#me: how many nerve endings do they have. what is the weight distribution like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeojaa · 4 years ago

Text

feed me, fight me.

pairing. boxer!jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. relationship issues, baby angst, comfort, unprotected sex (please be responsible!). wc. 3.5k. beta reader. @hobi-gif, always. 💖 author note. i’m really into comfort fics rn so...

What do you get when you mix a pissed off girlfriend with a neglectful boyfriend? (Aside from trouble, that is.)

The answer is you - throwing punches far harder than you should be, completely disregarding the fact that you’re meant to be playing the part of perfect partner, meeting pads in the sequence he’s laid out. It’s you throwing a hook when you should be swinging an uppercut. It’s you, snapping your leg out with a satisfying thunk! of your shin when you should only be thip kicking. It’s you, not giving a single damn as you take out all your frustrations on someone who’s growing increasingly more irritated by your childishness. It’s you, blatantly disrespecting him in his ring - sending a reminder that there’s more to life than the four corners of this space.

How can he blame you though, when he’s the reason? When you’ve voiced your annoyance more than once - more than twice, more times than you care to count - and each time it’s met with a half-hearted apology (if you could even call it that)? How can he hold it against you when you’ve asked, demanded, pleaded for more?

“Cut it out,” he seethes, quiet, under his breath, irritation igniting his expression, something hot and angry burning in the dark of his stare. A withering wildfire in an empty field, smoldering coals flickering bright. It presents itself in how his mouth curls, the hard line of his jaw as bone threatens to snap in half from the tension.

“Cut what out?” Your retort is punctuated by the smack of leather on leather, the worn edge of your boxing glove meeting the pad that Jungkook raises just in time to avoid a black eye.

“What’s your problem?” How he manages to snipe back - somehow sounding disgruntled by your behaviour - you’re not sure. All you know is it boils your blood, searing heat within your veins when he effortlessly blocks your next jab. He knows you well and knows the sport better, predicting each movement as if you’re telegraphing it all with a giant neon sign on your forehead.

(You probably are. You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, pinning your heart on your sleeve, your sadness heavy in your mouth. They wear you, rather than you it. A weakness of yours.)

“You’re my problem.”

“Shut up.” It’s not the usual exasperated annoyance he levels you with, meaner and paired with a swat of your gloved hand. He’s not supposed to be countering you, instead only blocking the punches you throw his way.

(But then again - when did he ever listen to you? When did he ever do what he was supposed to?)

(It’s not a fair assertion. You’re just mad. Livid beyond belief, standing atop this hill that you’ll happily die on.)

“Fuck you,” you snap, offering the petulant comeback in the same instance you surge forward. He blocks your jab - sees it coming from a mile away - and goes to block your hook.

Except it never comes, your knee straightening out instead, hard edge of your shin slamming right into the side of his leg.

He crumples more out of surprise than anything, eyes wide, all the anger swept away by something closer to astonishment. It shines impossibly bright in his eyes, turning his entire expression upside down when his knee hits the ground. By how he falls, you’re sure you’ve hit just the right spot, left his nerve endings buzzing uncomfortably as the feeling leaves the limb.

“Are you serious?” You know he’s genuinely baffled then, voice slipping, cracking in a way you’d normally find adorable. (It goes to show how upset you are, the awkward split of his words doing nothing to soothe your temper.) “What’s your issue?” He’s still seated on the floor, rocking back on his heels, brow knit in consternation. It’d take him seconds to jump up - to put you on your ass - but he chooses to remain where he is, staring up at you with that look on his face.

(That look you love. That you hate. That makes your insides turn to goo on his best days and misery on your worst. That you’ve seen every single day for the last three years, as the first thing upon waking up and the last thing before passing out. That makes you hesitate now, peering down into it.)

(Were you being unnecessary? Unbearable? Was this on you?)

“I’m going home.” It’d be nice to tear your gloves off, throw them in his face and storm off in a huff. It’d cause the scene you’re hoping for, push him to where you need. (Because that’s the thing about Jungkook - he doesn’t react otherwise and you’re sick of it.) Instead, you turn on your heel and slink away, silent as a mouse.

You’re tired. Too tired. Why had you started something you couldn’t finish?

It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re home alone for hours that night, curled up in bed and half-asleep when light from the hallway spills into your bedroom. It comes with hardly any noise, a tell-tale sign he’s trying not to wake you (or disturb you or get caught). You almost let it slide when his figure appears in the doorway, broad frame swallowed up by the oversized sweater he wears.

He’s moving near silently, having already deposited his gym bag in the laundry room. He doesn’t even switch the light on, moving around in the muted glow of the hallway, fumbling as he strips his clothes off and tosses them into the hamper against the wall.

You expect him to head directly into the en suite, wash away whatever grime he’s accumulated throughout the day. He’s always been this way, far too concerned with dragging in odour and dirt into your bed to do otherwise.

Except tonight, he doesn’t follow his usual routine. Tonight, he makes a detour.

The bed dips before you realise what’s happening, grip on the pillow under your head tightening. Words fit between your teeth, ready to spill out, lash out, tear out like a bullet deadset on landing a bullseye.

“I’m sorry.” Two words you’ve been waiting to hear, that startle you enough to throw your anger out the window, tossing them out with the wash. “I don’t know why you’re upset but I’m sorry for whatever it is.” He’s speaking into the quiet of your bedroom. You can feel his hand settled on the bed, wrist somewhere over the line of your spine.

Oh - he thinks you’re asleep.

“Things have been crazy. I’ve been stressed.” Here, under cover of night, he’s vulnerable, explanation tumbling forth uncertainly. You can hear it in the way the words form, syllables slipping into each other - a sure sign of his exhaustion. “I know that’s not an excuse, so I’ll be better.” Though he readjusts, weight distributing differently over the bed, he isn’t touching you. You can only imagine how he looks, the posture he’s taken on, arms leant over knees, hands twisting together in that way of his that begs a silent help me. A version of him you’ve seen only a handful of times.

(Jeon Jungkook does not let things get to him. Never has, likely never will. He’s immaculately put together, strung tight by years of growing up too fast, wanting too much and fearing it’ll slip away. He goes and goes until he can’t any more and only then does he still, crashing headlong over a cliff of his own creation.)

It’s then that you realise while you’ve grown irritated with his preoccupation, coming second to the man you’ve only ever put first, he’s been suffering right alongside you. Differently, certainly, but suffering nonetheless. Holding his cards close as he’s always done, shouldering all the things on his own and hoping for the best.

Irritation flares first. Anger at the fact that he hadn’t confided in you. It burns bright, erodes everything else in its path.

And then it dims almost immediately, overshadowed by a tenderness that blooms in the small of your chest. Rosebuds that fill the cavity and swath affection in broad strokes, colouring everything purple - a pretty mosaic made up of equal parts love and sadness.

“You should’ve said something.”

Bambi-eyed baby is your nickname for your boyfriend - one he reluctantly wears, scowls at when you use it in public - and yet you’re still blown away by the glossiness of his stare, how wide it goes when you roll to face him, simultaneously flicking your bedside light on. There’s embarrassment crowding his expression, lighting up every handsome facet of his features in technicolour. He works to hide it almost immediately, moves back on the bed as if he might find himself a home in the shadows.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he mumbles, not quite looking at you, stare focused on your pillow case, the white linen that you’d bought when you’d moved in together. “Did I wake you up?”

Though his concern is real, you know it’s a distraction too. His way of deflecting, shifting the focus back to you.

(Jeon Jungkook doesn’t live in the spotlight. Hates it, in fact. It’s a curious combination - wanting to be praised, to show off, and yet fearing failure so strongly. A worrying mix when he’s down and an endearing one when he’s up.)

You’re still cocooned, still held far enough away that he hasn’t run for the hills, locking himself in the bathroom to put a further physical barrier between you. Should you move too fast, you know he’ll spook. Push too hard, he’ll leave.

“Couldn’t sleep without you.” It’s true enough. Dreams had evaded you for the better part of the evening, held somewhere by hands inked like his, blemished by scars and calluses like his. They’d been kept in his coat pocket, tucked behind his ear. (So maybe it’d been anger, too, that’d kept you up. That doesn’t matter now.)

The disbelief is evident, both in his words and the quirk of his mouth, bathed in dim light. “Really?”

(You sometimes wonder how different the two of you see things. What a day looks like from his point of view - whether he reads all of your interactions in the same way. You’ve always been terribly incompatible in that way, opposites in so many respects that it’d frankly baffled your friends when you’d started dating.

You were intent - sometimes too intent - on resolving problems, never letting up. Forcing conversations you felt you needed to have, demanding answers even before there was one. He, on the other hand, was uncomfortable with conflict, choosing to ignore the things that bothered him until they went away. It’d driven you absolutely insane at first, made you worry that it was you that was the issue, simply being too much.

But over time - three long years, to be exact - you’d found a common ground. Or so you’d thought.)

“Why are you so surprised?”

“You were pissed earlier.” There’s a lightness to his tone, careful consideration poured into each word he offers, as if he’s navigating a minefield. You’ve had these kinds of disagreements too many times for him to believe otherwise, as if his caution is a part of him, stitched lovingly - forcefully - by your hand. “Thought you wouldn’t wait up for me.”

“I shouldn’t have,” you retort before you can help it, still just a little childish, a little hurt. “But you know I hate going to bed angry.” Of course he knows. He’s lost hours of sleep due to your insistence that everything be talked out.

He hums a noncommittal sound - more of a grunt - and you know your window is closing. Now that you’re not out for blood, he’s retreating as he always does. Readying himself to rise from the bed, close this half-read chapter and move onto the next.

You beat him before he can, curling your fingers around his wrist, over the dangling silver chain. (His birthday gift this year, heavy metal that’s cold under your touch.)

“Don’t.”

One blink. Another. Slow and confused - deliberately so. Then he’s looking away, staring down at the ground as if you haven’t just read his next move. The ring might be his domain but home is yours; it’s the one place you hold the upper hand. “What?”

“Don’t leave.” It’s easy to read the meaning in between your words, the unspoken request that might as well be brilliant red ink. It’s far kinder than your usual demands, more pleading than begrudging, more need than want.

“I need to shower.”

It’s not a no - which you suppose is a win.

“Just wait.” Your request comes with an adjustment, whole tired frame rising from the bed only to sink back down - this time against your partner, your other half, your infuriating love. He accepts you readily, dropping his ink-strewn hand over your covered thigh. The weight is comforting over the warmth of the duvet, grounding you in the quiet of your home.

“I’m gross,” he complains, though he doesn’t make to move away. Stays right by your side when you drop your head against his bare shoulder. “Now you’re gross.”

“We can be gross together.” Because you’re not ready for him to leave you, to close the door as he so often does. (And, for once, you’re not quite as angry, not seeking an argument that’ll give you the resolution you hope for. You want communication, open and honest. You want him, vulnerable and soft.)

A little sigh comes, a puff of breath that expands his doughy cheeks and sends wayward strands fluttering. It’s less resigned and more endeared - you know how much it means when his acquiesces like this.

Maybe he wants those same things, you think.

“Do you wanna shower?” You ask in perfect tandem, words folding together. You nod in the same way.

Encased in the small space - it’s different. He’s preoccupied, back turned to you, shielding you from the slow-heating stream. It’s as if his mind is a thousand lightyears away, trapped somewhere with the stars as the water rains down around the two of you, fogging the glass and wetting his hair.

“Babe?”

There’s a delay before he reacts, peering over his shoulder at you, a faraway look in his eyes. You wonder what he’d been thinking of, whether he’s still on the same page as you or if he’s skipped ahead as he tends to do. When he speaks, you have your answer, his words flicking through paper to bring you two where you need to be.

“Can you wash my hair?” An indulgent treat he rarely requests, one he seldom allows. He’s far too on the go, jumping from this to that to spend much time like this with you.

It’s a sign if there ever was one.

You reach for your shampoo bottle wordlessly, popping the cap and depositing sweet peach-scented liquid into your hands. They fold into his strands carefully, tips of your fingers pressing into his scalp, delightful bubbles accumulating between your digits. He doesn’t make a sound but you feel the way he relaxes, practically melting into your touch as you work the cleanser through his roots, careful to keep the suds from descending into his eyes.

When was the last time you’d done this? Weeks ago? Months, maybe? You honestly can’t recall. (Not that it matters now. You’ve found yourselves back here, terribly tender and intimate in the dead of night. Almost as if no time has passed at all.)

Silence stretches between the two of you. You don’t even need to instruct him to rinse, running seamlessly through the routine without hesitation.

Conditioner replaces shampoo, deft fingers combing through the few knots in his feather soft strands. Though there are hardly any, you know he loves when you take extra care, treating him in ways he’d never ask for otherwise. He savours these quiet moments of almost-solitude, spoiled rotten by your familiar touch and comforting affection.

You’d give it every single day if you could. Had, in fact.

That’s what’d brought you here, after all.

“‘m sorry,” he says - mumbles really - surprising you as you’re working your fingers into the nape of his neck, concentrating on the tension that’s carved out a home beneath muscle and sinew, turned bone iron-clad.

“For what?”

Any other time, it might’ve come across demanding, needing an answer that would soothe whatever inadequacy he’d somehow strung your heart up with. Now, it’s genuine, asked more for him than you.

You want to be let in. Need it.

“Being out of it, I guess.” It’s a lot for him - admitting this. “I’ve just been busy and I guess I kind of just—“ The imposing line of his shoulders rise and fall, a mountain range disturbed by the uncertainty in his voice.

“Forgot about me?” You don’t mean it meanly. It’s a simple statement of fact, one the both of you have to face.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

You deliberate accepting the apology and moving on, sweeping it under the rug because he’s already come so much further than you’d thought he would. But that’s not the kind of person you are, so you press just a little more, stand just a little taller.

“I don’t think I ask for the world, Kook.” Maybe more than some people. Maybe less than others. “If I’m being too much, I’d rather you let me know than shut me out.”

A sigh comes, so heavy you wonder whether he might be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“No, I know.”

“Do you?”

(At some point you’d stopped massaging the conditioner in, opting to crowd your hands over his back, working into the knots that run beneath his skin. He hadn’t been lying - he’s stiff as a board, entire broad form twitching any time you press the pads of your thumbs into a particularly sensitive spot.)

“I thought I’d figure it out myself,” he reasons, in that oh-so impossible Jeon Jungkook way of his. “Didn't realise it was taking a toll on you.”

“On us,” you correct, not at all tactful.

“On us,” he agrees with another sigh, smaller this time, tinged blue with something that feels like guilt and fills up the glass space.

“We’re a team, you know.”

(You know he knows. You just have to remind him sometimes, anchor him with the knowledge that it’s not him against the world. That you’re in his corner - always.)

“I know.”

When he turns to look at you - doesn’t even flinch when the sudden movement has you wobbling on your feet, catches you when you stumble - you don’t doubt that. He loves you just as much as you love him, sees the whole world in the small of your stare.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, two hands coming to cradle your face, palms warm over each cheek. “Just give me some time.” For what, you’re not sure. You don’t mind waiting to find out though - willing to weather the storm just to see him happy.

Jungkook holds you close, threads his fingers through yours and peppers love into the silk of your hair. Dresses your skin in the heat of his affection and sears his signature into the velvet of your skin, teeth dragging, tongue gliding.

“Is this better?” He means how he holds you, how he treats you like porcelain as he fucks you slow and tender, keeps one leg hooked back over his own.

It’s not that this is the kind of lovemaking you prefer but rather the one you need, with him consuming you wholly, sweetly, filling you with each fluid roll of his hips and nothing else. No elaborate dirty talk, no overzealous bouncing, just the two of you together, curled against each other like you might not survive otherwise.

He’s not pushing you to your finish with deft fingers over your clit, not taking his fill with greedy hands. He’s simply there, with you, feeling every curve of your body as he sinks into your aching cunt and sighs as if he’s in heaven. (And maybe he is - because where he is could only ever be where you are and you feel like you’re floating, weightless and lovestruck, anchored only to your bed by the hand that squeezes yours and the mouth that purrs your name.)

“Yes,” you breathe, exhale in a breath that seems to take all of your effort. It’s hard to focus when he splits you open so well, fills your pussy and your heart and makes your chest erupt with a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

When he says it like that - folds it like a promise and tucks it into the spot behind your ear - you know it’s true. Even if you don’t always feel it, even if he doesn’t always show it, there’s not a doubt in your mind.

In all the ways he can, he loves you. And whether that means enough from one day to the next, you don’t mind sticking around to find out. Not if it means more of this.

(Of him, of you, of your life together.)

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

1K notes · View notes

black-streak · 5 years ago

Text

Waiting for the Worms - The Thin Ice

Part 6

Warnings fully back in place, the last two chapters of reprieve are over here. Feel I should mention, the pits are going to have a very different effect on Mari than they dis on Jason in canon and not just because they are different people. Jason actually was mentally dead for those six months and was an actual John Doe upon coming back. A shell of himself. He wasn't aware of himself the way Marinette is here.

Anyways, closed list of the pain train: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

The pool was so much deeper and colder than she imagined. And boiling hot. And electric and stinging and numbing and soft and gelatinous and oil slick.

It was everything and nothing all at once and she couldn't move. She tried to wade back to the top but nothing she did seemed to move her closer to the surface. The glow was everywhere, filling into eyes and nose and mouth and under fingernails and toenails. Seeping into the very skin and beneath into muscles and organs. It sparked inside veins and clawed at her brain until finally she screamed.

Screamed in the silent fluidity around her, crying her very heart out as the toxic magic clutched around it, lighting her nerve endings with fire and ice in a tandem that she couldn't think to describe. The pain so much worse than the cruelty of dying or even healing and yet numbing her every sense to the point where throbbing nothingness beat into palms and up arms and traveled to her core.

The very molecular structure of their body shifting into and out of itself, accepting and revolting against the blinding ooze infiltrating its system.

And then it went further, the stretch of her bones giving way to her brain and soul. Jason's brain, her own consciousness and very being.

Flashes came to her sight, blacking out the pool. Screaming of thousands filtered in, not through ears but through her own mind, back and forth in an echo. Blood pulsing became her vision, the smell of copper and steel and rot and destruction coming in sharp revelation. She felt the terror and humiliation and pain and loss and joy and anger and betrayal and love and acceptance and utter defeat and the essence of life itself cram all into her head at once and then disappear into the emptiness of death, both sides warring for control until she couldn't tell if she was screaming or swimming and still struggling or just floating anymore.

Life and death became concepts that both made themselves startlingly clear and so muddled they meant nothing anymore. She lost all control of herself in that moment.

Everything all at once stopped and she stilled, blank eyes staring up out of the depths and watching the surface ripple above her. The light seemed to not be so bright anymore. The liquid more and more of a warm embrace as her form became one with the pit.

A jolt.

His body revolted once more, the feeling of tiny needles being threaded through each pore and yanked tight and strong away. Then threading back for a new stitch and pulling tightly away again, slowly shoving her back into herself and apart in ebbing, methodical movements, to the point where if she had half a brain left, she could count in time with the slow, continuous motions.

The stitches pulled eyelids open and yanked them closed, yanked nails nearly off and fused them to skin. Pulled hair taut in follicles and pushed them deeper still.

Her head filled once more, only now with crying sobs and the sharp scent of tears. Existence warred once more for their place now inside her heart, painfully pulsing throughout her and abruptly stopping several times.

And stilled once more.

The third wave began as a net lowered in and took hold of the body, slowly lifting her to the surface until she broke the surface, green oozing out of her and flowing freely down the sides in great globs down. It pulled itself out of lungs and organs and dripped from gaping orifices. The fleshbag she became jumped as though electrocuted in horrific lurches that almost dislodged it from the net and back into the depths below, yet the net held steady.

She vaguely took note of the rope pulling away to the edge of the pit and dropping her to the side as gasping breaths lurched into lungs. Then the approach of multiple sets of feet. Hands grasped and pulled and dragged until she found herself face first on concrete in front of a drain.

A squeak and suddenly warm water cascaded down, taking the dregs of green with it into the swirl before her, twisting about before giving into gravity and disappearing. She reached for it, twirling a fingertip in the flow to watch it warp around raw flesh with fascination, not entirely aware of anything but the feel of the put water traveling off different parts and into the swirl.

The water ran clear and then another squeak ended the rain. She felt the hands lifting again and the pull of exhaustion at the corners of her vision. With too many sensations to focus on, the exhaustion won out and she slipped away to sleep.

…

She woke up delirious. The cushion below her felt both too easy to sink in and too firm and she wondered at what happened. Her body felt on fire. She wondered what had awoken her only to hear soft steps approach. By all accounts, she's not entirely sure how she heard them or rather, she supposed it was the vibrations softly rattling under her head through the floor from perfectly distributed weight.

She held still, not daring to alert the other to her wakeful state. Let them imagine her sleeping and safe to approach. Let them step a little too close.

The steps seemed very self assured and purposeful as they came up on the left side, coming to a stop at stomach level. The air shifted above her and she pictured their left hand descending towards her right shoulder.

In a flash, she gripped the wrist in her right hand, the left latching onto their right ankle and rolling her weight away from them, slamming their head into the floor and keeping the momentum to roll on top of their horizontal form.

Bringing the two limbs together to grasp in one fist, she grasped the other's free hand that had gone for a hidden dagger, twisting until the blade rested on their throat, holding their hand tight over the hilt so they couldn't release it. Feeling the body below contort to bring up their remaining leg to kick at her head, she jerked her head out of the way and pulled up to push her weight into the now bent leg to press it into the attacker's chest, letting her weight hold it down as she pressed forward with the blade, her mind screaming in triumph at the sight of blood.

The aggressor below her jerked and fought to regain control, pushing with all their might, but whoever sent them must've not thought her to be awake, for the slim, small figure had no chance against her larger, adrenaline shot body. Pushing further down, she sensed a second too late as a new form appeared behind her, pressing a needle into her neck just as the person below her stopped moving.

Within half a breath, she had dropped into the growing pool of blood.

…

Whoever entered the room this time stayed by the door. They stayed still and unimposing and quiet.

"Jason," called a soft voice she almost recognized.

Snapping her head around, she stared up at the figure across the ways, watching and listening for anything more. Jason. That was her soulmate. Was he here? No, he wasn't there, but that's who she was known as here. Jason was her. The figure tilted its head and watched her watching them.

"Jason, do you recognize me? I'm approaching now. I know you aren't fully here right now, but dipping you in was necessary. You wouldn't have been strong enough without it. I need you in top form."

The figure moved closer and only slowed slightly as she raised up onto her haunches, fingertips bracing on the floor as she tilted her body towards them. Once they moved into range, she swept her feet under them, watching as they jumped over the leg, launching up to wrap a hand around their throat before they could land back down. She got the distinct impression that this figure, lady, could break free if they needed to, but allowed her to hold them in place for her own comfort.

"Jason, put me down. It's Talia. You remember me. You trust me, remember? I brought you here. Healed you. Set me down now."

Talia spoke softly, limited breath making it slightly breathy if she had to guess. The softness worked to ease her though. She still had some semblance of control over this. The whisper of a thought to tighten her grip tempted her, but she ignored it, relaxing the hold until Talia slipped free, though she neither moved away nor closer now. She decided to sit back down, her energy seeping.

"That display earlier was quite impressive by the way. Granted the Lazarus still had its hold on you and was feeding you energy, but quite impressive all the same. Bruce trained you well. That training will have to continue of course. With a few added courses. It's good to see you're not opposed to killing the same way he is. It'd be hard to break you of the moral if dying and the pits weren't enough." Talia spoke, looking down at her in assessment, observing as the words hit her.

Not opposed to killing. So the last one, the person who grabbed her before, that she pinned. They were dead now. By her hands. Part of raged in horror, in betrayal at her own actions, the other louder half howling with victory and glee. She ducked into herself, curling up on her side and clutching at her head.

She killed someone? Oh god, she was a murderer. She took someone's life and she enjoyed it. She relished in it. She took relief and joy from their demise. How could she?

Tears slipped down her face and a hiccuping sob wracked her body, all under the watchful eye of Talia.

Talia seemed to give a sigh of relief, relaxing and sitting down in front of her, softly running fingers through her hair in soothing strokes.

"That's right, Jason. Never take the decision to end someone's life lightly. You had to kill them, they were coming at you with dark intentions. It was self defense. There was no other choice. Never hesitate to end someone who threatens you or those you care for. But do not become so jaded as to not value life. Do not take it willingly. Only if they force your hand. Do you understand me, Jason?"

Marinette listened closely, taking in the words and soft, comforting affection being offered. Talia wasn't trying to make her a ruthless murderer? This made no sense. It went against everything Bruce had ever told them about the woman. That she was brutal, that she enjoyed killing and torturing and would never hesitate to take out her enemies. That anyone against her shouldn't live. This didn't add up with that image though. She only wanted 'Jason' to kill if it became absolutely necessary. As a last resort, something Bruce would never condone, even if it cost them their lives.

Jason had always been more open to the idea that some lives were not worth letting live. She had always pushed for him to see the best in others, but with the recent actions of the Joker and the lack of care offered to her soulmate's apparent demise, she couldn't help but condemn Bruce. After all, if never killing no matter what meant letting kids be brutally murdered under his care, if it meant letting so many die by the clown's hands, how could it be right? The voice in her head, screaming in anger and righteous fury for her own life seemed to agree.

The sweet words of reassurance that had been pouring from Talia's mouth while she thought only seemed to sooth her frazzled mind. Ease her concerns and self hatred in a way her own mentors never could. And Marinette was so very tired of hating herself for never being good enough for them. She seemed good enough for Talia though. The woman was offering guidance and proper training without ridicule. Without condemnation.

Looking up, she tuned back into her words when Talia's gaze sharpened to become very serious.

"Outside of your rooms, I will be distant. They cannot know I care for you. Trust no one in the complex. These people will not hesitate to kill you otherwise. They will train you at my command though. You will learn to protect yourself. To protect those you love. I'll make sure you never have to feel so helpless again."

Marinette nodded softly, agreeing to keep her distance, to not take Talia's distance as a sign of indifference. It was clear the opposite was true now. She couldn't say why, but this woman genuinely cared. Wanted Jason, or who she thought was Jason, safe. Her methods might not be flawless, but the intentions were true. Tears ran down her face at her new reality, but she couldn't see a better option for herself now. Having it taken out of her hands and decided for her felt like such a relief, she couldn't help but accept the conditions it came with.

"Rest now, training begins in the morning."

...

Somewhere across the world, a girl woke up screaming to a vision of luminescent green.

#jasonette #maribat #ml x dc #WFTW #part 6 #two updates in 24 hours?#weird

406 notes · View notes

another-sonic-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Before disaster strikes

Situated between Sonic IDW Issue #6 & #7

This one-shot ff mostly focuses in Shadow and Amy’s relationship but not in a romantic way. (If you want to see it as romantic, then go ahead and do so) Just the two trying to communicate with each other and how they react with each other’s circumstances.This is basically “If Amy and Shadow interact in the Sonic IDW comics, how would it be?” “Can they be friends?” “And if so, how will this relationship start?” “Can they have a heartfelt moment? This is an experiment based of those questions. I apologize for the mistakes, I didn’t have time to revise.

5K100

The wind danced freely through the summer's grass as it tangled and disentangled the flowers within it. The sun was beginning to set and the tweeting of the birds made the scene almost too perfect. Looking over the horizons, a black and red hedgehog wondered where to go next.

He had said his goodbyes to Rouge at Windmill Village and that was the end of it. After Sonic somehow convinced him that Dr. Eggman was harmless he didn't have anything else to do.

"You tried to destroy me in the past too, remember? You even tried to obliterate an entire planet. So-what? You want me to take you out with Eggman? After all, if he can't be forgiven, can you?"

Sonic words still resonated in him. He tried not to let those kinds of things bother him, after all, he had redeemed himself and had come to terms with his past a long time ago.

... Did he?

Shadow began to run, he had nowhere in mind he wanted to go. He enjoyed the wind running through his quills, and thanks to his enhanced abilities, he could smell distinct flowers.

It was a beautiful planet and all he wanted was to protect it and all the Mobians on it.

But could he?

How could he save anyone if he let himself be convinced by Sonic so easily?

He growled to himself. Maybe he could go back and wait till Sonic was gone so he could fully interrogate Eggman or take him to a place where he could be watched until he made sure he can be trusted.

But if Sonic was right? Maybe he was seeing too much of Eggman in himself. Shadow wished he had the same luck as him. He would have preferred to forget everything and be good than been evil like he was.

Now that he looks back at it, it scares him the measures that he was willing to go to find the truth about himself.

He was dangerous then and maybe unconsciously, he was dangerous now.

He was ready to destroy Eggman even if he had changed, without giving him a chance.

Maybe Sonic was right ... he can't be forgiven.

By night time, Shadow had reached a small town which he didn't know the name to. He was going to keep on running but the destroyed gigantic crab-bot outside the town caught his attention. He decided to investigate a little, after all, it wasn't like he had any plans. He entered the town, colorful small houses and many of them. Some of them were destroyed and others were already up for re-building. He reached what it seemed to be the town hall, he was surprised to see the great number of destroyed bots. Sonic or someone else from the Resistance most had taken care of it. Too bad he wasn't there, it seemed like fun.

Shadow turned around, ready to run back the way he came from but as he did a scream resonated in his ears.

"It's another robot!"

Shadow noticed a townfolk was pointing at him, he wanted to go against his words but today's incidents were still in his head.

After all, if he can't be forgiven, can you?"

He broke out of his trance but it was too late. The town's militia had come out of the biggest building around. It caught the dark hedgehog off guard. And within seconds, he was surrounded and pointing wispons at him.

Couldn't they recognize him? Didn't they know he helped save the world as well?

Or maybe they did remember him ... and how he tried to destroy the world.

"Chaos-"

"YOU ALL PUT YOUR WISPONS DOWN!"

Shadow heard a female voice scream at the militia, he somehow felt familiar with it.

"It's Shadow the Hedgehog, so you all better leave him alone."

Mobians from the militia moved away as Amy Rose walked past them, walking towards the dark one.

"Everyone, go back to the town-hall, I got it from here."

Shadow rolled his eyes. He was annoyed at the fact that no one in the militia tried to apologize to him for the mistake. Did he radiate that much evil that he scared everyone instantly?

Shadow and Amy watched the militia walk back to the town-hall. When everyone was in, Amy directed her attention to the red striped hedgehog.

"I didn't expect you to see you here Shadow," Amy said. "I thought you-"

"What happened at this place?"

Amy left out a chuckle. She was a bit annoyed that Shadow cut her off like that but once again that was how Shadow acted normally.

"Bots came to attack the town, Sonic and I took them out." Amy added, "There was a lot of them but it was fun-"

Once again, Shadow interrupted the pink one as he turned around, wanting to leave the town.

Amy pouted angrily. Would he ever change? She was annoyed that Shadow couldn't even give her a few minutes of his precious time to talk. Even for old times sake. Well, not like they shared many memories. Their most intimate moment must be at the ARK and probably Shadow didn't remember that.

"Please Shadow I beg you ... give them a chance!"

Amy shook her head at the memory. For a few moments, she was embarrassed at the thoughts of her old self. She was ... something else.

"Seems like you are in a hurry," Amy had an idea, just to give him a little bit of payback for his rudeness. "I was going to tell you about how the recent bots attacks have been more organized ... someone is behind this and it's not Eggman."

Shadow stopped walking and he turned around to face the pink hedgehog. He had been traveling as well and had noticed that the bots attacks were different from before. He knew it couldn't be Eggman because he just saw him ... but what if it was him? What if he was secretly planning the bots attack. But that wouldn't be ‘Eggman-ish’. After all, he wasn't one to keep on the low.

"Tell me more," Shadow walked back to Amy. She seemed to be too sure about her statement. As if she knew the answers to his questions.

Amy smiled devilishly at Shadow. He looked impatient and that made her happiest the most. "Well, it's late already and I am hungry ... What if you stay for dinner and we can talk afterward?"

Shadow rolled his eyes again. This girl was getting to his nerves. Why couldn't she just give him the details? It would be much easier that way and he could leave and investigate the matter right away.

Shadow sighed, "I don't have time-"

"You never do."

He let out a loud growl, he thought Amy would be intimidated but on the contrary, she had a smile on her face. She found him funny. Amy was making fun of him.

"The guts of this girl,"

Shadow spoke again, "Just tell me. If you don't I am still going to find out."

"I doubt it," Amy said. "The only ones who know about it is Tails, Sonic and I and I doubt they will tell you anything on the matter."

Shadow hated to admit it but the pink one was right. He didn't have the best relationship with Tails and the recent fight with Sonic didn't leave them in the right terms.

Shadow looked around the town. He had his arms around his chest but he lowered his defense. He didn't want to say it, he was waiting for Amy to figure out his body language. But maybe that was too much to ask of her-

"Come on, let's go eat before the food gets cold."

Amy didn't have a good relationship with Shadow. Well, maybe she didn't have a relationship with him at all. However, she still tried to be nice to him whenever she could. In her mind, Shadow was still part of the Resistance and their team. He, just like everyone in the table, deserved to be treated with kindness.

But she had to admit she was having a hard time.

Inside the town-hall, the militia had already prepared themselves to eat dinner at the tables. Five long tables were placed across the room. In the middle, some catgirl and a sheep boy were distributing some type of soup. Amy and Shadow got a bowl of it and sat down in one of the tables.

Amy was in front of him, and as she took a sip of her soup she noticed that Shadow wasn't eating. She didn't know if it was because he was the Ultimate Life Form, that he didn't need to eat. Or simply because he wasn't hungry.

It was a lively atmosphere and the soup was really good, mostly because she helped to make it.

"Why can't he just enjoy it-"

The realization hit Amy like a truck. No one dared to sit next to them. They kept a distance of five seats away from the two. They looked at the two as if they were sick or infected with an incurable virus.

This wasn't a normal scene for the pink one. Amy was very used to be surrounded by Mobians. They would approach her and tried to be friends with her. However, today wasn't like that. She knew it wasn't her ... it was Shadow.

"Is this what everyday life is to him? Living alone and having to feel the judgemental stares of others on you?"

Amy drank a bit of water and tried to make some conversation as she smiled at him.

"Aren't you hungry-"

"No."

Well, that was that.

Shadow looked at Amy. He noticed how the smile on her face vanished the moment the word 'no' came out of his mouth. A sense of guilt overtook him. He still didn't know why Amy made him do all of this. They barely knew each other, maybe they had spoken a few words before. Probably when the BlackArms attacked but besides that, they didn't have any connection whatsoever.

And even so, he still felt guilty somehow.

"I don't need to eat. I never feel hungry ... " Shadow crossed his arms as he looked away. In the corner of his eyes, he could tell that the pink one had a surprising look but her face held a smile afterward.

"That doesn't mean you can't enjoy eating. You know eating is one of the few pleasures of life," Amy said. "You run like crazy as well ... so you can eat and no gain weight. So ... enjoy."

Shadow looked down at his plate as if he was thinking about it. Amy decided to give him one more push.

Amy smiled again, "Also, I helped to make it! It's good, I promise."

Shadow looked at Amy and seeing that she was expecting him to try it, he reluctantly picked up his spoon. He looked at the soup in his spoon and he placed it on his mouth.

Salt, pepper and hot peppers. Different condiments touched his taste buds and he wasn't expecting how warm it made him feel on his stomach. Shadow never feels hungry. But for the first time, he was for craving more of this soup.

He put his spoon up and down his mouth in a rapid manner trying to eat as fast as he could. Feeling like he wasn't getting satisfied by the way he was eating, he puts his spoon down. He tilted his head up and placed an edge of the bowl on his lips. He began drinking his soup straight up from the bowl.

Amy looked at him in wonder trying not to judge him.

"When was the last time he ate?"

Even with Shadow's lack of table manners, Amy was happy that someone was so eager to eat her food. It has been a long time since she had cooked because she was busy with the Resistance but it was comforting to see that her skills were still there.

Without Shadow noticing. Amy had stopped eating and gave him her complete attention. She placed her elbow on the table and placed her chin on her hand smiled at him as he ate.

"What does he think he is doing?"

"What a hero he turned out to be."

"He eats like a little kid ... that's humiliating."

Amy heard the Mobians whisper between themselves as they gave Shadow a nasty look. If Amy could hear them, then Shadow all the better.

Hearing their remarks, Shadow had put his bowl down. He didn't want to show it, but he was ashamed of his actions although he didn't know exactly what he did wrong.

But he always felt like he was doing something wrong anyways.

A part of Amy broke as she saw Shadow. He was such a strong character and seeing him doubt himself wasn't something that Amy enjoyed.

Amy loudly puts her spoon on the table, smack it against the wooden table as she got everyone's eyes on her now. She began to do exactly what Shadow was doing. Eating straight from her bowl as she added some noises just to let her thoughts be known to the others.

She finished quickly and she burped loudly as she placed her bowl down.

"Well, that hit the spot, didn't it Shads?" Amy didn't know where did she get the courage to nickname him like that all of a sudden, but given the circumstances, she didn't care.

Shadow was surprised once again at this girl. He didn't doubt her skills or anything for that matter. But he had always had that feminine perception of her. That whatever she had to do, had to be cute and feminine.

But Amy Rose was more than that.

She stood up from her seat as she looked at Shadow.

"Let's go to the rooftop and talk, shall we?"

Shadow wanted to get the information out of her and leave. However, he couldn't find the right moment as she began to vomit.

"This is what I get for eating so fast- Blargh" Amy was on the edge of the rooftop. On the other side, Shadow looked from afar.

Shadow rolled his eyes, he just couldn't understand the female. "If you already knew that you would get like this, then why do it?"

"Blargh- I did it -Blargh- for you!" Amy said as she finally felt better after letting everything out.

Shadow stance softens. At first, he had thought that Amy was coping with his eating mannerisms just to be funny. However, it seemed like just like he did, she heard the comments the other Mobians said about him.

"Those Mobians were speaking badly about you, I couldn't just stand there and do nothing," Amy said as she stood up the edge. "They are hypocrites. Believe me, if it was anyone else, they wouldn't have said anything. But because it's you-"

Amy stopped herself. She didn't want to get there but maybe she should have. After all, she was sure that Shadow knew about what others thought of him by now.

"I know I don't have the best reputation," Shadow said as if he was reading Amy's mind. "And I don't care."

Amy knew that was a lie but Shadow had too much pride to ever admit that. A few minutes passed without them saying a word. Amy watched the full moon in front of them, bigger than usual and even more beautiful. If instead of Shadow, Sonic was here, this scene could be way too perfect. Straight out of a romantic movie.

"Well, this is awkward."

"Provide information." Shadow broke the silence. It took him a few minutes to realize where he was again. Amy's gesture had taken him by surprise. Even when she knew that she was going to throw up, she still decided to go through that pain for him. He decided, that he might as well try to be a bit nicer towards the pink one.

"Oh yeah about that ..." Amy looked around nervously. "I don't have much information. Tails was the one who came up with the theory that someone besides Eggman was controlling the bots in a more organized matter. Eggman likes to show off ... If it was him coordinating the bots, then we would have known by now. So we believe its someone else-"

"It's definitely not Eggman," Shadow interrupted her. He was a bit annoyed that everything he went through was for nothing. "We found Eggman in Windmill Village today."

Amy walked towards Shadow, confused.

"What?"

"Well, Sonic was already with him when I arrived with Rouge ... Eggman lost his memories and he now dedicates to building bots for good apparently." Shadow looked at the moon and not at Amy.

Amy had to admit that she was a bit angry that she was finding the news through Shadow and not Sonic. Couldn't he take some time off his day to communicate with her? She was only one call away anyways.

Amy dismissed her thought. At the moment Shadow was the one that worried her the most. His eyes showed something she couldn't quite describe.

“Oh, wait. I know what it is.”

"Alright, what did Sonic do?" Amy asked.

"What?" This time Shadow looked at Amy. She was next to him and maybe too close for his comfort.

"You have that face ... I always put that face when I am worried about Sonic." Amy said. "And something tells me you are not telling me the full story."

Shadow had to give credit where credit is due. Amy was very perceptive. He normally wouldn't say anything. In al honesty, if it was anyone else, he would have been gone in an instant. He wasn't very communicative but it seems like he was different with the pink one.

"I was there to get rid of Eggman but Sonic convinced me of giving him another chance," Shadow said as he looked at the moon again. "And I am just not fully convinced that he is good ... and if anything bad happens then there will be no one to blame but me."

Amy kept looking at Shadow as her eyes soften at the black hedgehog.

"He would blame himself instead of blaming Sonic for convincing him? That's very Shadow like."

"Shadow, why are you so invested in saving the world?" Amy asked.

The question caught Shadow off guard and he looked at the pink waiting for her to elaborate more on her question.

"I mean, I've seen how everyone treats you," Amy said. "I just saw it today ... a small moment of your life and you just deserve so much better. After today, I don't understand why you would want to save this world."

"Not everyone is bad," without a heart-beat Shadow answered. "Some people fight over the most trivial things. Some people may be selfish but they are basically good if they try their best and never give up on their wishes. They always have a reason to be happy and that's why I should help them out."

"Oh Chaos no, he remembers that? No, no, no-"

Amy gulped saliva and she looked everywhere but at Shadow's directions. She didn't want to show her embarrassment and at the moment, she didn't if Shadow was teasing her or he just simply remembered her words.

"What a nice ideology ..." Amy said as her voice trembled a little. "Where did you get it from?"

"Maria probably told me that, I think," Shadow made a pause. Maria's name came naturally to him but he was surprised that he was talking about her to Amy nonetheless. "But to be honest, I don't quite remember. It's a very blurry memory ... at the ARK and a voice."

Amy sighed in relief. She had to admit that it was a nice gesture of Shadow to remember her words at the ARK. After all, she did mean every word she said and she let her heart out when she begged him to save the planet. She has decided to keep that secret within her forever.

Even more now.

Knowing Shadow, he takes everything to heart.

And as far as he knows or remembers, Shadow helped save the word out of the goodness of his heart. If Shadow were to know that he helped save the world because Amy asked him to then he would have more complications. Would he think that he is no good? Shadow never gave himself enough credit for what he was done ...

"But maybe you are right."

Amy faced the black hedgehog again. A few moments of silence had passed between them and she still couldn't believe she was having a conversation with Shadow after so many years. Now, it was Shadow who started the conversation and she was grateful to him that he had started it this time.

"I don't know why I focus on saving the world when I am not even sure if I am good for it." Shadow said, "I always thought that the cause justifies the means ... but how can I save everyone when along the way I keep making the wrong decisions?"

Shadow didn't know if it was just the rush of the moment or the nice atmosphere around them that he felt relaxed. Maybe it was the fact that after this, they wouldn't be seeing each other after a long time. Until the world was at risk again. That comforted Shadow in a sense. Unlike Rouge, who he saw almost daily, he would see Amy in a couple of months or years even.

Right now, Amy was playing the role of a therapist which she didn't mind. She knew that people felt comfortable talking about themselves when the person they are talking to was a stranger. Or they had a low possibility of seeing each other.

Whatever the reason it was, she was glad it was Shadow.

"Something tells me you are not telling me the whole story," Amy got closer to Shadow. For her, it was a way to bring him comfort and although he appreciated the gesture, he still wasn't used to it. "Did something else happened at Windmill Village?"

Once again, he couldn't figure out what it was. Yes, he hesitated. He was about to walk away and never come back but that strange thing is that he didn't want to. There was literally nothing attaching him to this moment. Amy had admitted to knowing almost nothing about this organized bots attacks, he should be gone by now. Looking for a nice tree to sleep on or try to at least.

But he felt very calmed and relaxed around the pink one. It can't hurt to let his guard down just for a few more minutes. Maybe it was something unconscious like his body and mind told him it was alright to be like this with her.

"I was fighting Sonic over whether Eggman was good an not and ..." Shadow looked to the side, not wanting to look at Amy for the moment. "He said that if Eggman can't be forgiven... then I can't be forgiven either."

A few seconds passed without the two saying anything. Shadow waited for Amy to say something, he expected something else. However, he should have known better. This was Amy Rose he was talking about. She would defend Sonic and his ideology's to the end of the world-

"Wow, what a jerk."

Shadow snapped his head at Amy's direction. Her words surprised the red striped one.

"Don't get me wrong," Amy said. "I trust Sonic and his decisions and I know that if anything bad happens he has our backs ... but that still doesn't give him the right to bring up your past mistakes!"

Amy looked over to the view in front of her, the town was beautiful at night. Fairy lights surrounded the entire town, Mobians lively walked and talk with their friends.

She saw that she had Shadow's full attention and decided to continue. "Eggman became good because he lost his memory but you? You made the conscious decision to redeem your self and you did! You worked hard and you are willing to do anything to save the world even when people aren't' the nicest to you. You are nothing like Eggman and will never be, Shadow you-"

Amy stopped herself. She realized she had been talking none stop about Shadow. Yes, she admired the black and red hedgehog. Her inner fangirl side may have gotten the best of her. She kept looking at the town, hoping that Shadow will take the hint and change the conversation.

"I may be nothing like Eggman but I still look like one of his robots." Shadow said. "Even this town's militia thought I was one today."

Amy sighed relief to be able to change the topic. "Don't blame them too much, your dark fur camouflages with the night and then you have the most vibrant red eyes I've seen! But to be honest, that's how I knew it was you. Your eyes are like rubies, very beauti-

"For Chaos Amy, stop talking! He is going to think you like him or something and it's definitely not like that!"

"Like I was saying!" Amy tried to compose herself, still, she didn't dare to look at Shadow. "You are not like Eggman and sometimes Sonic doesn't measure his words. If he ever offends you, just come to me and I'll show him a piece of my hammer."

"I can defend myself." Shadow said, "But ... thank you, Rose."

Shadow didn't expect this night to turn out like this. He thought he would have been gone in an instant but he was glad he decided to stay a bit longer. He wasn't to get complimented and in all honesty, he didn't know how to properly react to it either.

So, a simple thanks should be sufficient and proper.

"Rose? Should I refer to you as Shads now?" Amy let out a small giggle and it was Shadow time to be embarrassed.

"This is what I get for being nice ... never again."

They were looking at each other now and Shadow's uncomfortableness went away. They were so close that their shoulder's almost touched.

"Just call me Amy," Amy interrupted his thoughts. "Rose is too formal, and well I don't want us to be strangers."

"I'll keep calling you 'Rose'," Shadow responded.

"Alright ... Shads," Amy teased him and to her surprise, Shadow didn't protest against the nickname. After all, he did had a soft side. It's a bit sad however, she knew that it will probably be a long time before she gets to call Shadow that again.

"So ... what's your plan now? Anywhere specific you want to go?" Amy asked.

"Not really," Shadow said. " Eggman is no longer a threat and it seems like you and your team have everything under control."

"Well, if you don't have a place, the Resistance will always have the doors open for you." Amy looked at Shadow and their eyes met. They were comfortable with each other now and all past tension was gone. "We could use someone like you ... for cleaning the building I mean."

"What?"

"Come on Shads, you are fast! You will finish cleaning in the blink of an eye!! Amy added, "Or are you not as Ultimate as you say?"

"The guts of this hedgehog to insult me ... It's impressive."

Shadow looked over the moon once again, and then back to Amy. "Although I appreciate the thought ... I have to deny, I'll be on my way."

"Very well then, I can't stop you but just know I'll always be here in case you need anything-"

"Chaos Amy Rose! Stop talking like that! You sound like a crazy romantic, you have gone past that phase!"

Thankfully for Amy, Shadow was very unaware of what meant to be a crazy romantic or anything of that matter. Shadow was never one to pay attention to those things nor he had the time. Not like he cared as well.

"I meant everyone is here for you! We will always be here for you, Shadow." Amy smiled at him.

"Shads," Shadow said.

"What?" Amy asked.

"You are Rose and I am Shads."

If Amy could, she would hug Shadow but she knew that would be over the boundaries. Amy felt her body get warm at Shadow's soft side. He might have a cold personality but he had feelings like everyone else. Her heart was content at Shadow's hidden cuteness and she had a new personal mission.

Protect Shadow the Hedgehog at all costs.

"Well, it seems like I won't see you in a while then," Amy said. "Until the next destruction of the world at least."

"We will see about that." Shadow said, "I may go to the Resistance once in a while."

Shadow wanted to say something along the lines of 'I will visit you.' However, words like that will never come out of his mouth and for his own sake, he wasn't going to say them.

"For investigation purposes only of course." He added.

They looked at each other and Amy smiled at him. Surprisingly enough, Shadow smiled back at her and to be honest, that's all Amy wanted from tonight. For Shadow to have a good time and for her to learn something new about him.

Amy had always thought of Shadow as someone she could rely on. Now she was happy that Shadow thought the same about her.

Maybe, they could be friends later on. But for now, she was content at the moments they had.

"Of course, for investigation only."

There were many things Shadow wasn't ready to admit nor he ever was going to. But if there was one thing he was sure about was that Amy wasn't that bad at all. He could see himself talking to her more often and if she wanted, he could drop by the Resistance and help her out with the missions. It didn't seem like a bad direction to take after today.

But right now, that didn't matter. For once, he didn't care about his past nor the future. He was free to enjoy the present with Amy.

And that was all he could ever ask for.

A/N: I was re-reading Sonic IDW Issue #6 and it lowkey bothered me when Sonic brought up Shadow's past to convenience him to give Eggman another chance. I just couldn't stop thinking about it and I couldn't bring myself to write anything but that. That's why I decided to write this, to have a nice conclusion of my own. As well that I like to explore the relationship between characters. Yes, I ship ShadAmy but not of their interactions have to be romantic. Remember that intimacy can be many things and it can be with anyone.

Anyways, I am writing the last chapter of 'Stages' and that will be done and up online most likely tomorrow. I just sometimes need breaks from stories to get the ideas going. After 'Stages' is done, I'll start with the requests.

#shadow the hedgehog #shadowxamy #shadow and amy #Shadamy #Amy Rose #amyrose #sonic au #sonic fanfiction #sonic fanfic #anothersonicblog

120 notes · View notes

thejourneytolovefrancisrose · 5 years ago

Text

transition update

cw/tw: gender dysphoria, body image, ed

So I was just looking through some old GIFs and images I saved when I was clearing out the flagged posts on my porn tumblr back when tumblr first started being anti-porn. Well, among them was a nude photo of myself that I took pre-t even. I was at around my skinniest weight that I got to from a heavily restrictive diet I had for awhile, then mostly kept off from overworking at a job I had for awhile. So, the photo was just before I started packing it all back on that winter of 2017. Being pre-t meant fat was distributed on my hips and certainly this photo was pre-top surgery. I find it strange to look at any of my pre-transition photos, heck even early transition photos. It’s just a surreal feeling and... hmmm... I don’t know how to explain it really. Well the feelings they inspire change depending on my overall mood too. Lately, I’ve been extra bothered by my current body weight. I’ve gained so much in the last year but especially since moving back to my home state. Seeing this older picture where I’m at my skinniest is hard. I’ve stopped taking my hormones, mostly because I’m afraid of hair loss, and I know that weight loss and muscle growth will be a lot harder without the testosterone and, for other anxiety reasons, the temptation to go back to restricting is pretty great sometimes. Seeing the photo though... I kept looking and made myself look at how it was just skinny-ness. There wasn’t muscle and strength there. That’s really what I want. I want that strength. I want to be physically strong (mentally and emotionally strong would be great too but one step at a time lol). It’s hard to remind myself of that sometimes and certainly there are times where I need that reminding quite a lot. I find that my mind goes back to being a girl a lot and feeling nostalgic, thinking about those times in a romantic view, when I have bad days with my anxiety and depression. Memories of being desired or feeling even the least bit desirable are addictive in those states. Even though I’m not on hormones anymore I still have quite the drive to masturbate and when I do I watch porn and those desires I feel for women in those videos gets all mixed up for those other feelings of wanting to be desirable. It’s really emotionally confusing and scary and distressing when that happens which sometimes is quite often. There are many times too that I feel so thankful that I have transitioned and done top surgery. I don’t know where I’m going with this LOL. I guess I just wanted to get these thoughts out of my head of that dysphoria and feeling lonely and un-desirable. It’s that internalized transphobia I guess and it’s hard to unlearn. lol I guess it doesn’t help that I started dating his girl and I want to look good for her. She doesn’t live anywhere near me, but there’s this inner countdown to the unknown date in the future where I get to meet her in person and be desirable on that date.Also I’m moving at the end of the week to a rural mountain town and that’s a bit nerve wracking. The invisible pressure to be manly is certainly growing with each and every conservative sign, sticker and flag. I mean... nice to feel like I won’t be teased for liking country stuff now, but the lack of diversity in gender expression is also worrisome while totally expected at the same time. lol ... *sigh* ... yeah.

#transgender #transitioning #trans #transguy #nonbinary man #nonbinary

3 notes · View notes

wisdomrays · 5 years ago

Text

TAFAKKUR: Part 20

Your Nervous System: Part 3

When you hear the words “nervous system,” what comes to mind is a cluster of cells called neurons. But this is a great mass of cells, and we should always remember that we are referring to the most complex matter in all of creation.

(continued from the previous issue)

Using the distinct groves and folds on the hemispheres as a guideline, a map drawn on the cortex identifies focal points, where the various senses are concentrated, and activities in particular regions. Each of these different colored schematic centers has a specific name and performs specific functions. For example, the region above the neck at the back of the head (occipital lobe) is the field of sight; the sections that coincide with the temporal region is the field of hearing; immediately in front of this, on the left, is (generally) the field of speech; in the forehead region (frontal lobe), on the anterior wall of the middle canal is the initial center of planning of movement; on the top section of the front region is the field of complex movement; immediately behind here, in the middle-side region, is the field of simple movement; the area behind this, next to the hearing field and extending upwards, is defined as the touch receptive field. However, these areas are not confined, but rather spread out, and have a very complex connection network. The duty of the adjoining areas of these regions is to display and decipher the meaning of the signals received from the nerves. As the received signals regenerate past experiences and memories, the object or event sending the signal is recognized. To perform voluntary complex movements, the plan of movement must initially be defined in the mind and then the combination of this plan is conveyed through my nerve fibers to the movement regions. As complicated activities in humans, such as talking, and activities that involve the sensory integration mechanisms are miracles in themselves, it is quite astonishing that certain people claim that humans evolved from apes, later learning how to speak. The spinal cord (medulla spinalis) that extends from the skull in the form of a long cord, is the central nervous system sending signals to the body regions under the neck. The grey matter of the brain is located on the surface, while the white matter lies beneath the cortex; however with the spine, the butterfly shaped grey matter is inside, and the white matter on the surface covers the grey matter. In this central nervous system, all of the sensual messages that are received from the entire peripheral system, in particular from your skin and muscle, are immediately connected with the synapses or connections of the movement cells, and thus a spinal reflex is produced. As a section of the connecting cells (synapses) responds with a reflex, the other section transmits the signal to me to determine the appropriate voluntary response. For instance, if you tread on a nail, as the nail goes into the foot, a signal is transmitted by the sensor fibers to the spine, and to avoid a loss of time, the spine immediately signals the movement nerves before me, and a command is transmitted to your muscle you to raise your foot. And after your foot is saved by instant reflex, you begin to perform the other conscious activities, for example; you avoid putting weight on the foot, and bandage the wound if it is bleeding.

31 pairs of nerves (right and left) emerge from the spinal cord; 12 pairs from the brain area lay beneath the skull. These are all nerves that emerge from the central nervous system, and are distributed to various organs of the peripheral nervous system. All of the head nerves that emerge from the skull, with the exception of the tenth nerve, called the vagus nerve, control activities related to movement and senses in the head and neck region. Each of the 31 nerves exit from a space in the side of the vertebrae, and each of these nerves has two roots, an afferent nerve (sensual nerve), and an efferent nerve (movement nerve). These roots join immediately outside the spinal cord, and form the cords that carry the sensual and movement nerve fibers. These nerve cords are distributed in a plan and system that is specific for each organ. For example, the receptor sensor cells that sense a needle pricking your finger transmits this signal to the spinal cord through the receptor cell of the arm. The responsive reflex of pulling the hand away, a reflex from the spinal cord, is sent to the arm and hand muscles, and you pull your hand away. This is an example of a simple reflex. The movement nerve cells of the peripheral nervous system are divided into two, the somatic nervous system, which is distributed to the skeletal muscles, and the autonomic nervous system, which is distributed to the inner organs. Whilst the majority of the activities of the somatic systems occur voluntarily at the conscious level, the activity of autonomic systems is mainly involuntarily, or below the level of consciousness. The autonomic nervous system controls the smooth muscles of the heart, glands, blood vessels, respiration, digestion, urination and reproduction systems without our even realizing it. Dear Peter! Could you manage to do all this if you were in control? Your self control can only intervene until you place food in your mouth. Then the digestive secretions, the stomach and bowel activity, and the excretion of waste are all conducted automatically, totally beyond your control. Your breathing continues while you sleep, your kidneys never cease to function, your heart never rests, and your liver never relaxes while you sleep; your pancreas continues to produce insulin. All of your internal organs and blood vessels continue to function with the smooth muscles whenever necessary. And all this activity is conducted without you even being aware of it. If you tried to do all this, you would become exhausted within five minutes, lose interest and become unable to cope.

The nerve cords of the autonomic nervous system are divided into two, the sympathetic and the parasympathetic. These two systems have been created in such a way that they respond in opposition to one another, and every organ is provided with a stem from both. Therefore, no organ of the body is left uncontrolled. Whilst one signals and encourages the organ to function quicker and generate more outcomes, the other acts to the contrary, sending signals that encourage the organ to slow down. In which case, with these two contrasting signals, the organ protects its optimal functioning tempo according to the situation and conditions. The sympathetic system generally responds in cases of stress and shock, preparing the body for the effects of such situations. For example, an increase in your blood pressure, blood-sugar level, and perspiration, the dilation of your pupils, and an increase in the flow of blood in your muscles all occur from the effect of the sympathetic fibers. The parasympathetic system sends adverse signals, such as reducing blood pressure and so on, so that the organs return to their neutral state and continue their normal functions.

From the very beginning I have described many of my sections and signals, but I have not yet told you about my key to life, my nerve cells, and how my nerve cells function. 30 billion cells, known as neurons, are the actual units that function in every part of my system. A neuron has a cell body and emerging filaments like tree branches. The single thicker filament like the tree trunk is called the axon, and the thinner filaments that emerge in larger quantities like tree branches are called dentrites. The nerve signals advance from the axon to the dentrite in the form of an electrical pulse. In the space between the connection point (synapses) of a nerve cell axon and the other cells, the dentrite, a chemical substance, called the neurotransmitter, is released. When these substances, in the form of neuropeptides, amino acids, acetylcholines, and monomines, reach the wall of the opposite cells, it an electrical pulse is immediately ignited in the dendrite. Just like a row dominos, falling down one after the other, or football fans performing the Mexican wave, a wave-like effect is generated and these electrical messages are fired with great speed from one end of the cell to the other, advancing in the form of tiny electrical pulses to be transmitted to neighboring cells. While a cell at rest has a potential of 70m V, the action potential of up to +30 - +40m V can transmit all types of information. Every cell can transmit up to 1,000 signals per second.

While you still do not recognize the true value of what you call the memory, which records hundreds of experiences every day, various theories are presented regarding how this bank which stores information in your brain actually functions. But we all know that the answer to this question lies within the millions of neurons that constitute me. Just as all of the senses, thoughts and actions occur from electrical and chemical signals that are transmitted from one cell to another they are presumably recorded in the same way, that is, with electrical and chemical signals.

2 notes · View notes

artistic-writer · 6 years ago

Text

Sparking the Pavement :: CS Moto GP AU :: E

Title: Sparking the Pavement by @artistic-writer Rating: E (eventually) Summary: Killian Jones has everything he has ever dreamed of. He likes fast bikes and even faster women, that is until almost losing his brother makes him rethink his life choices. And then a chance encounter with a blonde bombshell on the race track gives him the chance to change and find love, but as usual, team politics get in the way and for the first time in his life, Killian can’t just get what he wants. Moto GP racing AU. A/N: Ch 2! Sorry for the delay guys, my real life has been a bit...stressful to say the least, but here it is! Much thanks to @hollyethecurious who agreed to beta this, and to @doodlelolly0910 who regularly listens to me ranting about wanting to write when my fingers don’t want to work.

Taglist: @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness @lenfaz @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair @cs-forlife @notoriouscs @killian-whump @darkcolinodonorgasm @mariakov81 @strangestarlighttree

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

Emma Swan had endured. Her life had been a rollercoaster of ups and downs beginning with the death of her mother when she was just five years old, something that set her father into a protective frenzy. She could barely breathe with how much he loved her, not letting her out of his sight for even a second. Emma woke up, she went to school, and she came home. Anything else in between was always under her father’s watchful eye down to every minute of the day.

Emma’s family were the Nolan’s and they had carved their name out in the motorcycle world by making some of the best quality crash helmets any racer could own since 1988. David Nolan had started the company after his twin brother, James, had been killed during the famous Isle of Man Tourist Trophy race. The TT, as it is known, is one of the most dangerous motorcycle races in the world, having taken the lives of over two hundred riders since it began in 1907. James’ helmet had been poor quality, the impact of his head with the asphalt at such a high-speed something he would never recover from.

David and James had a bond, a twin bond, that was severed the instant James’ heart had stopped. David had been unable to fly to the Isle of Man that week because of Emma’s school commitments, but he knew the second his brother had died without even so much as a phone call. The TT is one of the most gruelling road races of its kind. Thirty-eight miles of winding roads around the island that have killed both riders and spectators because of the unpredictability of the circuit, weather, and unmaintained terrain, and now James was just another statistic.

High velocity impact trauma resulting in death. That was how her uncle died, officially, on paper. Emma remembers that day like it was yesterday because it hadn’t been long after her mother’s death. Her father’s soul already crushed from the loss of his wife, she wasn’t sure he could take anymore, so she let him smother her for a time, knowing that it was all that was keeping him going. The Nolan crash helmet company was founded some months later and it gave David a renewed sense of purpose that he needed more than anything.

Emma, on the other hand, although happy for her father, was lost. She wasn’t like other girls. Her whole life she had been allowed to do whatever she liked, as long as it was safe, but that wasn’t what Emma wanted. She wanted excitement, thrills, action, and so, through contacts her family company had made in the business, she began riding motorbikes.

It was exhilarating. The wind in her hair as it pulled strands from beneath her leathers and whipped at the shaded visor of her helmet. The way her spine shook as she leaned over the fuel tank, the vibrations of the engine shaking every bone in her body, and the way her heart beat in time with the movement of the pistons between her legs. It was everything Emma had wanted, her escape, her refuge, and when road bikes became too mundane, she set her sights on bigger prizes.

It didn’t take Emma long to get her foot on the racing ladder. She dropped her father’s name a few times, his prestige enough for people to take her seriously when, as a tiny, blonde haired wisp of a woman, she had guaranteed her abilities to some of the sponsors. And she was as good as she promised, at first in small time with the odd race here or there when she could slip away from her father’s protective net he had cast around her life.

But she was a one of a kind and it quickly became evident just how brilliant Emma Nolan was.

She changed her name, without telling her father, to continue to soar under his radar. Emma knew that it wouldn’t be long before somebody in the racing world put two and two together and realised, that with the surname Nolan, she was David’s daughter. She changed it to Swan in the late 90’s and continued to race her way through the ranks just like she had dreamed of.

The world of motorcycle racing is not like any other sport on the planet. It is unique in the fact that there is no gender split, or prejudice, and both men and women race on equal terms. It’s unusual to see many women in the sport, and Emma wanted to change that. The lowest class, Moto3, was a breeze. The small engines were no match for Emma’s ability, her weight distribution almost perfect because of her size against the power of the 125cc engine, and soon she was being headhunted for Moto2 before she even had a title under her belt.

Everybody wanted a piece of Emma Swan. She was approached by no less than four different teams in 2000, all wanting to represent who they felt would be the first female MotoGP championship winner. It had never been done before, and whilst Emma couldn’t wait to rise up to the next level in the Grand Prix competition, she never would.

Ducati, another big name in the race scene, decided to offer Emma the best incentive for her abilities. They were also one of the only teams to not use Nolan helmets for all their riders, so Emma’s secret would be hidden for a while longer. She wasn’t scared of her father finding out, but she wanted to be in the top ranks before he did, because then there would be no way back for her and he would have to support her. Maybe it was a little bit like blackmail, but Emma knew her father wouldn’t be able to cut her career short if she was so invested.

Ducati already had an established team of riders, and even though they were not winning big in 1999, their two front runners had won them enough to stay just above last place. Neal Cassidy and Oswald ‘Oz’ Walsh were the one/two riders for Ducati, and the season had just ended when Emma was signed. The second the guys laid eyes on their new team mate they were impressed with both her beauty and her talent, and when she gave them both the flirtatious cold shoulder, they were smitten. That was, until pre-trial times showed that Emma was consistently faster than Walsh and the team decided to bump him to third rider status before the season had even begun.

The team that Ducati announced for the 2000 season was Neal Cassidy and Emma Swan and it wasn’t long before Ducati was a team up in the top tier of Moto2 once more, and it wasn’t long before, in the thrill of winning, Emma and Neal became an item. Neal was more than just her teammate. He had become Emma’s first love, sharing every win with her, celebrating in both the pit lane and in the privacy of their trailers. It was whirlwind by romance standards and in the buzz, Emma was blindsided by Walsh’s growing greed right under her nose.

Before long, Emma was at one with the bike given to her by her team, and was surpassing Cassidy in every race. Cassidy was becoming second to not only his second rider, but also his girlfriend, something that did not escape the attention of Walsh. He had never had a problem coming second to Cassidy and was happy to take the second seat. He still got paid, he was still making money from sponsors, but when Emma started winning, less and less people knew his name.

Walsh wanted to be back where he was. His revenue was drying up and where other people were being offered contracts for the next season, he was not. No one came knocking on his door, no one was calling his cell phone, and the only way he was going to get his name back out there, was if Emma wasn’t racing anymore. She was Ducati’s top rider and if Walsh wanted to be back in the team’s good graces, something had to be done.

“Think about it,” Walsh whispered into the shell on Neal’s ear as the music around them throbbed out its beat. “I’m just saying-”

“I know what you’re saying,” Neal snapped, a little irritated. Walsh had been going on and on about getting his second seat back all night and it was starting to wear Neal’s nerves thin.

“Then listen to what I’m saying,” Walsh added, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “If she can’t race then that means we can.”

Neal studied his fellow rider with a raised eyebrow. “Obviously,” Neal said with a roll of his eyes. He rolled his fingers over the cold outside of the tumbler glass he was caressing idly, the drink inside starting to warm under his touch. “That’s how race politics work, Oz.”

“Don’t you miss it?” Walsh continued eagerly, leaning forward over the grubbing dive bar table between them. “The crowds chanting your name, the feeling you get when they wave that chequered flag for you.”

Neal gave Walsh a sideways sneer and snorted a laugh through his nose. “How would you know what that feels like?”

Walsh ground his teeth in frustration, his fist balling beside his now empty glass. “I’m just saying-”

“Damn it, Oz, I know what you are saying!” Neal roared. The bar fell silent, all eyes on the two men huddled in the corner for a few seconds before resuming its usual activity none the wiser.

“Do you hear me though?” Walsh insisted desperately.

“Loud and clear,” Neal scoffed. He threw his head back and poured the last remaining remnants of his drink into his mouth, swallowing the tiny amount with disappointment. “What do you propose?”

Walsh grinned, his teammate’s attention full grabbed. “You know these piss tests they make us take?” He nodded eagerly. Neal glanced his way with a narrowed stare. “You can’t race without a clean result, right?”

Neal laughed in the back of his throat, a grunt escaping his mouth. “You know as well as I do, Emma would never jeopardize the chance to race.”

“Not willingly.” Walsh’s words drew Neal’s full attention, his tongue tracing the point of his canine.

“Go on,” Neal nodded.

“The next two races are back to back, so there is no time in between to celebrate a win properly. At the next race, you let Emma win,” Walsh continued quickly, his finger drawing insignificant lines along the dark surface of the table.

“No one lets Emma Swan win,” Neal laughed.

“And then, during the after party, she drinks too much, fails the piss test and you and I get a seat upgrade.” Walsh’s grin was pure elation, like a chimp with a banana.

“Emma would never drink before a race,” Neal said definitely, waving a finger at the barman for another drink.

“Not intentionally,” Walsh shrugged. “But maybe her boyfriend can persuade her to take a sip.” His hand dug into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He pressed it to the table, sliding it across to Neal who eyed it suspiciously before lifting one of the flaps and spying the small pill inside. It was oval in shape, chalky and would easily disappear into the bubbles of a celebratory glass of champagne.

“Maybe I can,” Neal agreed in a small voice, a grin spreading over his features as he screwed the paper back up in his palm.

It wasn’t a plan that Neal thought they could get away with, but it did appeal to him. Neal had already been approached by Ducati’s MotoGP division for the next season, depending on how he finished his current season. So the real question was, did he want to race alongside his friend, who he knew he could beat and would win a title easily, or his girlfriend, who was a far better rider than he ever would be? The plan was simple and his only role would be getting Emma to partake in his drink. She would never have one of her own but she might be tempted by a charismatic smile and a boyish wink from her boyfriend. And she was.

After winning the mid-season race in first place, the team threw a party for her success and Emma was more than happy to attend, sipping bottled water for the entire evening. The next race was the very next day, a gruelling mid-season back to back that tested the limits of every rider on the track. A race was physically and mentally demanding on every rider, so Emma had established early in her career that she would do her utmost to ensure victory each time.

If only she was as strong as she thought she was.

Emma trusted too easily and it was perhaps her biggest flaw in character, something she had inherited from her mother. Walsh had approached them with two glasses, handing one to Neal with a slight nod. A kind face and a smile from Neal was all she needed to lift the glass to her lips and take a sip of the bubbling champagne, a celebratory tipple Neal said she deserved. It tasted good, fizzing on her tongue, but when she swallowed there was an aftertaste of something she didn’t recognise. She had searched her boyfriend’s face for an answer, but it became blurred through the haze of her eyes and the next thing Emma remembered was her disqualification from the next race.

Heartbroken didn’t describe how she felt. Rules were rules, and somehow, despite two extra tests that she insisted on, Emma’s urine analysis said that she was under the influence of drugs. It was impossible. Emma didn’t do drugs. She was a highly tuned athlete; she ran, she swam, she cycled and barely even drank alcohol. And then it all came back to her in a flash of blinding white light.

Walsh had handed Neal the drink. Neal had persuaded her to take a sip.

Before Emma had time to confront them both about how they had sabotaged her, there was an accident. Neal had taken the first rider spot, her rightful place, and Walsh had taken second, but in his arrogance had managed to high side his bike not even halfway through the race. A twist of his wrist had increased his acceleration out of the corner too quickly, his back wheel losing traction before suddenly regaining it again, the torque along the bike’s axis enough to throw Walsh clean over the handlebars.

He would have survived, had he not held onto the throttle, wrenching his shoulder out of its socket and rendering it useless. His limb flopped around as he had flown through the air, landing on the asphalt head first with an almighty thud right into the path of his own bike. Walsh had no chance. The motorbike was still at full speed and his leatherbound ragdoll body was no match for the force applied to it on impact.

Walsh’s death didn’t matter to Emma, but it did to the team. They needed a second rider to finish the season and when asked, Emma said she would have to think about it. First, she wanted to confront Neal, her so-called boyfriend, about how and why he and Walsh had felt it prevalent to wreck her chances at a championship title. She got it.

“No one remembers second place, and I sure as hell ain’t coming second to you. When the season is over, the only name people will be chanting from the stands is Cassidy. Not Swan.”

The more Emma listened to him the more she realised what kind of man her boyfriend was. He was small and manipulative and he would even stoop so low as to blame a dead man, insinuating that Walsh was responsible for her disqualification during the last race. His true colours showed on his face, in his excusatory words, and Emma was nothing if not good at reading people.

She could spot a scumbag a mile away, and Neal was definitely that.

Even worse, he looked her dead in the eye and told her that no one would believe her. It was her word against his and he wasn’t saying a word that might jeopardize his race career.

Emma never raced professionally after that.

It took her two years to find her passion again. Emma felt cheated by the racing world and turned her back on it, but the bug never left her. There was something missing in her life. It was more than a want, it was a basic need to be going fast again. A need to feel the engine against her thighs and her chest pressed against the fuel tank again, body as flat as it could be so that there was almost no wind resistance to slow her down.

Emma missed bikes, the smell of fuel and oil, even the way her cheeks got squashed inside of her helmet, but she couldn't go back to racing, not all the while Neal Cassidy was on the circuits. Two years had been enough time for Neal to make it up to MotoGP and for Emma to leave behind what had happened between them, but the yearning for bikes never left her and she spent the next year training to be a mechanic.

It was easier for Emma than it was for most. She knew bikes like the back of her hand, inside and out, and she could take them apart and put them back together again with her eyes closed. Mechanic school was a piece of cake. Getting a job after she graduated was the hard part. Neal hadn’t just sullied her good name in racing, but he had managed to get her ghosted by the entire race world, and nobody would hire a junkie. Luckily for her, she had completed all of her qualifications in the surname of Nolan, so all she needed was a little help.

#sparking the pavement #stp #cs ff #cs au #motogp au #cs fanfic #motorbike racing #ch 2 #killian jones #emma swan

50 notes · View notes

franklyshipping · 6 years ago

Text

Marvin The Mischievous ~ A Septic Ego Series ~ Part 6

And on we go, it's time to see how Shawn Flynn fares against Marvin's tickly techniques. LET'S GO!

TAGGING: @shawnflynn-thetoymake-ler @shawn-flynn-the-switch @the-survivelee-hunter and @marvin-lee-magician

Everyone gets grouchy, the workloads you get, the tasks, errands, they can just turn a person from a bubbly being to a grunting gremlin. Allow me to introduce you to someone who was nearly always on the grunting gremlin end of this scale; Shawn Flynn. He was sort of like the Host of the septics, the one that was left to his own devices and respected and not disturbed; he would come out and socialise when he was ready and comfortable, but he was mainly a closeted person. This didn't mean Shawn wasn't close to the others though, because he certainly was; the way they respected his privacy meant that he grew to trust them all over time. Therefore such things as one off spontaneous visits to his workshop were more of a nice interaction rather than an annoyance. Shawn let out a huffed laugh through his nose as he straightened up in his seat, thinking about how Marvin had visited him earlier and gifted him some new paintbrushes and ink; he was like a selfless little kitten. Marvin hadn't stopped smiling with twinkling eyes as he gifted him the tools, it had been almost sickening adorable.

Shawn had been using the new tools all day, and he'd gotten so many dolls and toys finished that he was pretty sure it was a new personal record! He put the tools down now though and stood up from his wooden stool, he'd started making time to stretch and soothe his bones and muscles, as the good doctor never ceased to remind him he needed. He blinked a few times as he looked over the shelves of newly painted smiling dolls, he was feeling quite proud of himself. Granted, some of the smiles were painted a little crookedly, but it made them look more goofy than creepy. Shawn was smiling too, though that gentle crookedness was more a reflection of agedness. He wasn't especially old, but he carried that sort of matured air about him; it came through in things like his laugh or smile. Though, his smile didn't last long. Why? Because Shawn swore that one of his newly finished dolls....waved at him. Shawn immediately used his knuckles to wipe his eyes before pinching his forearms, looking again to the shelves.

'......oh fuck this.'

More of them were moving. Waving, general arm movement, head tilting. Shawn was racking his brains, I mean sure he had dreams but he'd never had a dream as weird and realistic as this.....and he didn't remember falling asleep. He hoped he was asleep and that in a few minutes he'd wake up, face planted on his desk so he could laugh away the weirdness to himself. Shawn looked at all the dolls with trepidation.....why wasn't he waking up....you're supposed to wake up from a dream when you're self aware righ-?

'WHATTHESHIT?!'

If only he'd accepted the reality and tried to get out whilst he had the chance. They were jumping on him. They were like kittens pouncing for the first time as they latched onto his limbs and torso, making him stagger back as he tried to brush and push them off, but of course it did no good. Things were made more difficult when one chose to land on his face and use its body to cover the workman's eyes, making him grunt and yell in frustration.

'WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE HELL?!'

He yelled as he tried to pull at it, but all that happened next was that he lost his balance. The little bodies had prodded and squeezed at his knees, making him yelp in surprise as he buckled and landed on the floor on his front. Okay. Not a dream. He'd watched Inception enough times to know that he would have woken by now. He squirmed around and tried to crawl towards his door, but these bastards were heavy and strong when they worked together....Shawn scoffed. Worked together? He was talking about them like they were living! Which they....weren't, I mean of course they weren't! Shawn's mind was racing as he felt the weight of the dolls on his forearms and on his shins, keeping him quite immobile even as he thrashed and spat.

'I swear to fucking god if you don't let me go you will fucking pay, whoever you are or whoever the FUCK is doing this is going to regret this! GET OFF ME!'

Shawn's heart was pounding, they'd pinned him....but what was next? Why was this happening? They were fucking objects, what had he done to them that made them want to turn on him? Or.....was it even them at all, was someone else behind all this? Perhaps if Shawn had been granted a little more time with his thoughts then he would have figured it out, but alas, his captors acted before that could happen. He flinched when he felt the one clinging to his face let go and land on its feet on the floor, before running to the side and out of sight....its goofy smile filled Shawn's nervous mind.

'H-Hey where are you goin'? What's goin on?!'

Shawn struggled more, but he was getting weaker with every effort. He didn't have long to wait for a sort-of answer though. Soon enough the doll returned.....and was dragging a pot of the new ink and a paintbrush, letting the utensils rest before Shawn's eyes. Now Shawn was just confused, and slightly amused, rather than fearful. He even scoffed.

'What're you gonna do? Paint a fuckin' smile on me? Fucking ridiculous.....'

He glared at the doll. Living with the septics meant that he'd built up a tolerance to all the weird and wacky bullshit that came with them; magical levitation, a certain hero waking into breakfast with his own theme song blasting from his phone, a zombie trying to eat his own fingers. Shawn had seen it all, but there was a point where he just couldn't be bothered dealing with the goofy bullshit. As you can tell, he'd reached that point now as he rolled his eyes during his trailed off speech. The doll before his eyes didn't speak, none of them did, but the doll seemed to tilt its head at Shawn....before picking up the paintbrush and dipping it in the ink. Shawn's eyes widened as he let out a half-yell half-whine.

'Oh-come on I was kidding!'

Shawn's words had no effect on the doll's intentions as it removed the ink covered brush from the pot and approached Shawn with it. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to prepare for whatever was going to happen....but he was still caught off guard.

'Wha-nono heyheyhey n-nohot there o-okahay n-not thehere!'

Shawn had gasped at the feeling of the cool ink being spread just under his jawline, and as it crept towards his neck the grouchy man's lips were quivering in an attempt to repress a shaky smile. Shawn was unused to physical contact still, so his nervous system was pretty sensitive and left him with a few ticklish spots.....ticklish spots that this paintbrush was starting to find. Shawn was hoping and wishing that this was all it would be, it wasn't that he didn't like being tickled....he was just the most ticklish person on the planet. His voice wavered with his twitching lips.

'D-Dohon't do this ohmyfuckinggohod p-plehehease.....'

Shawn's cheeks were getting pink from how utterly embarrassing this was, the persistent smile of the doll made him feel self conscious and flustered too. Shawn was still trying to focus on his thought process, but it was being overrun with a flustered mind-set. Was it their intention to tickle? Would they let him go....or use the paintbrushes elsewhere first? Shawn wished he knew the answers, but al he could do now was softly, raspily giggle and talk in the hopes of a response or reply or....anything from the dolls.

'Why hahahave yohou gohottahaha dohoho thihis?? C-Cahahan't yaha d-do sohohomethihing ehelse than t-.....t.....thihihis?!'

Now, that's the thing about being flustered, it means you end up wording things in ways that aren't exactly beneficial to you. The dolls perceived that he was asking them to stop the swirling and flicking of the brush at his jaw and chin and even the sides of his neck....so they did. Shawn was in wide-eyed shock at his luck when he felt the tool being pulled away.

'Fuck okayokay th-that's good that's-AH! NONONO NOT GOOD FUCKOFFFUCKOFF!'

As I said, they'd conceded and stopped at his jaw....but Shawn hadn't explicitly forbidden them from any other parts of his body. Shawn was already smiling with anticipation as he felt little fingers pushing at his t-shirt, exposing his pale sides as he squirmed....and then squealed.

'AHH! Nahahahaha fuhUCK NOHohoho gahahaaaAAD NOT BOHOOOTH!'

Shawn giggled hysterically and squeakily in utter despair as he felt not one, but two brushes, one for each side, brushing eagerly into the dips of the flesh. Shawn was getting goose-bumps from the cold ink as he shuddered from the ticklish bolts that jumped through his system every time a brush tip flicked or dragged over his skin. The dolls persisted, and as Shawn got weaker, his restraints on his reactions started to slip away.

'STAHAHAP T-TIHIHICKLING YOHOU B-BAHAHASTARDS!! IHIHI'LL M-MAKE YOHOU REGRET THIHIS!'

He was full on cackling now, mouth wide open with an insane grin as he squeezed his eyes shut; anything to block out the wet, slippery, evil tickling torture. His threats of course, heralded nothing. Shawn simply wriggled around, encased by the debacle his exposed nerves provided. However, and you may be surprised to know; but Shawn actually didn't have many tickle spots, he wasn't the sort that if you placed your hand on his back he would flinch and cower. Oh no. His nervous system wasn't evenly distributed, so it meant that the places where he WAS ticklish.....were EXTREMELY ticklish. Neck, jaw, chin, neck, sides, they were all his hotspots, his havens, the hideouts for his mirth. However, there was one area on dear Shawn that was the pure jackpot. His feet. Each centimetre heralded its own different reaction, and funnily enough....that's where the dolls headed next. In his brief moments of laughter free breathing, Shawn thought some more; only the other egos knew about his nerves like this....so one of them was behind this. But who-

'NONO KEEP AWAY FROM MY FEET KEEP AWAY!'

The dolls had to stiffen up and grip Shawn's shins tighter, because boy was he tugging like his life depended on it. His feet were exposed swiftly, shoes and socks tossed away as dolls surrounded them.....and Shawn could feel tiny hands gripping his toes so much so that there was no way he'd be able to scrunch his feet. Shawn was fully convinced he was going to have to resort to begging, but before he could even try, he was consumed by wild giggles and cackles.

'OHGODTHEINK'SCOLD!! G-Gehehehet ohohoff ohohogohodhelpmehehe!'

One paintbrush per foot, starting....slow. They were swirling in circles at his heels, gently, meticulously, like they were truly trying to paint a masterpiece. The dolls were taking their time here, which only served as more evidence for Shawn that someone he knew had orchestrated this. They completely and liberally coated his heels, and what's worse was that the ink made the skin slicker, and it made the tools tickle even more diabolically.

'P-Plehehease d-dohohon't gohoho fuhuhurthe-EEEE!'

Shawn squealed with wide eyes as both brushes dragged down his taut soles, up and down and up and down, wonderful exquisite brush strokes that had Shawn in full cackles whilst his cheeks blazed brighter that the sun at midday. Shawn could feel something else developing in his mirth filled state....a feeling....a determination....and intent. An intent of vengeance. Yes, he knew he couldn't escape now....but he knew he would. And he knew that when he did, he'd get his revenge.

'S-StahahahaHAP RIHIHihihight nohow! Yohohou'll rEHehegrehet thiHIHIIIS!'

......okay yes I know he doesn't seem so threatening all rosy cheeked and smiling like a sweetheart, but I can assure you....that notion never left the safe little corner of his mind. Now, the dolls were very detailed in their assault as ever, now making sure the tips of the brushes flicked and fluttered into every little crevice and potential wrinkle in Shawn's soles, whilst also teasing his inner arches; it was all really starting to drive Shawn crazy. How was it that this tickled more that anything in the past? Shawn was working his voice as much as he could, though he was starting to lose hope that words would even be any good.

'IHIHI'LL DOHOHO AHANYTHIHING!! PLEHEHEASE IHIHIT TIHICKLES SOHOHO MUHUCH!!'

In some ways, it was easier on dear Shawn that there wasn't a person there, for they would have certainly teased him about how of course they had no idea any of this was TICKLISH! Then again....you can reason with a person. These dolls knew no communication, as was evident by how they manipulated the brushes to swiftly drag side to side across the balls of his feet, thus coaxing out some wild snorts from the trapped ticklee.

'NOHOHO NOHOHOHO FUHUHUCK OHOHOHOOOOFF!'

Shawn wailed.....now I should highlight to you all, he'd gone through multiple stages in this encounter. Stages of a Ticklee as I call it. Playing the entrapment off as a joke, nervousness, reasoning, mirth, begging, and now he was reduced to hysteria and/or severe use of expletives because there are simply no other words left that are able to describe or express the ticklish agony that the person was going through. I think you can all see the point that Shawn had reached.

'WHOHOHOEHEVER IHIHIS BEHEHIND THIHIS BEHETTER FUHUCKING HIHIHIDE WHEN IHI'M OHOHOUT OHOHOF THIHIS!!'

Ahh yes, threats too, mustn't forget those. Shawn internally was getting more and more frantic....the brushes had been on a set journey as soon as they started at his heels, and Shawn knew that if they reached the end of their journey then he'd definitely be left a lot worse for wear. His heart pounded as he felt the miniature grips at his toes seemingly become more secure, certainly not uncomfortably, but in a way that confirmed Shawn's suspicions.....he couldn't get through this. He couldn't.

'PLEASENOTTHETOES PLEHEHEEEASE!!! HEHEEEELP HELPHELP!!'

Shawn shrieked as he started to feel the brushes creep closer and closer....he thought that this was it, he'd be encased with insane mirth forever and ever and no-one was going to come and save hi-

'SHAWN!'

Shawn let out a surprised cry when he heard a voice that wasn't his own, which soon developed into soft whimpers and gasps of relief....he had a saviour. A dishevelled, slightly dirt covered saviour mind you, but nevertheless, Shawn had never been so overjoyed to see Angus in his entire existence. Angus rushed forward, shoving away all the dolls and the tools and hastening to bring Shawn safely into his chest; they were good friends, Angus often whittled and carved new toys for him to paint. Angus looked around.....dammit. He'd been too late to properly save Shawn.

'Thank you oho my g-god....A-Angus th-thank yohou.....'

Shawn shut his eyes and nestled close....he was okay he was good he was safe. He felt Angus rubbing his back and hushing him soothingly, Angus looked down at his friend, concern lacing his tone as he whispered softly.

'W-Were.....were ya ever uncomfortable? D-Did it go too far?'

Even amidst his breathlessness and tingling skin, at Angus' question he shook his head. Despite the unrelenting intensity, he'd never felt like he was in danger. He looked up at Angus, tears of joy and relief in his eyes as he replied.

'N-No....n-no I was fine.....b-but you ah, c-came in at just the right time, heh....'

Shawn let out a gentle nervous laugh, bowing his head gently whilst Angus looked Shawn up and down.....well, better he got to him late than never. He couldn't help but smile when he saw his skin covered in ink and all the scattered tools around him....part of Angus thought he would have liked to have seen Shawn's reactions, but for now his priority was keeping Shawn close and making sure he was recovering well. Angus knew one thing though....Marvin was getting more ruthless. After he'd escaped his own trap, he'd rushed to find Shawn first because he was the only ego whose location he could determine, the others could have been anywhere, but Shawn was always in his workshop. Angus was drawn from his thoughts however when he heard Shawn babbling and ranting a little.

'-thought it was a dream, I-I mean my dolls don't usually come to life....b-but soon I realised it was real. A-And s-someone I-I know must have caused it, n-no one outside our home know s-so much about my nerves! It was....so strange and weird and-'

'Impossible and evil in a magical kinda way?'

Angus interrupted with a soft smile, and Shawn immediately nodded at his words.....then it hit him. Angus saw Shawn's expression change into realisation....and vengeance.

'Marvin....that fucking kitten boy....'

He looked up at Angus questioningly. and the hunter was quick to provide clarity.

'You're not the first victim of his magic tickle rampage.'

They were silent for a few moments, Angus wanted to let it all sink in for Shawn. The hunter soon started to smile though, why? Because Shawn had looked back up at him with a fiery determination in his eyes.

'What do we do?'

Angus stood and offered his hand to Shawn, who took it and resolutely stood with him. Angus knew a few things. Yes, Marvin was clearly getting more nervous and determined....but there was clear recklessness within that. He may have gotten to Shawn late in his torment, but he still got to him; Marvin hadn't even deigned to lock the workshop door. With smugness comes arrogance and despondence.....Angus grinned softly.

'We find the others....we're stronger together.'

Shawn nodded, not caring that it was a cheesy move rather like a protagonist may do in the face of a plan; it worked for him. They left the workshop together, both reeking with determination and resolve, not caring to glance around them. If they had, they might have spotted the smirking, snide young man in an adjacent corridor. Marvin chuckled....his enchanted Puppetry Ink, as he called it, had worked like a dream. He hadn't even needed to watch....merely hearing Shawn's gruff laughter and delicious begging had given him the sadistic satisfaction that he needed. He whispered as he watched them go.

'That's it....go and find the others.....it'll keep you cuties out of my way.'

He had no doubt they'd find the others and band together and start to formulate plans of their own....heh, well, Angus and Shawn would find MOST of the others. Marvin slinked out of his hiding spot and slipped into their home's elevator, he started heading upwards floor by floor. He internally thanked his lucky stars that he'd checked their resident superhero's training schedule. He murmured whilst adjusting his mask.

'Six down.....two to go.'

It was time for Jackie-Boy Man to meet a REAL villain.

NEXT PART FRIGGIN DOONNEEE HOPE YA LIKE IT! LUV YOUS XXX

53 notes · View notes

rkmeiqi-archived · 6 years ago

Photo

⭐️ — sn project: month two, week one — ⭐️ now playing: dreams come true by s.e.s (1998) line distribution || dance || outfit || hair ╰ ft. @rkkaeun & @rkyngsun

meiqi doesn't get how someone from the mgas could be paired in a group that is on the verge of elimination. yongsun had finished within the top ten; out of hundreds of auditions, they weeded out those who didn't belong, retained the absolute cream of the crop—and that's what yongsun was. one of the best.

so why was she sitting in this triangle with meiqi and kaeun, debating on which 90s song to perform for this week?

she can't help but think that, if someone like yongsun was in the danger zone, then meiqi doesn't even belong in the actual project itself. at this point, she's just an embarrassment not only to herself but to nova as well.

meiqi stays quiet for a lot of the first day after receiving the red vest. she’s hesitant to speak in the dorms, and even more so in her newly formed group. her ideas are probably stupid and they'll probably get all three of them eliminated, so for the most part, she silently nods along or shakes her head. ultimately, though, they settle on a song—her song, her one recommendation that she had felt obligated to proffer—that ignites a fire in her stomach. whether it's from worry if it won’t be good enough and their eliminations will be because of meiqi, or a proud feeling of her recommendation being chosen. she doesn't know.

she offers her help with line distribution, in hopes of being able to pick the parts that best suit her instead of having someone else assign them. meiqi also wants to control how many lines she gets. last time, she had been greedy when asking for more. she should have taken the few lines she got instead of overestimating her abilities. she’s so stupid.

meiqi also spends some time helping kaeun’s english pronunciation for her rap part. she kind of wishes she could have gotten this stanza instead, because of its simplicity and her proficiency in the english language. but then, she remembers hyun bin scolding her for her poor rapping skills, and quickly pushes the thought (all thoughts, actually) away.

* * *

it’s been a while since she’s sat down in front of the camera, so one day, when everyone’s busy with their own things, she goes to her shared room and occupies the spot in front of the free recorder.

she’s still kind of embarrassed. they don’t have access to the internet, so none of the nova trainees can’t see what people are saying about them online. meiqi doesn’t know if the first episode has even aired yet, whether she’s being mocked or praised for her attempts. all of this uncertainty becomes evident in the way she constantly runs her hand through her hair, pushing it back even when it’s not falling into her face.

“you know that saying? ‘new year, new me,’” meiqi switches to english for the common phrase, and then goes back to korean. “i want to change it to ‘new month, new me’ because that’s how i feel right now.” she giggles, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and continues. “cam, do i look good in red? i think it’s my best colour. but after last week, i don’t think i ever want to wear it again. i’m going to do my best to look good in another colour. make sure to cheer me on, okay?”

her pout appears to be cute, yet what she feels is anything but. “to everyone who believed in me, i’m sorry for disappointing you. i’ll work hard so that i can be a meng meiqi that you can proudly say you are a fan of.”

* * *

hyun bin's words ring loudly in her head as the three of them take the stage. "a worse singer, an even worse rapper" than sunmi. what's the point of having meiqi debut if there's someone who can do better than her in each and every aspect of a performance? even if hyun bin hadn't said those words exactly, meiqi understands the implications very clearly. she clearly does not have the basics of being idol material down.

her earlier pleads for yongsun to take some of her lines had proved to be futile. meiqi didn't want to sing any more than she would have to, hoping that she could simply sing a few lines and then put her all into dancing. she should play to her strengths, shouldn't she? rather than be in the spotlight for something bad... she doesn’t want to humiliate herself anymore.

but yongsun begged to differ, and now meiqi is taking her place in front of the coaches. admittedly, she isn't as nervous right now because it's just yonghwa, hyemi, and minsoo. hyun bin is nowhere to be found, and meiqi visibly exhales in relief.

starting off the song, meiqi is grateful that she doesn't mess it up. in fact, meiqi thinks her voice is exceptionally stable, pleasant to listen to even, courtesy of excessive practicing and coaching from both yongsun and yonghwa. the song itself, too, is not too vocally challenging, at least in the parts that meiqi has.

i just want to figure myself out

she really immerses herself in the song. her lines are vague yet specific enough to apply to the current situation. meiqi’s been in a sort of haze since the evaluation, not knowing her purpose and constantly questioning her abilities. yongsun told her that she needs to move on instead of dwelling on it, but the personal, almost nostalgic emotions that are given off in her voice work for the fairy-like concept.

my future is like a dream

slowly, her nerves slip away. a lot of the weight that was pressing down on her since hyun bin's comments had lifted off her shoulders when meiqi took off that awful red vest and replaced it with the pure white dress. with every note that she hits correctly, more and more of the leftover stress is shrugged off.

gotta protect myself

surprisingly, meiqi finds herself smiling to her self once they've struck their ending pose and the music cuts off. the elegant concept has never been one that meiqi particularly enjoys, but this stage... it’s changing her mind, that’s for sure. in more ways than one.

#nova:snmonth2 #sn:week5 #nova:sn #tagging bc mentioned #rkyngsun #rkkaeun #wc: 1k-ish LOL #mmq;solo

1 note · View note

rksxngyeol · 7 years ago

Photo

MGA SEASON 4 – EPISODE FOUR { Team G : 징미와 가시 }

song: BAD BOY by 레드벨벳 ( line distribution)

Outft: x || #4030.

w. @rkchungha, @rksomi, @rkxsicheng, @rkssoojin

last week was a shock. they were close to the bottom and while they weren’t in last place, they still lost daehwi. it hurt losing the younger, but he hoped that they would continue to be great. then, it was all over for the former team i. they were split up into new teams. he had told his team that he was going to treat them to dinner, and that’s what he ended up doing that same night. he had heard what the netizens were saying about him. he was too old to be an idol, not talented enough. he knew that. he knew all that, but it was hell just realizing that. he wasn’t worthy of being here and yet here he was, still going on. still continuing. his personal determination knew no bounds.

so, here he was. at kt building, in an empty practice room waiting for his new team to show up. when everyone did come, he was so happy that he was with soojin again. it was nice seeing a familiar face, and of course, still feeling the effect of losing daehwi was felt but he wanted to do well for him. the song and choosing a leader had taken some time, but after several options, bad boy was chosen. he would have preferred a more vocal song like deja vu or i’m so sick, but bad boy was good too. there were many ideas thrown out and sungyeol liked it. while he couldn’t be leader again, he threw out soojin’s name claiming that “she was a big help while we were working on stuff with team I,” he honsetly really liked his team.

chungha had a ton of charisma. he had seen it when her team was performing and her dance skills were off the charts, in sungyeol’s humble opinion. somi and sicheng too were not supposed to be slept on. somi had a lot of talent. sungyeol thought about arrangements and even faces. they had to serve the visual and the confidence. as the one team member with the highest charisma and creativity, sungyeol was up to that challenge. he knew how to serve that confidence on a platter. but it was strange, they were actually clicking really well together despite being completely different. sungyeol didn’t feel as out of place as he had expected. the entire first day, Monday, was spent splitting lines, deciding the choreo, and of course the whole song choice and leader choice debate.

he joined chungha in their design stuffs. they had to choose a good aesthetic for everyone and while sungyeol’s own style wasn’t all that great (hellooo kurt cobain grunge and denim on denim fashion choices), his creativity allowed him to help out with outfits. that was something that he took great pride on. so of course, they created a pinterest account together to brainstorm ideas. they soon enough brainstormed enough ideas, for like a badass set of outfits. it was easy to find all the clothes that they needed but it took some time. he wanted to make sure that they stood out for the right reasons. they had to be one of the top teams this time. sungyeol didn’t particularly like that they were seventh even with what they managed to pull off and team a was first as though they were best (they weren’t and sungyeol didn’t think that they deserved the win.)

it didn’t mean that they didn’t spend time goofing off. they had fun. sungyeol teased soojin, somi and chungha a lot. one particular incident was that they had been talking how this concept made them feel and somi had insisted on love and a boy. he had taken this opportunity to say something deep and philosophical. “why think of love? why not think of badass shit? like you know how the main character in action movies and mangas has explosions behind them. that sort of badass shit.” he laughs, and immediately apologizes for the language since somi was a baby and chungha seemed to be glaring at him. he laughed. it was easy to laugh with them. they were almost like a family.

two days before they had to film though the episode (Wednesday, for whoever is counting), though, sungyeol was not alone. he had a toddler girl in his arms. “sorry everyone. i had to bring my girl with me since my parents are away on business and grandparents are too busy as well.” he said, laughing. he had introduced the toddler in his arms as his daughter. he walked over to the camera with a grin and before everyone else got to the practice studio, he explained the whole thing. “I’m a widowed dad, you know, and Haebin is my whole life after her mom passed away,” he feels really shy about saying this. “But Binnie will be good,” he says, and the little girl waves cutely. The blowout with the president of Miracle Corporation, his grandfather, almost three years ago now had been a fairly public affair (a lot of screaming, begging and sungyeol getting called trash ) and even before then, him and his wife had shown up at some events together so it shouldn’t have been that shocking. When everyone else walks in, he knows his daughter running around is a bit suprising but he’s got no one to take her at home and so he’s got to bring her with him for the day. after all, he doesn’t think that having a kid is that big of a hinderance. he is the oldest person on the mgas, why wouldn’t he have a kid already. of course, his teammates are all over her, cooing over how cute she is. he’s happy that his “dadhood” has been accepted so well. he motions his daughter to sit off to the side and he sets her up comfortably with a coloring book and juice box and a bag of snacks. he began practicing, taking extra care in his moves and his vocals, knowing that his daughter is watching. when break time came, sungyeol flopped next to his daughter, drinking water, and she offered him a smile. “look daddy! i made the sky pink!” she exclaimed, all proud. sungyeol looked over and ruffled her hair. “mm, i love the pink sky! does a princess live in this world?” he asked, and haebin nodded. “well, show daddy the picture when you’re allll done! i’m looking forward to your work,” he said, grinning. he planted a kiss on her cheek and went back to practice.

that’s how the rest of the day went. chungha had played with bis daughter for a bit and showed her some of their dance moves and sungyeol couldn’t help but laugh. he did some more planning of the outfits work and of course, he was filming their practice to see what they needed to practice with their stage presences as the one with the most charisma. when the practice was over, he walked over to his daughter and quickly packed her princess backpack and swung it on his back before packing his bag. she stood quietly by his side and he offered her his hand. Before leaving though, Haebin playfully smiles cutely. “Good luck pretty Somi unnie, handsome Sicheng oppa, charismatic Chungha unnie and cute Soojin unnie!” sungyeol couldn’t resist a laugh. “see you tomorrow guys… let’s go Binnie. Ice cream and then I have to take you home,” he said, leaving the practice room with the girl running after him and even ahead.

the next two days were pretty uneventful, except that sungyeol and chungha managed to find everyone’s outfits and forced them to do a fashion show. when he modeled his outfit, he blushed as chungha called him a handsome dad and told the ladies to hit him up on kakao. he struck a charming pose with a cute wink. “handsome oppa coming to save everyone~ I’m a hero!” it was all in good fun and they were having a blast.

d. day came. they had worked hard and he knew that they put their all into this. as they were waiting for their turn, soojin had pulled him aside and showed him her nails, explaining that they spelled Daehwi’s name. Feeling nostalgic about their first team performance, sungyeol pulled her into a tight hug. “so cute. let’s do well for daehwi.” he said, grinning at her.

they weren’t dead last but they were close to there. he hopes that what they did this week is enough. he watches the other performances and a part of him wants to throw up. he felt sick and nervous to his stomach. however when their turn comes, he pushes the nerves down, adjusts his hair and sighs. once again, he has to lay everything down. he’s proud of soojin and doesn’t hesitate to tell her so after she says thank you for choosing her to be leader before they go on stage. he follows his team out on stage. as their team introduced themselves (“Hello we’re 장미와 가시 ! We’ll be performing bad boy by red velvet!”) , he could hear a loud go sungyeol oppa. oh god, he could just tell that was jaehwan. it made him happy though and he couldn’t keep a smile off his face for long. they took their positions, with their backs to the audience.

once the music started thoug, it was like a switch of sorts flipped on. despite being in the back, sungyeol managed to shine regardless. there was something to be said about being really tall. it was easy to slide into the whole badass mindset. he pulled the dance moves off easily, since they weren’t too hard and dancing was his second performance skill. when it came to his turn to sing, he sang with a newfound confidence.

Oh shikeuhan seutaireun deom ibeun oseun shingyeong sseun deut an sseun deut

it was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders this week. he made all the rightdance moves and took his position in the formation for the chorus that they would sing all together. their chemistry was actually pretty decent, since in sungyeols opinion, they managed to sense each other fairly well, moving in near sync.

hollin deut nal ttarawa modu hwanhohae neodo got Ooh ooh anin cheokaedo neon Ooh ooh han beon naegireul haebolkka neomu shwipgen oji ma jaemieopjana geogiseo Ooh ooh milgo danggyeobolkka Ooh ooh

In the chorus he did have a line with Soojin, singing the first two lines of shijakalkke bad boy down and the first wave of whoa whoa , before hesang with soojin. it was a nice throwback to their first performance as a team.

shijakalkke Bad boy down Whoa whoa jigeumbuteo Bad boy down Whoa whoa

he didn’t feel any nerves and that earlier feeling of wanting to throw up had vanished deep away. he sang his lines clearly, eager to show off all talent.

jamkkan iri wabwa neoegeman hal mari isseo gakkai jom wa gogael sugyeo kireul natchweobwa

he didn’t have a lot of individual lines, so whenever he wasn’t singing, he was serving face. Extreme concentration and focus with a firece gaze. his kurt Cobain nirvana grunge aesthetic was in perfect realm with bad boy. then the chorus hit again and he had a few adlibs which he nailed quite well.

hollin deut nal ttarawa (nareul ttarawa) modu hwanhohae (modu hwanhohae) neodo got Ooh ooh anin cheokaedo neon Ooh ooh han beon naegireul haebolkka neomu shwipgen oji ma jaemieopjana geogiseo Ooh ooh milgo danggyeobolkka Ooh ooh shijakalkke Bad boy down

as the song went on the confidence in him soared and it could be seen in the sharpness of his moves. a few moments later, it was his turn to sing again and he nailed the notes.

heeonaryeo noryeokaedo eotteon jageun teumdo eopseo

sungyeol found the chorus choreography fairly simple after the multiple times they had done it. and once again, he nailed his adlibs. but he was charismatic and he could pull it off. there was a minor slip up in his dancing when he moved the wrong way but he saved himself.

hollin deut nal ttarawa modu hwanhohae malhaetji Ooh ooh gyeolgwan hangsang gata Ooh ooh geobwa naega tto igyeosseo neomu shwipgen oji ma jaemieopjana ije neon Ooh ooh (Oh-eh-oh-eh-oh)

the last two lines of the song were done as a group. he wasn’t nervous and he hoped that they had done enough to be a top team standing here and get mentioned more by everyone. he sang the last two lines with confidence.

beoseonal su eopseo Ooh ooh naegen shwipji Bad boy down

they finished in the same ending pose as red velvet and they held it for a bit while they caught their breath before bowing and leaving the stage. once they were offstage sungyeol told themthat he was super proud of how they did in this week. “hopefully we can all continue and take the top!” he honestly hoped that they did enough.

#rkmga4 #rkmga4new #i'll update the outfit link later #sorry bianca for the length #rkchungha #rksomi #rkxsicheng #rkssoojin #jaehwanrk #bcuz mentioned lol

3 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

Text

It’s the Thought That Counts (2/3)

It was, in theory, a good idea. It was, in theory, an absolutely fantastic idea. Because there was still, sometimes, a crisis or two in Storybrooke and nothing would be more chaotic than trying to find a Christmas present on Main Street, while also trying to keep said Christmas present a secret. Ordering gifts on the internet makes sense. It’s just a few clicks and online sales and the presents will be there in plenty of time for Christmas to be perfect.

Emma and Killian are positive.

Except then the presents don’t show up and it’s Christmas Eve and plan B isn’t so much a plan as it is just a bit of pre-holiday desperation and the entire town knows what they’re up to.

Rating: Mature’ish. Eventually. As it is, Killian uses some vaguely pirate-type curses in this chapter. Word Count: Like another 8K’ish. It’s gotta be even or something. AN: Hi internet, it’s me again, with a questionable amount of words and adjectives and Emma’s POV. This is still my CSSS gift for @theonceoverthinker who continues to be excellent and deserves all the words and adjectives. So, this is still the same day - Christmas Eve in Storybrooke, but Emma was lying before about paperwork and....now we’re going to find out why. There are more words coming tomorrow. Can’t stop, won’t stop. Shoutout to @distant-rose for always listening to my plotting issues and questions and but what would they even get each other for Christmas questions. Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

She’s going to hit something.

Or kick something.

Possibly her desk.

And just like...the world.

Emma has no idea what to do next. There’s no time to do anything and the whole point of this was to save time and make things good and great and perfect and now it’s not going to be any of those things because she only has a few hours to figure it out and her mother will not stop promising everything is going to be fine.

Snow White is frustratingly optimistic no matter what – even in the face of postal service crises.

Emma makes some kind of noise that absolutely does not belong in any sort of fairytale and when she does, finally, give into her frustration and kick her desk, it hurts even more than she expected it to.

“Damn,” she mumbles, twisting her mouth in pain and her father does his best to turn his laughter into a convincing cough. “That didn’t work at all,” she mumbles, resting her weight on the side of her desk and she didn’t even get enough power behind her kick to leave a dent or anything.

“It wasn’t really my best effort,” David admits, crossing one foot over the other where he’s leaning against the far wall. “And I really do think you’re worrying over nothing. He’ll understand.” Emma rolls her whole head in frustration, pointedly ignoring her mother’s half-opened mouth because she’s not sure what she’ll do if she hears another round of it’s going to be fine and her toes can’t really take another round of kicking whatever it is her desk is made out of.

“This is a disaster,” Emma mumbles.

It’s not.

She know that. Rationally.

She knows Killian will understand and Henry will smile and promise it’s totally cool, Mom and they’ll still go to her parents' house tomorrow night and eat a questionable amount of food, but there had been a plan and a schedule and now it’s all blown up in her face.

Metaphorically.

She knows nothing is actually blowing up. Rationally.

But there’s this other, vaguely irrational side of Emma that just wanted everything to be some kind of Yankee Magazine type of perfect on Christmas and Regina had promised it would work.

“There’s not really a town line anymore,” she’d said, weeks ago with a nonchalant shrug as if the lingering threat of losing all your memories when you walked by the sign at the edge of town wasn’t really that big of a deal after all. “There hasn’t been forever.” Emma shook her head and waved her hands in the air, what felt like a million questions struggling to find their way out of her at once. Regina rolled her eyes. “People have been coming and going from Storybrooke for years, Emma,” she said, the struggle to keep her voice even so obvious it felt like it reached out and slapped Emma in the face. “And now that we’re not…” “Facing imminent death?” Emma interrupted and Regina didn’t even move her eyebrows.

“Something like that. Now that we’re not on the defensive, people can come and go as they please, particularly at this time of year when the potential for those seeking some kind of festive ideal is so high.”

“I’m sorry, hold on...you want to turn Storybrooke into a tourism destination?” Regina tilted her head. “It’s a consideration, but that wasn’t what I was alluding to at all. I’m agreeing with you that, with the holidays coming up, and things, relatively calm now, we might be able to expand our gift-giving tendencies.”

“And no one is just going to….you know, forget their entire being if I order gifts off Amazon and get them delivered to my house? Like an actual, normal person? Who just wants to celebrate Christmas and buy actually good gifts?”

“No,” Regina sighed, lifting one eyebrow and Emma hadn’t planned on talking for so long. She wanted this to be good. She wanted this to be festive. She wanted her house to appear in a publication she was only dimly aware of and not entirely sure was all that profitable.

“You’re sure?” “I don’t know how many times to tell you the same thing with different words.” Emma growled in the back of her throat and that wasn’t going to do her many favors in quest for holiday perfection. “Ok, ok, I get it. I just…” “Can’t find the perfect gift for the pirate who has everything with four storefront options on Main Street?”

“Something like that.” Regina’s expression softened slightly and it was, easily, one of the stranger conversations Emma had ever had. That was saying something. She was fairly positive she’d watched her mother converse with several birds a few days before. “I promise,” Regina said. “You won’t ruin anyone’s entire existence by buying gifts.”

And, well, that was that.

Emma started researching and buying and it didn’t take nearly as long as she expected and she found the perfect gift and she was considering some kind of victory celebration as soon as she got her order confirmation.

That celebration would have been premature.

Because now it’s Christmas Eve and her phone is dinging with updates from Amazon’s distribution center in Portland and there’s been some kind of issue and she didn’t really read the e-mail because she was too busy trying to kick her desk into submission.

“It’s going to be fine,” Snow says again and Emma’s not sure which noise is louder, her responding sigh or her father’s tongue click and her mother just smiles encouragingly at the open air in front of her.

“Did they at least give you a new delivery date?” David asks, pushing away from the wall to take a wary step towards Emma. She can only imagine what her face looks like.

She kind of feels like she’s on fire, which is a strange feeling to feel when the sheriff’s office is always so freezing cold, but every single one of her nerve endings seems to be pulsing under her skin with something that might actually be fury. She’s a bit surprised to find that her fingers haven’t started sparking.

It’s her goddamn magic – she knows that, rationally, but irrationally it’s kind of like being drunk on aggravation and the presents were supposed to arrive at the station two days ago and she’d planned this.

There was a schedule.

There were expectations.

There are no presents.

And she has no idea what to do next. She needs to get her magic to relax.

She needs to buy presents.

She needs some Christmas, God damnit.

“It’s….” Snow starts again and Emma’s head snaps up so quickly she’s momentarily concerned about the state of her spine.

David shifts in between them, lifting both hands like he’s regulating a boxing match instead of the eternal optimism of a fairytale princess and his slightly despondent daughter. “We just need to come up with a plan,” he says and it’s practical and rational and Emma can probably use a bit of both at this point.

She should make a list or something.

“And you never answered my question,” David adds, glancing meaningfully at Emma with the unspoken plea not to yell at her mother or kick the office furniture again.

Emma heaves a sigh and it’s probably not that serious, but the gift was so good and she was really considering that celebration and their house is covered in lights and there's garland on the railing outside and watching Henry and Killian try and make sure a tree stood straight in their living room did something very specific to her heart. Made it grow or stutter or something.

She wants a little Christmas.

No, that’s a lie. Emma wants a metric ton of Christmas and she wouldn’t be opposed to a little snow because after everything – curses and death and darkness and the goddamn Underworld – they deserve a lot of Christmas and even more festive and she’s fairly certain rum goes well with eggnog.

“December 29th,” Emma grumbles and David can’t quite mask his immediate response. Snow practically sags in front of them. “Which you know...is not great.” “Yeah, that’s a little after the fact.” “They were supposed to be here two days ago because I planned this. I paid for extra shipping! I’ve never paid for extra shipping in my entire life!” David laughs before he can stop himself and Emma’s clearly losing her slightly tenuous grip on both reality and her magic. The combination of those two words in a single sentence is, possibly, the most absurd thing she’s thought all day.

And at one point she considered sending out a locator spell for her presents.

It absolutely would not work.

“Killian really will understand, Emma,” Snow says, leaning back against David’s chest out of instinct as soon as his arm wraps around her shoulders. “And it’s not as if you’re not going to give him a gift. It’s just...delayed.” “I know, I know,” Emma mumbles. She drops onto the edge of her desk, bumping up against a stack of paperwork she didn’t remember finishing and that’s probably a sign of something. That’s she’s losing her mind. Likely. “But this is…” “A big deal,” David finishes. “Trust us, we get that.”

He says it with such conviction and a hint of emotion Emma doesn’t entirely expect that she feels her eyebrows pull low in confusion and Snow bites her lower lip.

Oh.

Emma isn’t the only one who wanted a periodical-worthy Christmas experience.

“You guys are really living up to your character stereotypes right now, you know that?” Emma asks, drawing a quiet laugh out of both her parents. Snow smiles softly at her, reaching forward to squeeze her shoulder and Emma is going to fix this.

Everyone will be gifted appropriately.

That’s not the correct verb.

“Alright,” Emma mutters, exhaling loudly and David clicks his tongue again when she nearly knocks over the paperwork. “Seriously where did that come from?” she asks distractedly. She, apparently, is only capable of following one plan at a time.

“No idea,” David answers. “It was there yesterday though. Probably more backlogs for you to go through.” “Jeez.” “It’s not as if you have to finish it today.” Emma nods, eyes flitting towards Snow and it takes, approximately, two and a half seconds for her mother to realize what’s going on. “Yes,” Snow shouts, practically leaping towards Emma and David’s arm hangs awkwardly in the air when he blinks blankly at the scene taking place in front of him.

“What am I missing?” he asks. Emma grins.

“But isn’t he supposed to be coming in here today?” Snow asks, already three steps ahead of a plan that’s only half-planned and built mostly on a little bit of hope and maybe a hint of Christmas. “You’re going to have to tell him not to come in today.”

David nods, his quiet ohhhh echoing off the walls of the office and Emma scrunches her nose. “You can’t just lie to him, Emma,” he continues, crossing his arms and it’s the most dad thing he’s done in, at least, thirty-six hours.

Emma waves a dismissive hand through the air. “I’m not going to lie,” she promises, but that’s also a bit of a lie and none of this feels very festive, but her mother looks thrilled and maybe she can find something on Main Street and she really just wants to do this right.

She wants to make sure there are gifts to open in her house on Christmas morning.

In her house.

With her family.

She’s waited long enough. And she refuses to accept Amazon’s apparent incompetence and inability to follow a schedule.

“I’m not,” she says again. “It’s...an excuse.” David lifts his eyebrows. “An excuse? On Christmas Eve? Seems like that’s against the rules.” “There is no Christmas Eve equivalent in the Enchanted Forest, you can’t possibly tell me about the rules of a holiday you’re only just getting to celebrate.” “Those are the dad rules. That’s how it works.” Emma scoffs, but the fire and the flames and the frustration that had been working through every single inch of her just a few minutes before seem to ebb just a bit. “Oh, yeah, well, that makes total sense,” she laughs. “And this is good. I’ll just...say something and then Mom and I can go march down Main Street and…” “Shop,” Mary Margaret finishes, nearly shouting the word in Emma’s face. David pulls both his lips behind his teeth to stop himself from, presumably, cackling.

Emma nods. “Yeah, exactly that. Maybe one of the dwarves owns a seafaring….store we don’t know about yet. I just need to make sure…” “Killian doesn’t show up on Main Street during patrol in the middle of the afternoon?” David asks.

She nods again. “Where’s my phone?”

It’s behind the paperwork she’s absolutely going to ignore until, possibly, after the New Year and Killian’s phone goes to voicemail. “Damn,” Emma groans, but Snow already has her phone out and he’s still not answering and maybe something happened and maybe he’s already on his way here and...he answers when she calls a second time.

Emma doesn’t wait for him to actually saying anything. She’s never been very good at patience.

“Killian?” she asks and David widens his eyes meaningfully because she sounds like she’s preparing to tell a lie or brace for some brand-new curse. Emma tries not to groan. “Where are you?” “Home, Swan and uh…” “Oh, ok, good.” “Is something wrong, love?”

She winces. David’s eyes are going to get stuck mid-roll. “Is he still home?” Snow asks, barely keeping her voice even remotely in the realm of whisper. Emma nods distractedly.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” she says, far too quickly. “Totally fine.” And she knows he tilts his head and narrows his eyes and he’s probably doing something stupid with his eyebrows because he’s impossibly good at reading her, even when she’s on the other side of town. “You’re a rather terrible liar, you know that?” Killian asks. “Did something happen with this snowstorm?”

“He totally knows, doesn’t he?” David asks, arms crossed again. Emma glares at him.

“Swan,” Killian continues and her heel slams into the front of her desk when she nearly jumps to attention. Snow’s eyes widen at the litany of curses that fall from Emma’s mouth. “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on because I’m thinking I may just stay home if there isn’t anything else…” Emma’s eyebrows pull low, but she barely gives herself a second to consider that because this is going to work. “Yes,” she yells, grumbling when her father starts laughing again. “Yes! You should absolutely, definitely stay home.”

“Overselling,” David mumbles and Emma’s breath catches when she realizes he’s right. And Killian’s offered to stay home. “Wait,” she says suddenly. “Why do you want to stay home? Are you ok?”

“You called me, Swan. And told me I should be staying home.” “Yeah.” His eyebrows are doing something stupid, she’s positive. “Yeah?” Killian asks. “No explanation? Just...yeah?” “Uh...yes?”

Killian laughs – loud and easy, right in her ear and Emma smiles immediately, some kind of instinctual reaction she’s still trying to get used to. Her parents have started discussing the layout of Main Street and which stores might be best and she just wants to do this right.

“That’s not much of a change, darling,” Killian says and Emma sighs, falling down into her desk chair and pleasantly surprised when it doesn't break under her. “And you need a new chair.” “We need a new everything in this office, we’ve been over that eight-hundred times.” “True,” he agrees. “That’s still not an explanation though. Why do you want me to stay home?” “Why do you want to be staying home?” He doesn't answer immediately. “Killian.”

“It’s nothing,” he says, like that’s an explanation and genetics are absolutely a thing because Emma actually tuts the same way Snow does when Killian doesn’t continue. “Just feeling a little under the weather and I don’t want to miss any of your parents' plans tomorrow.”

If she weren’t also telling a lie, she would probably be offended by the one she’s just heard.

It’s almost comically bad.

And obvious.

She scoffs, narrowing her eyes and ignoring whatever David is doing with his face. “That was almost painfully bad,” Emma mutters, but she’s trying not to laugh because he didn’t even try.

“If you don’t need me in the station or questioning dwarves about weather patterns than I’m happy to stay home for the day, love,” Killian continues. “Although I think we both need to work on our excuses.”

Emma licks her lips, butterflies in her stomach and heart hammering against her chest and her father looks almost too smug because, of course, Killian figured it out. “It’s not an excuse,” she says. “It’s...whatever. There are no weather issues because that snowstorm thing was a total lie and Dad went to go check it out already anyway. So there’s...you know...not a ton going on here.” “Of course.” “You are infuriating when you’re all-knowing.” “I’m not anything, Swan. Except possibly learning what something called wrapping paper is.”

The muscles in her face are starting to ache from overuse, but that seems almost appropriate on Christmas Eve and a town full of actual characters and maybe it’ll snow later. Emma hopes it snows later. The lights on their house will probably look fantastic in the snow.

“Wrapping paper, huh?” she asks, laughing softly. “Interesting. Any particularly good patterns on this wrapping paper?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, we haven’t gotten that far in the instructional period, huh?”

She can see the smile inch across his face, as clearly as if he’s standing in front of her and Emma’s not sure her heart is ever going to recover. Merry Christmas, or something. “Not as such, no,” Killian answers. “But I’m sure we’ll get to that part of the rules eventually.” And, rationally, she knows he doesn’t mean it like that. She knows her dad didn’t mean it like that. But, irrationally, that little voice in the back of Emma’s mind, the one who only knew about lights because of TV shows and ancient VHS tapes that, more often than not, broke in even more ancient VCR’s in houses across the country, isn’t sure she can have all of this without paying some sort of festive price.

“What?” Killian asks, the concern in all four letters obvious even on the other side of town.

“I just...I mean there aren’t rules to this, you know. It’s not like I’m…” She needs to finish a sentence. And she’s fairly certain she could hear Henry before.

“Swan?”

“I mean presents are good, but you know we didn’t really talk about gifts and you don’t have to…” He doesn’t wait for her to finish. “I want to,” Killian says, voice softer and more determined than she’s heard it in weeks and she sighs out a breath of air that’s decidedly close to swooning. Her office chair squeaks when she sinks further into it, ignoring whatever silent conversation her parents are having with their eyes and she’s going to buy him the greatest goddamn gift in the history of last-second Christmas gifts.

Or something with fewer curse words in it.

“See, saying things like that out loud is just absolutely unfair,” Emma says. Her chair is some kind of torture device. The thing is out to destroy her back, she’s positive. “What am I supposed to think about for the rest of the day?” David sticks his tongue out. Snow looks like she’s trying not to cry. “Hopefully that,” Killian says and Emma bites her tongue. Her heart is trying to expand.

“Ah, that was even worse.” “You’re telling me these things like they’re an insult, Swan. I’m failing to see that point of view at all. It all seems almost romantic.” “Almost,” she repeats, tugging her hair over her shoulder and sitting up straighter and Snow is bobbing on the balls of her feet, excitement rolling off her in waves. For half a dozen stores on Main Street. There better be something nautical out there.

Although that might be too similar to what’s, maybe, coming on December 29th.

“You really don’t have to come in today,” Emma continues. “We’ve got everything taken care of and I’m just going to get caught up on some paperwork while things are still quiet.” “You’ve told me several times I don’t have to come in today, love, I understand.”

Emma tilts her head, eyebrows pulled low and something’s going on. She knew it as soon as she picked up the phone, but now she’s positive and she can’t hear her kid anymore.

Her super power hasn’t exactly been necessary since they avoided the end of the world, but it’s still there and it’s practically ringing in her ears now, some kind of warning bell or signal that’s impossibly loud and even more difficult to ignore.

And Killian Jones, pirate and reformed scoundrel and the love of her life in a true-type sort of way, is, quite clearly, up to something.

“Right, right,” Emma says, wondering if she left her hat in her jacket pocket or on the hook just inside the front door of the office. “And you know, paperwork. Lots of it.”

“Right,” he agrees. “Paperwork.”

Emma nods, not sure if she’s trying to convince herself or him or either one of her parents and Snow is pointing towards the door like they’re on a holiday timetable. They kind of are. “Exactly,” she says, doing her best to infuse some certainty into the word. “So, uh….I’m going to go do that and you’re going to stay home and probably read, like, twenty books.” “Seems rather ambitious, don’t you think, love?” “The paperwork or the books?” “Either or.” She laughs under her breath and the chair makes noise when she stands up, walking towards Snow and her coat and her hat is hanging out of the side pocket. “I’ll see you later,” Emma says. “For movies and hot chocolate.”

“I look forward to it, Swan.” She smiles. “Yeah, me too. I love you.” It’s strange – a string of letters and words and feeling that she was so terrified of coming so easily now, but the sentence seems to just roll out of her with practiced ease and Emma means it in some kind of monumental way.

She hopes he knows.

“I love you too,” Killian says and she bites her lower lip, closing her eyes lightly and trying to let his voice silence whatever warning bells her superpower is still ringing in the back corners of her brain. She’s going to find the perfect gift.

It, however, Emma is quick to learn, impossible to do that in Storybrooke.

Particularly when her mother keeps buying all the goddamn gift options.

She tries not to be frustrated. Really she does. But her magic keeps fluttering in her fingertips and maybe she can just poof herself to Portland and back without anyone noticing and she’ll just...steal her presents from the distribution center.

That is, absolutely, against the rules.

“We’ll find something,” Snow promises for the umpteenth time, but the sentiment looses some of its shine when she’s already laden down with bags of her own. Emma’s wallet might be burning a hole in her bag. “Those little anchors weren’t bad,” she adds, an attempt at Christmas comfort that also falls a bit short in the middle of the sidewalk. “Even if they were a little…” “Touristy?” Emma suggests and Snow shrugs. “They were for the tourists, Mom.” “But they’d look cute in your bathroom!” Emma groans, the sound falling out of her before she can remember all the reasons Snow is just trying to help. “You want me to buy Killian something we can use to decorate our bathroom?” On Christmas?”

“They were willing to customize it.” “For the tourists,” Emma repeats, dragging out the words like she’s arguing the most important thing in the world. “So they can put their names on anchors that say Storybrooke, Maine on them. They’re for kids. And incredibly overpriced.” “Happy said he’d give you a discount.” “Because he’s thinks he’s supporting the monarchy or something. He bowed!” “It was polite,” Snow argues. “Just be glad Killian wasn’t actually here. He probably would have saluted him.” Emma rolls her whole head back, staring at the sky and asking several different deities to just let her find something because she can’t go home empty handed. Or deal with any more dwarves calling her Princess like that’s a normal thing. “Oh my God,” she sighs. “That is insane. You know that’s insane, right?”

Snow shrugs again, mouth twitching like she’s trying not to beam at Emma right there in the middle of the sidewalk. “They respect you. The entire town does, both you and Killian and it’s well...it’s tradition. Even if it is a bit antiquated, monarchy-type things.” “Monarchy-type things,” Emma repeats and her mother gives up on that whole not smiling thing. “Are you sure there isn’t a Christmas equivalent in the Enchanted Forest? Everyone seems to know how this is supposed to work.”

Snow considers the answer for a moment, rocking her weight between her feet and scrunching her nose slightly “I mean there isn’t a Santa Claus leaving presents or breaking into homes around the world, if that’s what you're suggesting.” “I promise, it wasn’t.”

Snow stops smiling long enough to shoot Emma something that might almost actually be a glare, but it barely lasts a moment before she dives back into the story and it’s all just a bit maternal, like she’s learning some kind of family tradition or recipe that’s been handed down from generation to generation.

It’s nice.

“So,” Snow continues. “No Santa, no elves, no presents under the tree or nice and naughty lists, which again, just...don’t get me started, your father has been listening to me question this since the start of the month.” “Mom are you anti-Christmas?”

“No, no, no! I am just...well, it’s all a little confusing isn’t it? The rules and the quasi-lies and it seems a bit like a deceptive way to get children to behave. That’s not how Solstice is at all.”

“Solstice?” Emma asks and they’re moving again, making their way towards that one clothing store and maybe she can buy Killian something made of leather. A belt? Boots? She might be the worst gift-giver in the history of the world.

Snow hums, changing her grip on the half a dozen bags in her hands. “It was never an actual day, just sort a general time during the month, right when winter started. And there were lights and candles and carols of a sort and you’d exchange gifts, but they were always little things. Knick knacks that were personal and meaningful and it was…” “That sounds nice,” Emma says when she trails and Snow smiles at her. There’s snow on the ground and it’s all decidedly picturesque, but Emma’s stubborn and she wants to give her husband a good gift. She wants the best of both worlds. “You really can’t buy anything in this store though or I’m not going to be able to find anything for Killian.”

Snow blinks, pursing her lips slightly and she’s probably going to do permanent damage to her fingers because she bought David some kind of actual scabbard-type thing in Happy’s store and it must weigh, at least, twenty-five pounds.

“The anchors were good though, I’m just saying,” Snow starts, but Emma’s already shaking her head and she doesn’t even check for traffic before crossing the street.

“Yeah, well, I’m just saying,” she argues. “Mom, this needs to be good. It can’t just be…”

Emma freezes, tilting her head and she barely noticed the shadow when she was so busy learning about Enchanted Forest traditions, but she can’t ignore the set of footprints moving away from the sidewalk towards the alley.

Her superpower makes more noise.

“Those are recent,” Snow says, coming up next to her and, somehow, bending down to examine the marks without letting her bags touch the ground. “And moving back into the alley. Why would anyone be going back there?”

Emma shakes her head, mind racing and defenses rising automatically and if someone is going to do something stupid on Christmas Eve when she doesn’t have a present for Killian, she’s going to use her recently-acquired powers of monarchy to throw them in a cell for several days.

God bless us, everyone.

She clicks her tongue, taking a step towards the slightly darker space next to the store and her fingers tap an uneven rhythm on the side of her jeans. “Yeah,” she mutters, trying to peer through the darkness for someone or something and she wonders if Solstice traditions also include fighting monsters. Or potential thieves looking to empty cash registers. “Why would anyone want to be in this alley? You think there’s a door to the store back there?” There’s scuffling a few feet away from her and Emma’s right hand lifts automatically, fingers twisting in the air and she’s dimly aware of her mother mumbling something about wishing she had her bow. Emma’s gun is in the station.

It seemed wrong to bring firearms on a Christmas shopping trip.

She takes another step forward, boots crunching on the snow and it’s icy back here, where the, rather limited, expertise and execution of the Storybrooke Public Works department didn’t reach.

She almost falls over when someone shouts her name, twisting back to gape at a slightly terrified looking Archie, just barely visible outside of the shadows in the alley.

Emma curses, again, and her mother doesn’t look quite as stunned as she expects, making a noise somewhere between a guffaw and a snicker. She tries to keep her footing as she moves back towards the sidewalk and she just wants to get in this store because she’s actually kind of freezing.

“Just saying Happy Holidays,” Archie says before Emma can even ask and she takes a deep breath through her nose. “Out doing a bit of late shopping I see?”

Emma’s breathing gets louder, but Snow is already muttering about plans and stores and she feels herself being tugged into Modern Fashions before she can even begin to formulate a response for Archie.

“You’re some kind of Christmas diplomat, you know that,” Emma mutters, smiling at Snow when the bell above the shop door dings loudly. They’re the only ones in there.

Snow scoffs. “You grow up in a castle and a quasi-revolution, you learn some of these things. And you don’t need to be diplomatic, you just need to remember that Killian will appreciate any gift and no one is going to tattle on your present issue. They probably all think Killian’s on patrol anyway. And, well…” “They’re still slightly intimidated by him?” Emma suggests.” “Yeah, you know, maybe some of that too.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but it’s definitely true and she’s running out of time to find some kind of mythically perfect gift.

And there’s a store clerk talking to her. It’s Bashful. He can’t meet her gaze.

“Afternoon your highnesses,” he says, mostly into the slightly worse-for-wear carpet that runs from wall to wall. Emma groans. “You uh...you just missed…” “We’re looking for a gift,” Snow interrupts in a decidedly un Snow-like way and Emma’s not sure what to do with that, but she’s more than willing to let her mother take over the reigns of this conversation if it means she can try to find one single item of clothing that doesn’t appear to be made out of polyester.

They need new stores.

She’s fairly positive the dwarves made some kind of deal with Regina to own every store.

Bashful blushes and the thought leaves Emma close to hysterics because this is all absurd and she's probably going to have to suck up her pride and go back to that first store and buy those stupid anchors because there is nothing in this store that screams Killian and at least there was some kind of theme with the tourist stuff.

He can put them in the brand-new sea chest that will maybe, hopefully arrive somewhere in town four days after Christmas.

And that might have been overpriced too, but it was perfect and Killian was starting to collect things – a mix of modern and not and just a bit of pirate and the thought that he could do that in a space that was, unequivocally, theirs left Emma’s pulse thudding in her ears.

So she’d bought the chest and Amazon claimed it was an antique and maybe she’d make a joke about that. Or she would have if the stupid thing came on time.

She resists the urge to start mumbling nautical curses under her breath again.

She's not sure Bashful’s face can get any redder.

Emma spins on the spot, nearly knocking her shoulder into a rack of clothing and she doesn’t even say anything before Snow nods, a knowing smile on her face. “Yeah,” she says. “Not much, huh? I don’t even want to buy anything.” “Rough review.” “Nothing here is even vaguely nautical themed.” “You’re really big on the nautical theme, aren’t you?” Snow makes a noise in the back of her throat that might be a disagreement or an agreement and Emma laughs, shoulders sagging slightly because this was supposed to be easier. She should just be able to find something.

“I have a tendency to harp,” Snow admits and Emma’s going to dislocate something if she laughs any harder, the absurdity of it all hitting her suddenly and forcefully and there are tears in her eyes. Snow makes a face. “What do you say some grilled cheese and onion rings?” Emma perks up – like she’s actually her thirteen-year-old kid and Snow looks like she’s just seen a particularly beautiful sunrise. Bashful continues to stare at the ground. “Grilled cheese and onion rings?” she echoes, something settling in the pit of her stomach. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Snow says, somehow shifting the bags in her hand to squeeze Emma’s shoulder.

“Hot chocolate?” “That goes without saying.”

Emma nods, any trace of lingering frustration or superpower or whatever Bashful had been trying to tell them when they walked into the store forgotten in a moment of something vaguely maternal and she doesn’t even argue when Snow directs her back across the street towards Granny’s. It’s nice and simple and, for the first time all day, she’s almost breathing normally.

Until they nearly run over Killian and Henry.

“Swan?” “Killian?” “Mom?” “Henry?” “Hey,” Snow says, leaning to her side and nearly hitting Emma with bags when she tries to wave one hand. “Happy Christmas Eve!”

Henry laughs under his breath, grinning from ear to ear, but Killian looks like he’s just encountered the ghost of Christmas past, present and future all at the same time. Emma can’t move. Her eyes are so wide they’re starting to water.

“What are you guys doing here?” Henry asks brightly, trying to peer into the bags. Snow clicks her tongue.

“We thought we’d get some food.” “In between stacks of paperwork?” Killian asks, gaze darting from the bags to Emma’s still wide-eyed face and she tries not to scowl. “Is that right, Swan?”

She looks anywhere except him and it’s as bad as if she were to start shouting I lied about paperwork in the doorway of Granny’s. “We’re taking a break,” she says instead. “And I’m starving. And Mom was...you know, boosting the town’s entire economy in one day. It’s...we did not plan this.”

“Naturally.” “Did you guys eat?” “Pie and fries,” Henry answers excitedly and, at least, forty-seven alarm bells go off in Emma’s head. She’s surprised when her eyes don’t actually fall out onto the step they’re all occupying.

“Pies and fries?” she asks. “Did you unearth some kind of world-ending evil or something?”

She shivers because her coat is actually a piece of garbage and she should really buy a new one, but she’s been lied to enough about the productivity of the United States postal service and she hardly has half a moment to consider if there’s a magical equivalent of that before she feels herself being tugged a few inches to her left and Killian is incredibly warm.

She rests her head on his shoulder.

“I promise it’s not that serious, love,” he says, but she twists her eyebrows when she glances back up at him “It’s not.”

“We were just hungry,” Henry adds. “And there was new pie. Or fresh pie. What would you call still-warm pie?” “I think fresh is the correct term,” Mary Margaret says.

“Yeah, that makes sense, right?” Emma pulls back to stare at Killian. She wants some answers. “What are you guys doing here though? What happened to wanting to stay home?”

He shrugs, but doesn’t actually say anything and they’re clearly both out of lying practice because it’s like some kind of massive billboard right in front of her face announcing that there is a story here and she’s missing a few key facts.

“There’s only so much reading you can do in one afternoon,” Killian says. “And not much food at home.” Henry makes some kind of impossible noise – a warning or a caution and his jaw almost audibly snaps shut when all three of them turn to stare at him. “Nothing, nothing, nothing, I mean...nothing. We should probably go though.”

They’re a family of horrible liars.

“Go?” Emma repeats. They haven’t actually closed the door. Granny doesn’t sound pleased. “Where do you have to go?” “Home,” Killian and Henry say at the same time and the obvious reaches out and smacks her. She’s clearly lost all concept of rational thought at this point.

Snow nods, humming softly as if that makes sense, but Emma’s somewhere in the realm of complete disbelief at this point. Fries and pie is some kind of chaos code. “Did you two practice that or…” She trails off, widening her eyes and Henry shuffles on his feet.

“Back to the books, Swan,” Killian says. “This was just a break, right?”

She’s, quite clearly, not going to get any answers out of this conversation and she’s not sure how much longer than can influence Granny’s heating bill before she comes at them with her crossbow.

“So, uh…” Henry wavers. “We going to go or….” “Aye,” Killian says, pressing a kiss to the top of Emma’s head and she just barely feels it through her hat. She twists back to look at him, determined to get something out of this, but she also doesn’t want to give up any information and it’s a fine line to walk on a holiday when she’s fairly close to freezing and decidedly present-less. “I’d suggest the pie, Swan,” Killian adds, squeezing her hip and she nips at his lip out of instinct.

“Our refrigerator is filled with food,” Emma whispers.

She silently congratulates herself when he freezes in front of her, but that lasts all of two seconds before he’s smirking at her and that’s not the way this was supposed to go. “I finished all the paperwork two days ago,” Killian says, resting his forehead on hers and her heart drops into her stomach. Damn. That’s why it was sitting on her desk. “And we haven’t arrested anyone recently.”

He flashes her a grin when her eyes feel as wide as saucers and Snow hisses in a breath of air. Henry’s already halfway down the sidewalk, looking as if he’s ready to start jogging in place.

“I’ll see you at home, Swan,” Killian smiles, turning to take a step, but Emma’s a hint quicker nad her fingers tighten around the collar of his jacket.

She kisses him that time.

And he tastes a bit sweet, like pie and something that’s probably the milkshake no one was going to mention because that’s kind of against the rules at Granny’s, but it makes her smile and want and a slew of other verbs she’d never even allowed herself to consider before this town and this family and everything that’s landed at her feet in the last few years.

“I’ll see you later,” Emma mumbles and Killian’s eyes seem to get bluer when he glances at her once more before practically bounding down the steps towards Henry.

The door to Granny’s slams shut behind them and the entire restaurant turns towards the sound, staring at Emma and Snow expectantly.

“Oh,” Granny sighs, head propped up on her hand and leaning against the counter. “You’ve been successful, I see.” “Kind of,” Emma corrects. She weaves her way around tables and chairs and drops onto the first stool in front of her. Granny’s lips quirk. “What?” “Nothing, nothing, just rumors.” “Rumors?”

Granny nods knowingly and Snow winces when she finally lets go of the bags. “I think I’m going to have marks on my fingers until New Year’s,” she sighs. “But we did get some good stuff.” “That so?” Granny asks and Emma gets the sudden suspicion that they’ve been ratted out by several Storybrooke pedestrians and, possibly, more than one dwarf. “You seem to have shown up rather empty handed though, Princess. Grilled cheese or onion rings?”

“Both,” Emma sighs. “And whatever milkshake my kid just had he wasn’t supposed to.” Granny’s whole expression shifts, sarcasm turning into enthusiasm and Emma wonders if it’s healthy for her emotions to flip as often as they have in the last four hours. It’s exhausting. “Strawberry, chocolate and vanilla,” she says. “That pirate of yours is a pushover.”

Emma laughs, mostly because she’s not sure Granny will appreciate if she just melts into a puddle of something on her floor. And there’s already two steaming mugs of hot chocolate sitting on the counter in front of them. “Cool trick,” Emma mumbles and Granny hums in agreement. “What were the rumors?” “I am just the messenger. I don’t want to be arrested for crimes I didn’t commit.” “We’re not that kind of monarchy,” Emma promises and Granny’s smile, somehow, gets wider.

“That was diplomatic,” Snow says, something that feels like pride in her voice when she smiles at Emma over her own mug. “And I bet it was Archie, wasn’t it?”

Granny nods, eyebrows lifted in not-so-silent judgement. “Said he saw you coming out of that that knick-knack store. One of you looking victorious and the other looking...testy.” “Testy,” Emma echoes. Granny shrugs. “And that store is for whatever tourism schtick Regina has been on for the last couple of months. It’s not a good spot for gift-giving inspiration.” “I’m not disagreeing with you, merely reporting the facts. And you really shouldn’t rehash old gift ideas either. No repeats of previous romantic moments.” Emma narrows her eyes and she’s finally starting to regain feeling in her hands, the longer she holds onto this mug. “What do you know?” she asks. “And have you heard anything about some break-in attempts around here?”

It comes out like an accusation.

It might be an accusation.

She grabs a menu, if only to do something with her left hand that isn’t waving it through the air in getting late in the day, no present panic and Granny’s eyebrows shift again.

“You should have bribed Archie not to talk when he saw you,” Granny says. “And I know everything. I thought that was a well established fact by now.” Snow coughs when she nearly chokes on her hot chocolate, trying not to laugh too loudly and, at some point, Emma burnt her tongue. That seems like a sign.

“Repeating is cheating,” Granny intones and Snow is barely staying upright on her stool.

Emma puts her mug down. “What do you know?” she repeats, pausing between each word for dramatic emphasis and she knows it’s not going to work as soon as the words are out of her mouth. “And I’m not repeating anything...I didn’t…” “Plan that one date you and the captain actually went on?” “Wow, that’s just rife with judgement isn’t it? How long have you been holding that one in? Is it because we didn’t come here?”

Granny shrugs. It’s definitely because they didn’t come there. And not technically true because they went on more than one date during those six weeks of peace, but it usually ended with stolen makeouts in the backseat of her bug or Killian’s room upstairs and Emma isn’t sure she can bring that up in front of her mother without wanting to actually to die of embarrassment.

“That’s neither here nor there,” Granny says, tugging the menu of her end. “How deep would you say you are into your current state of lack of present panic?” “Inching closer and closer to drowning.”

Snow makes a supportive noise and even Granny looks almost empathetic for a moment, eyes flitting back towards the door like she’s looking for someone or something or perhaps the inspiration for the perfect present for the pirate who has everything.

“You’re thinking too big,” she says, as if that makes sense. “Did you try something in leather?” Emma rolls her eyes, shoulders shifting with the force of her sigh and Snow squeezes her shoulder again. “If it even looked remotely like leather or was vaguely nautical we considered it, but there aren’t really that many options.”

“And for that ship of his?” Emma blinks.

“What?” she asks, flinching slightly when a waitress puts a plate in front of her. There’s another one on her other side and the smell of onion rings seems to attack every single one of her senses at once.

“A captain has a ship, yes?” Granny asks and Emma nods slowly. “Then it only makes sense that he’d appreciate something for his ship, yes?”

Emma’s not sure she entirely appreciates whatever tone this conversation has taken, but Snow is already listening off parts of a ship and ideas for thecaptain’s quarters and Emma, maybe, blushes at that because Granny laughs loudly, head thrown back and smile wide and that could work. It’s a good idea. And The Jolly could probably use more...blankets or something.

God.

She’s awful at this.

They eat the rest of their meal with Snow talking and planning and Emma drinks her milkshake so quickly, Granny makes not-so-quiet comment about the similarities between parents and children. She dips one of her onion rings into the glass.

It scandalizes everyone within a ten-foot radius.

And they’re halfway back down the block when she hears it – Henry laughing and Killian’s footfalls and Emma barely considers the state of her mother’s hands before she’s tugging on Snow’s wrist and pulling her into the closest doorway she can find.

They nearly fall into the library.

“God, fuc…” Emma sighs, knees buckling under her and Belle looks a little stunned and Mary Margaret’s bags aren’t looking quite as festive. They’re looking decidedly crumpled.

The door is still open.

And Henry is still laughing. “Killian, you’ve got to slow down,” he shouts, but there’s a note of excitement in his voice that has Emma gaping at Snow and waving a hand towards Belle when she opens her mouth to ask questions.

“He’s going to be asleep by the time we get there, if we don’t hurry up, lad,” Killian counters. Emma’s not sure who’s smiling more – her or Snow and it’s probably her because she might also be trying to will the memory into every single corner of her mind and even Belle looks somewhere in the realm of sentimental.

“We should probably close the door, don’t you think?” Belle asks, nodding towards the still-open piece of wood or whatever it is. Emma nods dumbly, taking a step further into the library and grabbing some of the bags that had been rather, unceremoniously, dumped on the ground.

“Sorry about that,” Emma mutters as the door slams shut behind her.

Belle shakes her head before the entire apology is finished. “Are we hiding from something?” “Christmas in general?” “And Killian,” Snow adds. Belle’s lips twitch, tilting down slightly in surprise and, well, it is kind of surprising. They’re never going to get to the homegoods store Doc owns at the other end of Main Street.

“Killian,” Belle echoes.

Emma shrugs, not sure what other excuse she can possibly come up with at this point. “He was supposed to be at home,” she says, realizing midway through the sentence she hasn’t actually explained anything. “We’re uh...we’re having a present issue.”

“That so? Did you try something in leather?” Snow laughs, sinking onto one of the chairs at a table a few feet away. “You know, I’m starting to suspect we’re not the only one’s with present problems.” It takes, exactly, five seconds, two deep breaths and one slightly dramatic gasp for Emma to understand.

“You know the internet is really the worst,” she grumbles and Snow laughs, a bit freer that time when Emma doesn’t immediately burst into frustration-fueled flames and magic. “We should just go back to this Solstice thing and ignore all these other Christmas expectations. I can’t...buying blankets for the Jolly is so lame.” “That is kind of lame,” Snow admits and Emma waves both her hands through the air in unspoken question. Her mother shrugs, stretching her legs out in front of her and Belle can’t seem to decide if it’s appropriate to laugh or not. “I...well, it is kind of lame. And not, you know, sentimental, which is kind of what Solstice is all about and...blankets are so lame.” “Have you been thinking that all day? You wanted to buy those anchor things! You were talking about decorating the bathroom!” “Which one?” Belle interjects and Emma’s eyebrows leap up her forehead. “I mean...your house is very large.” “That’s true,” Snow agrees. “I really did think the anchors were cute. Plus that discount.” Emma growls, sliding down the door she’s only dimly aware she’s still leaning on. Her legs splay out awkwardly in front of her and she’s momentarily worried she’s actually concussed herself when her head bumps back against the wood.

“This is a disaster,” she sighs. “An absolute….” Snow tilts her head when Emma trails off, but she barely pays attention to that, gaze directed at Belle and ideas firing and a plan forming and maybe this will work. It is, after all, about sentiment.

And he probably could have read twenty books that afternoon on pure determination and desire and Captain Hook was a bookworm.

“Belle,” Emma snaps and the woman’s head snaps up quickly. “Do you...could you…”

She jumps up, the muscles in her leg protesting at the movement, but Emma’s already moving towards the back corner of the library, her mother and Belle trailing after her and she’s mumbling under her breath about constellations and history and her husband is such a nerd – it makes her heart pick up a little bit.

“Wait, wait, wait, Emma,” Snow starts, tugging on the back of her jacket and that can’t be good for the slightly loose stitching. “What’s going on? You’re not making any sense.” Emma spins on the spot, smile wide and Belle and Snow exchange confused glances. “Are you alright?” Belle asks cautiously, like she’s going to combust with Christmas Eve and Solstice excitement. “You look….thrilled.” “Will you take cash?” Emma asks. “Or, you know, Savior-type IOU’s? I have no idea how much cash I actually have.” “I really don’t understand what you’re asking me.” “I know what to get Killian.” “And you need to...pay me for that?” Emma’s practically jumping up and down. “Yeah, maybe,” she admits. “Come on. I think I remember seeing it back here.” She’s going to save Christmas.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #captain swan #cs #cs fic #itttc #csss17 #snow white hates santa claus #pass it on #laura writes canon

37 notes · View notes

allenmendezsr · 5 years ago

Text

Full Throttle Fat Loss - Huge Commissions - Launching Now

New Post has been published on https://autotraffixpro.app/allenmendezsr/full-throttle-fat-loss-huge-commissions-launching-now/

Full Throttle Fat Loss - Huge Commissions - Launching Now

Buy Now

Dr. Kareem graduated from and is a featured expert by:

Dear Friend,

I sat down to write you this letter because I’m inspired, and I’m onto something that can truly change your life. In the end, I realized there’s no better way to prove this to you than by actually teaching you everything there is to know about accelerating the fat loss process, and why it works so well.

We’re talking about another level of fat loss and body transformation.

The way most workout programs are designed is by deciding which muscles to work today, and how to best set up your program to hit everything eventually; all of this while stimulating the greatest “metabolic” effect. The problem is, you’re already off to the wrong start.

Muscle = Metabolism, right?

So in order to stimulate the greatest metabolic effect from an exercise, we want to get as much muscle involved as possible. This just makes sense. However, stimulating as much muscle as possible may not be what it seems…

There Are 2 Ways To Stimulate Muscle And Increase Your Metabolism, Not Just One.

One idea would be to work as many muscles within a given workout as you can; another possibility would be to enhance the electrical signal to a group of muscles, instead. Now, by working on nerve instead of a muscle, you are actually working on multiple muscles at once, and, more importantly, all of each muscle.

It’s a cold hard FACT that you’ll take much more away from every rep of every exercise, of every set, and of EVERY workout when you stimulate your nervous system first.

But this is just the beginning… there’s a specific sequence of events that I follow to increase signal strength. Here they are:

Plan a movement.

Re-align the spine.

Excite nerves that relax during the day by doing 5 minutes of muscle balancing exercises.

Balance joints to take away pain signals you may not know are going on.

Ask for more electricity through dynamic and unstable exercises.

Work related segments together, at once, to improve muscle timing.

Create ‘Cardiovascular Override’ by working all 3 Energy Systems

That may sound like a lot to think about, but there is an easy fat loss system that solves this for you:

The Quadruple Fat Loss Stack™ is a high-speed fat loss system based on the number 4 and the proprietary “stacker” technology used in Full Throttle Fat Loss:

It works because we do 4 critically important things as we progress:

Recruit, Load, Distribute, Stack. This ensures progression, by the use of Fat Loss Stacker Principle. First, we recruit a muscle or group of muscles, then we add a load to the muscle, redistribute our weight, and add a second or third exercise into the mix before completing a rep.

Stacker Fat Loss Technology is when you add the fat loss effect of every portion of every exercise together. It’s a simple formula. Let’s give a practical example. Let’s say that you do the following 2 exercises, back to back:

Squat and Lunge

1 Squat + 1 Lunge = 2 exercises.

Now, let’s say you take those same 2 exercises, except you add a movement to exercise #2, and you leave the rest the same.

Squat

Lunge + Press = 2-part exercise

1 Squat + 2-part exercise = 3 exercises.

You get the idea. We can really build a lot more into a lot less time when we learn to add exercises together. Fat loss skyrockets, as does the metabolic effectiveness of every exercise.

Stacker Fat Loss Technology wins.

Can’t see the video? Please Download the latest Adobe Flash Player here

“Lose Fat 2x Faster Than Anything In The World” on NBC

Metabolic Training: Lose Pain and Fat on NBC

Toned Arms In 10 Minutes on NBC

With the unique progression built in to the Quadruple Neuro Fat Loss Stack™, we strategically prime your body to lose more and more fat each and every week, unlike typical fat loss programs in which results decline each week until you eventually hit a dreaded fat loss plateau. Can you just imagine losing even MORE fat in week 4 than you did in week 1? That’s exactly what we do with Full Throttle Fat Loss – instead of plateauing, you’ll be stacking your results from week to week until you hit Full Throttle max speed in week 4.

Listen, I’ve invested hundreds of thousands of dollars into my education in fitness, health, and rehabilitation; more importantly, it took me years to get this far, and tens of thousands of clients trained. I truly believe I can advance you to ‘master-level’ knowledge in your own body and how to make it lose fat within 16 short weeks in Full Throttle Fat Loss.

Full Throttle Fat Loss was created out of the realization that fat loss could (and should) happen much faster for everyone, not just some people. Sure, if you’re perfectly coordinated, familiar with working out a specific muscle instead of movement, and already know how hard to push yourself, you’ll probably get results.

The trouble is, this only represents a small portion of the population. That’s why I created a program that works for both beginners and advanced trainees, progressing exercise skill level at lightening speed, regardless.

You’re going to wake up one day in the next 8 weeks and bounce right out of bed. You’ll feel light on your toes, strangely happy for no apparent reason, and ready to charge at your day. As you glimpse at yourself in the mirror while you stop in the bathroom, it’ll confuse you and you’ll think back to the dream you just awoke from moments ago.

“Wow, it’s like I’m not even looking at the same person. I remember just a few minutes ago while I was dreaming, I was much heavier than this, and I actually looked older? This is crazy.”

As you look for your belly, it’ll be gone. Your body will be melting, and you’ll feel awesome.

At this point, there’s no turning back. I won’t let you.

You’re so close to where you want to be, you have no idea. Sure, I’m going to push you, and I’m going to give you everything I’ve got to inspire you. I’ll stop at nothing to ensure you get results. But I won’t take no for an answer. You’re here for a reason…

One way or another, you have to get in shape at this point. It’s up to you how, but I’ve got a great package that will simplify the process. Check it out:

32 Doctor-Designed Rapid Neuro Fat Loss Workouts + Audios ($297 value):

You’re about to gain lifetime access to 32 doctor-designed, neuro fat loss workouts. With your nervous system at the root of the programming, you’re going to experience faster fat loss than you’ve ever seen or heard of before. By enhancing the electricity to your muscle, you’re turning more muscle ‘on’ and getting more from every exercise that you do. You’re about to be blown away. In addition to filming these exercises for online streaming and a downloadable version for your iPod or other video device, I’ve created audios to help the ‘auditory learners’ out there maximize the effect.

Full Throttle Fat Loss At-Home Modifications Guide ($17 value):

Using this program at home isn’t going to be a problem. I’ll hold your hand and give you real, practical examples of household items you can use in place of the only piece of equipment we use in this program, a dumbbell. Plus, I’m going to give you creative workout ideas for various home environments that make exercise more fun for the entire family!

The Top 10 Fat Loss Lessons Of All Time Cheat Sheet ($29.95 value):

Over the last 10 years, I’ve been taking notes. I’ve learned what’s had the largest impact over tens of thousands of clients, both online and offline. I’ve listened to feedback, asked questions, and learned from my clients, mentors, and peers.

This is a comprehensive list of the best fat loss lessons I’ve ever learned; essentially, a shortcut to fat loss. You know the 80/20 rule, right:

80% of your efforts yield 20% of your results

20% of your efforts yield 80% of your results.

This is the 20% you should be focused on 100% of the time to get 400% the result.

Full Throttle Fat Loss Beginner Basics Guide ($29.95 value):

Worried that this might be above your level? I’ve got you covered. Whether you’ve been exercising a long time and you’re worried about your form, you could just use a review, or you’re brand new to exercise, this guide will teach you the fundamentals and form on all of the basic movements you’ll see in any exercise.

Learning exercise gets much easier when you go through this guide.

Victory Journal ($9.95 value):

Fat loss is a celebration. Victory journals document your success. However, there’s a specific method to this that seems to produce way better results and dwarfs using a workout journal. I’m including this for you, as well.

U-Stream Assess & Correct Workshops ($197 value):

In these hour long workshops, I evaluate and treat 3 clients for various issues, including neck, shoulder, low back, hip, and knee pain. We figure out what’s causing it, develop a plan of care that gets superimposed into their exercise programs, and send them on their way. This is invaluable if you have an injury or may in the future.

Transformational Mindset Audios ($29.95 value):

Results are meaningless unless you can appreciate what’s happening; and by appreciating what’s happening you’re sure to see much better results. There’s a fundamental mindset switch that takes place in truly successful fat loss clients, both from an exercise perspective, as well as nutrition.

In the Transformational Mindset Audios, I teach you all about the proper mindset for fat loss and fitness, and the fastest way I know to help you get there.

Private 120 Minute VIP Coaching Call ($560 value):

Ask me anything you want. This is about you and your results. Nobody gets this access to me without paying $560, minimum, but it’s included with your investment today.

Full Throttle Fat Loss is about never having to lose fat slowly again. I’m going to make you the deal of a lifetime. The 8-components of Full Throttle Fat Loss are worth over $1170, but since I really care about you and your results, I’m going to give you a VIP discount of just a single, one-time payment of:

$1170 $97

Click here to end fat loss

Immediate action gets immediate rewards. By investing in Full Throttle Fat Loss on Day 1, you’re showing me that you’re ready to create real change. I’m listening, and I’m answering back with the most powerful 14 day fat loss plan I’ve ever created – FREE.

This is about immediate results and simplicity to get started. In the 14 Day Fat Loss Plan, I’m going to show you, in the easiest way possible, how to start losing fat at insane speeds, immediately. I’ll tell you what to focus on, how to get more from less exercise, and exactly what to do for 14 days straight.

This is about helping you lose at least 7-10 pounds in the first 2 weeks, while balancing your body at the same time.

Yes, incredible. How will your body look when you shave off 7 to 10 unsightly pounds and boost your energy at the same time? How will people respond when they see you 14 days from now?

As a special gift for joining the release off Full Throttle Fat Loss, you’re going to get this specialty program completely FREE. I told you I’m not holding anything back, and I refuse to let you fail.

If you’re lazy and you’re not going to do what it takes to get lean, then this isn’t for you, and you don’t have to worry. But let me warn you, your opportunity to take advantage of this special offer and get all of the bonuses is fading away quickly. No pressure intended; I believe in you, but the time to take action if you really want to get results is now.

Besides, you’ve already learned what it takes to design a fat loss program that ensures results. You understand that there are a lot of elements, and that this can be overwhelming in the beginning. Plus, you realize that developing a passion for health can take time, so having a coach by your side is a critical element to your success.

I’d like to be your coach, and I’d like to help ensure your results.

Click here to end fat loss

Then It’s ALL FREE.

I know this system works. I know the science is solid and the method has been tested. You’re going to get results. That said, if you’re unsatisfied in any way, I’ve got your back. Fitness and health are about having a positive experience, over and over again. If you’re not 100% convinced that this is one of the most positive experiences you’ve ever had with your health, than I’d rather you invest your money somewhere else.

As your coach, your goals come first. Whatever it takes, even if it means refunding you the entire cost of the program and directing you to something that may be a better fit for your needs…. either way, I’ve got you covered.

That said, I can’t imagine a better fit for you right now. You’re reading this for a reason, and you’re protected 100% for the next 60 days while you give Full Throttle Fat Loss a “test-run,” so to speak, and watch your fat melt right off.

If you follow Full Throttle Fat Loss exactly as outlined in the materials and let me plan your fat loss journey, you’re going to see better fat loss results than ever. However, if you haven’t lost more fat in the first 8 weeks than you ever have in that time period before, just contact us and you’ll get a full refund.

That’s right. Lose more fat than ever in the next 8 weeks by following the program or you get your money back. No hassles, no hoops to jump through, just a prompt, courteous refund.

Believe me, if you get even half the results my other clients have, you won’t be sorry. Go ahead and click add to cart – Let’s get started:

Click here to end fat loss

It’s time you realize this: mastering anything takes time. You have all the tools you need to ensure fat loss success someday. I’d like that day to be today for you.

Modeling is the fastest way to become successful in anything. Take what I’m showing you in Full Throttle Fat Loss and one-up it. Essentially, look at my method, do it, and then figure out how to make it better. This is so much easier than starting from the beginning.

Instead of having to orchestrate combining, ALL 7 ways to stimulate your nervous system, ALL 10 Fat Loss Commandments, and the Quadruple Neuro Fat Loss Stack into short, extremely effective workouts, you have an opportunity to work backwards. I’ve already thought about all of these aspects when designing Full Throttle Fat Loss, and you can do each workout while knowing you’re achieving at full capacity in each area.

Plus you can do it ALL today while saving $1073 from the total package value and skyrocketing your immediate results with the insane bonus package I’ve created for you.

Click here to end fat loss

I’m extremely excited to work with you and see your results. Your body is about to do amazing things, and you’re going to wonder how it’s even possible that your body got so lean in such a short time period.

After years of chasing fat loss and weight loss, you’re already home.

4 days from now you’re going to see immediate, noticable results

4 weeks from now it’s GAME OVER

Today is Day 1. Let’s get started.

Your friend and coach,

Dr. Kareem F. Samhouri, CSCS, HFS Neuro Metabolic Fat Loss & Fitness Expert

P.S. Full Throttle Fat Loss is meant to help you lose fat right now, but I can only lead a horse to water. For now, you can secure your lifetime membership today and never have to face the expensive alternative of an in-person personal trainer that may never be able to deliver these results. Click HERE to get started and save BIG!

P.P.S. Remember, with my Iron-clad, 100% Money-back Guarantee, I’m giving you 60 risk-free days to discover the body that lays underneath your fat. You’ll see it, and then decide. This is the only program in the world that will take your fat loss results to this level, and then also accelerate all of your future results. Grab it RISK-FREE today.

Q: What is Full Throttle Fat Loss and why will it accelerate my results?

Full Throttle Fat Loss is the first program in the world to integrate all aspects of fat loss, including nervous system stimulation, fat loss acceleration, and a holistic process that looks at the entire ‘you’ before making assumptions of what will and will not work.

Your body truly is unique, but there are three things that all of us have in common:

We need faster and stronger signals to our muscles from our nerves. This gets more muscle involved and helps you improve your results, dramatically, with every workout you do.

We all have strengths and weaknesses. Working within our strengths 80% of the time is the best way to lose fat at full speed.

Stacker Fat Loss always works. By stacking exercises together into multi-part exercises, you are requiring your body to work harder to get through the exercise. This work = metabolism, which means there is an increased metabolic cost with every exercise you do.

Full Throttle Fat Loss was designed to help you eliminate time-wasted in your workouts or a plan that wasn’t ever going to work in the end. This is about starting the rest of your fat loss journey in a predictable, sensible, and logical way that just makes sense.

Your body was designed to eliminate waste. It gets rid of fat when it’s signaled to, but you have to first speak the language of the body. That’s where most people go wrong. Muscles are silent; they don’t speak.

Nerves are not silent, and they ‘speak’ to muscles through electricity. Every nerve innervates multiple muscles. By focusing on enhancing nerve signals to muscles, we naturally activate more muscles, and more of every muscle. It’s a double-win.

We’re all made differently, right?

While this is true, there are only so many variations. For example, you might be tall and thin, short and round, short and stocky, etc. By taking a glimpse into your own body and learning what type of muscle fiber you preference, you are automatically setting yourself up for success. Then, when you choose to ‘mix it up’ and ‘scare your fat away,’ your body won’t know what hit it, and you’ll respond just like all those before/after’s you keep seeing in the media.

As for Stacker Fat Loss, this is just simple mathematics. Every joint has a local metabolism, and your whole body, or global metabolism, is the accumulation of many local joint metabolisms. Essentially, the more of your joints (or bodyparts) you move, the higher the metabolic cost of an exercise. The more you do this, the higher your metabolism goes, and around we go.

Over the next 4 weeks, we’re going to prime your body to lose fat at full speed. I fully intend to help you create a ‘Metabolic Shift.’ This is a moment in time when your metabolism re-establishes ‘normalcy’ at a brand-new, higher level. Once it gets used to functioning ‘faster’, it’ll naturally make this the new base level, or basal metabolic rate (BMR) for your body.

So, in combination, we TRIPLE your metabolism:

Step 1: Activate more muscle to get more from every rep and increase metabolic cost. Step 2: Stack exercises together and increase metabolic cost of every set. Step 3: Prime your body to lose fat and then create a ‘Metabolic Shift’, so that you always lose fat faster, from this point on.

Q: Is Full Throttle Fat Loss ‘too’ difficult?

That’s a great question, and I’m going to flip it back on you. No, it shouldn’t be too difficult, but difficult is a relative term. What is difficult for you?

If it’s a matter of stepping outside of your comfort zone, then, yes, this is going to be difficult. If it’s a matter of an exercise being too advanced or a workout program being too intense, that’s not the case. Full Throttle Fat Loss was designed for any level by using some ninja program design to allow any person, at any level, to step in and get a great workout.

I wish I had the opportunity to work with everyone I train from Day 1. That would be incredible. You’d never make any form mistakes, or get confused by all of the garbage out there in weight loss. Instead, you’ll have a targeted and systematized approach to getting your lean body and losing fat as fast as possible, while keeping you healthy. So, I designed this program for you, if that’s the case.

On the other hand, I take great enjoyment out of training Olympic and professional athletes. It’s really neat to see the potential of your method realized through the most athletic and capable bodies in the world. I always wanted a way to serve both populations, and Full Throttle Fat Loss helped me solve this. As you’ll see in a moment, fat loss isn’t the only advantage here, so even if you’re ultra-advanced, you’re in for an incredible treat.

Q: What is Rebound Fat Loss? I’ve only ever heard of Rebound Weight Gain. How is this different?

Before we discuss Rebound Fat Loss, let’s just make sure we’re on the same page about Rebound Weight Gain and why it happens:

Crash Dieting. Crash Dieting makes it so that your body is in starvation mode and eats its own muscle. Since muscle consumes a ton of energy (calories) for your body, your metabolism naturally decreases over time. Unfortunately, as you reduce your caloric intake and lose muscle at the same time, your body’s reward for the weight you lost is less food and a slower metabolism.

On the other hand…

Rebound Fat Loss is when you hit a fat loss goal, and then you decide to go for another one and hit it faster. Most fat loss programs actually slow down in results over time, no matter how much harder you work to see any change.

Full Throttle Fat Loss was designed to actually increase your metabolism over time, improve the neurological signal to your muscle, and re-connect your body. In doing so, your results actually begin to accelerate. You’ll be much happier when you join the Full Throttle Fat Loss community and start to see accelerated results. Go ahead and click add to cart:

Click here to end fat loss

Q: Is Full Throttle Fat Loss a program that can be repeated?

Of course, but you won’t need to in order to hit your goals. As you’ll see in a minute, I’m going to make you an incredible offer to let me build your workouts for you until you feel more comfortable becoming fully independent, but that’s just a choice and a courtesy.

You’ll be able to use Full Throttle Fat Loss over and over again, as often as you want. More importantly, you’ll understand how to easily switch in/out exercises to the program I already created for you and keep your results coming forever.

This is about fat loss independence, and it’s about never plateauing again. I’m on your side.

Q: What if I’m trying to build muscle or just get a bit leaner?

Ok, so this is where Full Throttle Fat Loss gets really cool. Because this is a fully periodized program with distinct phases, you naturally electrify your body into getting lean and activating more muscle within the first 4 weeks. After this point, it’s easy to hit any fitness goal you want, whether it’s just increasing fitness level or getting bigger.

Full Throttle Fat Loss is designed to help your body gain and tolerate more from every workout. These are both essential points in building muscle or improving your fitness level. You’ve found the ‘priming’ solution for fitness and building muscle.

Q: What if I have an injury? Can I still get results with Full Throttle Fat Loss?

Great question. 34 pounds and 17% bodyfat ago, I was in a lot of pain… in fact, I’d say 8/10 pain in most joints in my body. It was terrible, and I was 23 years old.

Through simple muscle balancing exercises and good judgment, I was able to lose all of my unwanted bodyfat and regain my self-confidence. I’d like you to be able to do the same thing.

The best thing to do if you’re injured is learn to work around it. You’re creating a faster and better healing environment for your body in doing so. By driving more circulation everywhere in your body through exercising non-injured bodyparts, you’re improving oxygen saturation to the injured tissue, and you’ll heal faster.

It makes sense to get moving. Use good judgment, involve your doctor or physical therapist if it makes sense, and ask questions, but be sure you get started and take action right away.

Q: I’m ready to start losing fat now. Is this program going to take forever in the mail?

No! The entire program will become immediately available to you via membership login and download after your purchase – no shipping fees, no waiting for results!

Q: As a Doctor of Physical Therapy, is it fair to say that you’re willing to work with someone who’s not in her/his “prime” anymore?

Yes, and I specialize in working with people of all ages. No matter what your need or circumstance, I’m here to help. Our youngest client is an 8 year old boy and our oldest is a 93 year old woman. It’s working for both. It’ll work for you too.

Based upon everything we’re learning about each other, this program will work for you. Click add to cart and let’s get started:

Click here to end fat loss

Q: What if I’m just starting out?

Totally, but only beginners that want to lose fat as fast as advanced trainees and are willing to open their minds and trust the method.

In addition to the Beginner Basics Guide that comes with Full Throttle Fat Loss, I’ve designed each workout to adjust to your level automatically. Plus, I’ve explained every movement and every exercise in complete detail, demonstrated common form deviations as well as proper form, and shown you the way to ‘feel your muscles’ while you move.

Q: Can men and women both get great results with this program?

Of course. 60% of my clients are women and 40% are men. I wouldn’t create anything that doesn’t work for both of you. Full Throttle Fat Loss was designed to guarantee you the fastest fat loss results you’ve ever seen and have you accelerate fat loss results over time.

Get ready, we’re going to have some fun.

Q: What if I don’t get results?

Then it’s all FREE.

I know this system works. I know the science is solid and the method has been tested. You’re going to get GREAT results. That said, if you’re unsatisfied in any way, I’ve got your back. Fitness and health are about having a positive experience, over and over again. If you’re not 100% convinced that this is one of the most positive experiences you’ve ever had with your health, than I’d rather you invest your money somewhere else.

I’ll issue you a complete, hassle-free refund anytime within your first 60 days if you’re not completely wow’d by what’s to come.

As you can see, the burden is completely on me. I’m taking all the risk, so you don’t have to. You’ve been let down enough times… not this time.

Click the button below and let’s get you leaner:

Click here to end fat loss

Full Throttle Fat Loss is a great deal this time, and I’m committed to helping every one of you get amazing results. You are the beginning of a new era in fat loss, and I want to ensure you are the example for the rest of the industry from this point on.

You’ve made it this far. You’re reading this for a reason, and I’m here to help.

You know, a lot of people ask me:

“Hey Doc,

I really want to trust you with this stuff, but nothing has worked for me before, and I feel like I’ve tried everything. Do you really think this will work for me?”

…and I respond about the same way every time…

“Your body is your body, but your mind is much stronger. Before I can draw that conclusion, you have to decide for yourself. Yes, this program can do what you’re looking for and then some, but it all starts with you. You have to believe, with everything you’ve got inside, that you’ll never be the same again and you refuse to quit on your goals until they are realized. Find that inspiration and you’ve already won. There’s no other way…”

No matter what, though, I just hope that you’ve taken a lot away from the time we have spent together today. There are a lot of other workout programs out there and temptation to buy everything you see, but I truly believe this to be the best program on Earth for fat loss acceleration. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t have released it. This is about bringing things that are newer and better to the industry, or keeping our mouths shut and learning from the best.

In a world ridden with obesity, it’s my job to enhance the transformation effect, not confuse it. Just take a look at what Marty has to say and you’ll understand much more clearly why this is life-changing information:

Can’t see the video? Please Download the latest Adobe Flash Player here

On behalf of the entire Samhouri family, we wish you success with your fat loss and weight loss goals. We believe in you, and we believe that change starts today for each one of us. We’re here for you anytime you want, and we’re glad to help…

…but, today, we’ll do it for the deal of a lifetime and a ton of extra bonuses. This truly is your last chance… to get in shape. Act now, save money, and do something about your frustration.

Win with me. Click add to cart. Let’s get started.

Click here to end fat loss

0 notes