either, just crosses the space between them and kisses her cheek. “Everything’s going to be ok, kid.”

“Yuh huh,” she mumbles, but it sounds like a lie and Hope falls asleep with her head on Hook's shoulder while they walk home. 

It takes her about three seconds to realize she used that word as well. 

And then another fifteen to totally freak out about it. 

As silently as possible. 

To his credit, he doesn’t press the issue. He stares, without much subtlety — but Hook never comes out and accuses Emma of anything, or questions how little she knows about this life they’ve got, and she’s not entirely surprised when he doesn’t ask when she’s coming to bed. He just takes a deep breath, and kisses the top of her hair again, which is somewhere like the ninth time that’s happened, walking up the stairs and presumably waiting for Emma. 

In their bed. 

They share. Together. As people. Married people, with a very cute kid and Henry’s in some other version of the Enchanted Forest with his wife, which is only marginally screwing with Emma. That’s positive, she thinks. Marginally is better than totally. 

But it’s also not her life, and around twelve forty-seven she starts to wonder if she’s fucked with the Emma that’s supposed to be here by waking up on that couch, and she can’t get over how comfortable that couch was, and she starts walking. 

Aimlessly, really. 

Down halls and from room to room, opening doors that regularly make breathing a legitimate challenge. Henry’s old room clearly hasn’t been changed, and Hope’s hair covers her entire pillow, much like Emma’s regularly does, and they’ve got an actual sitting room and family room, a nautical theme that feels a little to on the nose, but is also somehow perfect and she knows he’s there before he says anything. 

“You’re lurking,” Emma accuses, jumping onto the edge of the kitchen counter now that she’s finished her patrol. 

“And you’re admittedly freaking me out just a bit.” Her laugh does that bubble thing again, something that Killian could probably claim ownership over if he wanted. She knows he won’t, though. Not this version. Not this guy, staring at her like he’s torn between terrified and terrorizing, like he’d challenge the timeline to a duel if needs be. 

“Where’s your sword?” “In the basement. Where it’s been for years.” “You don’t use your sword much?” Taking a step forward, the floor creaks under his sock-covered feet and the realization that he must have put socks back on at some point does what Emma can only imagine is irreparable damage to more than half a dozen internal organs. “Asking that adds to my growing pile of suspicions and worries.” “The freaked out ones?” “Aye,” he nods, hand and hook resting on her hips. Maybe there are magnets there. Maybe he’s just hardwired to touch her. Emma fists her hands. “Why are you surprised by that?” “If I ask you a question will you totally freak out more?” That time he shakes his head. Hair shifts in the process, and there have to be magnets involved. That’s the only reasonable explanation for how quickly Emma’s fingers find the strands, brushing them away and relishing the exact way Killian’s eyes flutter shut and—damn, she did it again. His hand tightens. 

Like he’s nervous she’s going to disappear otherwise. 

“Question for a question is breaking conversational rules,” he starts, “But—” “—You’re a pirate?” “Something that’s been well-documented. What do you want to know?” Everything seems unacceptably vast, and Emma’s not sure which question to pick when they’re all weighing down on her still too-large tongue, but Killian’s eyes don’t pull away from her and he turns his head into her palm. The one cupping his cheek. 

She’s an absolute disaster. Which is, she’ll argue the exact reason, she asks: “Are you in love with me?” He doesn’t laugh. More credit to him, although this credit comes with an asterisk for the exact way his expression shatters. In slow motion. For maxim effect. Muscles in his throat shift when he swallows, the tip of his tongue darting between barely-parted lips, and his next inhale has a distinct shuddering quality to it. 

“More than I knew I could be,” he whispers. “You want to tell me the truth now?” “About? 

Bending his neck, Killian’s exhale brushes Emma’s cheek and for one absolutely insane moment, that would make sense if they were actually married, she thinks he’s going to kiss her. He doesn’t. Figures. Lips graze the edge of hers, sending shockwaves that ripple up her spine and threaten to make magic explode from the tips of her fingers and she has to close her eyes. At the force of his voice, steady despite the emotion behind it. 

“Who are you, really?” The shockwaves disappear. Turn into fear, and something ice-cold and Emma has to blink.

“What?” He clicks his tongue. More than once, in obvious reproach, and she wonders if she’ll have to walk to the plank at some point, the tip of his hook threatening to dig into her skin. “I’ll ask you once more, darling. It’s very good magic, whatever you’re doing. I can feel it, but—” “—You can feel my magic?” “Stop talking,” he sneers, and the symmetry of it all feels like a slap. Several times over. “Now either you tell me the truth, or I’ll have to do something drastic. Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?”

[keladryhawklight]

The Journey

12-16 Sep 627

A low voice came out of the forest, from not far into the shadowed protection the woods offered, "Little human, you're all alone."

Her eyes came up, settling on the green figure in surprise. She almost flinched, realizing exactly who, or rather what addressed her. An older orc appeared grizzled, his skin leather-beaten from years outside as stared at her in a mixture of surprise and wariness. His eyes were oddly thoughtful, betraying an intelligence she knew instinctively not to challenge, not when she was this weakened. "I.. er. G'morning?" she murmured softly, her voice dulled by the weariness that ate away at her.

"Little human, you look unwell," the old orc growled at her. His tusks glinted in the morning light, as he regarded her quietly. Wearing no marker for the horde army, the group he was with appeared as simple civilians. He gestured to her, beckoning her closer to him. Beyond him in the woods was a small camp, she could see. The scent of frying meat reached her senses, but something within her told her to keep moving. Instincts practically screamed at her to move. Could she trust these people? No. NO. The armistice was in place -- they couldn't. Or could they. She couldn't trust them. Paranoia reared its ugly head as the thoughts raced through her, one after the other. No. Not after Kingsland. Not now. They would slice her throat if she dared closed her eyes, she knew. No, Keladry. Move. Keep moving. Do not stop, just go. Her stomach growled loudly at the scent, and in that moment, she almost gave in. Almost conceded to the weakness, exhaustion, hunger and trauma that chased her like the very hounds of hell.

"Come. Eat, rest with us. You might even sleep for a few hours before we move again." His voice was deeply gravelly, and his eyes wary as he watched her. She had never been this close to any member of the Horde, save for the Goblins of Booty Bay, and even then, Horde was the very last thing they would call themselves. A tendril of fear wound through her, breaking through the fevered delirium when he said continued speaking, "I said come along. There is meat and a lone bedroll in our camp for you to make use of for a few brief hours."

"Ah.. That is, I cannot," she murmured quietly, clutching her stick closer to her protectively. "I thank you for your hospitality truly.. but I must decline. Where I must go is not far, and I know the way."

"If that is your choice, human," he acknowledged, nodding his great head. "You will not get far, sickened as you are. Not in these lands."

This was also true. This was a harsh place, not quite known for survival.

"I-it is," she nodded, backing away from the orc slowly. Her eyes never left his, and she knew he more than sensed her nervousness. "I thank you for the offer of hospitality, truly I do. Your kindness is.. truly appreciated." Attempting a smile, she knew it probably didn't reach her face, much as she tried. She simply did not have the energy, much as she wished.

"Go with honor little human," the orc nodded, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that followed her back through the trails of the forest.

"And you in the Light," she returned softly as she painfully ambled back.

She continued up into the foothills. She was close, she knew it in her soul. Desperate to reach the Aerie, she knew she was but a handful of miles from the road that lead down into the Hinterlands. Precious miles. She had ridden these roads so often as a member of the 57th, alongside Brock and the company, had ridden down them as a militant deputy in-command of the Militants division of the crown, and had ultimately fled down these roads when the Hollow had fallen.

One foot in front of the other, Kel, her thoughts whispered. Almost there. Just a few hours longer. Her body was parched; deprived of rest and sustenance, she teetered. The sun, despite the chillier temperatures of the North, seemed to beat down upon her back. Light above, she thought absently. It's just a little farther. A part of her was quite eager to get away from the orcs, feeling for sure that they absolutely could not have been trusted. Absolutely could not.

One foot in front of the other. Just one step after another. One after the other, she continued slowly down the well worn pathway that led towards the dwarven highlands of the Aerie, growing steadily slower. An hour passed. And then another. Her eyes drooped down to the ground after a time, following the dirt pathway.

The sound of a horse reached her, a sharp whinny against the silence she'd been surrounded by. Her head came up slowly as she drew closer to where the sound had originated. Voices sounded as the forest thinned out, barking orders in an almost otherworldly way. Not a sound that she heard often. But one she had heard. Cautiously, she approached, her eyes catching sight of the flapping blue and black fabric in the wind.

The Ebon Blade. This far south. The infestation of undead must truly be bad. She instinctively reached for the rank insignia on her shoulder, and ripped it from the cloth, tearing away the last vestige of her identity. Her tabard had long been shredded on the journey, and her armour was all but destroyed. Now, she was no one. Just another refugee on the roads leading to safety. The orcs may have given her some quarter, but the Ebon Blade were something entirely different. Her Light, normally in reach deep within typically prickled at the sight of them, but it barely flinched. She had to pass them by. Their camp blocked the road that led up to the Aerie. There was no way around.

"G-good morning," she called quietly as she drew close to the closest knight. Undead.. creature. The man whirled upon her, drawing his sword. As quickly as she had spoken, the camp had come alive, buzzing with a paranoid excitement. And just as quickly, she was put into chains, interrogated about her whereabouts, her reasons for being there.

Her thoughts buzzed blearily. She could lie. Give another name. How safe was her own? Her own name could be found in government rosters. Were these knights hostile to the alliance armies? Would they let her through?

"I.. am.." she sighed, letting the full weight of her exhaustion through. She was a refugee whose village had been attacked. They needn't know any more than that. "I am Keladry Hawklight. I seek passage to the Aerie after my home was attacked a few days prior." Her married name would be the only one contained on any file now. Her maiden was less well-known, and might simply be enough to get her through. "I seek nothing but a safe passage to the Aerie to seek medical care and a safe haven to rest."

"You are denied," the nearest to her hissed. He towered over her, looming ominously as his eyes pinned her like prey on the spot."Our purpose is to prevent the taint from reaching the Peak. You are not permitted to pass until they give you permission to pass this checkpoint." He turned, and thundered, "Aldair!"

A second knight came darting up out of the ranks, one that looked.. junior to the first. "Sir," he acknowledged shortly.

"Ride to the Peak," the first knight spoke curtly. "Petition passage for our.. guest."

Aldair nodded. "Yes, Lord Bainscor. I shall return tomorrow with their decision."

Bainscor smiled grimly, his eyes lit with an indescribable cold light. "Excellent." He turned to Kel, and she felt a shiver pass over the back of her neck as he spoke again. "Remand our guest to a holding cell until Aldair returns. We shall see exactly what mercies the Peak has to offer."

[snake-noodles]

Hidden Away

Chapter 1

TW: Minor character death, Gun Violence, Blood, Body Horror,  implied mutation, implied body horror. Please tell me if I missed anything!

Words: 3,000

Read on AO3

----

> Please insert Passcode

> ********

> Processing…

> ...

> Welcome Back to Lobotomy Corp, LOGAN

> You have 2 new messages. Would you like to read them?

>YES

>Understood. Loading…

> "4:42 AM, message from A.

Greetings, Logan. As you are well aware, we have finally captured our newest abnormality. As we are not yet sure what it is capable of, we have given you the proper information and materials to help you not die when entering it's containment.

Thank you, good luck. Your information will be sent shortly."

> "4:44 AM, message from IT computer.

Newest abnormality.

Name: Currently Unknown.

Identification Code: O-01-62(H)

Basic Information: Unknown.

Found in a highly wooded area. Is not fond of employees.

It's danger level is HE.

This abnormality is capable of containment breach.

This abnormality is capable of employee alteration.

Qliphoth Counter: ???

Attack Type: ???

Abnormality Work Favor

Instinct: TBD

Insight: TBD

Attachment: TBD

Repression: TBD

Origins Unknown."

Logan rolls his eyes. "Welcome back", as if he could ever leave this place. No, the only way to leave after entering is dying. Not even those who retire can leave. But, well, he isn't going to complain. He knew what was coming the moment he got accepted for this job. Whether he dies from an abnormality, by the hands of another, or by the hands of nature, he would die inside of this building.

But he has already accepted this.

Swiping his hand, the messages are stocked away for later. He stands still for a moment, looking around the room he was given in this prison of a workplace.

It wasn't bad, really. Patton had complained about it being too bland for his tastes- and he could see why. The walls were a blue-grey and the floors were hard and cold. You were allowed to decorate, but he only thought to grab what he absolutely needed when he was accepted for this job. Of course, he has a few items of sentimental value, but his dorm looks more like a prison cell than a room someone would live in. Not to mention the only windows in this damned place show projections. He knows this is the life he chose, but he wonders often when he'll get depressed from the lack of sunlight. Or when he'll go insane from the sanity drain of the abnormalities. Or when he'll get killed for making the wrong move.

Maybe he's already depressed. He wishes he could change the color. As much as he loves blue, he knows that bright colors would help better with his mental state, even if he prefers cool colors. Maybe he could convince A to let him order some things. Patton would like that, too. And… Roman.

...

He sighs, adjusting his glasses and straightening his tie, slowly standing from his office chair and walking to the door. Pressing his hand to the sensor, the mechanical doors open for him, and he makes his way into the hallway, where plenty of other dorms are. Most dorms are meant to hold 2 or more people, but since Logan was the best human on his team, he got special privileges. He walks to the elevator, going down into the large building where the information team is settled.

The building is absolutely massive. With the dorms, offices, and the apothecaries scattered on the top floors, while the abnormalities stay underground. There were the employee containment cells as well, when one of the workers lose their sanity from an abnormality. There's the morgue, and the body chute. That's self explanatory. There's the lobbies on the different floors for the separate teams. They did a good job at making it look like a nice environment. It's horrible, though.

The elevator finally slows to a stop, the elevator shaking as the heavy doors open. He steps out into the Information Team lobby, seeing coworkers hanging around, waiting for their next tasks, and others rushing to and fro. Some coming back from their abnormality work, and others wearing fake courage as they go to collect more information.

Logan ignores it all though. He has a job assigned to him. And so, he walks out into the long hallway, brushing past other employees and reading the signs before stopping at the mechanical door labeled O-01-62(H). He's not exactly sure what to expect. He makes sure he has everything on him before he enters. Notepad, information file, gun… He should be set.

He raises his hand, letting the door scan him. The light blinks green, and the heavy door opens. He enters the containment to see the abnormality waiting for him with a smile. It isn't the first time he's seen one waiting for him with a smile. Won't be the last either.

The subject in front of him wasn't the most outrageous he's ever seen, though. In fact, it was rather tame compared to most of the others. What seemed to be a normal man covered in emerald scales. A snake eye, large claws, and some lizard like anatomy in his legs, as well as a long scaled tail. He had a longer neck, that was a little strange to see on someone so humanlike- but Logan is used to this stuff already. He wore nice clothes, and it reminded Logan of one of the other abnormalities.

"My, my, it's rude to stare." He smirks, showing fangs. Logan simply ignores it, taking out his notepad to start writing.

"Not a talker? How boring. First I'm kidnapped, and my kidnappers aren't even social." He dawls, resting a hand on his head. Logan briefly wonders where the extra limbs came from. But, he rolls his eyes. Kidnapping. As if Logan himself wasn't a victim in this thing too.

"You're rather calm compared to the last one. Have you been here longer? More used to the freaks here? Well, I suppose compared to Remus-" Logan's eyes widen slightly.

"How do you know about the other abnormalities? That information is classified, and you're not even allowed to see them." Logan stares.

"Oh so that got your attention? I have no idea what you're talking about, though! I never said anything." The abnormality giggles, snake eye glowing. And even though Logan knows that it's lying, for some reason, his brain wants him to believe it. He shakes his head, writing that down in his notes. He would not let himself panic.

"So you're a liar." Logan notes aloud. The abnormality laughs.

"Ohh, so smart. Wow, Logan, you must be a genius~! Are you gonna get a gold star for making such a good guess?" He smirks, stepping dangerously close to the yellow line. Logan's grip tightens on his pen ever so slightly, but he stays in his spot, writing down his notes.

"Just continue talking and this can be over with." Logan sighs, and the abnormality smirks, pacing around on its side of the room.

"Oh, you think you're safe once you get out of here? You took me from my home and keeping me in this room so I never see the light of day. If I escape, I'll be killed. And for what reason?" It steps forward, straightening its posture. "Because I'm not normal? Not human? I feel like I'm in the right to want revenge. What's next? Will you chain me down? Will you poison me? Tie me up? Burn me? I'd love to see you try."

Logan shifts slightly. The progress isn't going well. He needs it to go well. It has to go well. He cannot let himself drain.

"... You're right to feel like this." Logan says, and the reptile laughs, throwing its head back.

"Oh, that's a lie! Logan, you just want to get on my good side so you'll have a shiny sparkling reputation! It's no use lying to me. I can see everything." The snake smirks, eye glowing.

Shit, this isn't going well. Logan grits his teeth, finishing up his notes and turning to leave.

"Don't think you're safe just because you can leave this containment." It states, watching as Logan leaves without another word.

The moment he steps out and the doors lock, he sees employees with their weapons out, chasing after another employee whom failed with an abnormality. Typical.

The man was screaming, clawing at his hair and face, spouting nonsense and hurting others. And Logan doesn't hesitate to do his job. So without any second thoughts, he pulls out his gun, and shoots the man. It takes 3 shots before the screams go quiet. There's a beat of silence, before employees either go back to work, or go to their respective lobbies to try and not think about their dead coworker.

It was another thing Logan had grown used to, as horrible as it sounds. If an employee breaks, they cannot hurt others and damage any work. It disrupts the order. Really, he's doing a favor putting the poor souls out of their misery. He's just glad that panicked employee didn't murder anyone this time.

"Aw, what the fuck! He was a newbie you guys!" An AI shouts. One from one of the other departments. He looks over to the employee being reprimanded by… Remy, he believes. The AIs were strange. A was the only AI here that was not programmed with emotion. The others are… uncomfortably human. So much so that Logan often forgets that they're not real. Remy rants, dragging away the dead body past Logan, a trail of blood following behind. He blinks simply, going to his next task.

The day continues as normal. Or as normal as it can get here. Talking with abnormalities has become normal. He isn't attached to any of them, but a few seem to like him. He's not sure why. He's not the kindest on the team. He's horrible with attachment work as well. One reason he's not allowed to even go near some of the others. If he did, he'd die. Simple as that.

He finishes up his insight work with O-01-92(T) feeling oddly refreshed. He did come in at a good time, he supposes- she was in her smiling state. He looks down, seeing his next assignment, which was to talk with O-01-62(H) again. He purses his lips. Everything has been going fine so far, he believes he can do this, get information, send it to A and then he can better deal with it. He takes a deep breath, brushing down his jacket and getting to work. He walks down the long hallways until he once again reaches the room.

"Back already, Logan?" It smiles, pacing back and forth. Logan simply sighs. Better to just get it over with, he supposes.

"Yes, and we both know why."

"Really? Truly, I have no idea why. Care to elaborate for me?" He smiles, looking at his long claws. Logan stares for a moment, before sighing.

"I am simply here to gather information about you to better understand you and keep you under surveillance and contained." He states, straightening his posture.

"I must be a real threat." He snarls.

"That you are." Logan says, missing the sarcasm. "Normal people cannot know of your existence as well as any of the others if they want to live a happy life. They'd be ignorant, but at least they would not be living in fear."

The snake stares, unimpressed. "And your employees?"

"They know and accept the dangers that await them. If they're afraid, they should have not signed up for this job." He shrugs. The abnormality laughs.

"Perhaps you're right! This job did a lot of good for Virgil!" He slams his fist against the wall.

"... It didn't do Virgil any good. He simply wasn't ready."

The snake stares. "Yes, as I said… And you and the others let him turn into another freak to keep in captivity."

Logan shifts uncomfortably. This abnormality shouldn't know about the others. How does he know all of this? How does he know what happened to Virgil? He takes a breath, adjusting his glasses.

"That's neither here nor there. Right now, I need to gather information about you. Surely you want me out of here as soon as possible, correct?"

"Oh, of course not, Logan. I just looove seeing your face in this bland bland room. In fact, I'd love to talk to you some more! I'm sure there's so many interesting things to learn all about you." The snake spews out those words, sickly sweet on his tongue, acting as if the sugar of the words made him sick. "If you couldn't tell, that was a lie. This is dreadfully boring."

"... Right." Logan shakes his head, writing this all down in his notebook. The abnormality taps his claws against the metal walls. For a few seconds, the only sounds were the metal taps and the scribbling sound of pencil on paper. He still finds it strange how he has to write on paper when they've got so much advanced technology in this place. But that's besides the point. After he writes down the subjects behavior and general personality, he looks up.

"... If it's alright with me asking, are you cold blooded? You are very reptilian in appearance, so I'm just curious. And, if you get a nicer employee, they could accommodate your needs. If you're lucky, anyway." He starts, stopping himself short from rambling. The abnormality is silent before speaking.

"No, I- Yes, I am cold blooded. I cannot blink with my left eye. I have a forked tongue. But I am also different in certain aspects. But I don't feel like telling you. Have I satisfied your curiosity, smart guy?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Fascinating." He whispers, so quiet that the snake barely hears it as the employee writes it all down. He'd still need to learn about the abnormality's backstory and abilities, but for now these will do, and he can hopefully trade in his information to A later today.

He's snapped out of his thoughts though when the lights flash red a few times. The abnormality smiles, looking up. Logan doesn't leave. He's not allowed to when he's working with an abnormality.

"Seems a certain itsy bitsy spider is having a meltdown." The snake states. Logan purses his lips. How the abnormality knows all of this, he isn't sure. But hopefully he will know soon enough. He hardly notices that his time is up. It's strange- this went alot better than last time, and seemingly quicker, too. He would have thought the abnormality would try to rip out his throat, but he isn't complaining.

"Time's up already? Well, I'm sure you're needed elsewhere, little lamb." He laughs menacingly. "But don't worry, doll. I'm not going anywhere."

"Of course you're not going anywhere. There's nowhere else you can go. So, I'm not worried." And with that, he leaves the containment, making sure to lock the metal door behind him.

The day went a lot faster than he had realized. It was already time to clock out. He sees employees and agents leaving to soon be replaced with guards. And he's never seen them himself, but supposedly the deliverers to bring the abnormalities food. But, he doesn't wait around. He doesn't have to go to his dorm room, yet, so he wanders to the Control Team, seeing Roman reluctantly leave the room belonging to F-06-54(W), or Remus. Roman's very own brother. Though A didn't name him Remus, instead calling him 'The Duke'. Roman hated that they wouldn't call him by his actual name. Patton hated it too. Virgil was slowly being forgotten as 'Virgil'. And Remus was only known by Roman- the others only having vague stories and experiences prior to his… corruption. Logan stares, Roman quickly spotting him and putting on a dashing smile. It was hard to believe he was an employee here. At least Patton's job as a nurse made more sense- but Roman didn't seem like the type for this job at all. But he was surprisingly good. The abnormalities that favor attachment absolutely love Roman. And of course, he has never been purposefully hurt by Remus. In fact, Remus would probably meltdown and kill anyone that wasn't Roman.

Roman walks over, rubbing his arm.

"Rough day? You seem tired." He points out, swaying slightly as he walks.

"Do I? I hadn't noticed. We have a new abnormality, and… he's difficult. Not the worst I've dealt with, though." He shrugs. "Mostly… confusing."

Roman pats him on the back, maybe a bit too hard, but he doesn't seem to notice Logan's discomfort. "Specs? Confused by something? Unheard of! Surely you'll get it, bud! You're the best on your team, after all!" He smiles, pulling his hand away and swaying his arms as he walks with Logan.

"Oh, shut up." He rolls his eyes, sorting his papers.

"Say, are you hungry? Patton wanted to meet for dinner! I know you're a busy guy and all, but we can't have you passing out on us." He hums, looking over with hope in his eyes.

Logan opens his mouth to protest, but slowly realizes he hasn't eaten at all today. He was so absorbed in doing his work that he didn't think about actually using his lunch break. He sighs. "I suppose you're right. How irresponsible of me. As soon as I finish, I'm going to file my subject reports, though."

"Okay! Not gonna stop you. But let's not make Patty cake wait!" Roman laughs, taking Logan's hand and dragging him to the elevator, making him stumble over his own feet and curse under his breath. The brunette laughs, and the two are on their way.

In containment O-01-62(H), when all the lights are out, he changes his form, stretching out his now human fingers.

In the dark, his glasses catch the faint red light of the exit sign.

And he smiles.

>...

>... Information Sent!

> Thank you for your hard work, LOGAN. A report on O-01-62(H) will be written based on your information and be sent to you shortly.

> Thank you, valued employee!

[kazosa]

Second Chances - Jeff x Reader: Chapter 5

HELP ME NAME THIS SERIES! DON’T BE SHY!

Summary: Reader and Jeff work a project and become fast friends. The project ends and they go their separate ways, neither forgetting the other. With Hollywood being a small community, you two bump into one another either at events or projects, but there is always something keeping you apart. Will the obstacles ever end? Chapter 5 Summary: Reader goes to another party and has a chance encounter. Warnings: language (probably), slow burn, angst, crowded space anxiety A/N: I have a few ideas to continue this, but it’s still developing. Please leave comments or let me know if you want to be tagged, etc.

Word count: 2100(ish)

Catch up here: Masterlist

Tags: @jml509 @jasoncrouse @yellatthetopofyourlungs

Flash Forward 2002

Your POV:      Not gonna lie, it hurt watching Jeff walk away. I was unsure of so many things, but I was sure that Jeff at least liked me. I don’t know what I expected from him, but I thought I deserved to have a proper goodbye. What happened at the bar made me feel like a cheap mistress.      I was mad at him for a long time which was also his fault because he didn’t call me at all, not once. We could have talked things over and maybe I would have been able to forgive him sooner. By the time I’d forgiven him and let it go, I felt like I’d missed my shot, that I was too late. I didn’t have his phone number, but I could have gotten it, I’d just gotten to where I was too scared to do so.      Oddly enough, it was Todd, the first AD from the movie, that was there to help me pick up the pieces and help me through my issues. Todd was the one who gave me a business card for a producer at Fox Studios. He’d lined up a job to be AD on an episode of “The X-Files” and suggested I send in my app. I’d had a quick interview over the phone with Kim Manners and he said he wanted to meet me, so I had decided to make a vacation of it and packed clothes for a week. I ended up staying for 3 years.      Kim had offered me the job and it was awesome. I got to work on one of the coolest shows on TV and it was nice to have a somewhat regular schedule. The show had run for twelve years and wasn’t renewed for another season, so I was out of a job. The studio was going to throw us a big party in LA a few weeks after the show wrapped. There would be a screening of the finale in an auditorium and some live music, probably more, in a ballroom at the same location. Pretty much everyone that had ever worked on the show was going to be there, and the usual celebrity invites were sent.

     You were in your bathroom getting ready to go to the party. You had curled your hair and had it pinned back so the curls cascaded down to your shoulders. You decided to wear a black dress. It was somewhat form fitting but the material felt like a t-shirt and that was what sold you on it. Simple silver jewelry, your star necklace that you always wore, black heels with an ankle strap and a clutch were your accessories.      “Babe, you ready to go yet?” Todd said from the bathroom door.      “Uh, yeah. How do I look, okay?” you said giving him the full view.      Todd’s mouth was hanging open just a bit. “Jesus.”      You smiled. “So, good?”      “Yeah, you look amazing,” he said.      His eyes briefly landed on the necklace. You knew Todd didn’t really like you wearing the necklace that Jeff had bought you, but he knew that it was more to you than something Jeff had given you. It reminded you to always work hard and never give up and it had paid off.

     You’d been promoted to a production coordinator the last year of the X-Files. Kim had fought hard for you to get that promotion and you’d wanted to knock it out of the park and make him proud. It certainly helped that it was the last year and if you messed it up too much, it really didn’t have much bearing on the show’s success!      Proving again that working hard and doing a good job for your employer pays off, Kim had given your name to someone he knew. This person was going to be an executive producer on a cable show tentatively named “Hack” for HBO. Just the week prior to the party and one week after production ended, you got a call from Bob Singer inviting you down to the States to begin filming in Philadelphia in just 2 months.      You crossed the room to him and pushed Todd out of the bathroom. You were both ready now and he drove you to the party.

     Whenever you were nervous, you touched the star that hung round your neck, and you were nervous now. Todd had gone ahead to find a spot for you to sit and you didn’t like being left alone to get through this big of a crowd. You hated being sentimental, but every time you touched it, you remembered how calming Jeff had been for you and it helped to settle your nerves. Events like this one worked your crowded spaces anxiety pretty hard. You were starting to feel hot. People were everywhere and people bumping into you was something that you had the most difficulty with. You never understood how people didn’t see you. You were quite tall even in flats and people would still bump you. “How do you not see me?!”  you always thought.      Your irritation meter was pegged. Your skin started to feel prickly. You swore if one more person bumped into you, you were going to give ‘em a piece of your mind. Where the hell was Todd?! You stopped to open your clutch to pull out your cell phone when it happened. Someone had slammed into you so hard, you stumbled sending your clutch and cell phone flying. You watched as the contents of your clutch emptied all over the red carpet.      “GODDAMNIT!” you didn’t yell, but you were definitely loud with your production coordinator voice in full effect. You felt all of the eyes turn toward you and your outburst, but you didn’t care, you were sick of people being so damn rude.      You crouched down to pick up the things that had fallen near your feet.      “I’m so sorry. No, no, let me do that,” a low, smooth voice said.      It had been a while, but you knew that voice. The goosebumps let you know you weren’t imagining it. The man’s shoes were beat up boots, he wore jeans, and if you stood up to look at his shirt, you would bet it was a t-shirt, maybe a suit jacket over it.      “Let me help you up,” he said.      You put one hand in his and the other went to the star around your neck. The old habit didn’t seem to help this time. You let go of his hand but couldn’t look up into his eyes.      The man put your things back inside your clutch.      “Sweetheart,” he said.      The goosebumps again. Where the hell was Todd?!      “You gotta let me apologize,” he said.      You put your hands on the clutch and tried to take it, but he wouldn’t let you.      “You already did,” you said.

Jeff’s side:

     He hated these events. The only thing they were good for was seeing old friends and networking, otherwise, it was all meaningless bullshit. Case in point, he’d just finished talking to an old acquaintance, Jerry, about getting together for drinks some night.      He’d finished his conversation with Jerry and, as he turned to walk inside, he didn’t notice the woman that had stopped behind him and he slammed into her, sending her little purse flying. It wasn’t until he saw the light glint off the star hanging around her neck that he realized who she was.      Oh Jesus, it’s (Y|N), he thought.      He wanted to dash away, but he couldn’t, not again. He’d wanted to call her so many times. He almost did more than a few, even dialed once or twice. He had good reasons, at the time, not to call. Now, he couldn’t remember what a single reason was.      He missed her a lot, at first. He often thought about that last night he was with her, how he almost kissed her at the hotel. If he was going to be honest with himself, he knew back then that something wasn’t right between him and Anya. If he had really been in love with his wife, he wouldn’t have had those feelings for (Y|N). It took him a long time to realize that he was drawn to her for a reason, and now here he was, literally running into her at an event.      She wouldn’t look at him when he called her “sweetheart.” He supposed he didn’t deserve to call her that anymore. All he wanted to do was tell her how sorry he was and that he should never have left with Anya, at least, not without saying goodbye. He wanted to explain to her why he did the things he did, but on the red carpet was not a good place to talk.

     “No, I mean for before. For leaving without saying goodbye, for leaving the way I did. It wasn’t fair to you. Can we talk about it sometime?” he said.      You really wanted to tell him off. He actually wanted to talk now. “You mean like you should have done three years ago?”      He had that coming and he knew it, “Yes, like that. Can I meet you after the party to talk?”      “You got a lot of balls asking me that,” you practically hissed. “Tell you what, if you can find me, you can talk to me.”      “Babe, everything okay?” Todd had finally reappeared.      The moment got very awkward as Todd realized it was Jeff who had caused (Y|N)’s current irritation.      “Oh, it’s you,” Todd said, unimpressed.      Jeff gave Todd the same look. Todd had been the cause of a lot of (Y|N)’s anxiety during their film shoot. What in the hell was he doing here with her?      “Todd, you remember Jeff,” you said.      “Of course, he does. Otherwise he wouldn’t be giving me that look right now. Are you two together?” Jeff asked.      “We are and we’re very happy,” Todd said holding his arm out to you.      You took it and he led you away. You couldn’t form a coherent thought until Todd had you seated in the auditorium.      “Wanna tell me what is going on?” Todd’s voice sounded accusatory.      “He ran into me and it made me drop my purse,” you said, still a little dazed. “I had no idea he’d be here.”      Todd was the one who had helped put you back together after the wrap-party incident. You thought you’d sorted through it all, but now it all came flooding back to you. The weight of the star resting on your chest was bound to suffocate you, but you couldn’t bear to take it off.

Todd’s side:

     He saw the whole thing, the look in her eyes when she watched him walk out the door, the tears that welled up. He’d gone to her and put an arm around her shoulders and helped her back to the table. He didn’t ask her if she wanted a drink, he just pushed his fresh drink in front of her and let her go. Todd had seen the way they were together, everyone had, and no one begrudged them any of it, sometimes a person had to take happiness when it presented itself. It had been obvious to everyone that they had something special, whatever it was. Watching Jeff throw it all away and the hurt he had caused (Y|N) had made it all come across so cheap.      It took a few days for what happened to really set in. She had a lot of issues to deal with and he’d been there for her. He had gotten a job in Vancouver and suggested she put in an app with the studio, and just as he’d thought, they offered her a job and they each got a place to live in Vancouver.      His feelings for her didn’t just happen overnight, it took a while and now they were in a place where she was good without Jeff and they had a good life together. They were even talking about getting a place together in Philadelphia rather than two separate places.

     “Do you want me to kick his ass?” he said seriously.      You tried not to laugh in Todd’s face. Instead, you just smiled at his offer. There was no way he could take Jeff. Jeff had at least 50 pounds on him and was probably 6 inches taller. Jeff was also not afraid to throw down and would destroy Todd.      “Don’t worry about it, Todd,” you said putting your hand on top of his. “I really don’t think he’ll be a bother.”      “Didn’t he say he wanted to talk to you?” Todd asked.      “Yeah, but his track record for that isn’t the greatest. Let’s just try to enjoy the party, okay?” you said, more calmly than you were feeling.

[imaginemycroftholmes]

Mycroft walking in on his parents? Either adult or child - up to you :-)

Mycroft was annoyed that once again his parents had repeatedly neglected to tend to Sherlock for almost the entire week that he was back from boarding school.

More than once Mycroft had to trick Sherlock into taking baths, every night was a battle trying to get Sherlock to eat something other than sweets (Mummy said that I could!), how Sherlock had decidedly attempt to stay awake for every living second until Mycroft could wrestle him to bed and Mycroft had just about had it.

When their parents failed to send a car for him Mycroft managed, when they neglected to welcome him home Mycroft forgave them, but what they were doing with Sherlock was unacceptable!

“Where are our parents?” Mycroft demanded as he tried in vain to detach Sherlock from his place on the bookshelf. For some odd reason Sherlock had been holing up in high places not yet out of his arms reach but achingly so by a mere inch.

“Mummy made me promise not to tell because I’m special,” Sherlock insists while attempting to squirm away only to have gravity work against him and fall straight into Mycroft’s waiting arms.

Grappling for a good hold (and doing so just narrowly missing a kick to his face) Mycroft all but frog marches his brother toward his room with a very strained, “Yes, you are special brother dear of mine, but you won’t be for much longer if you don’t tell me where they are.”

But Sherlock merely gives a defiant glare and remains silent the whole journey through the darkened corridors of the manor.

Oh Mycroft tried to wheedle it out of Sherlock but the little brat refused to talk so with little respite he put Sherlock to bed and went searching for their parents.

In the gloomy shadows of the house Mycroft searched high and low for any signs of their parents. Checked every room and cranny but he couldn’t find a trace.

Well, almost every room.

“There’s no reason why they would be in the wine cellar,” Mycroft tells himself as he checks through his parents finically statements for clues, “after all it’s cold and Mummy hates down there.” And more importantly it was an incredibly creepy room for him.

Mycroft couldn’t place it but the wine cellar beneath their ancestral home always felt like a threatening place to him on some base level he couldn’t explain.

As a child he avoided the area like a quarantine and even in his young adolescent years Mycroft was still hesitant to make a trip near it even now.

It was childish of him, Mycroft will admit, but he just can’t shake the sense of impending doom that seemed to waft off it any time he drew close to its wooden entrance.

He searches every file he can find on the family computer and the file cabinet but finds nothing. No transactions prior to him arriving home and none during.

Courage Mycroft thinks Courage and Sherlock when facing the ominous looking stair way that leads into the frigid cellar.

Without a flashlight to his name (Mycroft had a sneaking suspicion that it was Sherlock related) and knowing that the only light switch lay at the bottom of the stairs Mycroft mentally prepared himself to face the daunting darkness of the cellar.

Each step down sent an electrifying jolt down his spine DANGER it screamed as he got ever closer toward the bottom. His brain screaming to turn away. Run away and return to the surface where he was safe, safe with Sherlock but Mycroft strengthened his resolve to further the mission.

Our parents have to be held accountable!

The air was colder than he could have imagined even for a wine cellar but Mycroft continued down to get his answers.

When his bedroom slippers hit the bottom of the stairs Mycroft felt his body screaming to surrender the fight and leave; every cell in his body seemingly trying to turn away from the thought of making contact with the cold concrete floor below.

Mycroft would be lying if he said he didn’t feel something inherently wrong with setting foot on the cellar floor but he tentatively looked around the large room.“Mummy? Father?” he called out his voice just a hair above a whisper, the chill of the room making it hard to stay still and his voice weak.

The air in the cellar was stiff and smelled vaguely of some strange order he couldn’t define but smelled oddly familiar.

Probably the scent of a wine I once had for a birthday Mycroft tries to reason and put the distracting thought out of his mind to focus on the real task on hand.Blindly Mycroft feels for a switch on the wall next to the staircase and finds one but it seems to have been disconnected.

Typical Mycroft thinks as he tries to adjust to the darkness for any sign of light or life.

It takes a tick for him to catch it. That small sliver of white light just beyond several barrels lined up to the right of him. It’s eerie looking and a beacon if Mycroft ever saw one.

They have to be there Mycroft decides there’s literally nowhere else on the property they can be. That alone was enough to booster Mycroft’s courage just a bit in order to carefully navigate the maze of caskets.

If anything Mycroft was a bit surprised that he was able to do so at all without stumbling as much as he thought he would but managed to do so in record time to reach the small line of light beyond a darkened door.

There were soft noises coming from beyond it. Not entirely clear but enough to determine there were two of them. That has to be them.

Mycroft goes to the door and finds that there is no handle.

Gingerly he palms the outer edge of the frame until something lights up and the door opens sideways. What in the devil? He questions stepping in cautiously but Mycroft is distracted by the now amplified sound. It’s a loud thunder of a noise that sounds one part human and three parts something alien that it makes his skin crawl.

There’s inhuman growls and grunts emitting from a room just at the end of the white corridor and a waves of freezing air pulsing from it.

If Mycroft had reservations about the cellar now this room certainly took the cake.

Turn back turn back turn back his mind screams as his body betrays him by walking steadily forward. Like on autopilot as the scent and sounds entrap it.

Don’t do it, run away his mind begs as his hand numbly reaches by the door frame where a small panel is waiting lights up under his touch.

Look away run away his inner voice wails as the door sides open sidewise to reveal the most horrifying thing Mycroft had ever the displeasure to behold.

There behind the door was his father, still breathing as this…thing. This monster tore into him with relish with its large pale legs holding him hostage and its mouth open and agape with must be fiendish rapture.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Mycroft desperately wants to turn and run but his father spots him; his voice unexpectedly strong and concerned despite having tentacles running through and within his open chest cavity, “Oh crap, Violet! Violet!”

Mycroft looks incuriously and hysterical as the monster, this creature made of nightmares stops twisting all over his damaged father to look at him with all its beady black eyes and sharp teeth.

“Oh biscuits, how on earth did you get in here in here you idiot boy?”

He can’t help it. Mycroft laughs.

To hear his mummy’s voice coming from that monstrous thing is probably the last laugh he’ll ever have before that creature eats him and kills him.“How dare you laugh at us you insolent child!” the creature insists slowly and carefully releasing his father and stalking closer. “Why if it wasn’t for me and your father doing this none of you wouldn’t even be here to laugh!”

As it comes closer the laughter dies on Mycroft and even more so when his father starts to comfort the thing while he’s still bleeding out.

“To be fair Violet I don’t think the boy understands his heritage,” Siger offers as he more or less tries to hold in his inwards, “And it’s not like you told him anything either.”

“That’s hardly my fault Siger that your eldest didn’t seem to show any signs of Valdorn maturity!”  the creature, nee, Mummy retorts as she now stands before him a heaping mass well over ten feet even without her spider like limbs standing at full capacity.

“I can’t help it us Holmes are late bloomers!” father huffs a bit strained as he tries to fish a towel up with his foot without leaning forward.

If Mycroft ever faint around Mummy before he was sure now more than ever that he was truly terrified as her head big enough to sallow him whole leaned in close.

“I would trust that by now that you realize that I’m not exactly human and obviously you wouldn’t have gotten this far without having a good amount of Valdorn to make it pass my defenses,” Mummy confesses with her breath oppressive with heat, “but we don’t have too much time to chit chat as I’m in heat and I need to get back to your father before he bleeds to death without my secretions to put him back together. So you’re going to march back upstairs, take care of Sherlock until my heat passes, and not breath a word of this to anyone, not even Sherlock until I give you the go ahead are we clear?”

Not trusting his voice to do much other than quiver at the sight of all his mother’s eyes boring down at him or the blades she called teeth framed by her grimace Mycroft nods dumbly.

“Good. Now get out.”

Mycroft didn’t need to be told twice.He fled the corridor as fast as he could to the cellar as if it was the last safe haven on earth.

However there was one thing that halted his sprint just as he made it to back into the cold comfort of the cellar that chilled him even more.

“Well I guess I won’t have to eat him after all.”

[vernieman]

French smartphone maker Wiko has carved a name for itself for producing feature-packed devices in the budget- to mid-range segment. The quirky brand harps on design, good build, rich features, stock Android and wallet-friendly prices to target the youth and masses. The latest to reach Malaysian shores is the entry-level Wiko View2 Plus.

The Wiko View2 Plus is the budget baby of the full-screen View range, with the range-topping View2 Pro still one of my favourite Wiko devices. Offered at just MYR559 the View2 Plus packs surprising flagship-level extras wrapped in an attractive package.

Design and build

Thanks to Huawei, smartphones with gradient colours and shiny backs are all the rage now. Riding on the wave, the View2 Plus features a plastic glass-like back treated with a special coating called Supernova. The gradient colour runs from purple to blue to green, and makes the phone look more expensive than it actually is. There’s another colourway, though much more understated, called Anthracite.

Aesthetically, the View2 Plus isn’t a bad looker at all – featuring a sleek silhouette and curves on all sides. It’s easy to mistake it for something from the honor camp, but I guess that’s a good thing.

On the glimmering back, there’s a rear mounted fingerprint scanner and a vertical dual-camera array with an LED flash.

On the front, there’s a notched 5.93-inch HD+ display (720×1512) with a 19:9 screen aspect ratio. While it’s part of the View family, it isn’t completely “full-screen,” and it has a pronounced chin at the bottom.

Hardware

It’s no surprise that Wiko has opted for the octa-core Qualcomm Snapdragon 450 chipset for the View2 Plus. It’s an entry-level SoC that’s low-cost and power-efficient, paired with an Adreno 506 GPU. These are mated to 3GB of RAM and 32GB of storage, generous specifications considering the price point.

There’s microSD expansion via a dedicated microSD card slot (with dual-SIM) just in case you need more storage.

The View2 Plus pretty much ticks all the checkboxes in terms of essential smartphones specs – Wi-Fi 802.11a/b/g/n, Bluetooth 4.2, A-GPS, and GLONASS.

What’s surprising is the addition of face authentication as well as fairly strong cameras in this segment. The main camera is a dual-camera setup consisting of twin 12MP (1.25-micron pixel) Sony IMX486 sensors with PDAF. It’s equipped with an LED flash as well as electronic image stabilisation for 1080p video.

The front is a capable 8MP f/2.0 selfie shooter with LED flash, HDR and auto-HDR.

The device keeps going throughout the day thanks to the massive 4,000mAh battery that charges via conventional micro-USB.

Software

The Wiko software experience has always been stock Android which translates to fast and fluid performance even on entry-level hardware like the View2 Plus. There’s still some bloatware but not overwhelmingly so.

The View2 Plus runs Android 8.1 Oreo out-of-the-box with Wiko UI on top.

Performance

For general use, the Wiko View2 Plus is a silky performer. This is mostly thanks to stock Android and ample memory. The phone is a smooth operator when it comes to multi-tasking and switching between apps, and it will run all your favourite apps without issues.

Where it does falter is with more intense 3D games. Games like Real Racing, PUBG Mobile and Asphalt 9 are by no means unplayable, but you’ll have to settle for medium quality graphics settings and be prepared for a dropped frame or two.

The display is sufficiently sharp and bright despite it being only HD+ resolution and it’s legible even in sunlight. On screen text is crisp and colour reproduction is pretty accurate although it tends to be on the bluish side of the spectrum.

If you’re interested, I ran a couple of basic benchmarks. Geekbench returned a score of 770 for single core and 3940 for multi-core putting it within expected range of performance for its specs. GFXBench tests revealed performance that’s also aligned with its hardware. Oddly, I couldn’t get a proper AnTuTu benchmark run without the app freezing at 17 percent, even after multiple tries.

Thanks to the massive 4,000mAh cell, battery life is amazing. Expect over one day of battery life with at least 6 hours of screen on time. With a lower-powered processor, lower resolution screen and stock Android, the View2 Plus is frugal and will easily get you through the day.

Audio performance from the single rear-facing speaker is acceptable. The oddly-placed single speaker works with the top earpiece to simulate a stereo experience, and it delivers above average decibel levels and clarity. Good enough for enjoying games, movies and music. And yes, there’s a 3.5mm audio jack.

It’s a pleasant to find Face Unlock as a standard feature on a budget device and it’s pretty snappy too. Fingerprint scanning could be quicker, but no real complaints here.

Camera

The stand out feature on the View2Plus, for me at least, lies in the optics department. The dual 12MP main shooters are surprisingly strong for the price point. The 1/2.9-inch Sony IMX486 sensors with large 1.25-micron pixels and PDAF deliver above average images. Given good light, photos are nicely exposed and have good detail, as well as overall good colour reproduction.

In low light environments, it’s surprisingly decent. You’ll need some steady hands and if you can get that sorted, the View2 Plus will reward you.

It has an LED flash, just in case you need additional help in the dark.

It’s pretty well-rounded as a camera experience, and you’ll find modes like Panorama, HDR and Pro (manual) to play around with.

[irp]

It’ll shoot up to 1080p @ 60fps, and even comes with electronic image stabilisation (EIS) to keep shaky videos at bay.

The twin lens helps to deliver some bokehlicious photos in Portrait Mode. Quality is above expectation, with acceptable separation between main subject and background.

Over on the front, the 8MP f/2.0 selfie shooter is supported by AI Beauty and auto-HDR.

In the box

Wiko View2 Plus unit

Earphones

10W Power adapter

USB Type-A to micro-USB cable

SIM ejector tool

Soft silicone case

Screen protector

User manual and warranty information

Pros

Well-rounded package

Interesting colour treatment

Good performance

Excellent battery life

Surprising camera experience

Triple card slot

Face Unlock is a bonus

Stock Android

Affordable

Cons

Plastic body is a fingerprint magnet

Can’t keep up with intense 3D games

Verdict

True to the brand’s DNA, the Wiko View2 Plus packs amazing levels of kit into an accessible price point. It’s everything you’ll need in a smartphone, and great for the younger generation, first time smartphone buyers, or those looking for a wallet-friendly device.

Price and availability

The Wiko View2 Plus retails for MYR559 and is available in Supernova and Anthracite. You can purchase the View2 Plus from the Wiko official store on Lazada Malaysia. It comes with a 1-year warranty.

For more information, visit the official Wiko View2 Plus page.

For everything Wiko, visit this page.

[nextpage title=”Gallery”]Check out the sample shots from the Wiko View2 Plus. All images are straight from camera, unedited aside from watermarking. Click for a larger preview.

Wiko View2 Plus review: French smartphone maker Wiko has carved a name for itself for producing feature-packed devices in the budget- to mid-range segment.

[lindsaynsmith]

Read It Should Have Been You, a Short Story on the Future of Death

Read It Should Have Been You, a Short Story on the Future of Death https://ift.tt/2yJcfcp

Image: Kundra/Shutterstock

[Beginning Log File 0289]

Fuck you.

No, seriously, fuck you.

My collection site hurts particularly bad today and I’m cranky, but I need to focus on you. You, the one with the permanent bag under your left eye after you let your dumbass cousin hack your car and turn the ADT off. Your face slammed into the console, which turned your orbital bone into an assortment of mismatched, razor-sharp puzzle pieces that tried to find homes in the gooey surface of your eye, but it was Shakyra who flew through the windshield and wetly slid down the hood until she plopped onto the road. The ambulance had already been deployed the moment she crashed into the car in front of you two, but when it arrived five minutes later, its sirens weren’t even on. It eased to a stop and two paramedics casually slid from the front seat. The road sensors had already told them she was dead.

You were spared from the full visual effect of her broken, bleeding body because you’d gone temporarily blind in that left eye. But you knew. The paramedics knew. The onlookers, who cruised by in their own self-driving cars, never stopping, never slowing down—they knew, too. But you weren’t thinking of Shakyra as stupid then, not yet. All you were thinking as the paramedics guided you onto the stretcher was, “No.”

Shit, I hate thinking about that. Fuck, fuck, fuck—

[Log file recording terminated. Progress saved.]

…Shit. Calm down. They’re listening, of course they are. They always are.

But back to you. That accident is where my story begins.

When the blood trade started, you and Shakyra just shook your heads and laughed. “White people,” you agreed. But that sure as hell didn’t stop you from slipping into some seedy pit of a plasma center when you were finally fired from your job at Meijer—a particularly bad migraine had you vomiting all over the produce section like some horrible parody of The Exorcist.

You remember The Exorcist, right? I’ve become obsessed with artifacts from before the Great Elevation: movies, TV, books, you name it, I got it, even Dracula, which oddly was a bitch to find. When I can’t quite grasp onto you, I grasp onto those movies. They remind me that there are much worse fates than death…Not that I really need reminding, anymore.

“Feeling better?” Katya asks me, a placid smile on her bright face.

“Yes,” I say, because there’s nothing else she wants to hear. I settle back down on my bed and turn to stare out at the cloudless gray sky. The little virtual assistant console on the nightstand flickers blue three times before the light goes out. Not dead, just resting.

“That’s good. Repressing your feelings isn’t good for stress levels…a little emotional release here and there can be really helpful.” She gives me the practiced stare of a fed-up, underpaid RN, though her immense wealth is why she’s here at all. “Just don’t overdo it, okay?”

Warning heard loud and clear. “Okay.”

Katya Belaya is 115 years old. She’s worked as a hematology nurse almost as long as I’ve been alive, at thirty-four. That was when research around blood therapy really kicked off.

She doesn’t talk about her life before the Great Elevation much, but I’ve overheard bits and pieces during the chaos of shift changes—she was retired, living quite well on the inheritance from her dear old husband’s death, but then the advertisements started coming out in full force, promising eternal youth for the right price. And this fool actually believed it; she’s been supervising dumbasses like me ever since. Right now, her bland smile seems to say, “Who’s the fool now?”

After just ten years of treatments, she looks young enough to be my mother.

This is the story of how you overcame death: You signed a contract.

You’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had: Rich old people thought they could obtain the key to immortality by getting regular infusions of blood from young, healthy people…sorry, young, healthy, poor people. Because why in the fuck would you help someone like David Rockefeller live even longer unless it was the difference between sleeping in your bed for another month or living in your car? So yes, you overcame death because you were too poor to die. The moment those bullshit treatments turned out not to be so bullshit after all, the coveted “good death” became a luxury like it never had before.

You are the perpetual motion device keeping that luxury conveniently available to people like Katya. You spend a lot of time in these hospital rooms, these beds. They’re much comfier than anything you could ever afford on your own, let’s be clear. And the staff is just always listening and watching and smiling because they want you to be healthy, pet.

I mean, what the fuck good is your blood if you—sorry, they—let your body go to shit? Kale for everyone. Hurray.

There will be raised bumps amid the corded muscles of your upper arms—one for each side. They’re as big around as a penny, with the mass of a glass marble embedded under the surface. You’ll scratch at them sometimes, when no one’s looking—never in the hospital, though, that would be a level of stupid even you won’t begin to contemplate—but they do not move or compress.

If you were to take, say, a knife—do NOT do this, but just say one day you did—and make a small, clean cut across that marble of tissue, you would be engulfed by a pain so relentless that you’d immediately black out. When you’d wake up, any evidence of your crimes would be gone, save for a pale scar that’d vanish within a couple days.

Soon, you’ll enter your go-to blood center looking to score enough for rent and your car—the demand has gone up. Three times the money. And when the nurse slaps a Band-Aid across your inner arm and tells you you’re good to go, a man in a doctor’s coat who you suddenly, somehow, know is not a doctor will appear in the slim gap between the privacy curtains and ask you to take a survey. The nurse will slip away, as light and soundless as a sunbeam, and the not-doctor will slowly ease into the chair she’s just vacated.

You will remember him well, so well, even after decades pass: the bald head with just a hint of brown fuzz, long fingers and wide palms with bulging veins, beady gray eyes tracking your every movement behind basic black frames. The frames are what give him away—they’re Mykita, which are expensive as fuck. Your girlfriend at the time is (was) crazy about everything fashion. You’ll scoff at the thought of remembering this, and vow to get payback by forcing her to sit through a Hell’s Kitchen marathon.

The not-doctor has other plans. “When was the last time you lost someone you cared about?”

Many faces will flit through your mind as an unwelcome wave of longing seeps into your chest. But although she wasn’t the last, she was the most: Shakyra. You watched her die. You didn’t stop her. But you could’ve. You—stupid, stupid, stupid you—didn’t. Why? You won’t know. You never will.

The not-doctor will see something in your eyes, something he approves of. He’ll lean forward, his legs planted shoulder length apart, and brace his forearms on his jean-covered thighs. Stare straight at you. Clasp his hands together, solemn. “What would it be worth to you,” he’ll murmur, voice thick with faux empathy, “to never have to experience that pain again?”

And that…your poor, sick bastard, that’s all it’ll take. He’ll explain, using way too much medical jargon, about what he wants to do—what he wants you to do. And you’ll sign. Even though, deep down, you know eliminating programmed cell death wouldn’t have saved Shakyra, grief isn’t sensible, so you’ll sign. The nurse will reappear with a twin pair of syringes before you’ve even finished the last curlicue on your signature.

“Everyone will have access to this,” the not-doctor assures you. “And for every person you refer, your payments will quadruple.”

But your girlfriend has (had) Type 1 diabetes: unfit.

Your mother? Hypertension and asthma. Ask her to lose some weight first.

Father? Lung cancer. Brother? Bipolar. You’re the dumbass with the permanently puffy eye, but apparently that’s not a genetic flaw, just a common-sense one. You’ll receive marbles in your arms that permanently stop the passage of time, as far as your DNA is concerned, all so you can spend the rest of your immortal existence “donating” blood to people who want to be buried as young, beautiful corpses.

Confused? Yup, it’s true: Katya, the not-doctor, and all the rest of the recipients…they don’t have the marbles.

You will sustain them for as long as they want to live, then stand watch when they don’t.

Today is Katya’s Death Day. She is 137 years old.

She has decided she’s seen everything the world has to offer, so it’s time. She picked out her coffin—sleek mahogany with golden accents—herself. She’s been without blood transfusions for a week now. The attending doctor says it will be any minute.

They don’t say “death” anymore—it’s the “next elevation.” Half her family, just as bright-faced and virile as she was, are drunk off their asses while she lies in the coffin, her breathing slowing, slowing, slowing…a long pause, during which everyone and everything suddenly sobers, stops…and then a wet rattle from her throat shatters the moment and the merriment continues.

I hover nearby; once she’s finally dead, I’ll have a new “nurse,” but who the hell cares. This precious thing, death, is something I likely will never experience. I dream of it, ache for it. I’m monitored too closely to down a container of bleach, or jump off a roof. My knives disappeared from my kitchen decades ago; my food arrives pre-cut. Everyone I knew who was too “unfit” for immortality is long gone. Naturally, there was no fanfare for them. Disability and illness are for the poors, you know. Should’ve made more money, and then they could’ve died in health instead of sickness. Should’ve taken better care of themselves.

You know, like I do.

Katya’s breathing stops again, for long enough that the DJ lowers the music until it’s just a faint pulse in my eardrums—like a heartbeat.

I stare at her softly rounded, rosy face; she’s wearing foundation and concealer under her eyes for her nonexistent flaws and diamond earrings that glint under the light of the crystal chandelier directly above us. She’s beautiful, and I want to drive a stake through her rotten heart.

The doctor leans over and presses her index and forefinger against Katya’s throat. After another pause, she proclaims, “Official time of death: 21:27.”

A chorus of applause and joyful shouts fills the room. I trail my fingers over my upper arm, not even feeling the sting of my nails digging into the flesh, reflexively. I lift my other arm and wake up my smartwatch with a scan of my retina.

“Log file 1076,” I whisper. “Those books were really fucking wrong about vampires.”

I’m being harsh, I know. I’m sorry. This…this is a lot.

Please, before you walk into that donation center one last time…think of Shakyra. Think of her broken body, splayed across the ground. The indifferent stares of onlookers who felt she’d brought it on herself.

Imagine what her last few seconds of awareness were like. Did pain rip through her like those ragged shards of glass? Did she sense her lungs filling with blood and phlegm? Did she choke? Gasp?

Imagine it. And know that, even though it’ll forever haunt us both, I wish it’d been you.

But I’ve gotta go: Katya’s replacement is waiting, and I bet he hates having to wait.

Sydnee Thompson is a writer and editor who’s unabashedly obsessed with all things death, especially when it comes to her speculative fiction, which has also appeared in publications such as Fiyah Lit Magazine and Fireside Magazine. You can stalk her on Twitter @SydMT or visit her website, shadesofsydnee.com.

via Gizmodo https://gizmodo.com October 31, 2018 at 06:45PM

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"Westport Point Massachusetts Cheap car insurance quotes zip 2791

Westport Point Massachusetts Cheap car insurance quotes zip 2791

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Westport Point Massachusetts Cheap car insurance quotes zip 2791

Westport Point Massachusetts Cheap car insurance quotes zip 2791

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Westport Point Massachusetts Cheap car insurance quotes zip 2791

Westport Point Massachusetts Cheap car insurance quotes zip 2791

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Westport Point Massachusetts Cheap car insurance quotes zip 2791

Westport Point Massachusetts Cheap car insurance quotes zip 2791

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I am applying for a job at a cafe, but the application form requires a national insurance number, I am 14 years old.""

Please help me! car insurance!?

So my friend is selling me his car. Its not payed off yet and he cant give me the title until it is payed off. He doesn't have insurance on it. Can I put insurance on the car, even though I don't own it? And can't I just put Liability on it even though it's still being payed for?""

About how much would insurance be on a used 2005 Ford Mustang per year?

I'm a male. I live in Reno, NV It has 83,272 Miles 6 Cylinder Gasoline Engine Automatic Transmission 2 wheel drive - rear The car cost $10,880""

Is minimum coverage car insurance the same as an SR22?

In Tennessee, is minimum coverage car insurance the same as an SR22? I already have minimum coverage but am now required to get an SR22. Is this something that needs to be added on or will minimum coverage suffice? Thanks.""

No proof of insurance question?

So i made a mistake. I was stopped last night and cited by a law enforcement officer for no proof of insurance. I had an idea that my insurance was no longer valid due to it overdrafting from my account when i had no money. so i contacted the insurance company and now they will NOT re-instate the insurance policy due to the fact that i have had two bad overdrafts with them. I completly understand, and like i told the officer, this is my fault...i was poor..... anyways. Now i hear that the fine is 400.00 to start, i am willing to pay as i did not take the time to ensure insurance was active on the vehicle and that the overdraft was taken care of. However now i am hearing im going to loose my license...... So i was told by the driver license department that if i go out now and get an SR22 qualifying insurance plan with a different company, that when i walk into the justice court payment window, they will not take away my license from me? however justice court states that my license will get taken away and i have to bring the proof of insurance to the DMV............and get my license back. Please note i have a california license in the state of utah..... please help? what can i do to fix this? i will pay the fine, as i did the crime wether i was for-sure or not....but i need my license, i just moved and am living in a place wityh no friends, and a new job... PS sorry for mispelling and typing this is on blackberry.""

How can I get cheap car insurance as an 18 year old in the SE UK?

I can't seem to get anything less than 3000

How can I report my neighbors for not having car insurance?

How can I report my neighbors for not having car insurance? My neighbors were both laid off from their jobs about three months ago. Earlier last week one confided in me that they were unable to pay for their car insurance and that they didn't know what they were going to do. I didn't take action then, because they were not working and rarely took their car out. However, the husband recently found employment and he has been driving the car EVERY DAY for the past week. They are nice people and we get along great, so it pains me that I have to do this. Who can I report this to? Should I just call the police station? Is there a way for me to verify that they were unable to pay for their car insurance (they were way behind in bills, so I doubt they covered it)""

What amount would you consider affordable for health insurance and how did you arrive at this figure?

What amount would you consider affordable for health insurance and how did you arrive at this figure?

Help with insurance for 17 year old first fresh driver?

my quote was 4,200 :( that's too much it more then a car LOL but like i heard something about this policy between two drivers can anyone explain how it works and if i crash on this policy will the other drivers no claim bonus be effected?""

16 and want State Farm Auto Insurance?

I just turned 16 a couple months ago and i already have my license, and i live in Colorado. My parents have State Farm auto insurance and they want me to pay for my own insurance when i get a car. I already know that you can get a bunch of discounts for things like getting good grades and attendence and safe driving and not driving your car to school, but anyways i was wondering how much it would cost me without any discounts? Like how much would it be every month or so? I do have a job but i dont know if i would have enough to pay for car insurance. Any help is needed! thank you!!!""

Car insurance rates question plz help 10 pts?

I pay $187 a mth for car insurance & that's full coverage with $500 deduct. The reason I was told I'm paying that much was bc of a big wreck I had back in Aug 2010 and since it's coming up on 3 yrs and my premium expires in Aug I'm expecting my rates to go down a little. My insurance company jus told me that that's not why I'm paying that much it's bc of 2 speeding tickets I got back in 2010 Feb & April bt when my premium expires in Aug my rates will go down. My question is can you guys give me a estimate on how much you think I'll be paying in Aug when my rates go down??! I live in S.C. Btw Thanks so much in advance

I got a no insurance ticket so I bought insurance less then an hour after.?

The date on the ticket is the same date my insurance started. Anybody know what the outcome might be?

Written off car insurance?

ive recently written off my car, does my policy continue after they have paid me ? ie if i get a new car with the settlement money, can i put that on the existing policy, as there is ...show more""

If im a second driver on my dads car when i get older will my insurance get cheaper?

Hi if im a second driver on my dads car when i get older will my insurance get cheaper or not because im the second driver my dad has a vauxhall astra 1.6 its 11 years old and how much do you think the insurance will be im 17 year old boy

How much would it cost to get added to someones insurance policy...?

I need to prove that I have insurance to get my license reinstated. My grandma said I can use her car, but I'm not covered. She has liability insurance for her car. How much would it cost me (18 year old male, inexperienced driver) to get added to her policy. It is a small, older 4 door car. Any idea about how much it would be extra a month for me to be added? Also, would she be able to take me off of the policy whenever she wanted without any kind of fee (like if I tried to get taken off in a month, would they say that she has to pay for 6 months...). Thanks!""

Will my insurance agent report to my car bank that car is not covered no more.?

I'm with state farm. I been playing 190 monthly. Now they want me to pay 450 dollars. I just paid yesterday and my agent said my next due payment is due on 7th this month for 450 dollars. He said it was to be paid when I first got with state farm but I switched agents and now I am expected to pay next week. This is unfair and without fair notice. My insurance is going a cancle if not paid in weeks from now. What do I do. Is my car bank gonna find out car insurance got canceled. I was told it was 190 per month. I thought deposit was high but why 400 ?

Can insurance cost less on a motorcycle with a restriction kit ?

I want to know will insurance cost less on a 600 bike if you put a restriction kit on it. Also will it make a 600 a good first bike to start on. I know some motorcycle licenses have 33 HP limits and people still can get 600's and put restriction kits on them to keep the power down to make them good first bikes.

How come I can't medical or insurance ???!?

Hello I'm a 20 year old and I live on my own. I use to have medical Owen I was under 18 && lived with. Y moon but now I'm 20&& live on my own. I tried applying for medical and I got denied because I make like 100 more than the limit. Where can I can I apply for a low healthy plan . I do live on my own and have bills to may. It I wanna be healthy. Someone please help no d mb answes (you don't look cool) I live in California San Diego.

Young Drivers Car Insurance?

My son is 17 in January and already owns a car, im looking for car insurance for him as a learner then obviously as a passed driver. Most comparisson sites wont search as he is not 17 at the moment. He insists that he does not want one with a box fitted to the car. Any ideas of companies that will give a reasonable quote would be appreciated.""

How much is insurance on a jeep wrangler for a male beginning driver?

Is anyone a male driver around 16 who drives a jeep wrangler and knows how much on average the insurance will be?

How will 2 points on my license affect my insurance?

I live in South Carolina and am insured through State Farm. I recently recieved a speeding ticket that cost me 2 points on my license. What is an approximate percentage increase that I can expect in my insurance rates over the next couple of years?

Can young drivers get cheaper car insurance with really big excess?

Can young drivers get cheaper car insurance with really big excess?

How Much Would A 2001 Trans Am Cost On A 18 Yr Old Males Insurance?

How Much Would A 2001 Trans Am Cost On A 18 Yr Old Males Insurance?

Car insurance question?

i was just wondering...if you chose to pay off car insurance all in one do you pay it off as soon as you get insurance or do you pay after the year is over ?

Westport Point Massachusetts Cheap car insurance quotes zip 2791

Westport Point Massachusetts Cheap car insurance quotes zip 2791

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/should-i-tell-my-insurance-company-race-anthony-stuart/"

[lifebooksloves]

Egomaniac by Vi Keeland

Life, Books, & Loves Presents: Egomaniac by Vi Keeland

  The night I met Drew Jagger, he’d just broken into my new Park Avenue office. I dialed 9-1-1 before proceeding to attack him with my fancy new Krav Maga skills. He quickly restrained me, then chuckled, finding my attempted assault amusing.

Of course, my intruder had to be arrogant. Only, turned out, he wasn’t an intruder at all.

Drew was the rightful occupant of my new office. He’d been on vacation while his posh space was renovated. Which was how a scammer got away with leasing me office space that wasn’t really available for rent. I was swindled out of ten grand.

The next day, after hours at the police station, Drew took pity on me and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. In exchange for answering his phones while his secretary was out, he’d let me stay until I found a new place. I probably should have acted grateful and kept my mouth shut when I overheard the advice he was spewing to his clients. But I couldn’t help giving him a piece of my mind. I never expected my body to react every time we argued. Especially when that was all we seemed to be able to do.

The two of us were complete opposites. Drew was a bitter, angry, gorgeous-as-all-hell, destroyer of relationships. And my job was to help people save their marriages. The only thing the two of us had in common was the space we were sharing. And an attraction that was getting harder to deny by the day.

ADD TO GOODREADS

  Available for Pre-order on iBooks, B&N, Google Play, and Kobo now!

Preorder at iBooks ➜ Preorder at B&N ➜ Preorder at Kobo ➜ Preorder at Google Play ➜ Pre-order paperback ➜

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REVIEW

After reading the synopsis, I had to read EGOMANIAC! Although when I began to read, the author begins with a quote from an unknown author: “Sometimes what you’re looking for comes when you’re not looking at all.” Anyone who knows me personally knows I love quotes and anything Vi Keeland writes!

“Maybe, just maybe, neither one of us had found the right one before now…because we hadn’t met each other yet.”

FIVE-STARS! Drew Jagger is a successful New York City divorce attorney returning from Hawaii after a couple weeks from his Hawaiian vacation to his Manhattan home. Before going home, he decides to check on the progress of his Park Avenue law office when he discovers a gorgeous redheaded woman in his office. What he did not expect to encounter was a gorgeous petite intruder with mad Krav Maga skills!

“For a crazy person – now that I was looking – she was pretty damn cute. Fiery red hair piled on top of her head seemed to match her firecracker personality.”

Emery Rose moved from Oklahoma to New York and thought she found a great deal on a Park Avenue office space, when she quickly discovers she was a victim in a scammed by a con. Drew immediately felt sorry for Emery and her situation, so he temporally invites Emery to share his office space. However, he is a divorce lawyer working to permanently separate couples while she is a marriage counselor trying to keep marriages together. Can total opposites share office space, or will they be sharing a little more than square footage and office supplies?

“Some of the best times in life come from bad ideas.”

What starts out as friends, ignites to an explosive relationship together! Although, Drew still has some trust issues to from his past; Emery is ready to slay those demons with him.

“You’re the red in my black and white world.”

Author Vi Keeland did it again with EGOMANIAC! EGOMANIAC is a sexy romantic comical standalone that will melt your heart!

        Sometimes what you’re looking for comes when you’re not looking at all.

-Unknown

  DREW

I hate New Year’s Eve.

Two hours in traffic to make it not even the nine miles home from LaGuardia. It was after ten o’clock at night. Why weren’t all these people at a party by now? Whatever tension two weeks in Hawaii had relieved was already back to coiling tighter and tighter inside me as the town car inched its way uptown.

I tried not to think about all the work I was coming back to—the endless string of other people’s problems to compound my own:

She cheated.

He cheated.

Get me full custody of the kids.

She can’t have the house in Vail.

All she wants is my money.

She hasn’t given me a blowjob in three years. Listen, asshole, you’re fifty, bald, pompous, and shaped like an egg. She’s twenty-three, hot, and has tits so young they almost reach up to her chin. You want to fix this marriage? Come home with ten Gs in fresh, crisp bills, and tell her to get on her knees. You’ll get your blowjob. She’ll get her spending money. Let’s not pretend it was ever more than it really was. That doesn’t work for you? Unlike your soon-to-be ex-wife, I’ll take a check. Make that out to Drew M. Jagger, Attorney at Law.

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling slightly claustrophobic in the back of the Uber, and looked out the window. An old lady with a walker passed us.

“I’ll get out here,” I barked at the driver.

“But you have luggage?”

I was already exiting the back of the car. “Pop the trunk. It’s not like we’re moving anyway.”

Traffic was at a dead stop, and it was only two blocks to my building. Tossing a hundred-dollar tip at the driver, I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and took in a deep breath of Manhattan.

I loved this city as much as I hated it.

575 Park Avenue was a restored pre-war on the southeast corner of Sixty-Third Street—it was an address that gave people preconceived notions about you. Someone with my last name had occupied the building since before the place was converted into overpriced co-ops. Which is why my office was allowed to remain on the ground floor when other commercial tenants were tossed out years ago. I also lived on the top floor.

“Welcome back, Mr. Jagger.” The uniformed doorman greeted me as he swung open the lobby door.

“Thanks, Ed. I miss anything while I was gone?”

“Nah. Same old, same old. Peeked in on your construction the other day, though. Looking good.”

“They use the service entrance down Sixty-Third like they were supposed to?”

Ed nodded. “Sure did. Barely heard them the last few days.”

I dropped my luggage inside my apartment, then headed back downstairs in the elevator to check things out. For the last two weeks, while I was screwing off in Honolulu, my office space had been getting a total renovation. Cracks in the high, plastered ceilings were to be patched and painted, and new floors installed to replace the old, worn parquet.

Thick plastic remained taped over all of the interior doorways when I walked in. The little furniture I hadn’t put in storage was also still covered with tarps. Shit. They aren’t done yet. The contractor had assured me there would only be finish work left by the time I returned. I was right to be skeptical.

Flicking on the lights, I was happy to find the lobby completely done, though. Finally, a New Year’s Eve with no horrible surprises for a change.

I took a quick look around, pleased with what I found, and was just about to leave when I noticed a light streaming from under the door of a small file room at the end of the hallway.

Thinking nothing of it, I headed to turn it off.

Now, I’m six foot two and a half, two hundred and five pounds, and maybe it was just my frame of mind, my not expecting to see anyone, but when I opened the door to the file room, finding her there scared the living crap out of me.

She screamed.

I took a step back through the door.

She got up, stood on the chair, and began yelling at me, waving her cell phone in the air.

“I’ll call the police!” Her fingers shook as she dialed nine, then one, and hovered over the last one. “Get out now, and I won’t call!”

I could have lunged for her, and the phone would have been out of her hand before she realized she hadn’t dialed the final digit. But she looked terrified, so I retreated another step and put my hands up in surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” I used my best soothing, calm voice. “You don’t need to call the police. This is my office.”

“Do I look stupid to you? You just broke into my office.”

“Your office? I think you took a wrong turn at the corner of Crazy and Nutjob.”

She wobbled atop the chair, holding both arms out to regain her balance, and then…her skirt fell to her feet.

“Get out!” She crouched down and grabbed her skirt, tugging it up to her waist as she turned her back to me.

“Do you take medication, ma’am?”

“Medication? Ma’am? Are you joking?”

“You know what?” I motioned to the phone she was still holding. “Why don’t you push that last one and get the police over here. They can drive you back to whatever loony bin you escaped from.”

Her eyes widened.

For a crazy person—now that I was really looking—she was pretty damn cute. Fiery red hair piled on top of her head seemed to match her firecracker personality. Although from the looks of her blazing blue eyes, I was glad I’d held off on telling her that.

She pushed one and proceeded to report the crime of entering one’s own office. “I’d like to report a robbery.”

“Robbery?” I arched an eyebrow and looked around. A lone folding chair and crappy metal folding table were the only furniture in the entire space. “What exactly am I stealing? Your winning personality?”

She amended her complaint to the police. “A breaking and entering. I’d like to report a breaking and entering at 575 Park Avenue.” She paused and listened. “No, I don’t think he’s armed. But he’s big. Really big. At least six feet. Maybe bigger.”

I smirked. “And strong. Don’t forget to tell them I’m strong, too. Want me to flex for you? And maybe you should tell them I have green eyes. Wouldn’t want the police to confuse me with all the other really big thieves hanging out in my office.”

After she hung up, she stayed standing on the chair, still glaring at me.

“Was there also a mouse?” I asked.

“A mouse?”

“Considering you jumped up on that chair.” I chuckled.

“You find this funny?”

“Oddly, I do. And I have no fucking idea why. It should annoy the crap out of me that I come home from a two-week vacation and find a squatter in my office.”

“Squatter? I’m no squatter. This is my office. I moved in a week ago.”

She bobbled again while standing on her chair.

“Why don’t you get down? You’re going to fall off that thing and get hurt.”

“How do I know you’re not going to hurt me when I get down?”

I shook my head and contained my laugh. “Sweetheart, look at the size of me. Look at the size of you. Standing on that chair isn’t doing jack shit to keep you safe. If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be out cold on the floor already.”

“I take Krav Maga classes twice a week.”

“Twice a week? Really? Thanks for the warning.”

“You don’t have to ridicule me. Maybe I could hurt you. For an intruder, you’re really kind of rude, you know.”

“Get down.”

After a full minute stare-off, she climbed off the chair.

“See? You’re as safe on the ground as you were up there.”

“What do you want from here?”

“You didn’t call the police, did you? You almost had me there for a second.”

“I didn’t. But I can.”

“Now why would you go and do that? So they can arrest you for breaking and entering?”

She pointed down at her makeshift desk. For the first time, I noticed papers all over the place. “I told you. This is my office. I’m working late tonight because the construction crew was so loud today that I couldn’t get done what I needed to. Why would anyone break and enter to work at ten-thirty at night on New Year’s Eve?”

Construction crew? My construction crew? Something was going on here. “You were here with the construction crew today?”

“Yes.”

I scratched my chin, half believing her. “What’s the foreman’s name?”

“Tommy.”

Shit. She was telling the truth. Well, at least some of it had to be the truth. “You said you moved in a week ago?”

“That’s right.”

“And you rented the space from whom, exactly?”

“John Cougar.”

Both my brows shot up this time. “John Cougar? Did he drop the Mellencamp, by chance?”

“How should I know?”

This wasn’t sounding good. “And you paid this John Cougar?”

“Of course. That’s how renting an office suite works. Two months’ security, first and last month’s rent.”

I shut my eyes and shook my head. “Shit.”

“What?”

“You got conned. How much did all of that cost you? Two months’ security, first and last month? Four months in total?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

“Please tell me you didn’t pay cash.”

Something finally clicked, and the color drained from her pretty face. “He said his bank was closed in the evening, and he couldn’t give me the keys until my check cleared. If I gave him cash, I could move in right away.”

“You paid John Cougar forty thousand dollars in cash?”

“No!”

“Thank God.”

“I paid him ten thousand in cash.”

“I thought you said you paid four months.”

“I did. It was twenty-five hundred a month.”

That did it. Of all the crazy shit I’d heard so far, thinking she could get space on Park Avenue for twenty-five hundred a month took the cake. I broke out in a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re not from New York, are you?”

“No. I just moved here from Oklahoma. What does that have to do with anything?”

I took a step closer. “I hate to break the news to you, Oklahoma, but you got ripped off. This is my office. I’ve been here for three years. My father the thirty before that. I was on vacation the last two weeks and had the office remodeled while I was gone. Someone named after a singer scammed you into giving him cash to rent an office he had no right to rent. Doorman’s name is Ed. Walk through the main building entrance, and he’ll verify everything I just said.”

“That can’t be.”

“What do you do that you need office space?”

“I’m a psychologist.”

I held out my hand. “I’m an attorney. Let me see your contract.”

Her face fell. “He hasn’t brought it by yet. He said the landlord was in Brazil on vacation, and I could move in, and he would come back on the first to collect the rent and bring me the contract to sign.”

“You’ve been scammed.”

“But I paid him ten thousand dollars!”

“Which is another thing that should have tipped you off. You couldn’t rent a closet on Park Avenue for twenty-five hundred a month. Didn’t you find it strange that you were getting a place like this for next to nothing?”

“I thought I was getting a deal.”

I shook my head. “You got a deal alright. A raw deal.”

She covered her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

    ★★★★

  We hope you enjoyed this extended preview!

          Vi Keeland is a native New Yorker with three children that occupy most of her free time, which she complains about often, but wouldn’t change for the world. She is an attorney and a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, & USA Today Best Selling author. Over the last three years, eleven of her titles have appeared on the USA Today Bestseller lists and four on the New York Times Bestseller lists.

In 2013, she released her first romance novel and never looked back. To date, she has thirteen novels released, with PLAYBOY PILOT also releasing in 2016. Her novels have appeared on #1 on Amazon and are currently being translated into German, Polish, Portuguese, Korean, Hebrew, French and Italian.

Website | Facebook Fan Group | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

Disclosure: This information was provided by InkSlinger and Vi Keeland. This is NOT a compensated post.

The post Egomaniac by Vi Keeland appeared first on Life Books & Loves.

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[lifebooksloves]

EGO MANIAC by Vi Keeland

Life, Books, & Loves Presents: EGO MANIAC by Vi Keeland

  The night I met Drew Jagger, he’d just broken into my new Park Avenue office. I dialed 9-1-1 before proceeding to attack him with my fancy new Krav Maga skills. He quickly restrained me, then chuckled, finding my attempted assault amusing.

Of course, my intruder had to be arrogant. Only, turned out, he wasn’t an intruder at all.

Drew was the rightful occupant of my new office. He’d been on vacation while his posh space was renovated. Which was how a scammer got away with leasing me office space that wasn’t really available for rent. I was swindled out of ten grand.

The next day, after hours at the police station, Drew took pity on me and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. In exchange for answering his phones while his secretary was out, he’d let me stay until I found a new place. I probably should have acted grateful and kept my mouth shut when I overheard the advice he was spewing to his clients. But I couldn’t help giving him a piece of my mind. I never expected my body to react every time we argued. Especially when that was all we seemed to be able to do.

The two of us were complete opposites. Drew was a bitter, angry, gorgeous-as-all-hell, destroyer of relationships. And my job was to help people save their marriages. The only thing the two of us had in common was the space we were sharing. And an attraction that was getting harder to deny by the day.

ADD TO GOODREADS

  Available for Pre-order on iBooks, B&N, Google Play, and Kobo now!

Preorder at iBooks ➜ Preorder at B&N ➜ Preorder at Kobo ➜ Preorder at Google Play ➜ Pre-order paperback ➜

Receive an alert when it’s live on Amazon

          Sometimes what you’re looking for comes when you’re not looking at all.

-Unknown

  DREW

I hate New Year’s Eve.

Two hours in traffic to make it not even the nine miles home from LaGuardia. It was after ten o’clock at night. Why weren’t all these people at a party by now? Whatever tension two weeks in Hawaii had relieved was already back to coiling tighter and tighter inside me as the town car inched its way uptown.

I tried not to think about all the work I was coming back to—the endless string of other people’s problems to compound my own:

She cheated.

He cheated.

Get me full custody of the kids.

She can’t have the house in Vail.

All she wants is my money.

She hasn’t given me a blowjob in three years. Listen, asshole, you’re fifty, bald, pompous, and shaped like an egg. She’s twenty-three, hot, and has tits so young they almost reach up to her chin. You want to fix this marriage? Come home with ten Gs in fresh, crisp bills, and tell her to get on her knees. You’ll get your blowjob. She’ll get her spending money. Let’s not pretend it was ever more than it really was. That doesn’t work for you? Unlike your soon-to-be ex-wife, I’ll take a check. Make that out to Drew M. Jagger, Attorney at Law.

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling slightly claustrophobic in the back of the Uber, and looked out the window. An old lady with a walker passed us.

“I’ll get out here,” I barked at the driver.

“But you have luggage?”

I was already exiting the back of the car. “Pop the trunk. It’s not like we’re moving anyway.”

Traffic was at a dead stop, and it was only two blocks to my building. Tossing a hundred-dollar tip at the driver, I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and took in a deep breath of Manhattan.

I loved this city as much as I hated it.

575 Park Avenue was a restored pre-war on the southeast corner of Sixty-Third Street—it was an address that gave people preconceived notions about you. Someone with my last name had occupied the building since before the place was converted into overpriced co-ops. Which is why my office was allowed to remain on the ground floor when other commercial tenants were tossed out years ago. I also lived on the top floor.

“Welcome back, Mr. Jagger.” The uniformed doorman greeted me as he swung open the lobby door.

“Thanks, Ed. I miss anything while I was gone?”

“Nah. Same old, same old. Peeked in on your construction the other day, though. Looking good.”

“They use the service entrance down Sixty-Third like they were supposed to?”

Ed nodded. “Sure did. Barely heard them the last few days.”

I dropped my luggage inside my apartment, then headed back downstairs in the elevator to check things out. For the last two weeks, while I was screwing off in Honolulu, my office space had been getting a total renovation. Cracks in the high, plastered ceilings were to be patched and painted, and new floors installed to replace the old, worn parquet.

Thick plastic remained taped over all of the interior doorways when I walked in. The little furniture I hadn’t put in storage was also still covered with tarps. Shit. They aren’t done yet. The contractor had assured me there would only be finish work left by the time I returned. I was right to be skeptical.

Flicking on the lights, I was happy to find the lobby completely done, though. Finally, a New Year’s Eve with no horrible surprises for a change.

I took a quick look around, pleased with what I found, and was just about to leave when I noticed a light streaming from under the door of a small file room at the end of the hallway.

Thinking nothing of it, I headed to turn it off.

Now, I’m six foot two and a half, two hundred and five pounds, and maybe it was just my frame of mind, my not expecting to see anyone, but when I opened the door to the file room, finding her there scared the living crap out of me.

She screamed.

I took a step back through the door.

She got up, stood on the chair, and began yelling at me, waving her cell phone in the air.

“I’ll call the police!” Her fingers shook as she dialed nine, then one, and hovered over the last one. “Get out now, and I won’t call!”

I could have lunged for her, and the phone would have been out of her hand before she realized she hadn’t dialed the final digit. But she looked terrified, so I retreated another step and put my hands up in surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” I used my best soothing, calm voice. “You don’t need to call the police. This is my office.”

“Do I look stupid to you? You just broke into my office.”

“Your office? I think you took a wrong turn at the corner of Crazy and Nutjob.”

She wobbled atop the chair, holding both arms out to regain her balance, and then…her skirt fell to her feet.

“Get out!” She crouched down and grabbed her skirt, tugging it up to her waist as she turned her back to me.

“Do you take medication, ma’am?”

“Medication? Ma’am? Are you joking?”

“You know what?” I motioned to the phone she was still holding. “Why don’t you push that last one and get the police over here. They can drive you back to whatever loony bin you escaped from.”

Her eyes widened.

For a crazy person—now that I was really looking—she was pretty damn cute. Fiery red hair piled on top of her head seemed to match her firecracker personality. Although from the looks of her blazing blue eyes, I was glad I’d held off on telling her that.

She pushed one and proceeded to report the crime of entering one’s own office. “I’d like to report a robbery.”

“Robbery?” I arched an eyebrow and looked around. A lone folding chair and crappy metal folding table were the only furniture in the entire space. “What exactly am I stealing? Your winning personality?”

She amended her complaint to the police. “A breaking and entering. I’d like to report a breaking and entering at 575 Park Avenue.” She paused and listened. “No, I don’t think he’s armed. But he’s big. Really big. At least six feet. Maybe bigger.”

I smirked. “And strong. Don’t forget to tell them I’m strong, too. Want me to flex for you? And maybe you should tell them I have green eyes. Wouldn’t want the police to confuse me with all the other really big thieves hanging out in my office.”

After she hung up, she stayed standing on the chair, still glaring at me.

“Was there also a mouse?” I asked.

“A mouse?”

“Considering you jumped up on that chair.” I chuckled.

“You find this funny?”

“Oddly, I do. And I have no fucking idea why. It should annoy the crap out of me that I come home from a two-week vacation and find a squatter in my office.”

“Squatter? I’m no squatter. This is my office. I moved in a week ago.”

She bobbled again while standing on her chair.

“Why don’t you get down? You’re going to fall off that thing and get hurt.”

“How do I know you’re not going to hurt me when I get down?”

I shook my head and contained my laugh. “Sweetheart, look at the size of me. Look at the size of you. Standing on that chair isn’t doing jack shit to keep you safe. If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be out cold on the floor already.”

“I take Krav Maga classes twice a week.”

“Twice a week? Really? Thanks for the warning.”

“You don’t have to ridicule me. Maybe I could hurt you. For an intruder, you’re really kind of rude, you know.”

“Get down.”

After a full minute stare-off, she climbed off the chair.

“See? You’re as safe on the ground as you were up there.”

“What do you want from here?”

“You didn’t call the police, did you? You almost had me there for a second.”

“I didn’t. But I can.”

“Now why would you go and do that? So they can arrest you for breaking and entering?”

She pointed down at her makeshift desk. For the first time, I noticed papers all over the place. “I told you. This is my office. I’m working late tonight because the construction crew was so loud today that I couldn’t get done what I needed to. Why would anyone break and enter to work at ten-thirty at night on New Year’s Eve?”

Construction crew? My construction crew? Something was going on here. “You were here with the construction crew today?”

“Yes.”

I scratched my chin, half believing her. “What’s the foreman’s name?”

“Tommy.”

Shit. She was telling the truth. Well, at least some of it had to be the truth. “You said you moved in a week ago?”

“That’s right.”

“And you rented the space from whom, exactly?”

“John Cougar.”

Both my brows shot up this time. “John Cougar? Did he drop the Mellencamp, by chance?”

“How should I know?”

This wasn’t sounding good. “And you paid this John Cougar?”

“Of course. That’s how renting an office suite works. Two months’ security, first and last month’s rent.”

I shut my eyes and shook my head. “Shit.”

“What?”

“You got conned. How much did all of that cost you? Two months’ security, first and last month? Four months in total?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

“Please tell me you didn’t pay cash.”

Something finally clicked, and the color drained from her pretty face. “He said his bank was closed in the evening, and he couldn’t give me the keys until my check cleared. If I gave him cash, I could move in right away.”

“You paid John Cougar forty thousand dollars in cash?”

“No!”

“Thank God.”

“I paid him ten thousand in cash.”

“I thought you said you paid four months.”

“I did. It was twenty-five hundred a month.”

That did it. Of all the crazy shit I’d heard so far, thinking she could get space on Park Avenue for twenty-five hundred a month took the cake. I broke out in a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re not from New York, are you?”

“No. I just moved here from Oklahoma. What does that have to do with anything?”

I took a step closer. “I hate to break the news to you, Oklahoma, but you got ripped off. This is my office. I’ve been here for three years. My father the thirty before that. I was on vacation the last two weeks and had the office remodeled while I was gone. Someone named after a singer scammed you into giving him cash to rent an office he had no right to rent. Doorman’s name is Ed. Walk through the main building entrance, and he’ll verify everything I just said.”

“That can’t be.”

“What do you do that you need office space?”

“I’m a psychologist.”

I held out my hand. “I’m an attorney. Let me see your contract.”

Her face fell. “He hasn’t brought it by yet. He said the landlord was in Brazil on vacation, and I could move in, and he would come back on the first to collect the rent and bring me the contract to sign.”

“You’ve been scammed.”

“But I paid him ten thousand dollars!”

“Which is another thing that should have tipped you off. You couldn’t rent a closet on Park Avenue for twenty-five hundred a month. Didn’t you find it strange that you were getting a place like this for next to nothing?”

“I thought I was getting a deal.”

I shook my head. “You got a deal alright. A raw deal.”

She covered her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

    ★★★★

We hope you enjoyed this extended preview!

          Vi Keeland is a native New Yorker with three children that occupy most of her free time, which she complains about often, but wouldn’t change for the world. She is an attorney and a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, & USA Today Best Selling author. Over the last three years, eleven of her titles have appeared on the USA Today Bestseller lists and four on the New York Times Bestseller lists.

In 2013, she released her first romance novel and never looked back. To date, she has thirteen novels released, with PLAYBOY PILOT also releasing in 2016. Her novels have appeared on #1 on Amazon and are currently being translated into German, Polish, Portuguese, Korean, Hebrew, French and Italian.

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