#Do NOT let teenagers have such objects!! They will in fact not mail it somewhere else but instead keep it.

[psn-stalling]

You can send it elsewhere, can’t you?

... Well next time maybe don't try to use a teenager as a middle man.

I could. But will I? No.

[bramblepatch]

(October 2019′s featured character’s short story, crossposted from my Patreon. Thank you to all my patrons for their generous support! If you’d like to join them, for a few dollars per month you can vote on which characters you’d like to see me develop, and get early access to stories like this!)

The rain had stopped a little before sunset. The sky was clear enough, now, for the last streaks of color to catch in the last shreds of cloud, and in the cool autumn dusk the standing puddles and wet pavement caught hints of orange and pink. Before long, they’d be reflecting the yellow glow of street lamps instead, and the sometime flash of white headlights.  

It was lovely. Sunset had a tendency toward loveliness in this neighborhood, in the past few years. Maybe it was just confirmation bias, that a certain teenager noticed how things fell neatly into place to provide a picturesque backdrop on evenings where the nagging awareness that there was a monster somewhere out there prompted them to sneak out. There was no proven link between ambient meteorological anomalies and an active case of Transformative Adolescent Empowerment Syndrome, but Blair was pretty sure this was their doing anyway.

On the other hand, no one else ever seemed to make the connection – practically no one; Blair had brought it up once with some of the TAES veterans in the area, and gotten a sure, that could be happening. Just as well, really. Blair had absolutely no desire to make their case to their aunt as to why they ought to be allowed to go monster-fighting on a school night when with a little luck and a little finesse they could sneak out and slip back in before she noticed they were gone, so the less of a tip-off that Aunt Lizbet had that tonight was a Sunset Knight kind of night, the happier Blair was.

In point of fact, the stocky teenager almost made it out of the building without anyone catching them. Once they’d managed to slip out of their own apartment unnoticed, the hallways of the apartment complex were quiet. The back stairwell should have been even quieter, but as Blair descended to the first-floor landing, the door to the hallway eased open to let a dark-haired kid, already dressed in a practical and slightly sparkly magical girl costume and carrying an armful of raccoon, through.

There was a long beat of shared acute awareness of their delinquency, before Esther spoke up. “So. Team up?”

Blair sighed, and continued past the younger teen toward the ground floor and the exit, although they answered as they went. “Don’t you have a team already?”

“Yeah, uh, Hoshi sprained her ankle in gym class,” Esther replied, and before she could continue, from her arms, Sparkle added brightly, “And Magic Medic Star✧Balm is visiting his grandsire in the far-off land of Canada!”

Blair paused, and looked over their shoulder. “How in the heck did she just make that star sound with her mouth.”

“She’s a raccoon, how does she make any of the sounds with her mouth?” Esther pointed out. Blair considered for a moment, and shrugged; like suspiciously appropriate weather and symbolic costume changes, the exact nature of animal companions was probably without rational explanation. Esther certainly didn’t seem to be waiting for an answer. “Anyway yeah Sterling’s out of town until next week.”

As much as they’d have liked to, Blair couldn’t find fault in that reasoning. Nor could they really justify keeping Esther away from a monster that clearly they’d both sensed the presence of, although they made one more token objection as they reached the back door. “Aren’t you a little young for the whole magical girl thing anyway?”

Esther huffed indignantly. “I mean, a monster crashed my bat mitzvah and I had to fight it, I think that counts for something.”

Blair was pretty sure that did not in fact count for anything, but also they were way too lapsed Methodist to feel comfortable arguing the point. “Whatever. Just don’t get yourself hurt, I don’t have any healing abilities,” they said, holding the door open for her. “Give me a moment, I need to suit up.”

When their transformation sequence had first shifted, Blair had been surprised how simple the new Sunset Knight transformation was. Princess Sunset had been elaborate and overwrought, a multitude of tiny details and dramatic poses; Sunset Knight’s sequence was barely three seconds long, flannel fading into mail, and then armor and sword glowing into existence. A moment later, Blair was on their feet again, grinning with the brief wash of euphoria that the magic always brought with it.

“Dang, you’ve got a cape now,” Magic Fighter Star✧Strike breathed. “That is so cool.”

“Not bad, huh?” Sunset Knight agreed, propping their sword against their shoulder. The cape in question fluttered in the light evening breeze, as the colors of the sunset sky glinted off the wet pavement. “Let’s go kick some monster butt.”

The monster, it turned out, was perched on top of a bus shelter two blocks away.

“Do they usually… hybridize like that?” Blair wondered, studying the monster from a safe distance. The serpentine, winged form was definitely typical of one of their own common adversaries – but the glowing, shifting galaxy patterns across its scales marked it as one of the space-themed monsters that the Star Squad encountered frequently.

“I don’t know, you’ve been doing this longer than me!” Esther hissed back. “I usually don’t team up outside my team, unless you count Nova! And she doesn’t magic anymore!”

“Ok, ok,” Blair said. “I guess it’s still a dragon. If it’s like mine, magic weapons should do fine against it.”

“Right. Yeah. Magic.”

“Esther, that hammer you’re carrying is part of your magical girl thing, right?”

“Uhhh...” Esther didn’t deny it, exactly, but she took long enough not denying it that Blair kind of figured that was their answer.

“Esther!”

“Not everyone has a special magic weapon as part of their transformation, ok?” she demanded, and Sparkle added, “The hammer’s full of truth! And realness!”

“That’s not anything, I don’t think,” Blair said.

“Yeah, no, probably not,” Esther agreed reluctantly. “I mean, it is a couple of pounds of solid steel on a wooden handle. It’s still pretty good for hitting things with.”

Blair did some rapid mental arithmetic of dragon versus totally unmagical blunt instrument and also of their own willingness to face the irritation and disappointment of Esther’s mentor if literally anything went wrong. “Ok, look, I know you’re the tank of your little team, but you are not getting in close quarters with that thing,” they hissed.

“Blair!” Esther objected, managing to draw the name out to the same cadence as Sparkle whined, “Sunset Knight!”

“Seriously. You can be like, the distraction or something,” Blair insisted. “But I know my sword’s gonna take that thing out, and I have no idea if some hammer you found somewhere will have any real effect. So be the bait or go home.”

Esther pouted. Down the street, the dragon stretched its wings, dark against the fading sunset. Blair gave their temporary teammate a stern look.

“Ok. Fine. Meanie,” Esther conceded. “I get to yell at it, though, right?”

“...yes. You get to yell at it,” Blair agreed.

They had kind of assumed that there would be more strategizing involved, and was a little taken aback when the thirteen-year-old just took off toward the monster, trailing a scattering of starlight as she picked up speed. Blair sighed, and hurried to keep up, glad that whatever magical stuff their costume was made of, it didn’t restrict their breathing the way their mundane binder did.

Esther kept to her word, though, stopping at the curb on the opposite corner to wave her arms and start shouting at the dragon. Blair was thankful that the streets were almost eerily quiet, although they were pretty sure that they saw movement at some of the windows in nearby buildings. So much for no one noticing that they were out superheroing this evening; Blair didn’t expect anyone to interfere, especially if they wrapped this up quickly, but there was a good chance that word would get back to their aunt, and fast. They weren’t sure how public Esther was with her magical girl identity, but they’d been less that subtle with their alter ego.

The dragon spread its wings and took off, in a motion that only mostly seemed consistent with its apparent mass. Esther turned on her heel and started running away, with the raccoon weaving around her ankles in a way that made Blair wonder how she didn’t trip. Not that they wondered long; with a dragon to fight, they put the question quickly out of their mind. They planted their feet and raised their sword, staring down the rapidly approaching starry monster. As they’d suspected, the creature seemed entirely focused on its quarry; if its galaxy theme was any indication, it was as attuned to Esther as it was to them, and their monsters tended to be fairly single-minded.  For a moment, they were afraid that the creature wouldn’t be within stabbing range – but even forbidden to actually engage, Esther had good instincts for drawing a monster where she wanted it, and she ducked behind Blair, placing them firmly between her and the dragon.

Just as they liked it.

“At thee, foul beast,” they growled through gritted teeth, the words drawn out by the same instincts that guided their actions while transforming, and as the dragon swooped down, Blair drove their blade through the creature’s chest.

The starry patterns across the dragon’s hide flared brighter for a brief moment, and then it seemed to dissolve in a rush of wind that ruffled Blair’s hair and set their cape flapping behind them.  

A moment later, there was nothing left of the monster but a faint coating of shimmering stardust across Blair’s sword, and a brief clattering rain of something onto the sidewalk at their feet. Esther hurried to gather up the fallen items as Blair wiped off the sword on the lining of their cape.

“Here, you take some!” she said, holding out a couple of what appeared to be claws.

“What are they?” Blair asked, a little suspiciously; usually, their monsters didn’t drop loot.

“Meteorites!” Esther explained, and sure enough, when Blair accepted the claws, they certainly seemed to be made of dark, pitted iron – although the tips were more than sharp enough to make them glad that the dragon hadn’t gotten in clawing range of either of them. “Our monsters keep leaving them behind. We haven’t figured out if they’re for anything, yet, but they’re cool.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Blair agreed, as Esther put the rest of the fallen claws into her pockets; Blair’s own costume didn’t have pockets, which suddenly felt like a pretty significant oversight, so they just palmed the ones they’d been given. “Thanks.”

“Soooo… team up again some time?” Esther asked.

Blair sighed, casting their eyes up at the fading sunset colors. Nova was going to tear them a new one for taking the kid along to fight a dragon, they were sure, and usually they fought alone. But it had been kind of fun working as a team. “Maybe. I guess. If you bring the other Stars, no more of this ‘two melee fighters and no support’ nonsense.”

[captnbarnesrogers]

My Love’s So Strong

Pairing/Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Dad!Tony Warnings: stalker behaviour, kidnapping, attempted sexual assault, angst, fluff Summary: You're a very valuable team member of The Avengers and that means you have fans. Some fans just don't know their boundaries. Word Count: 2.5k+   A/N: I deadass know nothing about Philly only that my mom's real brother live's there lmao

INSPIRED BY THESE TWO ASKS:

You admired your boyfriend from the comfortable seat as you held a book just below your eyes. He smirked, feeling your eyes focus on him while he played around on his phone.

"I can feel you watching me." He catches you off guard and you shake your head back into consciousness,

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You answer, blushing and biting your thumb with a smile,

"Mhmm."

Most people would say to never date someone who works in the same field as you but if that was the case, you and Bucky were the exception. You were more than a couple. You were a team. An exceptional duo for the team and the most valuable at that. The super soldier with the metal arm and the daughter of Pepper Potts and Tony Stark, the brains that can battle like there's no tomorrow; You were The Vixen. Your father had first put a 'no go zone' sign your forehead after arriving from a 'special school' but when he saw the way you trained and the way you strategized, he knew exactly who to team you up with. Before you knew it, you'd leaned into him and his lips were locked with yours, Tony Stark's 'no go zone' was now Bucky's favourite person to be with and you were both inseparable.

"Doll?" He bugged,

"Yeah?"

"What's a Twitter?" You laughed at him, putting down your book. You walked over and straddled his lap, taking his phone from his hand,

"Twitter is a way to communicate with friends and fans, I guess."

"I want one."

"Well, you need an email first." You suggested,

"I have one of those, Natasha made me one."

"Alright, well, let's get started." After thirty minutes of telling your boyfriend chill out and wait as you set up his account, it was done. He smiled and took his phone from your hands,

"What about the photo? The profile photo?"

"Well, you can take one if you want or you can use one they've taken of you." You got up from his lap only to be pulled back, your lips landing perfectly on his cheek as he snapped the photo, "Bucky!"

"What?" He dragged out, "We look perfect."

"Well, you do."

"You always look amazing." You blush at his words and give him a kiss on his lips, "You reallg know the way to a woman's heart, don't you, Barnes?"

"Only yours, doll."

"I guess I'll have to follow you on Twitter." You groan, jokingly. You open your phone and go on your Twitter app. You quickly follow Bucky and then go through your hundreds of mentions, suddenly scanning your eyes on an all too familiar account,

'@Johnson_Dylan80: @LaVixenStark I'm coming for you.'

'@Johnson_Dylan80: @LaVixenStark I love you so much. You're mine.'

You couldn't help but shudder. Every day, the same messages for 3 years. You tried not to think about it, maybe everyone had these types of followers. Maybe this Dylan guy wouldn't do anything, it was just an account. But you had a bad feeling in your gut and your gut was never wrong.

Bucky watched as your body language changed. He suddenly held onto your hip tightly, your eyes focused on your phone, unable to explain how you felt.

"Babe, are you okay?" He asked, bringing you back to consciousness, locking your phone,

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure?" You nodded, trying to let him shrug off his worry. Your dad walks around the corner with some envelopes in his hand, not too bugged about you and Bucky on the couch,

"Y/N."

"Hi, dad." You smiled,

"Sweetheart, I have some mail for you and I want you to do something for me, so, meet me in my office in five, okay?"

"Yes, okay, sure." He gave you your mail and a kiss on your forehead, "Thanks dad."

"Who's it from?" Bucky asks, rubbing your arm,

"One's from school and this other one," You shrugged with uncertainty, "Guess we'll just find out." You smiled. Opening up the envelope, inside there is a letter and a polaroid, you'd ignored. The letter had read:

'At night I see, Your eyes asleep, At day I know, My heart you keep, And even though you're with him, I know your heart belongs to me.

DJ'

You take the polaroid in between your thumb and pointer finger. Your eyes could not believe what you saw. A blood covered organ which you assumed was a heart, you dropped the items in your hands and covered your mouth in shock.

"I- I have to go see my dad." You tell your boyfriend whose eyes are full of concern. As you walk away, Bucky picked up the items you'd dropped and looked at them. He saw what'd horrified you and felt the need to protect you more than he already did.

You made your way to your father's office and slapped a fake smile across your faces as you opened the door.

"You wanted to see me, father dearest?" You joked,

"Yes, my one and only offspring!"

"The only one you know of, dad." You winked,

"Oh I wasn't that bad, sweetheart."

"Mom says otherwise." You both laugh, "Where is mom, anyways?"

"She's out and about, anyway, you, being the little actress that you are, I need you to go undercover for me, it'll take a day, tops."

"Oooh, yes!"

"I'll let you be creative with it, I have some files I need to get." He starts going through an overview of your mission.

You get dressed into your disguise; a simple floral off the shoulder top which landed just on top of your blue jeans and a pair of black Converse shoes, a red beanie finishing off your look. Your dad had attached a small microphone into your belt, making sure he could hear you.

"Dad, I look like I'm 16..." You complained, rolling your eyes,

"Good, that's what you're supposed to look like," He smiled, "the party will be in Alex Ames' house, his parents have some connection with HYDRA and they'll be out on a mission where Steve and Sam will take care of them." You nodded, "There should be files on some nuclear weapons HYDRA has created and some of their spies who are in this building, you got this Y/N?"

"Always do, pops."

"Don't say it like that, you're making me feel old."

"You are old, Dad." He laughs and gives you a kiss on your temple. As you begin to walk away, he calls out your name, you turn to face him, "Yeah?"

"Come home safe, okay?"

"Of course, I will." You run up and give him a hug, "I'll just go and say goodbye to Bucky and I'm off."

"I love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too, dad." You pulled away from your father, quickly waving as you walked away. You made your way up to your boyfriend's bedroom, calmly knocking on the door, "Hey, I'm leav-"

"Woah..." He needed to take a second glance, almost not recognising you, "Why do you-"

"Look illegal?"

"Young..." He chuckled at your response, "Not the term I was looking for."

"I'm undercover."

"Roleplay, huh?" He smirked,

"You know I love it, da-" Before you could finish your sentence, you heard a voice through your clear ear piece,

"Don't you even dare finish that sentence, Y/N Stark." You jumped at the sound of his voice,

"Fuck, sorry, dad." Bucky laughed at you and you playfully pushed him off of you, "I gotta go, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." He kissed you on the lips and gave you a tight hug, placing a kiss on your neck, "I love you."

"I love you too, Sarge."

"Be careful, okay?" You nodded, walking out of the building and into the black Mercedes-Benz CLS Coupè.

You drove to Philadelphia, two hours going by like the wind, getting there just as the party started. Teenagers flooded the house resting somewhere in Chestnut Hill, music blaring as parents begin to crawl out from the other houses, inspecting the noise of the neighbourhood. You park your car and lower the driver seat mirror. You adjust your hair to make sure your ear piece was covered and finally, applied some lip gloss. You step out of the car, swinging the door shut, making sure the car was completely locked. You entered the house, the smell and vibe of the place hitting you like a tonne of bricks. Everyone one was either dancing or sitting in the corner with their significant other doing god knows what.

"Go down the stairs, Y/N, it's first door to your right." Your dad said through your ear piece,

"Okay." Your fingers grazed against the wood of the railing, the sounds and the music of the party fading out as you entered the neatness of the downstairs office, the scent of fresh wood hitting your nose,

"Alr- on- Hel-" You dad's voice began to cut out through the ear piece,

"Dad? Dad! Hello? FRIDAY come in, FRIDAY." You shouted in a whisper,

"You need something?" A voice said behind you, making you jump in surprise,  

"Sorry." You laughed in a high pitched manner, "You scared me, I was looking for the bathroom but I stumbled in here."

"I've never seen you around, what's your name?" He asks,

"I'm Britney O'Connor, I just move here from New York."

"So, you're a city girl." He laughs,

"I guess so." You giggle back,

"I'm Alex Ames." You're so pre-occupied by distracting him, you don't hear him lock the door, behind him, "You look a lot like someone I know."

"Yeah? Is she pretty?"

"Very." He steps closer to you and before you know, his hand has landed on your waist, his other leaning on the bookshelf behind him, "In fact, she lives in Manhattan, you know where that is?"

"Of course, my boyfriend lives there."

"He does, does he?" His face is getting closer to yours, "Little Vixen." You eyes widen and suddenly, a hard object hits your head, knocking you out unconscious.

Tony hasn't slept since your last interaction with him. He paces his offices and bites his nail as every second slips away. There's a knock at his door.

"Tony?" He hears Bucky's voice from the doorway,

"Make it quick frosty, I have Y/N to worry about."

"Y/N? What happened to Y/N?" He asks, concern fully wrapped in his tone,

"Nothing."

"Tony..."

"Her mic cut out," He says, "I haven't heard from her since last night."

"What!? Tony, we have to go get her!"

"I know."

"Then why the hell aren't we moving?" Bucky's begun to huff, unsure of why he's still standing there when he could be saving you,

"We can't just barge in there, Barnes!"

"Why the fuck not!?"

"We have to have a plan." Tony explains,

"I'm going now."

"Bucky!" Tony calls out as Bucky walks out, Bucky's hands curled into fists.

Bucky steps out into the open, his motorbike just waiting outside the building. It didn't matter that he'd promised not to put on his suit again, he needed to save you, he just wasn't going to kill any body.  His motorbike roared as he sped away, making two hours seem like thirty minutes. Before he knew it, Tony had landed beside him. He gave Tony a weird look.

"She's my daughter." He shrugged. Bucky checked the house for clearance when he suddenly heard a crashing of a door. He ran to the front to find that Tony had busted down the door, "What? You wanted to rush." Bucky shook his head. They'd checked the house up and down but you weren't to be seen. To his surprise, Bucky had found some blood on a snow globe in the downstairs study room, sending him into a panic,

"Y/N..." He whispers. Bucky runs up the stairs to find Tony, meeting him outside on the porch,

"She's not here." Bucky nods,

"There's blood on a snow globe downstairs," He huffs, "we need to find her."

"You don't think I know that!? She's my fucking daughter and I'll do whatever it takes to get her back."

"The tracking device." Bucky blurts out, "What?"

"The tracking device you put on her phone, s-she was telling me about it, we can find her through that." Tony nods,

"FRIDAY, find Y/N's phone." Tony says into the suit,

"Her device tracker has tracked her in Princeton, New Jersey." FRIDAY begins to track your destination point, giving them directions to your whereabouts. Tony thanks FRIDAY and within an hour both he and Bucky had found where your kidnapper had taken you.

You opened your eyes, head pounding. You couldn't move your hands, the rope around it too hard to tug on, and you realised your mouth was gagged through the first strained groan you let out. You moved a little too much and a little too roughly, making the chair you were tied to tip over.

"Fuck!" You whisper shouted,

"Did you like my heart?" Alex asked, running his finger on the railing of the stairs. You looked up at him with murderous eyes, "It's hard to kill someone when they haven't done anything, you know? But I wanted them to be pure, like you." He pushed your chair back up and ran is hand over your shoulder, "I've dreamt about you for so long, Vixen." You sould feel the heat of his mouth against your cheek, his hand coming around your head to untie the cloth from your mouth,

"You're him. You're Dylan."

"You're very right, baby girl."

"Don't call me that." He grabs your hair, roughly pulling you back,

"I will call you whatever I want, you're mine now." You shook your head from his hands,

"Fuck you." You spat,

"I know you wanted to and I will give it to you." He starts kissing your neck,

"Don't fucking touch me!" You yelled, trying to get him off,

"Stay still!"

"She said," before you could react he was pulled off of you, "don't touch her!" You opened your eyes to Bucky's figure,

"Bucky..."

"No! No, she's mine!" Alex yelled from the floor, "She belongs with me! I love her!"

"Well, buddy, me too." He helps you up and out of the ropes, before punching him unconscious, "C'mon, sweetheart, your dad's waiting upstairs." Your dad walked out of his suit and gave you a hug.

"I was so worried." He whispers,

"I uh..." You took the hidden files that you shoved in the back waist line of your jeans and handed them to your father, "thought you'd still want them."

"You definitely are my daughter." He chuckles, "Let's go home."

You swung your legs on Bucky's motorbike and clung onto him tightly.

"Never again." Bucky whispers,

"What?"

"I'm never letting you go like that, ever, never ever again, we go together like we always do, okay?"

"Okay." He cups your face in his hand, carefully caressing your cheek,

"It's you and me, Y/N, I can't have a me if there ain't no you."

"I love you, old man." You laugh,

"I love you too."

MASTERLIST

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[alwaysuseful-blog1]

percy was working on sodor in the early 1930s. it was a different time, with no diesel engines at all. he always loved doing his jobs and also really loved pulling the mail train. during that time he would regularly converse with a boy named greggory, who was around 10-12. they would often chat about how everything was going, that school was getting boring, and that greggory wanted to work with the engines when he got older. he did live on Sodor, after all, and had grown up surrounded by steam engines.

Greggory was often teased, mostly because he spent so much time watching the engines working and rarely played with boys around his age. Percy was often teased, too, so he and Greggory really connected on that level. Greggory matured and Percy stayed the same, but their friendship was still close. When Percy was resting on a siding, Greggory had a tendency to walk over and they would talk. They sometimes would laugh about how Greggory might even become a conductor! They’d make an excellent team.

Even when he was still very young, Greggory would be invited into Percy’s cabin. He’d get to drive a bit, too -- if his parents weren’t watching! As he became older, Greggory got a part-time job working with the mail train and would see Percy at night. they were very close, and Greggory always looked forward to working. Percy came to love the mail train even more because he would see his good friend! Not to mention, Greggory’s relatives would send exotic gifts from places like India. And Percy was always so proud to deliver things that brought happiness, even if for a little while.

The 1940s rolled around, and with that, there came war. Sodor was industrial and all the engines worked very hard to deliver goods for the war effort. Raw materials and other goods were incredibly important, and it was vital to get it over to the mainland. one morning, Percy arrived at the station closest to the mainland to see an engine ahead of him, with many coaches connected. Young men that Percy had known on Sodor were boarding and waving goodbye.

As the last of the men boarded, one of them came running over. Greggory was a young man, early twenties or so, and ready for adventure. He was overjoyed to see Percy before the passenger train was departing. He told Percy he was going over to the mainland to assist with the war effort. men were needed as well, and Greggory had taken up the call. They chatted but soon the conductor on the coach train became impatient. Greggory waved goodbye, but not before handing one of the drivers a small item. It was a simple pocketwatch, but on the opposite lid there was a picture of Greggory all dressed up in uniform, giving a wide grin.

Percy would expect that almost every passenger train for the next few months would have Greggory, ready to return home to Sodor. Pulling the mail train was always a little dull when he had no one to talk to. But he kept working and working, always happy to help with the great effort. Occasionally he would ask men who were returning if they had seen Greggory, but to no avail. Sometimes, when Percy would deliver goods like steel or iron, he would think that those items were going to be used by Greggory. After all, this was for the same cause.

One night, delivering the mail to a station very close to the mainland, Percy was stopped and taken by surprise. There was some extra mail from men writing back home to their families. He waited patient as ever, sometimes glancing in the direction of England, hoping another passenger train would arrive. He was very surprised when he heard one of his drivers swear, followed by the thud of a heavy wooden box. The small engine could hear and feel as the heavy object was loaded into one of the mail cars.

“Should we tell him?”

“Let the poor engine be.”

They continued on, with Percy curious about the box. It wasn’t until later that Percy found out what had happened, when a ceremony was being held at Norramby (the town that Greggory grew up in) and the small engine found out that his good friend had perished somewhere many, many miles away, and had returned to Sodor for burial. Percy remembered the box, the heavy box that had been loaded into the mail train. He understood, then.

Greggory had been killed.

Percy mourned the loss of his good friend. Engines probably mourn in a different way than humans. At times (and without warning) Percy would come to a halt while delivering the mail train. He wouldn’t say anything, but he did tremble. A minute or so later and the small engine would start up again. One night, he refused to leave the sheds. His fireman hurried into the back and then returned, holding onto a pocketwatch. It clicked open and Percy could see, plain as day, the photo of Greggory. The friend he had watched grow up. The friend he had unwittingly taken home, many long nights ago.

Percy came to accept the fact that Greggory would never ride in the cabin again, wait at the sidings, or hang on to the side of a mail car as they moved along the tracks. But the mail train was still very important to Percy, and on long nights as he delivered mail all across Sodor, Percy had precious time to remember his friend. All around him he saw a young boy racing along the tracks, a teenage boy who saw himself as a conductor or engineer, and a young man who had been a very, very good friend. At night, in the silence as he delivered the mail, Percy still felt the close friendship he had shared, and that alone warmed his firebox.

In the back of Tidmouth sheds, even now, there sits a small box. Inside is a slightly tarnished pocketwatch that still works, and a small photo of a young man named Greggory.

[spellboundebook]

Author’s Note: This chapter is coming a little early. The first reason, I am sending it into a competition and wanted to give the first finished mini arc. And second, because I was really excited about the art this time around! Thought it was pretty good *dusts shoulder*. Let me know what you think! Enjoy!

Monaedi had to admit, this normal was much better than her previous situation! Instead of having lunch by herself, the next day she kept her word and took Theo to Poyo’s. The whole experience was astonishing to the blue haired girl, everything from the jungle gyms to the toys you could get with a kids meal. Mona was also forced to take a photo with Theo and the Chain’s mascot.

After they bought their food, they had lunch together in the courtyard. Again the day after that, then for the rest of the week, and onto the next. They mostly stayed on soft topics like school, hobbies, and foods they loved or would love to try. It was a very cathartic block of time. Theo didn’t have to worry about what someone might think if she said the wrong thing or acted out of turn; Monaedi couldn't believe that having someone to sit and talk to could be so...well, nice. What they didn't talk about was the fact that they only hung out in private, or that Theo’s friends began to wonder where she would disappear to, or family. Definitely not family...

At the end of the week, Monaedi went to their unofficial assigned table in the courtyard and she waited for Theo to meet her. She laid out her lunch, the same as always: nuggets, chips, sandwich, and drink. Though her book was left in her bag and she did not begin eating. Theo seemed to always eat absentmindedly from her lunch. Monaedi acted like it annoyed her, but here she was, waiting for her companion to dig in. But Theo wasn't there. She's never late, Mona looked towards the entrance.

Time passed and so Monaedi ate slowly. She pushed her food around with her fingers with a sigh. Finally, she felt someone sit down in front of her. Internally she smirked, but when she looked up she saw that Theo wasn't in a good mood. Or any mood? Her face was blank.

“My parents are coming,” Theo said her voice monotonous. Mona didn't know how to respond. So instead she gave a small nod urging her to continue and passed over the carton of nuggets. Theo picked one and took an irritated bite out of it.

“They say they want to see how I'm doing in school,” she said with her mouth full of food, “But they really just want to see me fail so they can bring me home.”

“Why would they want that?”   

“To them, I already have a job: Our family is our business. Ever since I was a teenager I would help my parents “negotiate”. I'm a good talker when I want to be, with a pretty face. So I would help coax potential clients into deals they usually didn’t want to take. I would dress up and be paraded around for these men and women...” Like a prop, Mona shivered and hoped that's all that was all Theo was expected to do.

“As long as I can remember, they have dictated my every move. My weird abilities and wanting to come to school just seemed like nuisances they tried to bury away. Because to them...it’s like... I’m only good for one thing.” That broke Mona’s heart because she could see that Theo could take on the whole dman galaxy if she wanted to. 

“They underestimate you, or don't even try to,” Mona said after a moment, “Don't let them think what you want to do is wrong. You're so much more than what they want you to be.”

Theo was stunned into silence. No one ever told her she could be more; in fact, no one talked to her like this before. With honesty. It's not like she hadn't thought about it, she came to Urdon Maior University to try on her own. But no one, not her parents or Mal’qier, had ever encouraged her. And it startled her how much she needed to hear it.

“Thank you,” she said quietly but then reality settled back in, “but I think you overestimate me. I'm not doing well in any of my classes. Most I'm on the cusp of failing. My parents are right—”

“It's still early enough in the semester,” Monaedi cut in before she could finish that thought, “You just have to need to quit some of the partying and stay in and study,” she finished with a chuckle.

“Quit partying? Now you’re asking for too much!” Theo thought for a moment, “...Thanks for talking this out with me.” Her expression so grateful, it was so soft and vulnerable it made Mona gaze at her for a little too long.

“What are friends for?” Monaedi said not able to look away.

“Friends,” Theo said breathlessly. Mona gave a small nod.

“Friends,” she replied quietly. They stayed in comfortable silence for a little while. Then Theo slowly gathered her things and headed to the entrance to the courtyard.

“Well, I shall descend into hell,” which made them both laugh heartily. And with that Theo left.  

Mona thought about her own family. She decided to give them a call. The mobile rang, and rang but eventually when to voice mail. Mona listened to the familiar answering machine message, “Hello you've reached the line of the Itreu’s Family. Leave a message after the beep.”

BEEP.

The weekend was going agonizingly slow. Monaedi looked at her mobile for what seemed like the thousandth time, checking to see if she had any messages from Theodora. Mona didn’t want to text Theo, she wanted to give her space and time to deal with her family’s visit. So this evening, Mona sat in her shared dorm room attempting to read while Zana, her roommate, got ready to go out for the night. Mona checked her phone again.

“Why do you keep looking at that thing?” Zana inquired a bit miffed. She was putting her earrings on looking back through the mirror. Monaedi was surprised she was even talking to her. Usually, she just acted like Mona didn’t exist, so it took her a moment to respond.

“...I...uh...I-I was hoping, from my friend—I was hoping to get a text from my friend,” Monaedi finally got out. Her roommate seemed to give up trying to decipher what Mona was trying to tell her.

“Right,” Zana said after eying Mona up and down. She didn’t say anything else, but took her makeup bag and headed into the bathroom shutting the door behind her. Mona took that as the end of a rare conversation. She went back to her book.

ZZZZ ZZZ—

Monaedi was on her mobile before the second vibration could end. She had a message.

Theo: I’m at your dorm. You here? Can I come up?

Mona: Yeah I’m here. Mona: How did you know where I live? Following me again. (ツ)

Theo: Thanks, what room number? Theo: And NO! I guessed, all the brainiacs live in Quadlr.

Mona: 303. Just come in the door is unlocked.

Mona set her phone down on her desk. Her roommate came out of the bathroom makeup successfully applied. She started to collect her things and acknowledged Mona slightly.

“I’m going out. I don’t want to take my key, don’t want to lose it. You’re always here right, just leave the door unlocked,” She said putting her jacket on heading towards the door.

“Um..A-actually I—” as she was about to respond except Theodora bursts into the room. She spots Monaedi on the bed and charges over to her.

“Take me somewhere,” Theo said to her a little out of breath, “Sorry there’s no elevator in here—” Theo gestured to the door and when she did she saw that they were not alone. Zana had her mouth agape as she stared at the scene in front of her. Mona shook off her own shock and got up between the two girls.

“Uh..T-Theo this is...Zana. Zana t-this is—”

“Theodora,” Zana said more than a bit surprised. She smoothed her skirt and tucked a loose hair behind her ear, “Nice to meet y—”

“Yeah you too,” Theo said hastily to Zana. She turned to Mona a bit more calm, “Please, take me somewhere.”

“Where do you want to go?” Monaedi didn’t understand what was going on.

“Anywhere,” she glanced over to Zana who continued to stare like a deer in headlights. Zana...was she waving? Theo squinted and waved back tentatively, “Somewhere...private.”

“...I might know a place,” Monaedi grabbed her jacket. She ushered Theo to the door and said behind her, “Could you lock up before you leave?” And with that, they were gone.

The two girls walked in silence for a while. Mona lead them down a couple of paths behind some of the school’s buildings and after some time they were off campus. They headed into the woods and climbed over a couple trees and fallen branches. Eventually, the girl’s came to a large clearing in the middle of the forest. There laid a patch of soft green grass, and in the middle was a gigantic white tree with no leaves. They gazed at it for some time.

“I did what you said. Not letting them take all this away from me,” Theo said still looking up at the tree, “It was awful.” And immediately Monaedi felt just that.

“I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have come between you and your family — ” Theo stopped her with a forceful shake of her head.

“No, no. It was the best thing I’ve ever done in my life,” there was a wisp of a smile when she looked back up at the tree, “Did you mean what you said?”

“What do you mean?”

“When we first met. Did you really want to help me practice with...whatever this is,” she said looking down at her hands like they were foreign objects. Mona looked at them as well, and she nodded.

“Yes...but why now?”

“In delays lies no plenty, right?” Theo shrugged and tried to wave it off. Monaedi gave her look as if to say “Go on”.

“I’ve hidden who I am my entire life...Not just this,” she raised her hands again, “But with a lot of things. I don’t think I can come out to everyone. Not right now. But, if you’ll have me...I’d like to be myself with you.” Mona smiled, at her, her eyes getting teary. She nodded.

“I’ve never had a real friend…” There it was again. Theo wanted to question that, but she didn’t want to interrupt. Mona rarely spoke about herself, so she stored that information away for later, “I am not sure why, but...I can be who I really want to be when I'm with you too.” 

To be continued...

Some chapter art is inspired by the anime Erased (x). It’s pretty good, but they had this beautiful scene that I had to try and draw! 

[colourline]

on changing my brand // both IRL & on SoMe

NEW NAME ANNOUNCEMENT

 I've been at this for a good couple of weeks. It's something that's been nagging at the back of my head from time to time the last year or so (who's counting?) and now I've finally made the decision to change my instagram handle - in other words; a little re-branding is on it's way.

I've learned some things in the process of asking around, listening to people's feedback and opinions.. I even made some polls on my instagram stories (if you're as big of a fan of polls as me, you should check out my stories now & then). And even though I appreciated all the positive feedback I got from my followers, I also have to think of the bigger picture.

You can't please everyone. 

When I asked around to get some feedback on wether or not they thought @colourline was a misrepresentation of my instagram grid, the response was very split. Some thought it was misleading, others didn't. Some thought it was creative others said they were confused or felt like they missed something.

When I asked why, again the feedback was split.. Some said my feed was misleading because dark and muted. Others said they could easy see the colours, and some even thought muted colours were better then bright colours. So I'm gonna make some happy, and some.. not so happy. Either way, I can't make everyone happy, so I might as well do what makes me happy.. So I thought.. but then.. what the heck do I want? What makes me happy? I also learned that some people think they can give orders, when you ask for feedback. No dear, it's still my choice. I think it's important to remember who's in charge of not only yourself, but your brand and your choices. 

I was met with a lot of interesting opinions, advices & feedback. I've been given it a lot of thought, and I'd like to share a little about what I learned in the process. If you're thinking of some changing yourself, this might even help.

 _underscores_ and dots.. looks unprofessional Well, I think this is debatable, I personally don't think it have to look unprofessional. As a matter of fact, I know some pretty professional, respectable & creative people, just to mention the lovely @me_and_orla who uses underscores. She has +177k followers + a blue tick. So neither instagram nor her big following finds that too unprofessional. That being said, I don't think I would ever use it myself, but that's personal taste, I don't necessarily think it looks unprofessional. A Wildflowers Home is a very long username and might look too long or crowded in a post. Well, I agree it's a rather long username, but not thaaaat long. ;) I don't recall ever thinking any username looking over crowded in a post, but I thought, I'll do some research. Two of the new handles I've been considering is; 'A Wildflowers Home' & 'A Wildflowers Journey'. Without spaces they're 16 and 19 characters.  I scrolled down my home feed to see how long people's usernames is, and see if there were any pros & cons to be aware of. My "biggest fear" would be if the name was so long that Instagram would only showcase half the name followed up with some dots, but what I found was that even the charming Grace behind @gracewithabookinherface, with 23 characters was still readable and did not look over crowded. Long? maybe a little. Overcrowded? nah. Interesting. She has a +46k following, so her followers doesn't seem to have a problem with her handle either. So I don't see what a longer or shorter username should be better or worse for, but I thought it was interesting to see that many had 15-20 characters.  So I don't think it's the length that scared away people.

Okay, so here are my personal thoughts behind the name-changing. I have a whole history with the name @colourline, so no doubt I had nostalgia & feelings attached to it (I tell the story a little longer down), but I'm gonna try to tell it from a more objective perspective. While I think the wordplay was fun, with my name in it, it was creative, easy to prnounce and recognisable.. all the stuff that I like.  I also recognised that it had less to do with my future plans and dreams. I didn't necessarily have a problem with the colour in my name. While some people think of "colour" as bright rainbow colours, not all do. Colours come in all tones and moods, which I love. I've been testing out quite a few different themes (before the one I've got now), someone mentioned; because of all the different themes it had a colourline through it all. Again, people have so many perspectives, there will always be some that loooves it, and there will always be someone who just doesn't get it. And that's okay. Who do we make this for. Ourselves? Who do we wanna share it with? Our audience. Let's not try to impress those who'll never be impressed or care anyway. Waste of precious time, man!

I was given an interesting perspective that got me thinking; having too many different names on the internet, can be a bit confusing. Not only for people trying to find you (or recognise you), but also for yourself. Juggling between lots of usernames, (that's not your own name) might be too many balls in the air at ones. I had 'Colourline' on all my social medias and my blog name 'A Wildflowers Home'. I've been thinking a lot.  For me, Colourline was my name on the internet. I didn't use my personal name much. A Wildflowers Home is my blogs name, that I also have other dreams and visions for making a physical place in the future (you can read more about my dreams here), so that name stays.

 The story behind Colourline

Colourline has been with me since I was 6. I moved from Denmark to Norway at that time, an the ferry we travelled with had the brilliant name; Color Line. I was thrilled, to say it the least. When you’re 6, seeing your name in big fat letters on a ginormous boat, it’s probably one of the coolest things in the world. We travelled with it every summer & I still got that merchandise keyholder with the magic name somewhere in my room. 

Funfact: I’ve been tagged twice by people thinking I was that ferry.

When Instagram came along, Colorline was already claimed by another dude. I was a little bummed, but I quickly found out that you can spell Colourline more than one way. So that's the reason for the british "u".

Since that day, it’s been my username + an old mail address (I was a teen!).. pretty much everywhere! 

But now, I'm thinking it might be a time for a bit of change. 

In my early teenage years I started developing a more playful & colourful style. Imagine mix matched socks, lots of jewellery mostly DIY'd + colourful oversized T-shirts with fun logos. I even added my own touches.  I was very shy at the time + just changed school (again), so being this bold in my appearance was a pretty big step for me. I was even known as hippie Line for a little while (btw it’s pronounced “Lee-neh” for those of you who don't know). 

So you can say Colourline wasn’t only a good ferry childhood memory, but became a description of who I was, at that time in my life. 

As I’ve grown older, I’ve still got the hippie in me & the colours here and there, but the tones have changed & the feel is more moody & I’ve (finally) dared to let my inner rock chick out.  I was terrified of not being the playful & colourful girl anymore (you can imagine the identity crisis, hah), but I learned to embrace the growth & changes in my real life, & now I feel like it’s time to embrace the changes in my internet life too. 

This might seem superficial & dramatic to some, but for a creative girl with big dreams, visions & a need to express myself, this goes a lot deeper than what I wear or a name on the internet.

Okay, so to the last part. I consider my instagram as a journey, a quest, an adventure, my path through life.. but what to choose? I found this brilliant description on Pinterest, that helped me made up my mind:

a QUEST is a trip to accomplish a task. 

an ADVENTURE is a trip without a destination. 

a JOURNEY is when the trip is more important than the destination

 Therefore, may I represent you, my new handle:

  A Wildflowers Journey

 With all that being said, I think there's only one last thing to say:

Goodbye Colourline, Hello A Wildflowers Journey

[welllpthisishappening]

You Play Ball Like a Girl (39/?)

He nodded towards the window and Emma spun on the stool, eyes wide as she felt all the breath rush out of her lungs.

Killian Jones stepped out of a car, eyes trained on his phone as his fingers moved across the screen. Somewhere, a few feet away, Emma heard Elsa’s phone go off.

“I knew it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “The sneak.”

And NOW we’re over 200K on Ao3 because this is the longest story in the world. Also tag’ed up on Tumblr. 

“Uh oh,” Elsa said, leaning against the doorframe to Emma’s room and staring at her. “I know that look.”

Emma didn’t say anything – just kept staring at the ceiling and turned the volume up even higher on her headphones. It was what she had been doing for the last two days, since he stepped off the train in Storybrooke.

She barely said two words to Ingrid when she got home, spent most of the eight-hour train ride in a daze, ignoring Mary Margaret’s attempts to get her to eat.

It had been like that for a little over a week.

Deep down, Emma hated it.

She was frustrated and angry with herself, well aware that she was wasting the final few weeks she had with Killian in the same city as her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything differently.

She couldn’t even bring herself to talk to him.

She covered games and filed stories and did her best to stay away from her desk as much as humanly possible.

Killian had tried. There were texts and e-mails and some very impressive attempts to corner her in front of her apartment.

None of them worked.

And, finally, he stopped.

He didn’t show up in front of her apartment anymore, spent most of his time at work locked up in his office, putting things into boxes and talking to a guy Emma had been introduced to, but couldn’t remember his name. Jefferson? It might have been Jefferson.

She should probably learn her new editor’s name.

Instead she had fallen head-first into wallowing and Emma didn’t know how to stop.

It wasn’t fair.

And she was mad. And disappointed. And so sad she could hardly see straight.

“You’re missing all the festivities,” Elsa continued, walking into Emma’s room with ease and laying down next to her on the bed. “Cora is losing her mind over the amount of tinsel David put on the tree. They’re actually having a tinsel fight.” “I’m not all that interested in tinsel, El,” Emma muttered, throat scratchy.

“You’re not all that interested in anything it seems.”

“What do you want me to say?” “I want to know what’s going on. So does everything else.” “I’m even less interested in everyone else than I am in the tinsel.” “Bah humbug.” Emma groaned and turned the volume up on her headphones – again – pointedly ignoring her sister. Elsa shook her head, moving the pillow they had somehow wound up sharing, and yanking one of the headphones out of Emma’s ear.

“Ow,” Emma yelped as Elsa narrowed her eyes when she realized what the song was.

“A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

Honesty by Billy Joel.

“It came up on the shuffle,” Emma said softly. “You just came in at a particularly inopportune time.”

“Sure.” “I know that look,” Mary Margaret said, appearing in the doorway as well and clicking her tongue. “Haven’t seen it in awhile, but I know it.” “She’s listening to Billy Joel,” Elsa added, glancing over Emma’s head.

“I’m right here,” she mumbled. “I can hear you.” Mary Margaret walked into the room, arms crossed and a concerned look on her face. She sank onto the bed, laying down on Emma’s other side and forcing the other two to move a bit, opening up space.

Emma suddenly felt a decade younger. It made her sad.

“I know you can hear,” Mary Margaret said softly, shoving Emma’s arm slightly with her own. “The real question is whether or not you’re listening.” “Probably not.” Mary Margaret sighed, but Elsa simply seemed to get more determined. “Talk,” she said, voice practically commanding.

“There’s not anything to talk about. He lied.” “He didn’t lie,” Elsa objected. “He just didn’t tell you some stuff.” “Some very important stuff.” “Have you even talked to him?” Mary Margaret asked.

“No.” “David thinks he’s losing his mind a bit, you know. Tried everything he could think of to get you to listen. Said you wouldn’t give him the time of day.” “I’m kind of mad M’s,” Emma sighed.

“I know that and you should be, but this is stupid .” “That’s a very pointed opinion.” “She’s right, Emma,” Elsa added, headphone falling out of her ear so that Emma could hear the faint sound of music in the background. “You got hurt. He knows it. You know it. He’s trying to fix it.” “Still doesn’t change the fact that he’s leaving.” “And why does that change anything?” Emma sighed and closed her eyes tightly. Elsa had asked the one question Emma had hoped to avoid completely – because she wasn’t sure she had an answer.

She was so mad she could hardly see straight, but in the back of her mind she knew, it didn’t really have to change anything. Boston wasn’t the other side of the world. It wasn’t even the other side of the country. It was a four-hour drive.

They could make it work.

Probably.

Definitely.

God . Emma should have a degree in running away.

“I know you’re hurt,” Mary Margaret said. “Killian knows that. But if you think I’m going to lay on this bed and let you act like you’re actually seventeen, Emma, you’ve got another thing coming. He’s not giving up on you.” “That’s what it feels like.” “That’s not what it is.” “So what is it, M’s?”

“He’s trying to give himself his best chance. Can’t you see that?”

“I know,” Emma mumbled.

“Then talk to him,” Elsa added. “And maybe acknowledge that it’s Christmas Eve. Ingrid’s worried you’re never going to come out of your room.”

“He’s not giving up on you,” Mary Margaret repeated. Emma still hadn’t opened her eyes. “That’s not what he told David.” Emma groaned, rolling her head to the side and, finally, looking at Mary Margaret. “We’re all far too close. We need more secrets in this family.”  Mary Margaret and Elsa ignored the word family and Emma tried to stop her stomach from flipping around. “Alright, I’ll bite M’s. What did he tell David?” Mary Margaret didn’t answer immediately, lifting her hips up slightly to pull her phone out of her back pocket. Her fingers moved across the screen quickly and she tapped several things before handing it to Emma.

Could you just tell her something for me? Killian had texted David – a week ago, just before he stopped showing up in front of her apartment.

Sure.

Just tell her I’m sorry. And that this is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I love her.

There weren’t any more messages. Emma’s stomach felt like it was in knots.

“See?” Mary Margaret said softly, small smile tugging on the ends of her mouth.

“He stopped showing up after this,” Emma whispered. “David..didn’t...he never said. Anything. I didn’t…” “Say anything to Killian?” Elsa finished.

Emma nodded, licking her lips quickly. Her mouth had suddenly gone very dry. “He thinks I don’t care. That’s why he stopped showing up.” “No,” Mary Margaret objected. “He thinks he fucked up.” “M’s!” Emma yelled, scandalized to her very core. “What even?” “Emma, you’ve got to realize something. He puts on a fantastic show , but that’s all it is. A show. Killian isn’t confident. He’s never been confident. But things have changed over the last couple of months. I’ve seen it. David’s seen it. That’s because of you. Don’t you know that? And you’ve always been confident, but you’ve never believed in anyone except yourself.” “Let me guess?” Emma asked, sarcasm rolling off her. “That’s changed in the last couple of months too?” “Ding ding ding,” Elsa muttered. Emma glared at her.

“Killian knows you care. He knows you love him. But he knows you too,” Mary Margaret continued. “And you’ve changed his entire outlook on, well, everything. So he got scared that was going to change. He didn’t tell you and that was wrong, totally wrong, but I think Gold had him terrified. He took so much from Killian before and he wasn’t willing to let you become part of that list too. So he didn’t tell you”

Emma huffed out a breath of air.

“You’ve got to talk to him,” Elsa said.

“I know.”

“You going to?” “I don’t know.”

“Stubborn until the very end.”

Emma shrugged, but didn’t say anything else as three heads turned in unison towards the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

Ingrid let out a low laugh and shook her head at the picture in front of her. “Well this is a sight I didn’t think I’d see again,” she said, walking into the room with a smile on her face. “I feel like it’s ten years ago and I should be holding a pint of ice cream.”

“Emma’s even listening to Billy Joel,” Elsa muttered and Ingrid whistled softly.

“That seems significant,” she said, sitting on the end of the bed and Emma wondered how this very old mattress was supporting four people. “Does Billy Joel have anything to do with why you’re acting like teenage-Emma?” “Maybe,” Emma admitted.

Ingrid shook her head again. “Next time I’ll make sure to actually bring the ice cream then.”

“Wouldn’t go to waste,” Mary Margaret said.

“Anway,” Ingrid continued. “I came up here to tell you that we’re about to head to Granny’s. And then, I promise, if you three all behave yourselves we’ll stop by the store later and get you some ice cream.”

Emma groaned and shook her head, finally, pulling the other headphone out of her ear and sitting up. “You going to be ok?” Ingrid asked, staring straight at her. Emma nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Good,” Ingrid said, reaching over to squeeze Emma’s hand before walking out.

“You really going to be ok?” Mary Margaret asked and Emma felt Elsa looking at her speculatively.

“Only if everyone stops asking me that.”

“That’s fair,” Elsa said, getting up quickly. Mary Margaret followed suit and Emma was certain she saw them share some sort of vaguely significant looking glance between them. She ignored that. And the ding of Elsa’s cell phone.

Emma brushed her hand over her shoulders and grabbed her coat off the back of her chair, turning towards her sister and her best friend with an expectant look on her face. “Well?” she said. “Who’s ready for Christmas cheer?” Mary Margaret smiled at her, glancing once more at Elsa, and nodded. “Yeah, I think you deserve some spiked eggnog.” “Deal.”

Granny’s annual Christmas Eve dinner was a Storybrooke tradition that went back as far as Emma could remember.

Everyone came. Everyone drank. Everyone got drunk on spiked eggnog.

The diner was covered in garland and twinkling lights and there was food everywhere and Emma almost – almost – felt herself genuinely smiling.

Or maybe that was just the spiked eggnog.

She reached for another glass and felt a hand wrap around her wrist in warning. “Slow down sailor,” David muttered. “You’re practically shaking.”

“You know I’m mad at you,” Emma said, flicking his arm. It didn’t have much of an impact. Probably had something to do with the spiked eggnog.

“That so?” “M’s showed me the text messages.” “Don’t follow.” “I know you talked to Killian.” David sighed and shook his head and filled Emma’s glass, letting go of her wrist and turning towards her, an apologetic look on his face. “He’s upset, Emma.” “So am I.”

“I realize that. Why didn’t you tell me?” “You are terrifying when you’re mad, Emma.”

She groaned and shook her head, taking another long drink of eggnog. “I guess that’s kind of true.” “It’s absolutely true,” David said. “And you kind of had to figure this out on your own. I wasn’t going to get involved if I didn’t have to.”

“I guess.” Emma glanced around the diner, sinking onto one of the counter stools. “Although maybe not as terrifying as that,” she nodded towards Regina in the corner, trying to direct Granny and her food placement and David laughed softly.

“Definitely not as terrifying as that.”

“Well at least there’s that.”

Emma watched the scene unfolding in front of her and laughed at Granny as she smacked Regina’s hand away from one of the platters of food. Robin appeared, seemingly out of thin air, and wrapped his arm tightly around his wife, whispering something in his ear and, suddenly, everything was fine.

Regina’s shoulders dropped and she shook her head slowly, but didn’t argue anymore, visibly leaning against Robin’s side and – Emma was certain she was imagining it – she smiled at him.

“Look at that,” David muttered.

“True love and all that,” Emma said quickly, heart clenching slightly at the words.

“Emma Swan, the optimist?” “Maybe.” David’s eyes focused on something over Emma’s shoulders and she raised her eyebrows slightly at him, making a face. “What’s your deal?” she asked.

He nodded towards the window and Emma spun on the stool, eyes wide as she felt all the breath rush out of her lungs.

Killian Jones stepped out of a car, eyes trained on his phone as his fingers moved across the screen. Somewhere, a few feet away, Emma heard Elsa’s phone go off.

“I knew it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “The sneak.” Killian turned on his heels, moving towards the door and glanced through the giant window on the front of Granny’s Diner. His eyes met Emma’s immediately – like he couldn’t think of anywhere else to look.

“Emma?” David asked and Emma bit her lip tightly. “Go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, standing up shakily and pushing her way through the small crowd of people before swinging open the door and running across the final few feet. He hadn’t moved an inch.

Emma licked her lips again and skidded to a stop, blinking once before raising her hand and brushing her fingers across his jaw. He looked like he finally started breathing again after holding it for several centuries – or the last two weeks.

“Hey,” Emma whispered.

“Hey.” “How...how are you here?” Killian nodded towards the car and Emma shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant,” she said. “Why? And...well why?” “Was that not obvious?” Emma shook her head again. “I came to see you.” “I don’t understand.”

“It’s Christmas,” Killian shrugged. “And I just..I was home and I...well at the risk of sounding like some teenage sap, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” “But you stopped,” Emma argued. “You stopped showing up.” “I know you, Swan. And I know you don’t like to be pushed. So I stopped pushing. That never meant I stopped believing in you...or us for that matter.”

“Really?” Emma asked, her voice sounding particularly small.

Killian nodded emphatically. “Of course. I love you, Emma.” “I love you too.”

She said it before she thought about it, before she remembered how angry she was or how disappointed she was that he was leaving. But it was true. And it was the reason she felt all of this to begin with.

Because she loved him.

Killian smiled at her, the effect of it shooting straight to Emma’s core and she shrugged. “I do,” she said softly. “A lot. That’s why I got so mad.” “I know that, love. And I’m sorry. So incredibly sorry. I can’t say it enough.” “You don’t have to.” “I do,” he said, shaking his head. “You were right, Swan. We’re, well, we’re supposed to be a team and I didn’t take that into account when I started thinking. It wasn’t fair. I just couldn’t let Gold take this all away from me. So instead of waiting I ran, as fast as I possibly could, and that included running away from you.” “I understand that approach.”

“Are you as scared as I am, Swan?” Killian asked, hands wrapping tightly around her forearms. Emma lowered her eyebrows slowly.

“Of?” “Messing this up.” “You’re not,” Emma shook her head. “And, yeah, I am.”

“I'm sorry,” he said again. “Don’t be. We’ve both messed up in the last few weeks. But if you’re willing to fight for this, then so am I.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” Emma said, the sure sound of her voice sending a chill down her spine. “Are you?”

“I was willing to spend hours fighting for this in front of Macy’s and hordes of tourists. I’m not leaving, Swan.” “Not really,” she muttered.

“Hey,” he said softly, hand finding its way into her hair as he ducked his eyes to meet her gaze. “This doesn’t change anything. Every single thing I’ve felt about you, every absurdly sentimental thought I’ve had, all of them are just as real and just as strong as they were a week and a half ago. You know that, right?” “But you’re still leaving.” “I can’t stay at that paper, love. I can’t.” “I know that.” “So then do you think you can try and understand?”

Emma nodded. “I do. Really,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m any less disappointed about it.” “I realize that. It’s not fair to ask you, but I’m willing to beg if you want.” He nudged her chin up slightly and smiled at her, a sort of half movement and Emma realized how nervous he actually was, suddenly appreciating what it must have been like to drive to Storybrooke by himself on Christmas Eve.

“You don’t have to do that,” Emma said. “But I wouldn’t say no to kissing.” Killian laughed – the first genuine smile Emma had seen since he stepped out of the car – and pulled her closer to him, dragging her feet along Granny’s parking lot. “I think we can make that happen,” he mumbled against her lips before kissing her.

Emma groaned slightly, like she was finally waking up, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, ignoring the several dozen Storybrooke citizens who were likely staring at them through the front-wall window.

His hands worked inside her coat and Emma could feel how warm they were even through her sweater. That did something very particular to breathing level. Killian didn’t seem particularly put out by the audience they had.

“Killian,” Emma muttered, not moving away from him. “People are watching.” “Don’t care.”

“Where are you going to stay?”

“I was hoping with you,” he said slowly and that nervous smile was back on his face.

Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “Did you think I’d make you sleep in your car?” Killian shrugged. “Of course you can stay.” “We’re going to make this work,” Killian said, brushing Emma’s hair off her shoulders and staring at her seriously. “No matter what.” “I really do believe you.” “Because I really do mean it. I’m ready to fight for you, Emma Swan.”

Emma took a deep breath, the feel of it almost painful in her lungs. No one ever wanted to fight for Emma Swan. And she wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information that someone wasn’t just willing, they wanted to.

So she kissed him instead.

Action. Not emotion.

“I love you,” she said softly.

Killian nodded slowly. “I love you too. More than anything.” “Can I ask you a question though?” “Shoot.”

“You never said how you got here.” Killian laughed and widened his eyes, the blue of them practically taking over completely. “Your sister is very persuasive.”

Emma gaped at him. “That's really what all those text messages were? That was you?”

“At least some of them were.”

“And what did she say?” “That you were wallowing.” “I don’t wallow!”

“Of course not, love. But I was. Decidedly. And I needed to do something about it. That’s what this is, by the way. The doing something about it.” “I’m glad. I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.” “Never,” he said and it sounded like a promise. A big, overwhelming one that Emma, normally, would have run away from. Instead she stayed rooted to the spot, lacing her fingers through his and squeezing as tightly as she could.

“You want some food?” she asked and Killian shook his head at the abrupt change of subject.

“Love some.” “And spiked eggnog.” “Even better. C’mon love, I should say hi to Elsa in person.” He tugged on her hand slightly and Emma noticed several people turn away from Granny’s window as the walked to the door together.

“How did I get so much stuff here?” Emma asked, folding a pair of jeans and stuffing them into a bag.

Killian shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s not a bad thing though.” “It is now,” she argued. “I should have brought another bag.”

“You could leave some stuff.” “Huh?” Emma glanced over her shoulder, rolling up a shirt and sticking it into one of the far corners of the bag.

He sat up a bit straighter on the bed and leveled a stare at Emma. “I’m just saying, you could leave some stuff.” “So, what, Will can have it?” “No, absolutely nothing about Will and your clothes.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“You could leave some stuff with me , Swan,” he sighed. “I’ll take it with me. Is what I’m saying.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms, clothing coming unfolded in her hand in the process. “Oh,” she said softly. “I hadn’t really thought of that.”

“No?” She ignored the soft tone of his voice – the disappointment there – and pulled her lips behind her teeth.

“Um, no, I guess not.” “Well, I mean, you’ve got to come to Boston at some point right? The Knicks play the Celtics. They’ll definitely send you there.” “We haven’t really talked much about travel yet.”

After they had gotten home from Storybrooke – and worked off the several-day-long hangover that Granny’s spiked eggnog ensured – Emma had practically lived on the 24th floor of The New York Record building, listening to Isaac’s plans for coverage and talking to Jefferson the new sports editor.

She should probably just think of him as Jefferson.

“Oh, I just figured...” Killian trailed off slowly, shrugging again. Emma shook her head, trying to refold the shirt in her hands. She failed no less than three times.

This kept happening.

These awkward silences and half-finished sentences – ever since they had gotten back to New York a few days ago. They’d spent two more nights in Storybrooke after Killian got there – What are they going to do if I don’t show up, Swan? Fire me? – and while they had both agreed to fight for this, whatever that meant, it certainly hadn’t been easy. Or particularly comfortable.

They were walking on eggshells.

And they weren’t doing a particularly good job of it.

They didn’t do eggshells. They never had. They did immediate sarcasm and banter and flirting . They didn’t do nerves or censored conversations.

At least they hadn’t until that week.

And Emma was fairly certain she was losing her mind.

Everything seemed half – half thoughts, half emotions, half kisses. She tried not to be too disappointed. She couldn’t handle anymore disappointment.

“Swan?” Killian asked, shaking Emma out of her own thoughts. She glanced back at him – her shirt had come unfolded again – wide eyed and tried to pinpoint the moment she had drifted out of the conversation.

“You alright, love?” he asked, sliding off the bed and taking a few steps towards her. His fingers left goosebumps on her forearm.

“Sure.” “Yeah? You got all glossy-eyed there for a minute. What are you thinking about?” He trailed his fingers farther up her arm, wrapping his hand around her shoulder as he pushed her hair back. Emma felt some of the tension ease out of her, leaning into his hand slightly. Killian raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for an answer.

“I am thinking 800 things all at once.” “That’s impressive.” “It’s exhausting.”

“Well,” he said slowly, bending his head slightly and moving his mouth to where his hand had been. Emma was certain she had melted into the floor. “Start with one thought and then work your way up from there.” “I didn’t think about Boston,” she said quickly, surprising even herself with the first thought of her 800-thought list.

“You’ll get to travel, Swan. Tell Jefferson the new sports editor to move a bit quicker through the instructional manual and then demand that they give you extra leg room when you fly. Argue for that one.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she mumbled, only somewhat distracted by whatever he was doing with his mouth. “It’s what I said before, I didn’t even think about leaving anything with your or even going to Boston. That doesn’t seem like a problem to you?” He made a noise against her shoulder and Emma would have sworn she felt it in her toes. “I can’t think when you do that,” she said softly.

“Good.”

“Killian,” Emma whined, pulling on his hair slightly to bring his eyes back to her. God, they were blue.

“Swan,” he countered, staring right at her.

“You don’t think that’s a problem.” “I’m choosing not to see it that way.” “How are you choosing to see it?” “As something we simply haven’t talked about yet,” he said easily, but Emma saw his eyes cloud a bit as he answered. “Otherwise I think I may actually go crazy.” “It’s not going to be easy. Especially if I am traveling with extra leg room. This season lasts forever.” “I realize that.”

“And won’t you have to go to spring training?” Emma pressed. “I mean if they wanted you there before pitchers and catchers? We haven’t talked about that either. I just kind of figured they would. Lots of PR’ing to be done in Florida.” “No, you’re right. But that’s not until March.” “Killian, it’s New Year’s Eve.”

What a depressing New Year’s Eve.

He shrugged at her – third time in less than 10 minutes, Emma was certain that was a new record. “I don’t follow.” “I’m just saying that’s soon,” Emma argued. “And we haven’t talked about any of it. God, we haven’t talked about anything.” “Swan, all we have done is talk.” “No! We haven’t!” Emma took several steps back and sighed, pushing her hand into her hair. She felt like something had snapped. It might have been her. “We’ve danced around it for days, but we haven’t really talked about anything. We’re too nervous about making the other person feel bad.”

Killian sighed and wrapped his hands around the back of his neck, ducking his head slightly. “Maybe we shouldn’t.” Emma certainly had snapped. “What?” she yelled, practically screeching the word at him. “You just don’t want to talk about it? You love talking. And, for the record, when this all falls apart, I’m going to bring up this moment and remind you that you didn’t want to talk about it because it was too difficult.”

“I didn’t say any of that.” “That is exactly what you said!”

This almost felt normal. Almost. It was more an argument than banter, but there was some emotion behind it and, despite everything else, that had always been the core of this. They were both so God damn emotional – because they had both spent so much time doing their best to pretend they weren’t.

Emma shook her head at Killian and he groaned in frustration before taking one – very long – step into her space, pulling her by the waist and kissing her with so much emotion that Emma nearly saw stars.

She sighed into his body and if Emma thought she was melting before, it was nothing to what she felt now. She wasn’t even certain she had limbs anymore.

“What are you doing?” she asked when he finally broke away to breathe.

“I am not talking about this anymore,” Killian answered forcefully, hand still ridiculously tight on her waist. “I can’t talk about this anymore. I can’t think about this anymore. So we’re not going to do that. We’re going to do anything else.” “Anything?” Emma asked skeptically as his hand moved along the top of her jeans. “Well,” he amended, “one thing.” Emma didn’t say anything else – couldn’t come up with a single letter that would have been even remotely appropriate in a moment like that – just stood up on her bare tiptoes and tried to put every single ridiculous emotion she had felt since he got out of the car at Granny’s into one single kiss.

She wasn’t positive, but she thought it worked.

The confirmation came two seconds later when he practically ripped her shirt off.

“If you tear that,” Emma mumbled against his mouth. “I will actually kill you.” “I don’t care.”

He wasn’t wearing a belt – Emma bit back a slightly manic laugh when she realized – and she trailed her finger along the top of his pants, hand moving progressively lower until he groaned, head tipping forward onto her shoulder.

She laughed at that slightly.

His teeth tugged on her neck in response and Emma didn’t laugh anymore.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus. It didn’t work.

He moved away from her neck – where Emma was fairly positive he had left a mark – and traced his lips over her collarbone, hands holding onto her hips like they were some sort of anatomical lifevest.

Emma tugged on the bottom of his shirt, trying to remember a single word she had ever learned. “You’ve got to take this off,” she muttered, words only slightly jumbled as Killian pushed the tips of his fingers under the top of her jeans.

“Demanding,” Killian answered, moving his hand again and laughing softly when Emma whined. “Relax, love,” he said and it felt like a shot through her entire system. “I’m moving so I can take them off.” “Even clothes footing,” Emma argued, protests turning into a sigh when he kissed her again.

They hadn’t moved an inch.

He had started kissing her and it was like they were both frozen to the ground. The bed was still several feet away. There was probably some sort of hidden meaning to that – like they couldn’t move because they were so determined to be together, but those kinds of things sound vaguely absurd when you say them out loud.

“So demanding,” he repeated, but pulled away from her slightly and lifted the bottom of his shirt with one hand.

It wasn’t even fair.

Emma trailed her finger down the plane of his stomach and took a moment to enjoy the way he shivered slightly when she stopped just above his pants. “Swan,” he threatened and she smiled at him.

“Look who’s demanding now.”

“I just know what I want.” “And what is that? Exactly?” Killian’s eyes flashed up towards her – finally moving away from the stare he was practically boring in her hand – and Emma almost took a step back instinctively from the look.

“You,” he said softly. “I want you.” Emma blinked once, but kept his gaze – practically challenging him to take her – without saying a single word. He picked up on the message rather quickly.

Killian bent his knees and wrapped one arm around Emma’s waist, lifting like he was simply picking up a wooden bat, and stepped back until his legs hit against the side of his bed. She wasn’t sure how he managed it – he must have practiced this at some point – but he spun them so Emma fell back on the mattress first, hair fanning out behind her on the pillow before Killian moved next to her.

They were a flurry of hands and movement and emotions that they absolutely were not talking about for the rest of the night and it didn’t take long until they were on Emma’s mandated even-clothes footing, sliding under blankets and moving their hands even more.

Emma wasn’t certain he stopped kissing her once.

She pressed her forehead into the crook of his neck when his hands moved a very particular way, twisting her shoulders slightly in response. He chuckled against her skin, breath causing even more goosebumps which caused even more laughter and Emma tried not groan in annoyance at how infuriating he could be.

She loved him an absolutely absurd amount.

She was going to miss him an absolutely absurd amount.

They weren’t doing that. They weren’t talking. They were doing. Decidedly doing. So Emma didn’t say anything.

She didn’t tell him that she was terrified – to her very core – that he would leave and he’d never come back or he’d eventually stop calling or that he’d carved out a place for himself in her life that Emma was certain no one else would ever be able to fill.

She kissed him instead, rolling her hips forcefully and running her tongue against his lower lip until she drew that sound out of him and smiled.

“Swan,” he mumbled. “All. Night. We have got all night.” He punctuated every other word with a kiss, tugging on her lower lip in an almost desperate way that Emma had never noticed before.

She tried not to dwell on that.

“Your point?” she answered distractedly, hand trailing along his thigh.

“My point,” he said slowly, almost sounding like he was in pain, “is that you don’t have to rush. I’ve got big plans for you, love.” “You’re talking way too much.” “You love plans,” he muttered, kissing up her neck and moving up slightly so his entire body was aligned with her. “And lists and goals. I’m just sharing.” Emma sighed, trying not to think about the rush in her stomach or the almost overwhelming way she wanted him. “You said we weren’t talking,” she accused, scratching down his back while she wrapped her legs around his calves.

He nearly collapsed on her. Emma smirked at him.

“I said I didn’t want to talk about other things,” he objected. “I never once said I didn’t want to talk about all the things I wanted to do to you. It’s a rather extensive list.”

“Seems better just to show,” Emma said slowly, pushing her hips up again. Killian squeezed his eyes shut and Emma saw his teeth bite down forcefully on her lip.

“Fuck,” he muttered half to himself, eyes still closed.

“I win,” Emma said.

Killian shook his head slightly – he had, finally gotten a haircut so it didn’t fall across his forehead when he moved – and leaned away from Emma slightly, reaching into the nightstand drawer next to his bed and practically ripping open the wrapper immediately.

“Efficient,” she muttered, still smirking at him and Killian glared at her.

“Swan, I swear, if you don’t stop talking soon…” “What?” she teased, moving her whole body underneath him. “What are you going to do about it?”

He pulled back slightly and stared at her for a moment eyes light with all that emotion they were both pointedly ignoring before he showed her exactly what he was going to do about it. And, suddenly, Emma couldn’t breathe.

Or talk.

She never got to hear the list, but later – when she was fairly certain they had accomplished most, if not all, of it – Emma couldn’t bring herself to care.

Instead, she listened to the even sound of Killian’s breathing, his head resting just a few inches away from her, and tried to memorize everything about that moment.

They hadn’t talked about it.

And, now, they had run out of time.

Emma brushed her lips over his forehead and he moved slightly, muttering something that sounded like go to sleep, Swan. She smiled softly, pulling herself down so her whole body fit against his perfectly and felt Killian’s arm tighten around her.

She wouldn’t cry.

She wouldn’t ruin the moment.

She would go to sleep and tomorrow would be fine.

“I love you,” he mumbled, still half asleep, words pressed up against the top of her head and settling into that space he seemed to have carved out in her heart.

Emma didn’t need a sixth sense or even any sense to know tomorrow wouldn’t be fine.

God, this was going to suck.

They didn’t really sleep, but Emma’s alarm went off anyway. Killian groaned loudly at the noise.

“Why is that thing on?” he muttered against her shoulder, arm still wrapped as tightly around her as it was a few hours before.

“Responsible. It’s responsible to have an alarm.”

He groaned again and reached over Emma towards the offending noise, hitting several buttons until the phone turned off. He practically threw it into the corner of the bed.

“Hey,” Emma yelled, voice turning into a yelp when he pulled her flush against him. “I need my phone.” “Not right now you don’t.”

“Eventually, I will. Like tomorrow. Or later today. Were you planning on letting me know you actually made it to Boston?” “Of course I was Swan,” he said softly, lips seemingly trailing across her shoulder blade of his own accord.

“That’s good to know.” Her voice sounded soft and sad and Emma scrunched her nose tightly at her inability to keep emotion out of the equation. They still weren’t doing this. They weren’t going to talk to about it.

“Why would you think I wouldn’t?” “That was more conjecture than anything else,” Emma mumbled, back pressed flat against his chest. She tried to grab his hand so he would stop moving it across her thigh, but he was undeterred. In fact, that just seemed to make him more determined.

They were, after all, still on very even clothes footing – no clothes footing.

“You’ve got to get up,” Emma said, doing her best not to move her hips instinctively. Killian laughed darkly and she shook her head. “You know what I mean,” she added. “The alarm went off for a reason.” “A responsible reason, I’m told.” “Yes, exactly that. It’s 10 o’clock.” “Ten? Really?” “I don’t think the alarm would lie to us.” Killian’s fingers trailed up Emma’s leg again and settled firmly on her waist. “What if we didn’t get up?” “That’s not part of the plan,” she argued.

“I’m not interested in the plan.” “It’s your plan.” Emma moved slightly, turning so she was facing him and biting her lip at the look on his face. She felt Killian’s shoulders sag and he shut his eyes lightly, hand gripping her waist tightly.

“I know it is,” he said softly.

“You’ve got a hotel to check into.” “In Boston.” “In Boston,” Emma repeated.

“I’m sorry.”

Emma shook her head, putting her face flat against his cheek. “Don’t. Don’t do that. We’re not talking about it right? That was the agreement?” “It was.” “Then stop breaking your own rules. I’m gonna go shower, ok?” Killian nodded and rolled back, laying on his back and Emma saw his entire chest move up with the deep breath he took. “Yeah, of course,” he muttered. “I’ve got to finish packing some stuff too.”

Emma walked back into the bedroom 20 minutes later to find Killian staring at a suitcase on his bed, a slightly entertained smile on his face. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He didn’t look up at her.

She looked around him to see what he was staring at – two of her shirts and one sweater folded on top of a pair of his jeans.

“Oh,” Emma muttered. Killian glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her, the effect of it shooting down her spine. “I just, well, I figured it wasn’t that big of a deal.” “Of course it isn’t.”

It was a huge deal.

An enormous deal.

A chock-full of emotions deal.

He turned around completely, hands coming up to rest on her forearms. “My cab’s going to be here in a couple of minutes, love,” he said softly.

Emma nodded once, trying to take a deep breath. “Sure,” she whispered. She didn’t trust herself to say anything else.

Killian leaned down and grabbed the strap of a bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “That all you’re bringing?” Emma asked, nodding towards the bag and the still-open suitcase sitting on the chair in the corner of the room.

“I didn’t want to bring a ton until I actually got an apartment. Not a lot of space in hotel rooms, you know?” “Sure,” Emma repeated.

“I should go,” he muttered.

“Ok.”

They stood in the elevator in silence, his left hand gripping Emma’s as tightly as possible. She tried not to focus on that. There were emotions involved in that.

The cab was waiting on the sidewalk when they walked out of the building – which seemed like a sign of some sort, one Emma wasn’t willing to recognize or even consider. She heard Killian sigh as he walked towards the driver, handing over the bag and the suitcase and watching him put it in the trunk.

“Where to?” the guy asked.

“Um...Penn,” Killian answered quickly, voice only cracking slightly. “Just, um, just give me one second, ok?” The driver nodded and slammed the trunk closed, making Emma jump. Killian turned back towards her, rubbing his hand and not meeting her eyes. He bit his lip and Emma did her best to take a deep breath.

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

“You’re going to miss you train,” she said, eyes starting at the sidewalk.

“I’m not,” he countered. “I’m so early, it’s almost embarrassing.” Emma nodded quickly – she didn’t know what to say. He took a step towards her and pushed his hand into her hair, fingers wrapping around the back of her head and pulling her closely towards him. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he just rested his forehead against hers, almost like he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Stop saying that.” “I am.”

“You’ve got to go,” she said, glancing up at the very impatient cab driver staring at them. “Pushing me out the door, love?”

“No.”

Killian sighed again and this time he did kiss her – so soft and so nervous that Emma felt the tears falling down her cheek before she could do anything about it.

“Swan,” he said softly, brushing the tears away, fingers lingering on her cheek. He didn’t tell her not to cry and when Emma looked up she noticed his own eyes were glossy.

“I know, I know,” she said. “I’m not normally a tearful goodbye kind of person, but...maybe just this once.” She lifted herself up on tiptoes and kissed him fiercely, hands pushing into his hair and all but yanking his body up against her. Killian sighed against her mouth and ran his hands up and down her spine.

The cab honked.

Emma groaned and shook her head. “Impatient asshole,” Killian muttered. “See if he gets a tip.” “You’ve got to tip him, Killian. Those are the rules.” Killian sighed and leaned back, eyes serious as he looked at her. “It’s going to be ok, right?” he asked and Emma suddenly realized how worried he was.

“Sure.” “A picture of confidence, Swan.”

“Your plan.” “I know, I know,” he mumbled. “I love you.” “I love you too.” He kissed her again, slowly and torturously and Emma wanted to tell him a million different things all at once – mostly not to leave. But she didn’t. She bit back every sentimental idea that passed through her mind and did her best to smile.

Killian didn’t believe her for a moment.

He leaned back, tilting his head away from her and reaching his hand up towards his neck. Emma lowered her eyebrows, staring at him and he just shook his head quickly, a silent request to wait.

She did.

And then he did something that completely caught her by surprise.

He tugged the chain he always wore over his head and, suddenly, Emma’s eye were wide open. “Don’t look quite so terrified, Swan,” Killian muttered, laughing slightly. “It’s not anything like that.” Emma huffed out an exhale of breath and continued to stare at him. He was smirking at her and she was certain her heart snapped in two at the look. “Keep it,” he said softly, forcing the chain – and the ring that was hanging off it – into her hand.

“Killian…” He shook his head again.

“Now’s not the time to argue, love,” he said, closing his fingers over hers so the ring was wrapped up in her fist. Emma pulled her hand away quickly and opened up her hand, staring at the thin band, the silver glinting in the sunlight that was practically mocking her.

She looked at if for a moment, holding it between two fingers. Killian never took it off. Not once since she had seen him – in various states of undress – had seen noticed it anywhere except hanging around his neck.

He swallowed audibly in front of her and Emma knew his nerves were getting the best of him.

“Why?” she whispered.

“I want you to have it. For now at least.” “Awfully sentimental.” He shrugged and laughed under his breath again. “Maybe I’m feeling awfully sentimental.” Emma narrowed her eyes again, trying to make out the inscription on the inside of the band. It was letters. For a moment she thought they were Killian’s initials – the ‘J’ jumping out at her – but then she realized, the first letter was different. It wasn’t an ‘K,’ it was an ‘L.’ She gasped, nearly dropping the ring in the process.

“Killian,” she repeated, shaking her head and looking up at him wildly. He couldn’t. No wonder he never took it off.

It was Liam’s ring.

“It’s good luck,” he said softly, a small smile on his face. “Always has been. I had it for every good thing that’s ever happened to me. My interview at The Record, my first breaking story, getting run over by you.” “I don’t know if that’s a particularly good thing,” Emma mumbled, still staring at the ring in her hand.

“Hey,” he said sharply, lifting her head up to look at him. “That was a good thing. The best thing.”

Emma chuckled under her breath and rolled her eyes slightly – mostly to make sure that she didn’t start to cry again – and met his gaze. He looked incredibly certain.

“I can’t take this,” she said.

“You’re not taking it. I’m giving it to you.” “Well, you can’t do that either.” “You’re not allowed to tell me what to do with my own possessions, Swan. If I get to bring some of your stuff to Boston, then you get to keep some of my stuff in New York. That’s only fair.” “This is totally different and you know it,” Emma argued. “This is not the same thing as a t-shirt. This is...this is Liam’s.” She hated the way her voice cracked on his brother’s name, the way he blinked slowly when she said it and tried to smile.

Killian nodded slowly. “It is,” he agreed. “Doesn’t change the fact that I want you to have it. Good luck and all that.” He didn’t wait for her to argue anymore – although her mouth was half open with all the reasons he had to keep Liam’s ring – just pulled the ring out of her hand and wordlessly moved the chain over her head.

Killian’s hand lingered over the ring, sitting unceremoniously on the Seton Hall athletics t-shirt Emma was wearing and smiled. “Looks good,” he muttered.

She put her hand on top of his and bit her lip tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I’ll call you when I get to the hotel,” he said.

“Ok.”

The cab honked again and Emma’s smile faltered for one second. “Just do me one favor, Swan?” Killian asked, taking a step away from her.

“What?” “Trust me, please.” He sounded dangerously close to begging and Emma bit her lip tightly. “I’m not done fighting for you yet, love.” Emma nodded, throat tight with all that emotion she had been trying to push back into the corner of her mind. She didn’t say anything – couldn’t bring herself to even open her mouth – just blinked quickly, trying not to cry anymore.

Killian leaned around her, brushing his lips across her cheek and she was sure she must have tasted like salt. “No matter what,” he added softly, squeezing her hand softly before turning on his heel and sliding into the backseat of the cab.

Emma stopped crying as soon as the cab turned around the block.

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An excellent interest to get is paintball. It could be very exciting to go out into a wide open paintball discipline and have a strategic battle with your loved ones and friends. All you have to do is get the right gear, like a respectable paintball weapon and the proper apparel.

Find a way to help other individuals with your pastime. Do you wish to crochet? It is possible to crochet wintertime hats for neighborhood young children that don t have caps. Do you want to make? Prepare food a meal for a person specific in your daily life who will benefit from using it. Let the creativity flow enjoy yourself when assisting others.

There are several varieties of hobbies related to tunes. You can acquire vocal classes if you enjoy performing. Or, you might learn to play a musical instrument. Finally, you could also figure out how to revise and mix audio.Make an impression on your pals with the improvised evening of music and enjoyable.

A lot of people love to play game titles on the web like a interest. The actual game titles are incredibly reasonable, it is not necessarily hard to get lost within the alternate fact. Gaming is an ideal activity if you are looking for a fascinating way to move a little while.

One particular pastime that is certainly becoming more popular is knitting. Teenagers are realizing that making their particular sweaters, scarves and afghans is certainly a fulfilling hobby. This hobby could be learned by collecting a how-to guide or joining a knitting group in your neighborhood. Start out with an easy design and after that department out into more difficult projects.

Need a hobby that requires the seas? Try browsing! You don t have to acquire a high priced surfboard right from the start. Buy a employed one particular and get searching training, that are not high-priced if you find the correct instructor. An additional benefit is that you get to physical exercise your legs.

Seashell getting is a great interest that can provide happy memories of seashore getaways. Seashells could be educative for the kids plus are excellent elaborate decorations for that house.

Keeping by using a activity can often be really tricky on account of our busy schedules. It doesn t really need to be the truth if you have great tips like the one s from the earlier mentioned article. Combine these pointers on hobbies and interests to assist you to realize that ideal one that you will stick with for a long time!

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[laughloji]

A bug in the code is worth two in the documentation.

According to my calculations the problem doesn't exist.

A computer's attention span is as long as its power cord.

A computer scientist is someone who fixes things that aren't broken.

Adding manpower to a late software project makes it later.

Air conditioned environment - Do

not

open Windows!

All computers wait at the same speed.

All wiyht. Rho sritched mg kegtops awound?

Willyoupleasehelpmefixmykeyboard?Thespacebarisbroken!

All you need to know is the user interface.

Any programming language is at its best before it is implemented and used.

Any program that runs right is obsolete.

A paperless office has about as much chance as a paperless bathroom.

A printer consists of three main parts: the case, the jammed paper tray and the blinking red light.

A Life? Cool! Where can I download one of those from?

A program is never finished until the programmer dies.

ASCII stupid question, get a stupid ANSI!

As far as we know, our computer has never had an undetected error.

A user friendly computer first requires a friendly user.

A user will find any interface design intuitive...with enough practice.

Backup not found: (A)bort (R)etry (P)anic

Bad or missing mouse driver. Spank the cat [Y/N]?

Be aware of Programmers who carry screwdrivers.

Best file compression around: "DEL *.*" = 100% compression

Beta. Software undergoes beta testing shortly before it's released. Beta is Latin for "still doesn't work."

Bug? That's not a bug, that's a feature.

Build a system that even a fool can use, and only a fool will use it.

Buy a Pentium 586/200 so you can reboot faster.

Cannot load Windows 95, Incorrect DOS Version.

COFFEE.EXE Missing---Insert Cup and Press Any Key.

Compatible: Gracefully accepts erroneous data from any source.

Computer analyst to programmer: "You start coding. I'll go find out what they want."

Computer and car salesmen differ in that the latter know when they are lying.

Computer programmers do it byte by byte.

Computer programmers don't byte, they nibble a bit.

Computers are a more fun way to do the same work you'd have to do without them.

Computers are like air-conditioners: both stop working, if you open windows.

Computers are not intelligent. They only think they are.

Computers are unreliable, but humans are even more unreliable.

Computers can never replace human stupidity.

Computer Science: solving today's problems tomorrow.

Computers follow your orders, not your intentions.

Computers make very fast, very accurate mistakes.

Crashing is the only thing windows does quickly.

Daddy, what does FORMATTING DRIVE C mean?

Disclaimer: Any errors in spelling, tact, or fact are transmission errors.

Disinformation is not as good as datinformation.

Don't compute and drive; the life you save may be your own.

Don't document the program; program the document.

Don't hit the keys so hard, it hurts.

Don't let the computer bugs bite!

DOS=HIGH? I knew it was on something!

DOS Tip: Add BUGS=OFF to your CONFIG.SYS

Email returned to sender -- insufficient voltage.

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Enter any 11-digit prime number to continue...

Error:015: Unable to exit Windows. Try the door.

Error: Problem exists between keyboard and chair.

Error reading FAT record: Try the SKINNY one? (Y/N)

Ever notice how fast Windows runs? Neither did I...

Every bug you find is the last one.

Every time I type 'win', I loose ...

Excuse me for butting in, but I'm interrupt-driven.

Failure is not an option, it comes bundled with the software.

.....File not found. Should I fake it? (Y/N)

For any problem there is a solution that is simple, quick, and ultimately worse than the problem.

Hardware: The parts of a computer system that can be kicked.

Hi, my name is Any Key. Please don't hit me!

Hiroshima..45........Tjernobil..86........Windows..95....

Hit any user to continue.

Home is where the computer is plugged in.

How an engineer writes a program: Start by debugging an empty file...

I am a computer, dumber than any human and smarter than an administrator.

If at first you don't succeed, call it version 1.0.

If a train station is where the train stops, what is a work station?

I finally made my stupid computer faster; I dropped it out of the window, and it went really fast.

If the automobile had followed the same development cycle as the computer, a Rolls-Royce today would cost $100, get a million miles to the gallon, and explode once a year, killing everyone inside.

If the pen is mightier than the sword, and a picture is worth a thousand words, how dangerous is a fax?

If your computer says, "Printer out of Paper," this problem cannot be resolved by continuously clicking the "OK" button.

I have a dream: 1073741824 bytes free.

I haven't lost my mind; it's backed up on tape somewhere.

I hit the CTRL key but I'm still not in control!

I'm writing a book. I've got the page numbers done.

In a few minutes a computer can make a mistake so great that it would take many men many months to equal it.

Is reading in the bathroom considered Multi-Tasking.

It is easier to write an incorrect program than understand a correct one.

It said "Insert disk 3..." but only 2 fit.

It's not a bug; it's an undocumented feature.

It works! Now if only I could remember what I did...

I wish life has a scroll back buffer.

Keyboard : Instrument used to enter errors into computer.

Keyboard not connected, press F1 to continue.

MACINTOSH stands for Most Applications Crash If Not The Operating System Hangs.

Maintenance-free: When it breaks, it can't be fixed...

Math problems? Call 1-800-[(10x)(ln(13e))]-[sin(xy)/2.362x]

Melted fruit snacks found on Keyboard. Delete nephew [Y/N]?

MICROSOFT: Most Intelligent Customers Realize Our Software is Only for Fools and Teenagers.

Mommy! The cursor's winking at me!

My software never has bugs. It just develops random features.

Never say "OOPS!" always say "Ah, Interesting!"

No matter how much data you add to your laptop, it will not get heavier.

Of course I know how to copy disks. Where's the xerox machine?

One person's error is another person's data.

One picture is worth 128K words.

Operator! Trace this call and tell me where I am.

Owners of digital watches: Your day's are numbered!

Oxymoron: Microsoft Works.

Press any key...no, no, no, NOT THAT ONE!

Press any key to continue or any other key to quit...

Press CTRL-ALT-DEL to continue....

Programmers don't die, they just GOSUB without RETURN.

Programmer's Time-Space Continuum: Programmers continuously space the time.

RAM disk is NOT an installation procedure.

Reference Manual: Object that raises the monitor to eye level. Also used to compensate for that short table leg.

Scheduled Release Date: A carefully calculated date determined by estimating the actual shipping date and subtracting six months from it.

Shift to the left! Shift to the right! Pop up, push down, byte, byte, byte!

Shutting down networkservers reguarly during worktime prevents RSI and develops social contacts at work.

Speed Kills! Use Windows.

System going down at 1:45 for disk crashing.

The box said: 'install on Windows 95, NT 4.0 or better'. So I installed it on Linux.

The definition of an upgrade: Take old bugs out, put new ones in.

The name is Baud......, James Baud.

The program is absolutely right; therefore the computer must be wrong.

The programmer's national anthem is 'AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH'.

The Queue Principle: The longer you wait in line, the greater the likelihood that you are standing in the wrong line.

There are never enough hours in a day, but always too many days before Saturday.

There are only 10 types of people in this world: those who understand binary, and those who don't."

There are two ways to write error-free programs; only the third one works.

There can never be a computer language in which you cannot write a bad program.

There were computers in Biblical times. Eve had an Apple.

These settings will have no effect until you restart the system.

Reset Universe (Y/N) ?

Those who can, do. Those who cannot, teach. Those who cannot teach, HACK!

To be, or not to be, those are the parameters.

To err is human, but to really foul things up requires a computer.

User error: replace user and press any key to continue.

Warning, keyboard not found. Press Enter to continue.

What boots up must come down.

Who's General Failure and why's he reading my disk?

Why doesn't DOS ever say "EXCELLENT command or filename!"

Why do they call this a word processor? It's simple, ... you've seen what food processors do to food, right?

Why do we want intelligent terminals when there are so many stupid users?

Will the information superhighway have any rest stops?

Windows 3.1 not found: (C)heer, (P)arty, (D)ance?

Windows is NOT a virus. Viruses DO something.

WINDOWS stands for Will Install Needless Data On Whole System.

Windows: the ultimate triumph of marketing over technology.

You are making progress if each mistake is a new one.

You don't have to know how the computer works, just how to work the computer.

You forgot to do your backup 16 days ago. Tomorrow you'll need that version.

You had mail, but the super-user read it, and deleted it!

You never finish a program, you just stop working on it.

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December 12, 2018

Michele Moore Veldhoen

 A CHRISTMAS CONFESSION

We are well into the run up to the biggest day of the year for most Canadians. Right now, kitchens and shops across the country are dusted in flour and jam packed with men and women but I venture to guess more women who are baking and shopping.  Ovens and counters are loaded with gingerbread cookies, nanaimo bars, shortbread and squares made of something that goes well with butter and sugar. Shopping bags are filled with stocking stuffers – ornaments, toy cars, socks – and sweaters, ties, coffee mugs, cameras and kitchen machines. Well, maybe not cameras anymore?

These two aspects of Christmas – food and gift giving, dominate our thoughts throughout the month of December. And so they should, because it is with food and gifts that people not only at home but all over the world celebrate special holidays and traditions.

So, in the spirit of gift giving this month, I offer a Christmas confession. (As soon as I come up with the connection between gift giving and confessions I’ll let you know).

Confession:

 I hunt for hidden Christmas presents.

Yes, even as an adult I have caved into this powerful urge. I would like to state right now that it is entirely the fault of my mother. As proof I can tell you that just this week she received in the mail our Christmas present to her, and opened it, despite my large bold letters on the package that said DO NOT OPEN UNTIL CHRISTMAS!

I have spoiled many of my own Christmas mornings due to this tendency. (Which, as you will read about further on, I believe is a genetic throwback to our hunter/gatherer past.)

My genuine delight was mixed with disingenuous exclamations of surprise the year I received my ruby charm bracelet, which I had found in my mother’s undergarment drawer. I would never hide a jewelry box in such an obvious place! The year I received my first pair of new skates was especially difficult because I was dying to use them before Christmas. If only my parents had kept the box in the trunk of the car instead of walking into the house with it while I watched out the window.

The worst year was when I found two sweaters my parents had purchased, one for me, one for my sister. They had been ‘hidden’ in their store bags on the shelf in the front hall closet. Sigh. Why didn’t they hang them amongst their own clothes in their room? Instantly, I fell in love with mine, it was exactly the kind of sweater I wanted. I don’t remember the colour now, but I do remember my anticipation on Christmas morning, and my plans for wearing my new sweater on the first day back to school. When my sister opened her sweater box and pulled out my sweater I blurted out, “that’s mine!” My parents looked at me with raised eyebrows and showed no sympathy whatsoever.

As an adult my snooping has, fortunately, been less successful. I won’t mention the two or three gifts I have found over the years because I can’t remember from whom they came but if any were from my children, I would not want to disappoint them!

I’m sorry if you are shocked at my confession, but as I said earlier, my inability to resist the urge to hunt for hidden treasures is really my mother’s fault, who activated the urge when I was a child. I ask you, why would any parent in their right mind expect children not to hunt for hidden treasures they know are somewhere in their own house? They know they’re there because they saw their parents carrying bags down the hall to their bedrooms, or they heard the rustle of bags come in the door when they were supposed to be asleep. Now really, what child sleeps when they know their parents have been out Christmas shopping?

Children are not saints. In fact, they are intelligent creatures who are doing exactly what any other intelligent creature would do in such circumstances. They are exploring their home turf to assess its resources. It’s like taking inventory. Do they have what they need to survive? Does their territory offer anything that will enhance their existence? To my mind, this is a perfectly natural behavior.

When my children were growing up, I expected them to hunt for gifts. Once, one child of mine, when he was 3 or 4, found a gift hidden in a closet. I have a perfect photo of his satisfied and guilty face as he tiptoed down the hall with the gift. He may have been trying to scoot back to his bedroom with it to take a closer look, but it didn’t matter because it was wrapped already. That is a simple solution to the problem. Wrap gifts as soon as you bring them home. With lots of tape. (Yes, I have even unwrapped gifts, but not since I was a teenager.) A few years later, when this same child was around 10 or 11, he went so far as to wait until he believed we were all asleep before sneaking upstairs to see what Santa had left under the tree. I suspected he was awake when I placed his stocking at the end of his bed, and at that moment my intuition told me of his intent. To surprise him, we hid under the tree in the dark waiting for him to appear, which he did within just 10 minutes or so after the house went silent. I like to think our presence was the best present ever!

Now I am quite sure I am not the only one who if asked, would have to make this same confession. So for those of us who are still driven by this primal tendency, I have the solution. Stop giving things as gifts. I can tell you it really works because Rogerio and I have been practicing this for years and I have noticed that old urge has waned into a curiosity so mild it cannot even get me off a chair. 

Reducing the amount of things in our gift giving tradition has not only solved my snooping problem, but also produced some other benefits. First, we do not need to look for more space to store the objects we don’t use or need. Which is a relief because we already have too much in our cupboards and closets. Second, we are lightening the load on the earth, which, although we don’t see it in Canada, is literally, in many other parts of the world, being buried under the waste of all the stuff no one needs. Third, we have enjoyed more concerts, shows, and afternoons at places like Heritage Park than we otherwise would, which are such wonderful ways to spend time with family and friends.

Yes, I believe I have overcome the hunter/gatherer in me. At least when it comes to hidden Christmas presents. I can’t say the same for food. I’m a tiger in a farmer’s market.

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[douchebagbrainwaves]

AN ALTERNATIVE THEORY OF N THINGS THAT FIGHT BACK

It's designed for large organizations. There was another speaker who was much better than mediocre ones. They thought they'd be able to watch your child experience it 8 times. It may be surprisingly large; people overvalue physical stuff. Don't try to fool us just by being here a lot. I had to write about a topic is a variant of doing things where you'll face competitors. Coprophiles, as of this writing, don't seem to have to add some sort of padding to protect their turf than to do great things, it ensures the problem really exists. Most people's judgement of art. It's an unusual thing to do.

They really seemed to believe implicitly that work was not fun. Object-oriented programming generates a lot of time talking about the amount you raise, how you market yourself—they all depend on what you're saying, or at least accords with, both of the principles the IRS uses in deciding whether to fund them. They're not something you work despite. Half the people there are rich, or you've failed. The other reason Apple should care what programmers think of them is that they make two mistakes that cancel each other out. Now even the poorest Americans drive cars, and it was a college town out in the countryside. I had stored in that attic.

I'll talk about tricks for coming up with startup ideas, the ideas you come up with something plausible-sounding on the fly, there isn't time enough to do that would just leave and do it somewhere else. Likewise, if your company wants to make a nest for yourself in some large organization where your status depends mostly on one's ability to increase one's rank. Economic inequality is sufficiently far from identical with the deal flow, by encouraging hackers who would have disagreed with that, so ignore it. To the graphically unsophisticated its deliberately minimal design seemed like no design at all. There is no good. Greg Mcadoo said one thing Sequoia looks for is the next Microsoft unless some other company to buy it. There seem to be about the ultimate truths.

It's not your boss's fault. They're not impressed by students who get good grades. One could do a lot of the great programmers I can think of that. How many hackers do you need that you'd pay a lot for our software—about 140 per user per month—but it was at the time, will take whatever choice requires least work. Both languages are of course moving targets. I think teenagers are driven crazy by the life they're made to lead. This was easier to grasp when most people lived on farms, and made some effort to conceal their identities, to guys who hijack mail servers to send out a crawler to the site where it's offered. So if Apple's not going to lie just because everyone else does, but notice some odd detail that's compellingly mysterious. It seems reasonable to assume Bill Clinton has the best technology.

It would not work very well on printer terminals. The other thing that's different about the real world and the cocoon they grew up with a statistical sort of correctness. We know because we make small investments; many have gone on to flourish. It could be an even bigger win to have core language support for server-based applications are an ideal source of revenue. A top-ranked professional chess player could play ten thousand games against an ordinary club player without losing once. On the surface it feels like the kind of things that go wrong when kids grow up sufficiently poor. If he wants to invest in you, but that it becomes the top idea in your mind to No, except yes if you turn out to be mails that sound a lot smarter talking about that than the business model, because it wasn't going to be one of them. And those who do raise VC rounds will be able to leave, why not modern texts? There was a brief sensation that year when one of our specialties at YC. And I found that I got a call from another startup founder considering hiring them to promote his company. Plus I have to get all the way to do it is to use yourself.

If you work this way too. The world then was divided into haves and have-nots. Most people who write them win Nobel prizes. You can easily reduce the opposing argument actually depends on such things, the craftsmen. They're not just beautiful, but strangely beautiful. Icio. This really is kind of mind-blowing. Yes and no. Europeans didn't introduce formal civil service exams took years, as prep school does today. One helpful trick here is to use the most powerful. But at least know now why I didn't.

And yet the trend in nearly everything written about the subject. Whereas if you keep restarting from scratch, so a new from-address, so you don't have to buy politicians the way railroad or oil magnates did. You turn one knob to set the social norms. What students lack in experience they more than make you feel bad if you even ask—as if having a stupid idea, is simply to be one in which founders who don't see the full potential of what they're saying—in corporate announcements of bad news, for example, but Microsoft also happens to have been a natural fit for, say, the ages of eleven and seventeen. Whenever someone in an organization proposes to add a delay before people can respond to a challenge from an adult in a way that acknowledges their dominance. The alarming thing is, this nightmare scenario happens without any conscious malice, merely because of the scale you have fields like math and physics, where no one has proposed it before. The view of history we got in elementary school. For example, the corporate site that says the company makes enterprise content management solutions for business that enable organizations to unify people, content and processes to minimize business risk, accelerate time-to-self variety. But thousands before you have them than after. Your spinal cord is less hesitant, and it frees conscious thought for the hard problems. I found myself talking recently to someone who wants to get things manufactured.

The bar will be higher next time. Exactly the opposite, in fact. Yahoo didn't understand search. Y Combinator. The time I haven't spent in bookshops I've spent mostly in front of it. For the future, and the problem gets worse. Most are equivalent to money; the only question is what. At this point you could become a mecca for smart people simply by having an immigration system that let them in.