#windows ten keeps pushing me to install windows eleven

[two-bit-socrates]

Spite is a powerful motivator. If it can pull me through 20 years of child abuse and 18 years of processing trauma in the face of cataclysmic life events then it can pull me through learning and understanding linux so I can remove the demon that is windows from my fucking life.

[ilkkawhat]

Did anyone else notice the acknowledgement to Nick’s past between the victim services advisor April Martin in the episode Death and the Maiden? How she told him to keep the other card just in case because she senses Nick’s own abuse and how hostile he is towards her for it?

oh nonny how I wish I could find the two page essay I had written to my friend back when this episode first aired, of how this episode was a perfect exploration without directly acknowledging Nick's past, of Nick's past. How he was so affected by this case but unlike 2x03 he didn't let it show--I think the 2x03 case we saw more of his emotions because it so closely paralleled his own experience that he even put himself in the damn flashback which is not something you see like, ever in that show (off topic but I hope the revival brings back those classic flashbacks)

I think April was yet another in what I feel like is a pretty sizeable pile of storylines that they probably wanted to explore a bit deeper--maybe even a full on relationship between the two of them--and hell now that I think about it, there was that bit in 12x03 where Nick had that back and forth with Doc Robbins' niece about baggage and stuff and you just know it was hinting at all of Nick's baggage--but I def think she had gotten some sort of feeling from him that made him stick out from all the other CSIs, which is why she was so willing to help and even came to him when she sensed that something wasn't right with Tommy--if any other CSI had gone into that office, would they have gotten the same treatment from her? Would they have stood up to her (fairly) cruel jabs towards the CSIs who in her eyes, treated death as a joke and victims as evidence? I feel like most others would just shrug her off but here we have Nick who's like "uhm yeah no, that's not how it is" and for once he's the one challenging that almost ignorance (similar to how his ignorance was at times, challenged, i.e a little murder) and while yeah he kinda storms off cause her words hurt him (bless his heart) and pissed him off she saw that, she saw that hostility that was obviously covering something deeper within him and extended that hand, extended her heart and I think if she reappeared in the show again, Nick would have returned the favor--maybe not full on divulging his past, maybe not directly seeking the service that she offers in the professional sense but maybe would have just...let her in a bit.

I rewatched those two scenes they had to answer this ask and another notable thing to me is that Brass was the one who led Nick to April--Brass, who has been there for all of the victimizations Nick's had to experience (and I mean...just look at Stalker. Look at how he cups his hand around Nick's neck, calming him down, comforting him with a soft smile and the assurance that "it's over") and so he obviously knows who April is, what she's capable of--and how Nick might not just need a professional consultation so to speak for a case, but a personal one too? And like yeah, he's not super reckless "i'm not afraid to die" post meat jekyll yet but I think Brass has known Nick long enough to see those cracks in him and idk man, I'm sure with just...Nick being Nick, with how he survived literally being thrown out of a window, all the gun point incidents, having been stalked, blown up, being buried alive--seeing Nick surviving all of that and still coming to the job that got him in those predicaments in the first place (well ok though, Stalker may have still happened if he wasn't a CSI since Nigel met him while installing his cable but oh god...what if the team was too late? how would that lack of personal connection to Nick affected their urgency to protect him??? What if that instance is what would pull Nick into the team? The possibilities of AUs are endless here folks)

but with all of that, there must be something else that happened to him to allow him to literally rise from a grave being like "yeah I'm fine." Something worse. Something that men in particular don't seem too eager to talk about.

Brass is a detective.

He's probably seen it all between his time in New Jersey and Vegas.

He probably saw something in Nick that he's seen before in other victims.

And not only that, he knows that like April, Nick has a big heart. A big bleeding heart even though Nick denied that April did, I think it's clear that Nick sure as hell has one and while he ends up kinda hardening up as time goes on--we still get flashes of it. we still see him admit to Doc in season 13, "sometimes this job really gets to me" and he tells Nick, "worry when it doesn't."

What if Brass felt that Nick was heading towards that direction? Season Ten Nick, while again, not as reckless as Indestructible Season Eleven Nick, was def carrying his head a little too high. Sure, he was stepping into more of a leadership role and therefore had to kinda hold back some his emotions, but seeing him work this case, seeing him say "I would have killed him too," seeing him take this case so seriously and probably in a big whole denial, "this isn't the same as what happened to me." there had to be something going on and that's why he gives him to April. To not just help the victim, but help himself before becomes too hard-boiled.

Before he stops being Nicky.

And going back to April and your original ask 😅 I could def see her being able to work with Nick a lot more than any of the "therapists" that Nick seems so against, just getting bits and pieces and running with them as much as she can. Maybe encouraging him to let her see more of the CSI side to things, and letting him see the work that she does. It wouldn't be easy, of course, I could see Nick walking away when she pushes too hard, just like Catherine did, but if he got backed too far into a corner or if she caught him on a really vulnerable night, I bet he'd crack like an oyster and just tell her everything and she would be able to help him in ways that nobody else could to that point--she could help that ghost of the nine year old boy who was too scared to do anything but sit in his room, in the dark, waiting for his mom to come home. Does she encourage him to finally tell his parents about it? Does she encourage him to tell more of the people close to him? Does she encourage him to sure, keep it to himself but to not blame himself for it? To show him that he can still trust the people he's "supposed" to trust, that the work isn't as dark and heavy as he sees it on a daily basis (which, hell, maybe they could have done the post grave danger burn out storyline george talked about wanting to do in an interview once where he couldn't' even look at spaghetti without seeing blood and bodies--god let this man just be the showrunner of his own show) and GOD! we could have just had it all. It could have been such a real, genuine relationship between two people on different sides of the same coin that tips the scales of justice--connecting over victims, and how they just want to help

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH27

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 27: Star Death Reality Show (X)

Lara's words drew silence from everyone.

That afternoon, after the search for Mark and He Yi failed, Dr. Lu had complained casually that the snow was too slippery, and he accidentally fell—he had fallen three times in one afternoon, and the number of times he fell might have doubled if Du Yue hadn't been watching him the whole time. This had reminded everyone that they would be living here for the next six days, and they couldn't travel on the snow every time.

So the five of them, together with Xue Jiahui, Janet, and Alex, who were present to help search at that time, eight people in total, had carried the necessary snow-shovelling equipment to each house and swept out a snow-free road near their houses, leading to the church in the middle of the village. And Jing Siyu, Jing Sixue, and Annie, although not missing, had not cleared their paths, nor had the missing Mark and He Yi.

Lara's thinking was very clear. If someone had knocked Xue Jiahui out and taken her away, unless he went to the church first along the snow-free path Xue Jiahui had cleared and then gone to someone's house to hide her along the seven snow-free paths connected to the church, his footprints would otherwise be left in the snow.

"But in the afternoon, we walked around and left many footprints on the ground, which are difficult to distinguish now," Qi Leren countered.

"Let’s look for it along the way," Lara said.

This search went on throughout the night, but there were no extra suspicious footprints on the ground and there were no clues in the people's houses. By dawn, Dr. Lu was too sleepy to keep his eyes open. He followed the crowd with a yawn and walked into the church with them to have a rest.

"The Best of the Day will be broadcast in two hours. Let's just wait for it before we rest," Lara said.

Dr. Lu said, "I can't do it. Let me take a nap and just... call me when it’s time."

Giving a look of being exhausted, he yawned hard enough that tears almost fell. Qi Leren patted him on the shoulder: "You might as well go back so you can sleep. Have Du Yue accompany you."

"Aren't you sleepy?" Dr. Lu muttered.

"Not too much." Qi Leren also felt a little tired, but it was probably because he was tortured by Chen Baiqi. His energy was better than before, so he could stay up all night.

"Forget it, I’ll take a nap on a couch here for a while, just for two hours, I’m too tired to leave," Dr. Lu murmured and yawned again.

Seeing that he was so sleepy, Lara  smiled and said, "You can't sleep on the couch either. It would be bad if you caught a cold."

Qi Leren suddenly remembered the glowing stone: "Lara, do you remember that glowing stone? You and Francis found it in a cave yesterday."

"Oh, what's wrong?" Lara wondered.

"Before going to Xue Jiahui’s, we passed the church to look at the stone. It turned out that... It was a bit strange, you should also have a look," Qi Leren solemnly said.

Lara nodded and walked with Francis towards the back room of the church.

Pushing open the unlocked door, the old room was illuminated by the polar daylight outside the broken window. But the first thing the people who walked into this room saw would never be the stone that had broken into two pieces and lost its luster in the corner, but Xue Jiahui lying on the ground.

"Xue Jiahui!" Qi Leren let out a low cry, and Dr. Lu, who was about to fall asleep, hurried up to check her condition.

"Still alive, breathing and heartbeat are normal." Dr. Lu touched her neck and let out a long sigh of relief.

"Why is she here?" Du Yue wondered.

"We'll know when she wakes up," Qi Leren said, and looked at the stone that was no longer shining.

Before, when he was busy performing for the audience, he hadn't noticed that there was dried blood on the stone's surface that penetrated into the crevice. When he thought of the bloodstained bandage found in Annie's room, he inevitably linked these two things together.

Was it because of Annie's blood that the monster in this stone was awakened? It made sense. As a member of Deep Sea Religion, Annie would recognize this stone as a natural thing. Although she was resting in the house because she was feeling unwell that day, Mark had seen the stone, and it was likely that he had told Annie.

But this guess wouldn't be recognized even if it was spoken aloud. After all, this group of contestants still didn't know that a terrible monster had appeared here... After Xue Jiahui woke up, he would look for an opportunity to let her identify the pictures of the octopus so that the chain of logic could be made. Qi Leren was going to do this.

After more than an hour, the contestants came to the church one after another, waiting for the announcement at 8 o'clock. Jing Siyu was much better. She came with her sister Jing Sixue, and Annie also came. When she saw Xue Jiahui, she raised her eyebrows: "Didn't you say she was missing?"

"She was found more than an hour ago in the room behind the church hall. Also, the glowing stone we found on the first day has been broken... Something is wrong," Lara said in a dignified way.

Janet, who had just arrived, smiled mockingly and said nothing.

Xue Jiahui, who had been placed on the couch, let out a loud groan, and everyone looked at her. She slowly opened her eyes and looked around in confusion.

"Are you alright?" Lara sat down beside her and asked softly.

Xue Jiahui opened her mouth and asked hoarsely, "Who are you?"

When she said this, Qi Leren screamed in his heart. The important clue-NPC fell off the chain at the critical moment via the ridiculous method of amnesia, which simply cut off the possibility of obtaining intelligence across the board. He had a faint feeling that there was a 90% chance that this boss-enemy was the "octopus" mentioned during their discussion before, but he knew nothing about it except that the octopus was a parasitic cosmic alien. He didn’t know its habits, fighting capacity, or whether it would reproduce rapidly.

While Qi Leren was struggling, Lara had already asked about Xue Jiahui's condition. She had really lost her memory and even forgotten who she was. Obviously, it was impossible to remember that she had done a program about "amphioctopus".

Janet held her forehead and sighed in an ostentatious manner: "I am really fed up with cooperating with the performance, even a memory loss scenario has come out. I think Miss Xue won yesterday's Best without any problem."

As soon as she spoke, the speaker started: "Now broadcasting the voting results. The winner for the Best of the Day is: Qi Leren."

The people present uniformly turned their attention to Qi Leren. Janet, who had been beaten on the spot, looked at Qi Leren in a particularly bad way. Dr. Lu was more excited than he was that he got the Best. He said happily: "Congratulations, please come have dinner with me and Du Yue later to celebrate!"

"Thank you... Well, thank you all for your support and love." When Qi Leren remembered that there was an audience, he had to smile and pretend that he was very happy, but his brain was spinning: How could he be rated as the best yesterday? Was it because he’d found that the glowing stone was broken? Or for some other reason?

On the second day of this reality show, many things had happened: Jing Siyu fell into the basement, Mark and He Yi disappeared, they searched the basement, Xue Jiahui disappeared and lost her memory...

He had participated in almost every one of these events. It was probably because of his positive performance and occasional "flash of light" discovery that he had gotten so many votes, Qi Leren thought.

"It's a pity, I thought Miss Xue could get the Best, but it turned out to be Qi. It seems that the audience is more fond of conscientious and obedient actors." Janet looked at Xue Jiahui with a playful mockery.

Xue Jiahui looked confused and overwhelmed, and Qi Leren could not see the sense of recognition in her face. He was now not sure what had happened to Xue Jiahui. If someone had really knocked her out, who could it be?

"It's still strange. The three of us came to the church at eleven o'clock in the evening. At that time, there was no one in the room. After that, we went to Xue Jiahui’s, and the journey took only ten minutes at most. Why was Xue Jiahui hidden in this room? Who brought her here? How did the perpetrator avoid other people?" Dr. Lu murmured, his brow wrinkling more and more tightly as he looked very distressed.

"I’m afraid that only the audience will know this," Lara smiled bitterly. "After all, we can't check these cameras."

"Unfortunately, we can't get help from the audience outside the stadium," Francis said.　

"Actually, it shouldn’t be impossible," Qi Leren suddenly said.

"Do you have a communicator?" Janet looked at Qi Leren with suspicious eyes.

"No. Like you, I have no other tools except a knife. The fixed cameras are installed inside and outside the church. The audience watching the screen clearly knows who brought Xue Jiahui here while she was knocked out. As long as they tell us the name of the person, everything will be understood," Qi Leren said slowly, looking at the speaker.

Lara's eyes brightened. "You mean..."

Qi Leren smiled and nodded.

Although this speaker would only broadcast the names of the Best, even if it was just a name, it would play a great role in cracking the current puzzle.

"Qianbei is too powerful!" Du Yue actually clapped his hands on the spot, and his admiration was beyond words. Dr. Lu on the side covered his face with one hand and his mouth with the other. It was a shame that this fanboy gave exaggerated praise regardless of the occasion!

"This is also an idea, but will the audience cooperate?" Francis asked.

"Let’s try it. Will you ask them?" Qi Leren invited Lara.

Lara nodded and took a deep breath before solemnly saying, "Hello, audience and friends, welcome to our program. Today is the third day of the program, and many unexpected accidents have happened, especially the accident to Xue Jiahui. We can't figure out who knocked her out and brought her to the back room in this church, and we don't know what the motive is. We hereby implore the audience who have watched this program to vote for the man who committed the crime when they vote for today’s Best of the Day. This is very important to us, please help us. Thank you!"

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[whentommymetalfie]

Breathe Again -Chapter 26

-By your side-

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//six//seven//eight//nine//ten//eleven/twelve/thirteen/fourteen/fifteen//sixteen//seventeen//eighteen//nineteen//twenty//21//22// 23 //24//25//

Chapter Summary: Alfie gets Tommy home.  

Wordcount: 4,7 K

Warnings: suicidal ideation, hypothermia, discussions of attempted suicide, hallucinations, mental health issues, 

Tommy doesn’t wake up. All the way home he hangs limply in Alfie’s arms, cold, much lighter than he should be, even in his large wool coat. The wind tears at him as if it wants to rip him from Alfie’s grip and he can barely feel the tiny puffs of warm breaths against his neck. But he focuses on that, only that. Tommy is alive and that’s all that matters. One step after the other towards the house, where warm light is flickering in a few of the windows now. Esther must’ve come back, she’ll know what to do. He can’t bring himself to think of that, what he’ll do what he’ll say when he gets back, all he knows is that he has to get Tommy home, to safety, to a warm bed-

He’s left the glass doors open and Esther meets him in the living room when he stumbles over the threshold. Hair sticking out of her long, grey braid and with distress etched into her face she’s not the usual picture of calm, but she still installs a sense of safety. He’s never been so fucking happy to see her. She breathes something out as she runs across the room to meet him, hands reaching for Tommy. Oh god, perhaps.

Yeah, they could use having God on their side tonight.

“Found’im in the water. He’s alive,” Alfie breathes out and fuck is that his voice? “Fuckin’ barely- and he’s so cold.” Like a scared child, he sounds, but Esther just nods, reaching and cupping Tommy’s face between her hands, mouth pulled back in a pained grimace. But it only flashes by, then determination settles across her features.

“We need to get him out of those wet clothes and into bed.”

She pulls him forward because he just stands rooted on the spot. Alfie readjusts his hold on Tommy and follows towards the bedroom-

never letting him go again, can’t let him go, if he lets him go Tommy’s heart will stop beating, those trembling little breaths will stop-

Esther flicks a switch and the room floods with light. Alfie blinks, dazed.

“Mister Solomons, you need to put him down.” She looks sternly at him over her shoulder as she lays out the towels that have materialised in her arms and yeah, he knows, fucking knows, but it feels like his arms are frozen around Tommy’s frail body. Needs to feel his breath against his neck, feel that he’s alive, he is okay, Alfie got to him in time, he is alive- suddenly the icy fear grips tighter around his heart and he pulls Tommy closer to his chest, fingers on his pulse again, feels that it’s still hammering like the pecks of a tiny bird underneath his icy skin.

He’s okay, Alfie got him home, everything will be okay

“Mister Solomons-“

But it’s so weak, as if his veins have frozen and his poor heart is struggling to pump the blood through them.  

“Sir!” Esther’s raised voice and a grip around his arm wakes him. She fixes him with a stern gaze as she very slowly says, “Put him down and let me get him out of these wet clothes, or he’s going to die.”

And he nods, carefully placing Tommy down on top of the towels. The panic grips him tightly the second he lets him go, and he takes a step back to keep himself from pulling him back in his arms.

Seeing him in the light is worse, much worse. There’s so much goddamn blood, clumping in his hair, running in stripes down the side of his face. And his right foot is an alarming shade of blue, swollen around the ankle with dark blotches blooming all the way up his chin. The light makes fucking everything worse. Tommy looks so small and so fucking cold-

“I don’t know where his blanket is,” Alfie says.  

It feels like the most important thing in the world suddenly. Tommy needs that blanket, he needs it and Alfie can’t remember where it is, he left it down on the beach, couldn’t even get that right-

Esther ushers him gently towards the door.

“We’ll look for that later.”

“But he needs it.”

“Yes, but he’ll do fine with another one for now. Go to the kitchen and put the kettle and the oven on. Put the lids to the cast iron pans in there. And then get yourself out of your wet clothes before you catch your death.”

Alfie forces his mind to just repeat the tasks over and over on his way to the kitchen, to keep all other thoughts away. Fills the kettle with water and realizes his hands are shaking. Puts more wood into the oven along with all the iron lids he can find in the kitchen. They feel heavier than Tommy as he holds them

When he returns to the bedroom, Esther has already gotten Tommy out of the wet shirt and tucked in under all the blankets the house has to offer. He rips off his own wet clothes and leaves them in a pile, wrestles himself into dry ones, blows hot air onto his frozen fingers, rubs his hands over his face trying to fucking focus but the edges are still so blurry. Thank fuck Esther takes charge, as if she’s the former captain and not him.

“We have to call a doctor,” she says and it’s a statement with no room to argue and still Alfie wants to, doesn’t want anyone close to Tommy, it’s not safe, Tommy is afraid of doctors now, he’ll -

Esther senses his hesitation before he can voice it and says, “He could have water in his lungs-”

“Then he’ll be fucking dead before the doctor-”

“-And even if he doesn’t, that foot doesn’t look good. Neither does this,” she says as she wraps a bandage around Tommy’s head. “I’m calling doctor Adelman and telling him to come here as soon as he can. Light a fire and then sit with him while I fetch the hot water bottle.”

Somehow he manages to get a fire going even without feeling his hands. Then he slumps down on a chair, pulled close to the bed. Reaches out to put a hand on the side of Tommy’s neck. Counts the slow beats, one after the other, anticipating the next with his own heart lodged in his throat.

Esther returns with three cast iron pans wrapped in cloth and the bottle tucked between her shoulder and head.

“No, no, it’s fine, Sir,” she says when he makes a half hearted attempt to stand. She tucks the lids in at Tommy’s feet and the bottle at chest, under the mountain of blankets. “The doctor is visiting a patient in Portsmouth. But I told his wife it was urgent and was promised he’d be here as soon as he could. This afternoon at the latest.”

“Right.”

“Until then we’ll have to get him warm.” Esther hangs more blankets before the roaring fire. Since when does he own so many fucking blankets? “One thing at a time.” She comes to stand next to Alfie, leans over to tuck the blankets closer around Tommy.

“He’ll pull through,” she says and nods to herself. “He’s as stubborn as you. He’ll be okay.”  

Alfie nods. Because he wants to believe her.  

…

The following hours are a blur of repetitions activity: replacing the hot water bottle, hanging blankets in front of the fire and tucking Tommy in with new, warm ones, over and over. Esther is in and out of the room with newly warmed cast iron lids wrapped in towels. At some point Alfie asks lamely if he shouldn’t- No, she says. You stay with him.

It doesn’t feel like he could’ve gotten up from the chair even if he tried.

Tommy remains motionless in bed, ghostly pale, his breathing quick and shallow and his pulse slow underneath Alfie’s fingers whenever he takes it.

At some point Esther tells him to go sleep in the guest bedroom but that’s where he draws the line, no matter how she argues.

If Tommy is going to die, he’s not going to do it while Alfie is asleep in the next fucking room.

…

Sometime during the night’s darkest hours -always darkest before the dawn, innit?- they’re both sitting there next to the bed, him and Esther, watching the slight rise and fall of Tommy’s chest. The blankets have all been changed, the hot water bottle is refilled and suddenly there’s nothing to do but wait.

Tommy hasn’t shown any signs of waking up and the only sounds in the room are the crackle from the fire and their breaths.  

“I found him in the water,” Alfie says when he can’t stand the sound of his own thoughts anymore. Perhaps he told her?  “Don’t know if he… if he wandered out there because he was confused and didn’t know- or if he-“

He rests his head in his hands and grips at his hair until it stings. Tries to wipe away the image of Tommy lying there in the water-

“There’s no use speculating,” Esther says softly. “We’ll know more when he wakes up.”

-Holding him in his arms and feeling nothing. Like holding a corpse.

“And then what?”

And then fucking what?

The guilt threatens to suffocate him. If Esther knew what he did, what he said- He’s done many awful things and somehow none of them seem to measure up. Fuck. He should’ve known from the second Tommy showed up at his doorstep that this would end in fucking tragedy.

“And then, Sir,” Esther says and pulls him out of his own head. “I’m going to make him tea. And you’re going to read him a story. And everything will be okay. Eventually.”

He nods again.

Because he wants to believe her.

…

Suddenly it goes from bad to worse.

Sometime after Esther’s changed the blankets again, Tommy starts making noises, hurt, panicked sounds in the back of his throat, struggling against the mountain of blankets. The swell of relief in Alfie’s chest at those first sounds dies down just as quickly when he leans over and attempts to soothe him and he’s met with nothing but more of those noises.

“Shh, Tommy, shh, ‘s alright,” he mutters and cradles his cheek. “You’re safe, it’s fine-“

Tommy whimpers and writhes under the blankets, trying to push them off, eyes still screwed shut. Alfie thwarts his weak efforts.

“No, silly boy, you’ve got to keep these on, see? ‘s for your own good.”

“What’s wrong?” Esther asks from the doorway, hurrying up and dropping the hot water bottle on the bed as she takes in Tommy’s evident distress.

“He just started fussing. Seems like he’s uncomfortable,” Alfie says and pulls the blanket up again where Tommy’s managed to rip it off. Esther puts a hand on his forehead

“He doesn’t have a fever, so it might be a good sign,” she says. “Means his temperature is getting back up. We’ll just have to stick it out.”

“Yeah? Getting really bloody sick of that. Not being able to fucking do anything.”

Esther ignores him and puts the hot water bottle back under the blankets, resulting in more wordless protests from Tommy. Alfie steels himself and holds him down.

….

Thank God Tommy stops making those pained little noises rather soon after that. He reverts back to being completely dead to the world, motionless and silent underneath the blankets that only moments ago he was so adamant to get rid of. Alfie slumps down on the chair. Rubs his hands over his face and takes his first breath in what feels like hours.

But when only minutes later, Alfie has to check that he’s still breathing, he begins to miss those noises.

…

The night passes at an ever slowing crawl. Once those first hours of frantic activity passed, with Tommy’s breathing finally becoming deeper, his heartbeat less of a weak flutter, Alfie feels the weight of exhaustion settle on his shoulders, along with a persistent ache in his joints. But he still can’t sleep. Not until Tommy wakes up.

Esther is out in the kitchen boiling more water and heating the cast iron again while he is sat next to the bed. The morning light is washing the room in grey tones.

And that’s when Tommy stirs again. Only a tiny little shift but it resonates like a shockwave through Alfie’s body and he pitches forward off the chair, sending it toppling over.

“Tommy?”

Long, long lashes flutter over the blue spidery web of blood vessels under his eyes and Tommy looks up at him, no, through him, eyes glazed and distant. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages any words. And his voice sounds fucking awful when he does, raspy and broken,

“Dad?”

Alfie barks out a laugh and it sounds fucking crazed even to his own ears.

“Nah, nah, mate. And fuck, I’m only a few years your senior I bet, even if you’ve fared a lot better in the face department. But I’ll forgive you because I am nothing if not a benevolent God, am I?-”

He cuts his relieved stream of words short because Tommy looks so heartbreakingly confused and tired, furrowing his brow. Alfie runs his fingers through his hair above the bandages, cups his face and it’s finally not ice cold anymore.  

“It’s just me. Just Alfie,” he says. “You’re home now. You’re safe.”

Tommy blinks slowly, eyes drifting across the room as his breathing grows quicker. Alfie holds the hand firmer to his face.

“Home?” he rasps out and Alfie nods.  

“Yeah. Home.”

Tommy shakes his head at that and lets out a quiet whine, moving as if to sit without any success. Alfie keeps him down.

“Shh, shh, nothing to be afraid of,” he coos. “Look, look here’s your chestnut, the one you’ve been carrying around, remember?” he presses it into Tommy’s hand and closes his bony fingers around it, enclosing Tommy’s hand in both his own. “You’re home, and you’re safe. That’s all you need to know for now.”

Finally, Tommy relaxes back against the pillows with a defeated little sigh, and soon his eyes slip closed again. Alfie strokes his hair with one hand, holding onto his hand with the other. Then Tommy’s hand goes limp in his when he falls back asleep.

It becomes difficult to stay awake after that. The relief of having Tommy wake up mixed with the new worry of his confused state makes the exhaustion settle over him like a blanket made out of sand.

“You’ll be more helpful to him if you sleep, Sir” Esther says when his head snaps up from yet another involuntary nap. “He’ll probably sleep for quite a while. I can wake you up in a few hours.”

“One hour,” Alfie grunts as he heaves himself out of the chair.

“One and a half.”

“You drive a hard bargain Miss.”

“One of the reasons you hired me, Sir.”

Alfie goes to sleep in the guest room. If he’s going to succeed in sleeping at all he can’t be there in the room listening to every little sound Tommy makes, waiting for him to wake up again. Waiting for a sign that he’s still there and that he hasn’t broken him beyond repair this time.

Somehow, he falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

As promised, Esther wakes him up no later than one and a half hour later. He’s wide awake the second the door creaks open.

“Tommy is still asleep,” she tells him before he can even open his mouth. “He’s exhausted, poor thing. But he’s warmer now, at least. I think he might be out of the woods for now.”  

“He was all confused when he woke up.” Alfie sits up and rubs the bridge of his nose. His body aches. “Didn’t even recognise me.”

“It’s to be expected, both from the cold and what he’s been through. But I suppose… well, we won’t know what state he’s in until he wakes up and can stay awake for a bit longer.”

“And what if that state is that the cold fucked what’s left of his head, eh?”

“Go sit with him,” Esther says.

And Alfie does.

…

It’s mid day when Tommy wakes up again.

Esther has dragged one of the armchairs into the room, firmly ignoring Alfie’s protests, (You’ll do him no good if your back in such a bad state you can’t even walk, Sir) and that’s where he’s sat now, today’s paper splayed in his lap and with a cold cup of tea is tilting in his grasp. He’s staring at one of the pages trying to somehow make words out of the jumbled mess when the mountain of blankets starts moving and a pair of blue eyes bat open.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” he says and attempts to smile. “Finally decided to join us in the land of the living again, have you?”

Tommy quietly takes in the room and eventually fastens his gaze on him.

“You’re in Margate,” Alfie reminds him. “You- well, you went on a bit of an adventure last night but everything’s going to be just fine, yeah? Don’t you worry.”

Tommy nods slowly at that, and his gaze seems clearer now. He drags the armchair closer to the bed and hunches over, elbows resting on his knees.  

“How much do you remember?”

That just earns him a slow blink.

“Do you remember-“ Where to even fucking start? “Well, we had a bit of an altercation one might call it, for lack of better words. Last night.” He rubs a hand across his mouth. “I upset you. Said and did some things I wish I could take back and- well, you disappeared. Climbed or fell out the bedroom window. Suppose that’s how you hurt your foot.”

Tommy nods again and furrows his brow. Alfie lets him have a moment to process. Silently prays he doesn’t remember the kiss. Asking God for a lot of favours today, isn’t he?

“I found you in the water,” he finally says when the silence has stretched on for longer than he can stand. “Thought you were dead at first. Gave me a right scare, you did. But by some fucking miracle you weren’t. And I took you back here. That’s… that’s pretty much it.”

It’s not fucking ‘it’ though, is it? But what the hell is he supposed to say? Tell him in detail how it fucking felt to find him lifeless in the water? How he screamed and shook him and begged for a fucking miracle and how it felt as if his ribcage was caving in when he thought he’d lost him?

“Yeah,” he says instead. “That’s… that’s pretty much it. ‘s far as I know.”

Tommy rubs circles over the chestnut still firmly clasped in his hand. Alfie looks at his hand, at the web of blue veins and the scratches over his knuckles. Tommy pulls the sleeves down over both of them. Shrinks before his eyes until he’s so small he might disappear entirely.

“They were so loud,” he whispers. Quiet, so quiet, as if the sand and the salt water has chafed at his vocal cords. “I just wanted them to stop.”

Alfie wants to reach out, take him into his arms, but the night’s events wrap around them like a vice and keeps them down.

Tommy fidgets with the sleeves, stares at them and swallows around the sand in his throat.

“Grace was there. In the water. I didn’t want to be alone.”

“So you went to her?”

Tommy nods and looks up at him, this time. And he’s there. Still there, behind the icy blue surface.  

“But Grace is dead,” he says.  

“Yeah.”

“I tried to get back to the shore. But it was so cold. The water.”

Alfie reaches out and brushes his thumb over his cheekbone.

“You did good,” he says. And then: “And I never fucking called your family. Turns out I’m a selfish fucking bastard and I can’t let you go. I’d be a fucking fool.” And it’s not until he says it out loud that it suddenly dawns on him that maybe Tommy doesn’t want to stay. After last night. “But if you want to leave I get it- I can still call someone.”

“No.” Tommy untangles a hand from the blankets and closes the icy fingers around his wrist as he frantically shakes his head. “Please.”

Alfie cradles his face underneath his palm, holds it steady.

“Shh, ‘s fine. Up to you, innit?” he whispers and leans in a bit, letting Tommy hold on. “Just thought that after everything you might… yeah, that you might feel safer with them ‘s all.”

Even if they don’t deserve you.

Tommy lets him go, pulls away, and curls up tightly under the blankets. For once, Alfie has the sense to stay fucking quiet and his hands fall uselessly into his lap as he holds his breath and waits, waits-

“They were having me committed.”

He straightens up in his seat and furrows his brow, confused by this turn of the conversation.

“What?”

“I heard them -“ Tommy rasps, breaths coming quicker as he fidgets with the blankets, and then the words just start pouring out, “Heard them come and I know… shouldn’t wander around but- I just had to know if they were real. I’m too much trouble, it’d be better if I wasn’t here. They’re tired of me. People like me belong in- in places like that.”

Something that should’ve clicked long ago in his head finally does. And he’s a fucking idiot for not realizing sooner, not even considering- But how could he have guessed that his own family, that his own flesh and blood would- fucking hell-

“They were sending you to a fucking asylum?”

The deafening silence is enough of an answer and he gets off the bed, has to move. Paces across the floor as he clenches his hands into fists over and over, rage quickly building into a storm.

“And that’s why you left?” he growls. “God this is fucking- Just fucking like them. Locking you up and forgetting about you the second, the bloody second you’re not useful anymore. Who suggested it, hm? That brother of yours? Fuck he’s the one to fucking talk-“ his voice has risen involuntarily and he’s far louder than he should be. Searching for something to throw, grab, crush beneath his fingers- The anger makes his skin crawl, makes his fucking brain feel like it’s swelling out of his skull and he huffs out a harsh breath as he kicks the bedside table.

“Are you going to?”

He stops mid step, finding that Tommy is watching him with tired eyes.  

“Going to do what? Have you locked up in a bloody asylum?” Alfie hisses. “Why the hell would I do something like that?”

“Because my head is broken. I’m broken.”

As if it was obvious. As if it’s clear that Alfie must’ve thought it. But those are his words, aren’t they? Things he said just last night, words he put into Tommy’s mouth.

He sinks down onto the mattress, grabs Tommy’s face between his hands and holds it tightly.

“I’d never do that. You hear me? I’m never letting you end up someplace like that. Do you fucking hear me, yeah? I need you, right, I need you to tell me that you fucking understand.”

Tommy tries to nod but he’s holding on too tightly. He takes a deep breath and forces his hands to soften slightly, leaning down until his forehead rests against Tommy’s.

“And you are getting better,” he whispers. “You got yourself back to dry land, didn’t you? Yeah, you did so good. So fucking good.”

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shaky breath, holds it in, and when he exhales it comes out in a trembling sob.

It’s followed by another, and another, and he hides his face beneath his hands as pulls himself away from Alfie and curls into a ball underneath the blankets. The tension that’s been building for God knows how long snaps like a violin string. The quiet sobs grow into howls. Tommy cries so hard his entire body wracks with it, curling inwards on himself as they tear through his fragile frame.

Alfie has never seen him cry like this.

Sometimes he’ll cry when he’s having a nightmare, quiet little sobs and whimpers. Or have tears running down his face when he bolts upright in bed screaming in terror. But never like this, never with this kind of bone deep desperation and never when he’s awake. Never in front of Alfie.

At first it leaves him paralyzed, terrified of touching him, of doing anything to make it worse and it feels like Tommy will shatter completely beneath his hands if he touches him the wrong way. But then he lays down and wraps him in a tight hug and Tommy doesn’t break into little pieces; he buries his face in his chest, wetting his shirt with his tears. He can barely catch his breath in between the sobs, choking on them. Alfie suppresses the urge to tell him to stop, calm down, because this, this is too fucking painful and fuck it does feel like he’s falling apart there in his arms.

But he accepts that all he can do right now is hold him.

Tommy cries and cries, deep and heart wrenching.

And Alfie holds him.

It seems to go on forever. Like a dam that has broken and let loose a flood.

Esther opens the door at some point, giving them a worried look before closing it again. The next time she returns she’s carrying a bowl of water and a rag that she places on the nightstand before leaving as quickly and quietly as she came. Alfie reminds himself to give her a raise.

Finally Tommy has cried himself to exhaustion. Sobs turn to quiet whimpers. Alfie reaches for the cloth and carefully cleans his face, dabbing gently at pale skin and the long, wet lashes. Tommy sniffles. And Alfie doesn’t say anything. Instead he just lays the rag in the bowl and wraps the arm around Tommy’s back again.

They lie in silence for a long time.

The wind outside has stopped tearing at the house, leaving the gentle crackle of the fire as the only sound. Save for that of Tommy’s shaky breaths.

When those breaths have finally evened out and the tension has melted from Tommy’s body, Alfie says, “I’m not letting anyone take you away. Whose head isn’t a little broken these days, eh? Always thought it was overrated, this fuckin’ sanity thing.”

Tommy curls further into his embrace and peers up at him through wet lashes.

“You kissed me,” he whispers. “Last night.”

Alfie clear his throat and wills the heat down from his face.

“Yeah, yeah, was drunk and… fuckin’ stupid. I shouldn’t have.”

“I kissed you back.”

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have kissed you. Didn’t mean I didn’t want to, but you’re not… you’re not ready for something like that.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Tommy says with unexpected clarity and shoots him a look akin to a glare. He fidgets with the buttons on Alfie’s shirt and adds softly, “I still want things. That… feel nice.”

Alfie leans his forehead against his. Thumbs stroking along his sharp cheekbones, tracing the pale freckles.

“And you’re still allowed to have things. That feel nice.”

“Show me, then,” Tommy whispers and there, there it fucking is. The hint of a challenge in his voice.

Alfie kisses him.

Maybe it’s not the right thing to do but it fuckin’ feels like it. And who’s to say what’s right in this foul world? If things were right, Tommy wouldn’t be here with a gruesome scar from bullet and a head full of ghosts.

He keeps the kiss soft, doesn’t ask for too much, even when Tommy opens his mouth for him and is pliant and willing in his arms and even if the urge is there to roll him onto his back, press him into the mattress and have his way with him right then and there, because fuck Alfie is a mere mortal man, and a bad one at that. But they have time. For now this is enough; Tommy’s lips, soft and warm and open against his, feeling him relax and melt against him, giving himself to Alfie. It’s enough. It’s fucking everything.

[sodoyouknowbts]

Jungkook x Reader - Game On! (Eleven)

Summary: Jungkook was the boy you had always had a crush on but after an event that leaves you heartbroken and humiliated, you cut him from your life. However, years later your paths cross again and now an adult, you swear to not let him get the better of you.

Genre: Romance, drama,

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Author: Moxie

Chapter 11

Your mum hadn't messed around when it came to the renovation. Glancing around, you finally understood why it had taken as long as it did to be completed. Your eyes moved around the new lounge room, which she had widened by taking up a portion of the backyard. The walls, which had previously separated the lounge room, dining area and kitchen had all been knocked down, leaving the area feeling vast and open. It didn’t just stop there though. The entire house, as you had noted the minute you walked through the front door, had been re-done. The walls were re-painted, the carpets were ripped up and replaced with shiny new floorboards - the shade of warm oak - and the kitchen had also been upgraded; the sparkling new double bowl sink and electric stove top replacing what was previously there. 

When asked, your mother had merely shrugged her shoulders and said that "It was long overdue".

Thankfully, your room remained much the same, with the only difference being that you now had a fresh coat of paint on your walls, white instead of the previous yellow-cream colour. You had never paid much mind to the old colour, so this change didn’t bother you whatsoever. Everything else though, was just as you had left it, much to your relief. Although it did cross your mind for a second as to what the workers had thought of a woman having that many stuffed toys in their room. Then again, there was no way they would know how old you were so the embarrassment was short lived. 

You settled into your room and unpacked your bags. After your phone call with your mother things had moved along quickly. The next day you had packed your things and moved out of Jungkook's house. As you gathered the last of your things and glanced around at the empty bedroom, you felt a twinge of sorrow. Without your things scattered around it was as if you had never been there at all. Any trace of you had gone with your things. You found yourself wanting to leave behind a memento; proof that your time with Jungkook had happened and that you had been there. 

The thought had surprised you as much as it had scared you. The past few weeks with Jungkook had been a roller coaster. He was a tyrant and a brat, always rolling his eyes at you and telling you off for not cleaning up after yourself. But he wasn’t always cold. When he wasn’t determined to keep you away, he was kind and gentle. He made you laugh. Before you knew it, you had been looking forward to the nights he was home and you ate dinner together. Unconsciously, you had even started to watch your shows outside in the lounge room, just so you could be near him. 

When you had told Jungkook about the house being finished, he had been his usual self, still in whatever mood he was in but he had been gentlemanly enough to offer to drop you home. He even offered to carry your suitcase to the car but you had politely declined. The car ride had been relatively quiet, with you striking up a conversation every now and then again about the weather or the flow of traffic. His reaction wasn't what you had expected at all. You had thought that surely he would be relieved and even happy that you were moving out but instead he seemed quite pensive and dare you say it, moodier than usual. His responses were short and clipped and so you hadn't pushed him much after that. You didn't bother to hide your disappointment when he dropped you off with merely a polite goodbye and a promise to see each other at work. Clearly, whatever had gotten him into that mood had not been resolved. 

Looking around your room you were glad to be home. You had missed the familiarity of your house and everything in it. You also missed having access to your entire wardrobe. It was tough living out of a suitcase and you were just beginning to grow tired of wearing the same four outfits to work. Slipping into your pyjamas, you crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to your chin.

As you stared up at your ceiling, the same one you had been staring at for the last ten years, you wondered what Jungkook was doing at that moment. 

Probably throwing a celebration party.

--

Jungkook entered in his pass code and at the sound of the beep and the lock sliding open, he pushed open the door to his apartment. He kicked off his gym sneakers and made his way through the apartment. He had purposely left the blinds open and the entire apartment was bathed in moonlight, streaming through from the wide floor-to-ceiling windows that took up an entire wall of his living room.

As he made his way down the hallway towards the kitchen, the down lights flickered to life, one by one. It was a handy system that he had paid a mint to install. It saved him the effort of having to turn on and off lights himself. He dumped his gym bag onto the kitchen counter top before proceeding to the fridge. It was completely silent except for the sound of his feet tapping lightly against the floorboards.

He stopped before the fridge and glanced at the note that you had written the day you had left. It was still there, even though it had been two days. For some reason Jungkook couldn't bring himself to throw it away.

You had written a simple message, complete with a smile face and a peace sign. Thank you for letting me stay Don't forget to relax and have fun every now and again!! And no, the gym doesn't count.

He smiled softly to himself as he read the last line again. You were such a dork sometimes.

Pulling open the fridge, Jungkook grabbed a water bottle and kicked it closed with his foot. As he unscrewed the cap, he slowly walked over to the couch in the living room and sat down, propping his feet up onto the ottoman. Bringing the water bottle to his lips, he took a sip and stared outside at the kaleidoscope of lights from the buildings and street lights, illuminating the night sky.The view of the city was one of the main reasons that he had purchased the apartment.

It was peaceful and except for the sound of a car horn every now and again, relatively quiet. It was just how he liked it. Silent. Except for some reason, the peace and quiet that he once found comforting ,now felt suffocating. He missed the sound of the television being on and the sound of whatever movie or show you were watching filling up the apartment.

Leaning his head back, so that it rested on the edge of the couch, Jungkook closed his eyes and let our an exasperated sigh. What the hell am I thinking?

--

Three and a half years ago

Jungkook's foot caught onto something and he stumbled as he walked through his front door. He glanced down and found a pair of heels thrown haphazardly in front of the door, right in front of his path. He sighed in defeat and shook his head, a fond smile on his lips, as he bent down and straightened them, lining them up by the wall along with the other shoes and slippers. It was a terrible habit that no matter how times she tried, she just couldn't seem to shake.

With his path free, Jungkook slipped off his own shoes. As he entered the house, he slipped off his navy blue blazer and his grey tie. Draping them over a kitchen stool he glanced around the house. Faintly, he heard the sound of music filtering through the walls, coming from the workshop. A love song. His smile grew as he quietly followed the soft melody, the music growing louder as he got closer.

As he opened the door and glanced around the "workshop" or more accurately the room where she worked and painted, he took in all the vast colours and pictures, spread across multiple canvases, each one a different size from the other. His eyes stopped in the middle of the room where she sat, just as she usually did. Her back was turned to him and she was sitting in front of an easel, her clothes covered by an apron that was once white but was now decorated in various splatters of paint. He watched as she tilted her head, staring at the canvas, the way she did when she was trying to envision something and then she dipped her brush into her paint.

Jungkook loved to watch her paint. It was the first thing about her that he had fallen in love with and the first thing that had captured his eye.

"How long are you going to stare at me for?"

Her voice carried over the music and Jungkook smiled unabashedly at having been caught staring. He pushed himself away from the door-frame and walked towards her. His steps lazy. "How long have you known I was there?". He asked.

"You know you can never sneak up on me" she smiled, dipping her paintbrush into another colour. "Even when we were little, you never could".

Jungkook wrapped his arms around her shoulders, feeling her soft and silky skin. He crouched down and placed a kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. Apples. He loved the smell of apples. "It always used to annoy me how you always saw me coming. I could never scare you".

At Jungkook’s touch, she stopped painting and placed the paintbrush down. She turned in her seat and lifted her head up to face him. "Your back early. How was work?".

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, feeling her smile grow. "Work was work. Mother is a tyrant as always. But I've been given the green light. The board is going to step down and starting tomorrow I’m going manager the company all on my own".

"That's great news, congratulations! God knows you deserve it, you’ve worked so hard to get this company to where it is now". She clapped her hands together in excitement and stood up. “There’s no way they could have done it without you”.

Jungkook's hands slid down from her shoulders and made their way to her waist. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer towards him. "This also means I'll have to start staying back and work longer hours. I hope you don't mind?".

She chuckled softly and rose to the tops of her toes, brushing her lips against his in a teasing kiss. "I don't mind as long as my fiance comes home to me each night".

"I'll always come home to you". His brought his lips back down to hers and deepened the kiss.

--

Jungkook jerked awake suddenly. He sat up slowly and glanced around, trying to get a hold of his bearings. He was in the lounge room, still in his gym clothes, the bottle of water forgotten by his side where it must have fallen from his grasp when he dozed off. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows onto his knees and exhaled deeply. He dropped his head forward into his hands and swore under his breath.

Mina.

He hadn't thought of Mina in a while. The dream had seemed so vivid and had felt so real that it was almost as if he had gone back in time. Shit. The last thing he wanted to do was to start having flashbacks of the past. Clearly, being around you was having an affect on him.

Fuck.

He had to stay away.

--

You stood in line at the coffee shop across from work and waited until it was your time to order. While you waited, you glanced hungrily at the selection of cakes and muffins in the display case. They looked delicious and it was incredibly tempting but you remained strong. You and your work friend were on a sugar cleanse for the week. his latest diet craze and so far, you were hanging in there. Even if it was only by a thread.

You let out a sleepy yawn and quickly bring you hand up to cover your mouth. Last night had been tough. Your neighbours had recently gotten a dog and it had spent the entire night fighting with the other neighbour's dog. All night, you had been kept awake by the sounds of loud barking. By the time you had managed to drift off you guessed that it would've been close to two AM. As a result, you had been struggling to stay awake all morning and your eyes refused to stay open. Your eyelids felt as though they weighed a tonne and it seemed as though you had spend more effort trying to stay awake than actually doing any work.

You give in to their heavy weight and close your eyes just for a second, resting them. It must have been more than a second because the next minute someone was clearing their throat.

"The line is moving".

Your eyes jerk open at the sound of the voice and sure enough when you look ahead of you, the line has progressed and there's now a large gap between you and the person before you. You quickly step forward. You turn around to thank the person behind you and find that it is Manager Won. He flashes you a grin and you smile back politely, praying that he doesn't try to strike up a conversation with you.

You still haven't managed to shake off your apprehension towards him and after what happened last time in the meeting room, you made it a point to avoid him and not initiate any conversation. Of course, you were still polite and responded whenever he spoke to you, however you made sure to keep the conversations as brief as possible and strictly about business.

His smile grow and his eyes scan your appearance, noting the bags underneath your eyes. "Late night?". You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your bare legs, giving you the creeps.

With an expression of perfect politeness, you nod your head in affirmation. "Yeah, I didn't get much sleep last night, unfortunately". You purposely make your response close ended. Short and sweet. If you were lucky then the conversation will naturally die with your response.

Unfortunately for you, it appears that Manager Won is in a talkative mood today. He nods his head sympathetically. "You poor thing. You look exhausted" he coos. To accompany his words, he lifts his right hand up to your neck and curls it around the back of your neck. The moment his hand wraps around your neck and you feel the tips of his fingers slip underneath the collar of your blouse, every alarm bell in your head goes off. Your entire body tenses up at the intrusion and every cell in your body stands up in alert. Okay, this isn't good. You fight the wave of revulsion and barely manage to keep it from showing on your face.

You're a better actress than you think because Manager Won appears to be completely unaware of your response. He proceeds to moves his fingers into circular motions, massaging the back of your neck as if it is the most natural thing to do between a manager and their staff.

"You're so tense" He comments. "I can feel all your knots". His voice is sickly sweet to your ears and it makes your stomach churn.

His touch feels cold and slimy on your skin and you immediately shift away to the side. The movement is slight but it works in removing his hand. At the same time, the line moves and you're finally second in line to be served. You take this opportunity to step away from him and place some distance between the two of you.

Everything in you is screaming at you to get away but your need for caffeine is greater and you know that there's no way you were going to survive the rest of the day without a coffee. Add to that, the stubborn side of you refused to leave, especially since you’ve waited in line until now.

You decide to change the subject and steer it towards something safe, not liking the current vibe. "The weather is nice today" you comment, nodding towards the open windows of the cafe. The weather had cooled down noticeably, a much welcomed reprieve from the heat that had lingered around for the past week. It was still relatively warm but you no longer had to worry about your shirt sticking to your back or sitting on the edge of the chair so that your thighs don't stick and leave behind a dreaded sweat patch. It baffled you how Jungkook managed to survive in his suits. Sure the office was nice and cool, thanks to the air conditioning but outside was a different matter. The man is a freak.

Your attempts at changing the subject and getting things back to a professional level fall on deaf ears. Manager Won takes your comment as a cue to stare at your skirt. It's a modest, knee length pencil skirt but the way his eyes were looking at you so intently, you might as well have been wearing a mini skirt. You discretely move your bag so that it falls in front of you. It didn't work to cover your legs but it made you feel better having a barrier between the two of you.

Manager Won makes an appreciative sound in the back of his throat. "Yes it has cooled down, but I'm glad it's still skirt weather. You always look so nice and pretty in skirts. It shows off your pretty legs".

You force a small smile at his remark, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. "Thank you" you reply back politely, even though the comment makes you want to cringe. You make a mental note to stop wearing skirts from tomorrow on wards. 

I don't care how hot it is. This is getting ridiculous and out of hand. You think to yourself.

Thankfully, you're saved from further unease when the person in front of you places their order and leaves with a muffin. You send a quick "see you back at the office" to Manager Won and turn away before he can respond, half-running to the counter, anxious to get away from him.

--

By the time you had made it back to your desk, your mind was made up. You were going to do something about Manager Won. The more you had thought about it on the walk back to the office, the more you realised that what he was doing was not acceptable. You had initially brushed off his attention, thinking that they were accidents and that they were harmless but as time passed, he still hadn't let up and it was becoming more and more apparent that he wasn’t planning to stop.

You waited until it was almost the end of the day before you walked up to the see the human resource officer, whose office just happened to be on the same level as Jungkook's. You had spent the rest of the afternoon combing through the company manual and reading the codes of conduct. Whilst it didn't provide a clear outline of what constitutes sexual harassment, you figured that someone making unwanted remarks counted.

As your rode the elevator, you went over again in your head what you were going to say. You weren't planning on filing a report, that much you were sure of. As much as Manager Won made you feel uncomfortable and gave you the creeps, he hadn't done anything to make you feel scared or worried. All in all, you just wanted his comments to stop. Unfortunately though, you weren't sure of what to say to him so you figured that the best thing to do is speak with the Human resource manager and get their ideas.

Once the elevator arrived, you walked out and headed directly towards their office. With each step your heart sped up and your nerves wavered. On your way there you glance towards Jungkook's office. His door is closed, to your disappointment, so you can't see him. However you do make eye contact with his secretary, so you give them a wave with they reciprocate with a friendly smile.

With sweaty palms, you approach the HR officer's room and even though the door is slightly ajar, you raise your fist and knock. Two swift raps of your knuckles. You have only met the HR officer once and that was on the day of your orientation when Manager Choi had shown you around the office. You had been introduced to an extremely tall woman who towered over you and if you had to guess, looked to be in her mid thirties. She had an ordinary face and her hair was cut into a stylish bob and dyed a striking shade of platinum blonde.

"Oh hello there!" She greets cheerfully, looking up from whatever she had been reading. "This is a pleasant surprise. Please come in. Take a seat". She gestures to one of the two chairs facing her table and you gratefully sit down. Once you're settled she folds her hands in front of her on the desk and smiles. "What brings you down to HR? Is everything alright?"

You had rehearsed your words on the entire way up here however now when it's the moment of truth you couldn't, for the life of you, remember what is was that you were going to say. Taking in a deep breath, you decide to dive straight in.

"Everything’s fine, I'm just curious about something" you start. Your voice cracks and you swallow, mustering up your courage. Your hands feel unbearably sweaty and you nervously wipe them on your skirt. "If...say for example, just hypothetically...um there's someone, a male, who sometimes says things that make me feel sort of...um uncomfortable, is there anything I can do about it?. Oh but I don't want to like report it or anything. I mean it's nothing serious" you quickly add sensing the mood in the room shift. 

“Well...” She says, leaning forward onto her forearms. Her voice is serious but it doesn't loose it’s friendly tone. “If that were the case, hypothetically, then this is the best place to go to. In this company we have a zero tolerance for prejudice or marginalisation of any kind and we believe that everyone should be treated equal and that no one should feel unsafe. This is after all, where you spend five days out of every week, eight hours a day”. Her expression makes it clear that she doesn’t believe that you’re asking purely out of curiously.

She senses your hesitation and continues talking. “If, by some unfortunate circumstance, someone feels that they are receiving unwanted attention, the first thing that would happen is that I would sit down with that person and explain to them how the other party is feeling. However if the behavior continues despite this, it will then be escalated and a meeting will be organised between myself, as the mediator and the parties involved. In the end though, it’s my priority to make sure everyone feels as though they are working in a safe environment”.

There’s something about the way she talks that makes you feel as though you can open up to her. Maybe it’s her eyes or her kind smile? Either way before you realise what you’re doing, your mouth is already forming the words. “It’s probably nothing but sometimes...I don’t know...sometimes Manager Won makes me feel...not very comfortable”. You try to string your thoughts into a coherent sentence. You hesitate after mentioning Manager Won’s name and glance up to try and gage her reaction but her face remains the same. Her smile never wavering.

“Go on, it’s okay. This is a safe zone. What you say in here doesn’t leave this room” She reassures you gently. “How does he make you feel uncomfortable?”

You glance down at your hands in your lap. “Um..it might not be anything but sometimes he’ll stand really close to me. Like whenever he’s talking to me or something and other times he’ll touch me. Like his hand will brush my leg and stuff. Or he’ll say something slightly inappropriate. I don’t know” You shrug your shoulders. “Maybe I’m being silly. I mean this could probably all be a misunderstanding but I just thought that if I said something...” You raise your eyes.

“You’re not being silly” she replies. “Of course I will do everything to help you. You did the right thing coming to see me”.

Already it feels as though a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You hadn’t realised just how much this was weighing on your mind until now. “Thank you so much for listening to me”. You push your chair back and stand up. Before you turn to leave you stop and turn back around to face her. “I don’t want Manager Won to get into trouble or anything. I mean I don’t want to make a report or anything, I would just like it to stop and I’m not sure how to go about it” You clarify. 

She nods her head in understanding. “Of course, I completely understand. Don’t worry, leave this with me”.

You smile in gratitude and turn to leave. 

--

The next day at work, you’re a bundle of nerves. You had felt relieved after your talk with the HR officer however on the ride home you had begun to worry. What if you had done the wrong thing? What if you had only managed to make the situation worse?. The entire day you’re on edge, jumping at the slightest noise and movement. Every time someone called out your name, you half expected it to be Manager Won. However by the end of the day and with zero incidents with Manager Won, you realise that it’s just your mind overreacting. 

--

The next day goes by much the time.

--

By Friday, your mood has lifted and for the first time since the talk, you feel like you can breathe again. You had run into Manger Won twice and both times he was polite. Not once did he do anything inappropriate and it seemed that the HR officer handled the situation, just as she said she would. 

 “What are you smiling about?” Your work friend asks you, seeing the way you were smiling at your computer screen. 

“Nothing” You shake your head and change the subject. “So, do you have any plans for the weekend?”

Your friend looks seemingly unconvinced at your change of subject but he lets you off. “Not much” He shrugs. “I’ve got a friend’s birthday party tomorrow, so we’re going out for dinner. Other than that, nothing. What about yourself?”

“I’ve got a hot date with Netflix and a tub of ice cream. I’m going to laze all day on my couch”. 

“Nice, sounds fun. I’m jealous”. Your friend jokes. He shuts down his computer and stands up, stretching his arms above his head. “You ready to go now?”

You glance around the office and note that except for the two of you and Manager Won, every one has already gone home for the day. It was about thirty minutes past six and since it’s Friday, most of the department had gone out for Friday drinks. You and your friend had decided to stay back. You, wanting to finish all your work and your friend, not feeling in the mood for drinking. 

“Yep, ready”. You shut down your computer and bend down to reach for your bag. “Let’s get out of here”

On your way out Manager Won pops his head out of his office and stops the both of you. “Oh great, you’re still here” He addresses you. “Would I be able to grab you for a quick second? I just want to go over something”.

For a split second, a sense of apprehension grips you but it quickly goes away. He probably wants to talk about the latest report. You calm yourself down. “Yeah, sure no problem” you reply and turn to your friend. “You should probably go on ahead. I’ll see you on Monday?”.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll see you on Monday. Bye” He waves goodbye to you and then to Manager Won. “Bye sir, see you on Monday”.

“See you on Monday”. Manager Won nods his head and bids your friend goodbye. Once your friend has left you turn around to Manager Won who has a hand on his door, holding it open for you.

“So, what did you need to talk to me about?” you ask, as you walk into his office and glance back.

You watch as he shuts the door to his office and for some reason, the sense of apprehension returns to you. Usually he kept the door to his office open, unless it was extremely noisy outside or if he was discussing important business. Your heart clenches and your pulse starts to race. Your eyes shift from him to the door. There’s no reason for him to close the door now, especially since there’s only the two of you in the office. Unless...

“Is everything alright, sir?”. The question comes out as little more than a whisper.

“No, I don’t believe everything is alright” he mutters coldly. The sound sends a chill down your spine. You had never heard him use this tone before and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. Slowly he turns around and faces you. The moment you see his face, your stomach drops. All the humour and friendliness in his face has disappeared, replaced instead by a harshness. He stares at you with an expression that is almost cruel and feral and fear settles over you. This isn’t the Manager Won that you know.

This is a man who scares you.

“You’ve been busy now haven’t you?” He sneers disdainfully.

To Be Continued.

[artoutforblood]

I love ur LL kids au it's so flipping adorable but.. how did they end up in space?? Wat or who brought them there?? I really want to know cause... wat if they come back for them?

“Y/N.”

Your name came over the intercoms in the front deck of the Lost Light. It was only you and Ultra Magnus at the helm. You pressed a button on the console and answered.

“Yeah, Rodimus?”

For a second there was only static and silence.

“We need you over here. Now.”

Two hours ago, the Lost Light intercepted a SOS signal froman asteroid belt. That of itself is not so strange, sometimes ships get trapped in them and sometimes their ships get too beat up to move. It’s not the first time the L.L. made a stop like this.

The Lost Light followed the signal and eventually came upon the shuttle. It was small, about the right size for an average organic, but also…

“Is that an escape shuttle?” Rodimus wondered.

It certainly looked too small to be anything else. Drift came to his side, peering out of the window, you on Rodimus’s other side. The shuttle didn’t look like a human spacecraft. The only clue to it’s origins were some hieroglyphs on it’s side, even if it didn’t look like a meteor scratched the hell out of it they didn’t look like anything from the human language toyou.

The whole thing was dinged up pretty good. The round windows were dark, but light weakly flickered inside once in a while.

“The powers out.” You said. “Maybe the meteors hit something.”

Ultra Magnus hummed from behind you. “It seems too convenient. It could be a trap.”

“Or, it could actually be people in danger, Magnus.” Rodimus replied, hands on his hips. “Isay Drift and I take a look. We’ll mass shift.”

Drift pulled away from the window. “It sounds like a plan.”

Something didn’t sit right in your stomach. Something moved by the window, but it was too fast and dark to tell what. “You won’t takeanyone else? Not a minicon?” You turned away, catching them by the door. “Or Icould go.”

Drift shook his head. “If there is something dangerous in there, we’d feel better if you’re here.”

“Besides, there might not even be oxygen in there!” Rodimus opened the door, waving goodbye with a confident smile. “You stay here. But if we do need you, you know we’ll call.”

You were pouting. You knew you were pouting. But he wiggled his fingers and left the room with Drift right behind him.

That was thirty minutes ago.

You activated the space suit Brainstorm had made for you. It was armored and armed and, more importantly, allowed you to go into space without dying.

Ultra Magnus decided to stay at the helm, in case something went wrong, and the med staff was on standby. Skids saw you off the L.L. and was connected to you by comlink if you needed to retreat.

But you couldn’t ignore the pit that was burrowing in your stomach.

You flew through space, your jetpack moving you gently along until you reached the shuttle. At least the air pressurized door was working. You entered a dim, red lit chamber and was surprised when the room pressurized and a scratchy, static filled alien voice spoke something over the speaker. Your visor soon translated it for you.

“It is now safe to enter the shuttle. Oxygen levels – Safe.”

In the corner of your visor you saw that the air was breathable, which was good. Especially if something happened to your suit. It also cleared any suspicion of this being a human spaceship.

You walked forward and clicked a button next to the door, but nothing happened. You sighed and wedged your fingers in between the doorand the wall, finding grooves where your friends must’ve done the same thing. You took a deep breath and pulled. With a little resistance, the door slidopen. You made a mental note to thank Brainstorm for all the extras the suitgave you before entering the shuttle proper.

It was dark, dusty, barren and something straight out of ahorror game. Fear gripped your heart when you turned on your headlight. Swallowing it down, you forced the door closed behind you and stepped inside.

“Rodimus?” You said over your comlink. “Drift? I’m inside the shuttle.”

You saw movement in the corner of your eyes and turned around to see a giant hulking thing approaching you. You shrieked, firing up your weapons system before, to your extreme embarrassment, you saw that it was only Drift.

He had his hands up, brows pinching. “Y/N, I’m sorry, did I scare you?”

You huffed, putting away the thirty kinds of weapons Brainstorm had installed. “No, I just thought I saw a Xenomorph – Yes, you scared me!” You felt a headache coming on. “Please, don’t do that again. I might’ve electrocuted you.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” He apologized, patting your back comfortingly. “Now come, we need your help.”

He led you through the narrow, dark halls. After being aboard the Lost Light, it was all too claustrophobic for you. “What happened?Where’s Rodimus?”

“He’s fine. He’s with the survivors.” He said. There was something in his voice that made your hairs stand on end.

“Drift?” You asked, feeling your voice raise an octave. “What do you mean survivors, who’s aboard – “

You followed him into a small room.

“this ship?”

The room was covered in trash, remnants of food, and makeshift nests of thin sheets and alien clothing, but the survivors huddled against the corner were most certainly human. There were eleven of them, filthy and grimy, their eyes and stomachs starved.

The eldest were in the front, shielding the younger children, but the oldest could’ve only been ten or eleven, not even a teenager. They were all shaking, from the cold, the hunger, or the fear, maybe all three. The more you looked, the more you felt that pit grow. There were toddlers, children barely old enough for elementary school. They were sobbing. They were afraid.

Rodimus was on his knees, making himself appear smaller as he tried to speak to the children, but they only pushed themselves closer to the wall. He was trying to appear friendly, smiling kindly and his hands open where they can see them, but there was pain in his optics. He wanted to help them, but they couldn’t speak out of their own fear. They were afraid of him, they were terrified of him.

Without a thought, you took off your helmet. That’s when the chill hit you; this place was freezing. You heard tiny gasps as you stepped forward and got on one knee. You held your hands up, showing there was nothing in them.

“My name’s Y/N.” You said, forcing your voice to be calm. “We’re here to help you.”

The eldest one, a boy with greasy blond hair and bloodshot eyes looked from you and Rodimus then back. He said nothing, but you knew what he meant.

You took a shaky breath, trying to calm the thundering of your heart. “These are my friends. This is Rodimus, the one behind me is Drift. We’re not going to hurt you.”

He didn’t believe you, you could tell by the look in his eyes, and you didn’t blame him. But, you held out your hands, hoping beyond hope you could get them to come willingly. “Please, come with us. We have food,and shelter, and we’ll protect you.” It felt like you were begging, and in away you were, but this was something worth begging for.

“Can you take us home?”

His voice was cracked, dry, a few octaves higher than you would’ve imagined. His eyes pierced you, starved for something more than justfood.

“We will.” You promised.

He shared a look with a girl beside him. She nodded hesitantly, and together they took your outstretched hands.

Later on, as Ratchet checked the children with Drift’s help, you sat down with Jedah and Sumaira, the two eldest and the ringleaders. Still near enough for the rest of kids to see, but far enough away to keep things private.

They were clean, fresh from the showers, and digging into some rations you prepared for them. Jedah was the boy from before, only eleven years old, and Sumaira was nine. She had been using a greasy bedsheet for a hijab, and was most thankful when you gave her one of your scarves to use instead.

She tipped her fingers from her bottom lip and out while she stuffed some noodles into her mouth. Thank you. You didn’t know a lot of sign language, but at least you knew that much.

“You’re welcome.” You wrapped your fingers around your glass of water, only to pull away when you felt your fingers tremble.

Jedah hadn’t said much after you brought him aboard the Lost Light. You wondered if he was still nervous or just naturally quiet.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Can I ask what you were doing out here?”

The two of them went still, staring hollowly at their plates. After a long, tense moment, Sumaira put down her fork. She spoke as she signed, nasally, like the words were strange in her mouth.

“We don’t know.”

You folded your arms on the table and nodded for them to continue.

She swallowed against the dryness in her mouth, never quite meeting your eyes. “We are all from Earth. But we don’t know why we’re here. Or how.” Her face got noticeably green, her eyes wet. “But we woke up on a shipwith aliens that – that – “ She turned to Jedah, signing something to him.

“We didn’t understand. We couldn’t understand what they were or what they were saying to us.” He translated, his voice exhausted of emotion.

“They were all kinds.” Sumaira continued. “Not just one alien, many of them.”

“Different species.” You said.

She nodded. “We weren’t the only ones taken.” Her bottom lip trembled, “There was twenty-five of us.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. Jedah’s head lowered onto the table.

“They did not make it.” Her voice shook, “They – “ her voicecracked, tears running down her cheeks as she signed something over and over. I’m sorry.

Jedah picked up where she left off, forehead on the table. “They gave themselves up.” His voice was wet with fresh sobs. “When we escaped, the aliens caught us. The older ones tried to protect us, there were five of them, but – “ He sniffed, his next sentence breaking under the weight of his emotions. “They shot at us – and – and…”

It wasn’t until you felt a tear hit your hand that you realized you were crying, too.

Later, when you had found a place for the kids to sleep, you stood with a group of your close friends, the ones you felt needed to know.

Ratchet sighed, rubbing his optics. “So, we know they were kidnapped, but not what for.”

“Does it matter?” Rodimus fumed, arms crossed and literally steaming with anger. “They took these kids from their homes, killed them when they tried to run away. They’re already on the Lost Light’s shitlist, right after Getaway.”

Exhaustion pulled at every bone in your body. You had spent the rest of the day getting to know the children and getting them comfortable. The others tried to help, but anyone with any margin of success was Ratchet, Drift, and Rung. You hoped the kids would open up to them eventually, but they had some rough times with aliens up until now.

Then Tailgate found out there were human kids onboard and immediately wanted to meet them, in his loud, bubbly way. He ended frightening them instead. He was currently sulking beside Cyclonus.

You felt Rung’s hand touch your shoulder. “Do you want to continue this at another time?” He asked quietly.

Drift nodded, his optics dark. “And if they do, then we have the chance to stop whatever they’re doing.”

You honestly didn’t know the answer to that. After a pause, you shook your head.

“Their safety comes first. We have to be prepared if these kidnapping trash track them to us.”

Ultra Magnus was observing the datapad you gave him, listing the children’s names, ages, and where they grew up. “We should do everything in our power to keep these cretins from continuing. But, Y/N is correct. The children need to feel safe here.”

You crossed your arms. “I’ll be keeping an eye on them as much as possible, but I’m still liaison. I have a job to do.”

“Isn’t there a phrase on Earth?” Swerve smiled wanly. “It takes a village?”

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Darkness Within (17/?)

Summary: When washed-up paranormal investigator Rum Gold meets Belle French, he does not quite know what to make of her claim of a supernatural presence in her life, but sensing her genuine fear, he begins to investigate. What he uncovers shakes the cynicism he has so long held to its very core, and he calls in the help of disgraced ex-priest Father Macavoy to help him lay some demons to rest…

A slow burn, eventual rumbellavoy. The rating may increase in later chapters.

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven] [Twelve] [Thirteen] [Fourteen] [Fifteen] [Sixteen] [AO3]

====

Seventeen

Gold drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair, no doubt annoying the nurse behind the emergency department reception desk, but in that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was too early in the morning to play into social niceties and on top of that, Belle was somewhere in there having collapsed in the back of a police car following an episode.

The nurse shot him another dark look, and Gold ignored her. Storybrooke was a quiet town and its hospital never too busy, especially this early in the morning, so he was the only person in the waiting room. That was probably a good thing; had there been any other patients or family members there, then awkward questions might be asked about what the hell was going on.

Graham had called him again just after six to say that Belle was awake and he was going to speak to her; Gold had wasted no time in racing out of the house and making his way to the hospital to check that she was all right. He hadn’t bothered going back to bed after the sheriff’s visit and had instead stayed up, working on Belle’s case and trying to piece together everything that they had already found out, trying to shed some light on the current situation. He wondered if Belle’s apartment would show any evidence of the entity trying to communicate, or if it had bypassed all of their questions and come straight out to try and find him.

“Mr Gold?”

Graham came out of the door that led to the ward, and Gold shot to his feet.

“Is she all right?”

Graham nodded. “A bit shaken, and she’s on painkillers for her feet, but other than that she seems to be ok.” He shrugged, and looked a little apologetic as he spoke again. “She doesn’t remember any of it, but that’s par for the course with sleepwalking cases, as far as I’m aware. The nurses will tell you more.”

“Thanks.”

“All in the line of duty.” Graham smiled. “It’s obvious that you care very deeply for her.”

Gold sighed, that was all part of the problem, and there was no use in denying it. A small part of him wondered if the entity was counting on that and using it, although for what ends he did not yet know.

Graham stepped back so that he could get through into the ward, and a nurse took him over to Belle. She was at the end of the ward, staring at the sunrise through the window, and she didn’t notice his approach immediately.

She was paler than she had been when Gold had last seen her, no doubt as a result of her dramatic night, and she was picking nervously at her fingernails.

“Belle?”

She turned suddenly when she heard his voice, startled, but then her pensive face relaxed slightly, and she waved him over. Her eyes were downcast as he settled himself in the chair beside her bed.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” she muttered. “It’s been a long while since I ended up in the hospital. I suppose I should be grateful that Graham didn’t run me over.”

Gold reached over and took one of her hands, and she returned his grip gratefully; her fingers were still freezing and her nails felt like little shards of ice digging into his palm.

“Still no memory?” he asked.

“Nothing. One minute I was at home, the next I was in the back of the police car and the next I was in the hospital. I don’t think that second one was anything to do with the Thing, though. I think that was just shock.”

“How are you feeling?”

Belle shrugged. “Ok, I guess. No worse than I usually feel after an episode. My feet hurt, of course, but that’s to be expected. All the same…” She trailed off, and Gold could tell that there was something else bothering her.

“Belle? What is it? Even the slightest thing could help us shed some light on what’s happening with the entity.”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it, but this time seems different to the other times. I can’t remember what happened during the blackout but it feels more intense, somehow. Like whatever I was doing, I was doing it with more of a sense of purpose. This time it feels scarier than before, even though I didn’t wander as far as I have in the past. I’m worried. If the Thing’s on some kind of mission, and it got unexpectedly interrupted when Graham pulled up and I snapped out of it, I don’t want to think about what it might do to get itself back on track.”

Gold closed his other hand over hers where she was still clinging on desperately.

“It’ll be all right,” he said, although he knew that it was foolish to make such promises in the face of all the unknowns that the situation was throwing at them. “We’ll get to the bottom of what it wants and then we’ll be able to make it go away.”

Belle snorted. “I wish I had your optimism.”

She turned away, looking out of the window again, and Gold wondered if he ought to leave her in peace. If it wasn’t for her hand still holding his like a limpet, then he’d probably slip away quietly. He knew that his positive thinking wasn’t really helpful when he wasn’t the one that all these scary things kept happening to, but at the same time, if Belle was the one thinking that everything was going wrong and she would never be free of her entity, then he had to be the one keeping morale up. They couldn’t both give in to a downward spiral of thought or they would never get anywhere.

Presently Belle turned back towards him.

“Could you do me a favour please?” she asked. She sounded sheepish, and there was an embarrassed little smile on her face as she looked at him.

“Of course. What is it?”

“Could you go to my apartment and get me some clothes and shoes please? If this time is like any of the rest of the times I’ve wandered then the door should still be open, just left on the latch. For all the effort it takes me to get out of the place, whatever it is seems to want me to be able to get back in again in a hurry if needs be. And, you know, if you could check that my laptop and the TV haven’t been lifted whilst I’ve been out of it, that would be great too.”

Gold nodded. “I’ll go right away.” He paused. “I am going to need my hand back.”

Belle laughed, and brought his hands, clasped tightly around hers, to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles before finally letting go of him.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thanks for everything. I know that since I walked into your life, all I’ve done is bring trouble with me, and I get the feeling that I’m only going to be bringing more over the next few days. So thank you for sticking with me. You know, if you want to back out at any time, I won’t be offended.”

Gold shook his head. “No. I think I’m too invested in what happens next to give up on you now.”

Her smile was weak, but genuine.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” she said. “So many people have given up on me over the years. Including myself. You’re the first person who’s stuck by me since my dad.”

Gold knew that the memory of her father and the agony of not knowing exactly what had happened to him, especially knowing that she might have been able to do something to save him had she been mentally present, were painful things for Belle to deal with, and he knew how much her father had meant to her.

He just nodded. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you.”

On impulse, Gold leaned across and pressed a kiss to her forehead, earning a little giggle from her in return. As long as he could try to keep her humour up, then the battle was not yet lost.

It didn’t take him long to get across the town to Belle’s apartment, and as expected, the door swung open with just a light push. A cursory sweep of the place showed that her electronics were all still where they should be and no opportunistic sneak thieves had seen her door open and decided to take a chance. The little home security cameras that she’d installed were watching him with their ominous red recording lights still on, and Gold wondered if they would hold any clues, but he didn’t feel comfortable in going through the footage without Belle present. They had watched some of the recordings from her episodes over the last couple of days, but mostly there was nothing to be gleaned from them; she usually just sat on the end of her bed staring at her bedroom door or stood in the kitchen.

Quickly he moved across the apartment and into Belle’s bedroom to fetch her stuff. The bed covers were messed up in a heap on the floor but the rest of the room seemed to be tidy enough. Belle had already said that the entity didn’t seem to be malevolent towards her own life per se, not like a ghost or poltergeist that would move things around or cause chaos.

It was then that he noticed the back of the door. Like before, they had tacked up a sheet of questions that they had hoped the entity would provide answers to. Up until tonight, it seemed to have ignored them, or perhaps just been unable to respond for whatever reason.

Now it was a different kettle of fish. The writing was laboured and scrawling, just as it had been the previous time, but these messages were far more legible, written in plain English, albeit with somewhat peculiar syntax.

Gold pulled the paper off the door and snapped a couple of pictures of it on his phone before folding it up and putting it on the side. It was unnerving enough for him; he didn’t really want Belle to suddenly see it when she got back into her own place having already had enough shocks for one night. She could choose to look at it in her own time, on her own terms.

He felt awkward going through her closet and ended up grabbing what was obviously a gym bag containing running shoes and comfortable workout gear; she wouldn’t want to be wearing any of her sky-scraping high heels with her feet all bandaged up, after all. Before he left, he took another look at the paper, committing the words thereon to memory. Belle’s neat handwriting asked four questions, suggested by Joseph in the hope that they would complement his own research in the UK. Gold had no idea whether these answers were even relevant to the questions, but either way, he hoped that they would prove enlightening to his partner in crime.

Where did you come from?

Darkness. I am the dark and I will return to the dark. Before was nothing and after will be nothing.

How far have you come from where you began?

I have crossed many seas and many miles, many obstacles put in my way. I fly. Fly. On my own wings and the wings of others, the wings of the wind.

Who were you with before Belle?

I was abandoned cut loose the bloodline was broken.

It was the final question that put the fear into Gold. Joseph had suggested that the easiest way to find out about the bloodline and whose it was would be to ask the entity about it directly.

Who broke the bloodline?

Traitor pride villainy trickery greed THEY KNEW I WAS COMING AND THEY SHUT ME OUT I WAS BETRAYED BUT MY TIME DRAWS NEAR.

They had already surmised that the entity was upping the ante, but these stark capitals, the harsh lines of the pencil on the paper showing anger and frustration, told them in chilling black on white just how much it was on the warpath. It was clear that they had to get a move on and stop the thing before it was too late and it did whatever it was going to do when its time came.

Gold shivered, and left the flat, grabbing Belle’s outdoor keys from the dresser and locking up in case the opportunists got a second wind.

She was waiting for him anxiously by the time he got back to the hospital.

“What did you see?” she asked as soon as he got back to her bedside. “You’re looking as pale as I feel. Did it leave a message?”

Gold nodded.

“Let’s just put it this way, I think we might need to start working a little more quickly.” They had to find a way of communicating the entity directly, rather than just through the paper messages, and Gold had an idea. It might not be the safest or most thought-through of ideas, but it was the only one he had.

“Belle,” he began, “would you be willing to go under hypnosis again?”

[rainbowtransform]

Wonders

Read the first installment here, or read it on AO3

Summary: A series of unconnected oneshots of Criminal Mind’s Spencer Reid

I

There’s only a short amount of time before Spencer realized this won’t work. Sitting here, a needle in one hand, and staring at the needle marks on his arm. Spencer’s fingers shiver, and he’s swallowing hard.

(He tries to convey emotions toward his teammates. “Help me!” He all but screams at them. “Help me defeat this!” They don’t understand. They don’t help.)

Spencer sets down the needle, and continues staring at the marks. He brushed his fingers over them. His eyes narrow and his heart speeds up.

(“You know what you’re going to do,” Walter whispers. Spencer shakes. His team doesn’t realize it. Or maybe they do, and they just won’t help.)

Spencer snaps. He grabs the needle, and finds a hammer. He places the needle down and begins to hit it, snapping it into tiny pieces. Spencer won’t… he won’t do this anymore!

(Spencer resigns himself to doing it himself. If they won’t help him - he will. Walter sits in the corner, staring. “We’re going places, you and me.” he said. “We’ll get through this together.” Spencer agrees.)

II

It’s barely past eleven and Spencer can’t sleep. Emily isn’t with them anymore. She’s dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead.

(“Is she?” Walter whispers.)

She died, and Spencer’s crying. He already cried more times than he can count on JJ’s couch, Henry sitting next to him, stroking his hair, saying “It’s okay, it’s okay,” in an attempt to calm him. Spencer just cried harder.

(“What was the way JJ looked at Hotch? And you, when you tried to go see her?” Walter hissed. “Spencer!”)

Jack barely acknowledge when Spencer cried; he ignored it. Spencer thinks it’s because Jack didn’t want Spencer to know he’d seen him break, and scream, and yell. Jack is caring, just like Hotch.

(“Use that big brain of yours, Reid.” Water snarls. “Emily isn’t dead. Didn’t you see JJ and Hotch talking? You know it! REID!”)

Spencer kept crying.

III

Spencer is pushing back the safety of his gun. Maeve’s gone, there’s no point in just sitting around here. Maybe he’s pushing himself too hard, but if he’d just been a little better - a little faster, Maeve wouldn’t have died.

(“You know that’s not true.” Walter snaps. “You’re just doing too much. Pick up that phone, dial Morgan, and talk to him.” Spencer shakes his head.

“I can’t.” He sobs.

“Spencer,” Walter sits next to him. “Spence, you aren’t going to get any better without talk. Let’s just pick up the phone.”)

Spencer’s eyes move to his cell phone that just vibrated. He opens the text message Morgan sent him, and it’s a picture. Spencer frowns, looking more closely.

(Water’s watching from the background. “You know why he’s doing it. You’re not stupid. Now, pick up the phone.”)

Spencer picks up the phone, and dials the familiar number.

IV

(“I knew it,” Walter snarls as he stares at Emily. “Didn’t I tell you?)

Spencer’s fists clench but he still hugs Emily. He’s not going to “get angry” now. He’s in too much shock to actually be angry.

(“Spencer,” Walter says, and Spencer flicks his eyes toward him. “Make the call. Bring that son-of-a-bitch there, then, let’s let the ball drop on all of them.” Spencer nods, jerkily.)

He buried the hatred, and surprise, and anger underneath his feeling to catch the bad guy. He does his job, and he does it right.

(“Damn right we did!” Walter shouts. Spencer stares with glaringing eyes.)

He doesn’t speak to Emily or JJ when they’re all going out. They’re trying to talk to everyone, like it’s a good thing being lied to. Being lied to, by friends.

(“Remember Sarah?” Walter asks, sitting at the edge of Spencer’s desk. “She said she was our friend, remember? Then she’d turned into he, and called himself ‘Paul’ and left you in your locker. And what did he say after we’d confronted him? ‘They dared me to, Spencer,’” he mimicked. “‘I didn’t want to. If I didn’t they’d shove both of us in there.’” Walter sneered. “Are they Paul now, Spencer? Are they?”)

Spencer sips at the black coffee. Maybe, he says, tilting his head quietly. He just needs time to “heal”, then he’d go and be “friends” with them again. But he won’t trust them as easily - they won’t see his pain. He won’t let them see him vulnerable again.

(“We still trust Hotch. We didn’t go crying to his house every evening for ten weeks.” Walter says. Spencer agrees. “Emily and JJ…” Spencer agrees.)

He doesn’t think he’s going to figure anything else out. Spencer drains the rest of the coffee, then pushes the cup away.

(“Are we going home?”)

Yes.

Spencer walks away.

V

(“He’s gone? Truly gone?” Walter asks, eyes wide and tears building.)

Spencer swallows. He’s hurting all over. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. Gideon can’t be dead, he can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t.

(“Spencer?” Walter says. “Spencer? What’re we going to do?” Walter’s breathing picks up. “What’re we going to do?” He repeats.)

Spencer shakes his head, slowly. He sits at the edge of his window; and then turns his head toward a cupboard. He walks to it, and opens it slowly. The chess pieces are dusty and the board looks cracked. Spencer brushes off the dust; and the crack disappears.

(“That was just in your head.” Walter adds unhelpfully. Spencer nods. “Good.” Walter says.)

Spencer places the pieces on the board, and Walter sits on the opposite side. Spencer moves a piece, and Walter relatiated.

(And, they sit together, in the BAU office. Spencer moving his pieces and Walter doing his. Just until Rossi comes up to him, tries to talk to him. Walter’s staring at Rossi like he’s never seen him before, and Spencer’s not sure if it’s because Rossi and Gideon worked together, or if he’d figured anything out.)

(Rossi tells him to go home, then he walks out and away. Walter stares at Spencer, and asks him “Are we really leaving?” Spencer pours himself another cup of coffee, and they continue their game.)

(Rossi comes up to Spencer at the plane. Tells him that playing with a ghost won’t work. The game’ll never end. Walter stays silent, and Spencer talks to Rossi. He sits down, and Walter’s next to Spencer suddenly. “I’ll probably beat you in five moves,” Spencer says.)

(“Don’t be so sure.” Rossi says. They keep playing, and Walter is just slowly fading into the background. Spencer doesn’t look over. Walter smiles.)

[the-fitsquad]

Installing Clean Windows eight On Samsung 700T

Xforce Important Generator

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Filed under: General Tagged: computer stationery paper suppliers, desktop workstation india, office workstation design photos from KelsusIT.com – Refurbished laptops, desktop computers , servers http://bit.ly/2AzCz7O via IFTTT

[anavoliselenu]

This man chapter 1

I rifle through the piles and piles of paraphernalia that’s sprawled all over my bedroom floor. I’m going to be late. On a Friday, after being on time all week, I’m going to be late.

‘Kate!’ I yell frantically. Where the hell are they? I run out onto the landing and throw myself over the banister. ‘Kate!’

I hear the familiar sound of a wooden spoon bashing the edges of a ceramic bowl as Kate appears at the bottom of the stairs. She looks up at me with a tired expression. It’s an expression I’ve become use to recently.

‘Keys! Have you seen my car keys?’ I puff at her.

‘They’re on the coffee table where you left them last night.’ She rolls her eyes, taking herself and her cake mixture back to her workshop.

I dart across the landing in a complete fluster and find my car keys under a pile of weekly glossies. ‘Hiding again,’ I mutter to myself, grabbing my tan belt, heels and laptop. I make my way downstairs, finding Kate in her workshop spooning cake mixture into various tins.

‘You need to tidy that room, Selena. It’s a f**king mess.’ she complains.

Yes, my personal organisation skills are pretty shocking, especially since I’m an interior designer, who spends all day coordinating and organising. I scoop my phone up from the chunky table and dunk my finger in Kate’s cake mixture. ‘I can’t be brilliant at everything.’

‘Get out!’ She bats my hand away with her spoon. ‘Why do you need your car, anyway?’ she asks, leaning down to smooth the mixture over, her tongue resting on her bottom lip in concentration.

‘I have a first consultation in The Surrey Hills – some country mansion.’ I feed my belt through the belt loops of my navy pencil dress, slip my feet into my tan heels and present myself to the wall mirror.

‘I thought you stuck to the city?’ she asks from behind me.

I ruffle my long, dark hair for a few seconds, flicking it from one side to another but give up, piling it up with a few grips instead. My dark brown eyes look tired and lack their usual sparkle. A result, no doubt, of burning the candle at both ends. I only moved in with Kate a month ago after splitting with Matt. We’re behaving like a couple of university students. My liver is screaming for a rest.

‘I do. The country sector is Patrick’s domain. I don’t know how I got landed with this.’ I sweep the wand of my gloss across my lips and smack them together. ‘One is not partial to old English and all things proper.’ I give Kate a kiss on the cheek. ‘It’s going to be painful, I know it. Luv ya!’

‘Ditto, see you later.’ Kate laughs, without lifting her face from her work station. ‘Don’t forget your P’s and Q’s!’

Despite my lateness, I drive my little Mini with my usual care and consideration to my office on Bruton Street. I’m reminded why I tube it every day when I spend ten minutes driving around looking for a parking space.

I burst into the office and glance at the clock. Eight forty. Okay, I’m ten minutes late, not as bad as I thought. I pass Tom and Victoria’s empty desks on the way to my own, spying Patrick in his office as I land in my chair. Unpacking my laptop, I notice a package has been left for me.

‘Morning, flower.’ Patrick’s low boom greets me as he perches on the edge of my desk, followed by the customary creak under his weight. ‘What have you got there?’

‘Morning, it’s the new fabric range from Miller’s. You Like?’ I stroke some of the luxurious material.

‘Wonderful,’ he feigns interest. ‘Don’t let Irene clap her eyes on it. I’ve just liquidated most of my assets to fund the new soft furnishings at home.’

‘Oh,’ I give him a sympathetic face. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Victoria has the day off and Tom’s having a nightmare with Mr & Mrs Baines. It’s just you, me and Sal today, flower.’ He takes his comb out of his inside pocket and runs it through his silver mop.

‘I’ve got a midday appointment at The Manor,’ I remind him. He can’t have forgotten. Country pads are supposed to be his realm. ‘Why am I going, Patrick?’ I have to ask. I’ve never worked on a country property before, and I’m not sure I have the insight for old fashioned and traditional.

I’ve worked for Rococo Union for four years, and it was made clear that I was employed to expand the business into the modern sector. With luxury apartments flying up all over London, Patrick and Tom, with their speciality of traditional design, were missing out. When it took off and the work load got too much for me, he employed Victoria.

‘That would be because they asked for you, flower.’ He pushes himself to his feet, my desk creaking in protest again. Patrick ignores it, but I wince. He has to lose some weight or stop sitting on my desk. It won’t take the strain for much longer.

So, they asked for me? Why ever would they do that? My portfolio holds nothing that will reflect traditional design – nothing at all. I can’t help but think that this is a complete waste of my time. Patrick or Tom should be going.

‘Oh, Lusso launch,’ Patrick tucks his comb away. ‘The developer is really pushing the boat out with this party in the penthouse. You’ve done an amazing job, Selena.’ Patrick’s eyebrows nod with his head.

I blush. ‘Thank you.’ I’m dead proud of myself and my work at Lusso, my greatest achievement in my short career.

Based on St Katharine Docks and with prices ranging from three million for a basic apartment to ten million for the penthouse, we’re in the super rich realm. The design specification is as the name suggests: Italian luxury. I sourced all materials, furniture and art from Italy and enjoyed a week there organising the shipping schedule. Next Friday is the launch party, but I know they’ve already sold the penthouse and six other apartments, so it’s more of a showing off party.

‘I’ve cleared my diary so I can do the final checks once the cleaners are out.’ I flick the pages of my diary to next Friday and scribble across the page again.

‘Good girl, I’ve told Victoria to be there at five. It’s her first launch so you need to give her a heads up. I’ll be there at seven with Tom.’

‘Sure.’

Patrick returns to his office, and I open my email, sifting through to delete or respond where necessary.

At eleven o’clock, I pack my laptop up and poke my head around Patrick’s office door. He’s engrossed with something on his computer.

‘I’m off now.’ I say, but he just waves his hand in the air in acknowledgment. I walk through the office to see Sally fighting with the photocopier. ‘See you later, Sal.’

‘Bye, Selena.’ she replies, but she’s too busy removing the paper jam to acknowledge me with her face. The girl’s a calamity.

I walk out into the May sunshine and head for my car. Friday mid-morning traffic is a nightmare, but once I’m out of the city, the drive onwards is pretty straightforward. The roof is down, Adele is keeping me company and it’s Friday. A little drive in the countryside is a lovely way to finish my working week.

My sat-nav instructs me to pull off of the main road and onto a little lane, where I find myself in front of the biggest pair of gates I’ve ever seen. A gold plaque on a pillar states “The Manor”.

Bloody hell! I take my sunglasses off, looking past the gates and down the gravel road that seems to go for miles. There’s no sign of a house, just a tree lined road that I can’t see the end of. I get out of my car and walk up to the gates, giving them a little jiggle, but they don’t budge. I stand for a few moments, wondering what to do.

‘You need to press the intercom.’ I nearly jump out of my skin when the low rumble of a voice comes from nowhere, stabbing at the silent country air.

I look around me, but I’m definitely on my own. ‘Hello?’

‘Over here.’

I do a full three sixty turn and see the intercom further down the lane. I drove straight past it. I run over, pressing the button to announce myself. ‘Selena O’Shea, Rococo Union.’

‘I know.’

He does? How? I look around and spot a camera installed on the gate, then the shift of metal breaks the countryside peace around me. The gates start opening. ‘Give me a chance.’ I mutter as I run back to my car. I jump in my Mini and creep forward as the gates swing open, all the time wondering how I’ll remove the glass of port and cigar that are, quite clearly, wedged up that miserable sod’s arse. I’m looking less forward to this appointment by the minute. Posh country folk and their posh country mansions are not in my area of expertise.

Once the gates are fully opened, I drive through and continue on the tree lined, gravel driveway that seems to go on forever. With mature Elm trees lying on either side of the lane at regular and even intervals, you would think they had been strategically placed to conceal what lies beyond. After a mile or so of sheltered driving, I pull into a perfectly round courtyard. I take my sunglasses off and gape at the huge house that looms centrally and demands attention. It’s superb, but I’m even more apprehensive now. My enthusiasm for this appointment is dampening further by the minute.

The black doors – adorned with highly polished gold furniture – are flanked by four giant bay windows, with pillars in carved stone guarding them. Giant limestone blocks make up the structure of the mansion, with lush bay trees lining the face. The fountain in the centre of the courtyard, spraying out jets of illuminated water, tops the sight off. It’s all very imposing.

I stop, cut the engine and fumble with the door release to get out of my car. Standing and holding on to the top of my car door, I look up at the magnificent building and immediately think that this has to be a mistake. The place is in amazing condition.

The lawns are greener than green, the house looks like it receives daily scrub downs and even the gravel looks like it receives a daily hoover. If the exterior is anything to go by, then I can’t imagine the inside needing any work. I look up at the dozens of sash bay windows, seeing plush curtains hanging at them all. I’m tempted to call Patrick to check I’ve got the right address, but it did say The Manor on the gates. And that miserable sod on the other end of the intercom was obviously expecting me.

While I’m pondering my next move, the doors open, revealing the biggest black man I’ve ever seen. He saunters out to the top of the steps. I physically flinch at the sight of him, stepping back slightly. He has a black suit on – specially made for sure because that’s no regular size – a black shirt and a black tie. His shaven head looks like it’s been buffed to a shine, and wraparound sunglasses conceal his face. If I could build a mental image of who I would have expected to walk out of them doors, he, most definitely, would not be it. The man is a mountain, and I know I’m stood here gawking at him. I’m suddenly slightly concerned that I’ve turned up at some mafia control centre, and I search my brain trying to remember if I transferred my rape alarm to my new handbag.

‘Miss O’Shea?’ he drawls.

I wilt under his massive presence, putting my hand up in a nervous wave gesture. ‘Hi.’ I whisper, my voice laced with all of the apprehension I truly feel.

‘This way.’ he rumbles deeply, giving a sharp nod of his head and turning to walk back into the mansion.

I deliberate on cutting and running, but the daring and dangerous side of me is curious of what lays beyond those doors. He’s no butler. I grab my bag, shut my car door and check for my rape alarm as I walk towards the house, only to find I’ve left it in my other bag. I carry on anyway. Pure curiosity has me walking up the steps and crossing the threshold into a huge entrance hall. I gaze around the vast area, and I’m immediately impressed by the grand, centrally position, curved staircase that leads up to the first floor.

My fears are confirmed. This place is immaculate.

The décor is opulent, lush and very intimidating. Deep blues, taupe’s with hints of gold and original woodwork, along with the rich mahogany parquet floor, makes the place striking and massively extrSelenagant. It’s exactly how I would have expected it to be and nowhere near my design style. But then again, looking around, why any interior designer would be here is becoming more and more confusing. Patrick said they requested me personally, so I would be inclined to think that they want to modernise the place, but that would’ve been before I got a glimpse of the exterior and now the interior too. The décor suits the period building. It’s in perfect condition. Why the hell am I here?

Big guy heads off to the right, leaving me to scuttle off after him. My tan heels clink on the parquet floor as he leads me past the central staircase, towards the back of the Mansion.

I hear the hum of conversation and glance to my right, noticing many people sat at various tables eating, drinking and chatting. Waiters are serving food and drinks, and the distinct voices of The Rat Pack are purring in the background. I frown, but then I click. It’s a hotel – a posh country hotel. My shoulders sag slightly in relief at concluding this, but it still doesn’t explain why I’m here. I’m lead past some toilets and then a bar. A few men are sat on bar stools cracking jokes and teasing a young woman, who has, apparently, returned from the lSelenatory with toilet roll stuck to her heel. She playfully slaps the main instigator on the shoulder, scolding him while laughing along with them.

This is all beginning to make sense to me. I want to say something to the mountain of a man leading me, God only knows where, but he hasn’t looked back once to check I’m following. Although, the clink of my heels tells him I am. He doesn’t say much, and I suspect he wouldn’t answer me if I did speak.

We continue past two more closed doors. Judging by the clanking of pots, I assume one to be the kitchen. Then he leads me into a summer room – a massive, light, stunningly lavish space that’s sectioned off into individual seating areas by the positioning of sofa’s, big arm chairs and tables. Floor to ceiling bi-fold doors span the complete face of the room, leading to a yorkstone patio and a vast lawn area. It’s really quite awe inspiring. I inwardly gasp when I spot a glass building housing a swimming pool. It’s incredible. I shudder to think how much the nightly rate is. It has to be five stars – probably more.

Once we’ve passed through the summer room, I’m lead down a corridor until big guy stops outside a wooden panelled door. ‘Mr Ward’s office.’ he rumbles, knocking the door, surprisingly gently given his mammoth size.

‘The Manager?’ I ask.

‘The Owner,’ he replies, opening the door and striding through. ‘Come in.’

I hesitate on the threshold, watching as the big guy strides into the room ahead of me. I eventually force my feet into action, moving into the room, while gazing around at the equally luxurious surroundings of Mr Ward’s office.

Chapter 2

‘Justin, Miss O’Shea, Rococo Union.’ Big guy announces.

‘Perfect. Thanks, John.’

I’m dragged from my awed like state, straight into high alert. My back straightens.

I can’t see him, he’s obscured by the big guy’s massive frame, but that raspy, smooth voice has me frozen on the spot, and it certainly doesn’t sound like it’s coming from a cigar smoking, overweight, wax jacket wearing Lord of the Manor.

Big guy, or John as I now know him, moves to the side, giving me my first glimpse of Mr Justin Ward.

Oh good God. My heart crashes against my breast bone and my nervous breathing rockets to damn right dangerous levels. I suddenly feel light headed, and my mouth is ignoring my brains instructions to at least say something. I just stand there staring at this man, while he stares back at me. His husky voice halted me in my tracks, but the sight of him…well, that’s just turned me into a non-responsive, quivering wreck.

He rises from his chair, my gaze traveling up with him until he’s stood at full height. He’s very tall. His white shirt is casually rolled at the sleeves, but he still wears a black tie, loosely knotted and hanging down the front of a broad chest.

He makes his way around his massive desk and slowly walks towards me. It’s then that I take in the full impact of him. I gulp. This man is so perfect, I’m almost in pain. His dirty blonde hair looks like he’s half attempted to get it into some semblance of a style but given up. His eyes are sludgy green, but bright and way too intense, and the stubble covering his square jaw does nothing to conceal the handsome features beneath it. He’s lightly tanned and just…Oh God, he’s devastating. Lord of the Manor?

‘Miss O’Shea.’ His hand comes toward me, but I can’t persuade my arm to raise and clasp his outstretched offering. He’s beautiful.

When I don’t offer my hand, he reaches forward and clasps both of my shoulders, then slowly leans in to kiss me, his lips brushing lightly over my burning cheek. I tense all over. I can hear my pulse throbbing in my ears, and even though it’s completely inappropriate for a business meeting, I do nothing to stop him. I’m all over the place.

‘It’s a pleasure,’ he whispers in my ear, which only serves to make me moan slightly. He must feel my tenseness – it’s not difficult, I’m rigid – because his grip eases up and he lowers his face to my level, looking me directly in the eyes. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, one side of his mouth lifting into a semblance of a smile. I notice a single frown line across his forehead.

I snap myself out of my ridiculous inertness, suddenly aware that I’ve still not said anything. Has he noticed my reaction to him? What about big guy? I glance over, seeing the big guy stood motionless, glasses still in place, but I know his eyes are on me. I mentally shake myself and step back, away from Ward and his potent grasp. His hands fall to his side.

‘Hi,’ I cough to clear my throat. ‘Selena. My name is Selena.’ I offer him my hand, but he’s unhurried in accepting it, like he’s unsure whether it’s safe to, but he does…eventually.

His hand is clammy and slightly shaky as he squeezes mine firmly. Sparks fizz and a curious look flits across his stunning face. We both retract our hands in shock.

‘Selena.’ He’s trying my name on his lips, and it takes all of my strength not to moan again. He should stop talking – immediately.

‘Yes, Selena.’ I confirm. He’s the one who seems to be off in his own little nirvana now, while I’m becoming increasingly aware of my rising temperature.

He suddenly seems to come to his senses, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets as he shakes his head slightly, retreating backwards. ‘Thanks, John.’ he nods to the big guy, who smiles slightly, softening his hard features, then leaves.

I’m alone with this man, who has rendered me speechless, motionless and pretty much useless.

He nods towards two brown leather couches, positioned opposite each other in the bay window, with a large coffee table sitting between them. ‘Please, take a seat. Can I get you a drink?’ He drags his gaze from mine, walking towards a cabinet with various bottles of liquor lined up on top. He surely doesn’t mean alcohol? It’s midday. Even by my standards it’s too early. I watch as he hovers at the cabinet for a few moments before turning to face me again, looking at me expectantly.

‘No, thank you.’ I shake my head as I speak, just in case the words don’t come out.

‘Water?’ he asks, that smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Oh God, don’t look at me. ‘Please.’ I smile a nervous smile. My mouth is parched.

He collects two bottles of water from the integrated fridge and turns back towards me. It’s then that I persuade my shaky legs to carry me across the room to the sofa.

‘Selena?’ His voice rolls across me, causing me to falter en-route.

I turn to face him. It’s probably a bad idea. ‘Yes?’

He holds up a highball. ‘Glass?’

‘Yes, please.’ I smile. He must think I’m so unprofessional. I settle myself on the leather couch, retrieve my folder and phone from my bag and place them on the table in front of me. I notice my hands shaking.

Christ, woman. Get a grip! I feign making notes as he strolls back over, placing my water and a glass on the table. He sits down on the sofa opposite and crosses one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his thigh. He stretches back. He’s really making himself comfortable, and the silence that falls between us is screaming as I write anything and everything to avoid looking up at him. I know I’ve got to look at the man and say something at some point, but all standard enquiry questions have run, screaming and shouting, from my brain.

‘So, where do we start?’ he asks, forcing me look up and acknowledge his question. He smiles. I swoon.

He’s watching me over the rim of his bottle as he raises it to those lovely lips. I break the eye contact, reaching forward to pour some water into my glass. I’m struggling to reign in my nerves, and I can still feel his eyes on me. This is truly awkward. I’ve never been so affected by a man.

‘I guess you should tell me why I’m here.’ I speak! I look back up at him as I take my glass from the table.

‘Oh?’ he says quietly. There’s that frown line again. Even with that, he’s still beautiful.

‘You requested me by name?’ I press.

‘Yes.’ he replies simply. He smiles again. I have to look away.

I take a sip of my water to moisten my dry mouth, and clear my throat before returning my gaze to his potent stare. ‘So, can I ask why?’

‘You can.’ He uncrosses his leg, leaning forward to place his bottle on the table, resting his forearms on his knees, but he says no more. Is he not going to elaborate on that?

‘Okay,’ I struggle to maintain eye contact. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve heard great things about you.’

I feel my face burning up. ‘Thank you. So, why am I here?’

‘Well, to design.’ He laughs, and I feel stupid but slightly irritated as well. Is he making fun of me?

‘Design what exactly?’ I ask. ‘From what I’ve seen, everything is pretty perfect.’ He surely doesn’t want to modernise this lovely place. It may not be my forte, but I know class when I see it.

‘Thank you,’ he says softly. ‘Do you have your portfolio with you?’

‘Of course,’ I reply, reaching into my bag. Why he wants to look at it is beyond me. It won’t reflect anything like this place.

I place it on the table in front of him and expect him to drag it over to his side, but to my horror, he stands in one fluid movement and walks around to me, lowering his lovely lean body onto the sofa next to me. Oh, Jesus. He smells divine – all fresh water and minty. I hold my breath.

Leaning forward, he opens the folder. ‘You’re very young to be such an accomplished designer.’ he muses, slowly turning the pages of my portfolio.

He’s right, I am. It’s only thanks to Patrick for giving me free reign on the expansion of his business. In four years, I’ve fallen out of college, picked up a job in an established design company – that had the financial stability but lacked the new freshness in modern ideas – and made a name for myself on the back of it. I’ve been lucky, and I appreciate Patrick’s faith in my capabilities. That, coupled with my contract at Lusso, is the only reason I’m where I am at the age of twenty six.

I look down at his lovely hand, his wrist adorned in a beautiful gold and graphite Rolex. ‘How old are you?’ I blurt. Oh, good God. My brain is like scrambled egg, and I know I’ve just blushed a sharp shade of red. I should just keep my mouth shut. Where the hell did that come from?

He looks at me intently, his green eyes burning into mine. ‘Twenty one.’ he answers, completely pokerfaced.

I scoff mildly, and his eyebrows jump up questioningly. ‘Sorry.’ I mutter, turning back to the table. I’m feeling flustered. I hear him exhale heavily as his lovely hand reaches back down to my portfolio to start turning the pages again, his left hand resting on the edge of the table.

I notice no ring. He’s not married? How can that be?

‘This, I like a lot.’ He points to the photographs of Lusso.

‘I’m not sure my works on Lusso would fit in here.’ I say quietly. It’s way too modern – luxurious, yes, but too modern.

He looks up at me. ‘You’re right, I’m just saying…I really like it.’

‘Thank you.’ I feel my colour deepen as he studies me thoughtfully before returning to my portfolio.

I make a grab for my water, resisting the temptation to chuck it down my front to cool me off, but very nearly do when his trouser clad thigh brushes against my bare knee. I shift quickly to break the contact, glancing out the corner of my eye to see a small smirk breaking at the edge of his mouth. He’s doing this on purpose. It’s too much.

‘Do you have a toilet?’ I ask as I place my glass back on the table and stand. I need to go and compose myself. I’m a ruffled mess.

He rises from the couch swiftly, moving back to let me pass. ‘Through the summer room and on your left.’ he says with a smile. He knows he’s affecting me. The way he’s smiling at me, knowingly, I bet he has this sort of reaction from women all of the time.

‘Thank you.’ I edge out of the small gape between the table and the sofa, my task hampered as he makes no attempt to give me more space. I have to virtually brush past him, and that has me holding my breath until I’m clear of his body.

I walk towards the door. His eyes are on me; I can feel them burning a hole through my dress. I roll my neck to try and rid myself of the goose bumps jumping onto my nape.

Stumbling out of his office, I head down the corridor before wandering through the summer room and staggering into the ridiculously posh lSelenatories. I brace myself over the sink and look in the mirror. ‘Jesus, Selena. Pull it together!’ I scorn my reflection.

‘Met the Lord, have we?’

I swing around and find a very attractive business lady, faffing with her hair at the other end of the room. I have no idea what to say, but she’s just confirmed what I already suspected – he does have this affect on all women. When my brain fails to deliver on anything suitable to say, I just smile.

She returns my smile, amused and knowing of the reason for my flustered state, before disappearing from the toilets. If I wasn’t feeling so hot and nervous, I might be embarrassed at my obvious condition. But I am hot, and I’m very nervous, so I brush off my humiliation, take some steady breaths and wash my clammy hands with the Noble Isle hand wash. I should have brought my bag. I could do with some Vaseline on my lips. My mouth is still dry and my lips are suffering as a consequence.

Okay, I need to get back out there, get the specification and be gone. My heart is pleading for some let up. I’m completely ashamed of myself. I re-pin my hair and exit the toilets, making my way back to Mr Ward’s office. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to work for this man; I’m just way too affected by him.

I knock before I enter, finding him sat on the couch looking over my portfolio. He looks up and smiles, and I know now, I really have to leave. I can’t possibly work with this man. Every molecule of intelligence and brain power I possess has been zapped from my body by his presence. And worse of all, he knows it.

I give myself a mental pep talk, making my way over to the table, ignoring the fact that he’s following my every move. He leans back on the sofa in a gesture for me to squeeze past, but I don’t. I take a seat on the opposite sofa, perching on the edge.

He flicks me a questioning look. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I answer shortly. He knows. ‘Would you like to show me where your intended project is so we can start discussing requirements?’ I force the confidence into my voice. I’m just following protocol now. I’ve absolutely no intention of taking this contract on, but I can’t just walk out – as tempting as it is.

He raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by my change of approach. ‘Sure.’ He gets up from the sofa, striding over to his desk to collect his mobile. I gather my things, stuff them into my bag and follow his gesture to lead the way.

He quickly overtakes me, opening the door and performing an exaggerated gentlemanly bow as he holds it open. I smile politely – even though I know he’s playing with me – and exit into the corridor, heading towards the summer room. I stiffen on a gasp when he places a hand at the small of my back to guide me.

What’s he playing at? I’m trying my hardest to ignore it, but you would have to be dead not to notice the affect this man’s having on me. And I know he knows it. My skin’s burning all over – almost certainly warming his palm through my dress – I can’t get my breathing under control and walking is taking every bit of coordination and effort I possess. I’m pathetic, and it’s bloody obvious he’s enjoying the reactions he’s drawing from me. I must be quite amusing.

Annoyed with myself, I walk a little quicker to break the contact of his hand from my back, stopping when I reach the point of two possible routes.

He reaches me, pointing out across the lawns to the tennis courts. ‘Do you play?’

I actually laugh, but it’s a comfortable laugh. ‘No, I don’t.’ I can run, but that’s about it. Give me a bat, racket or a ball, then you’re asking for trouble. The corners of his mouth twitch into a grin at my reaction, bolstering the green of his eyes and lengthening his generous lashes. I smile, shaking my head in wonder at this glorious man. ‘You?’ I ask.

He continues through to the entrance hall, me following. ‘I don’t mind the odd game, but I’m more of an extreme sports kinda guy.’ He stops, and I halt with him.

He looks ridiculously fit and toned. ‘What sort of extreme sports?’

‘Snow-boarding, mainly, but I’ve tried my hand at white water rafting, bungee jumping and skydiving. I’m a bit of an adrenalin junky. I like to feel the blood pumping.’ He watches me as he speaks, making me feel scrutinised. You would have to anesthetise me before you got me doing any of his blood pumping pastimes. I’ll stick to a run every so often.

‘Extreme.’ I say, studying this magnificent man of an age I don’t know.

‘Very extreme,’ he confirms quietly. My breath catches again and I close my eyes, mentally yelling at myself for being such a loser. ‘Shall we continue?’ he asks. I can hear humour in his voice.

I open my eyes to be met by his penetrating, green stare. ‘Yes, please.’

I wish he would stop looking at me like that. He half smiles again and walks into the bar, greeting the men I saw earlier by clapping them on the shoulders. The woman is no longer here. The two men are very attractive, young – probably late twenties – and perched on bar stools, drinking bottles of beer.

‘Guys, this is Selena. Selena, this is Sam Kelt and Drew Davies.’

‘Good afternoon.’ Drew drawls. He’s a bit miserable. His appearance – he’s handsome in a rugged kind of way – and character, tell me he’s smart, confident and a business type. His black hair is perfectly styled, his suit pristine, his eyes shrewd.

‘Hi.’ I smile politely.

‘Welcome to the pleasure dome,’ Sam laughs, raising his bottle. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

I notice Ward shake his head lightly on an eye roll. Sam grins. He’s the polar opposite of Drew – all casual and laid back, in old jeans, a Superdry T-shirt and converse. He has a cheeky face, complimented by one dimple on his left cheek. His blue eyes twinkle, adding to his cheekiness, and his mousey brown, shoulder length hair is all over the place.

‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ I answer.

He nods at Ward. ‘Justin?’

‘No, I’m good, I‘m just giving Selena a tour of the extension. She’ll be working on the interiors.’ he says, smiling at me.

I quietly scoff to myself. Not if I have anything to do with it. Anyway, he’s jumping the gun a bit, isn’t he? We’ve not discussed rates, briefs or anything, for that matter.

‘About time, there are never any rooms Selenailable.’ Drew grumbles into his bottle. Why have I never heard of this place?

‘How was the boarding in Cortina, my man?’ Sam asks.

Ward perches on another stool. ‘Amazing. The Italian way of skiing follows pretty closely to their laid back lifestyle,’ He smiles broadly, the first proper full beam smile since I’ve laid eyes on him – all straight, white and lush. This man is a God. ‘I got up late, found a great mountain, ran the slopes until my legs buckled, had a siesta, ate late and started all over again the next day.’ He’s addressing us all but staring at me. His passion for the slopes is demonstrated in his wide smile.

I can’t help but return his beam. ‘You’re good?’ I ask, because it’s the only thing that comes to mind. I imagine he’s good at everything.

‘Very,’ he confirms quietly. I nod my approval, and for a few seconds, our eyes are locked. I’m the first to break it. ‘Shall we?’ he asks, pushing himself up from the stool and gesturing towards the exit.

‘Yes.’ I smile. I’m supposedly here to work, after all. All I’ve achieved so far is a hot flush and an establishment of extreme sports. I feel like I’m in a trance.

From the moment I pulled up to those gates, I knew it wasn’t going to be an average day to day meeting, and I was right. In the four years I’ve been visiting people in their homes, work places and new builds, I’ve never come across a Justin Ward. I probably never will do again. It’s undoubtedly a good job.

I turn to the two guys at the bar, smiling my goodbye, prompting them to raise their bottles before they continue with their conversation. I walk towards the door that leads back to the entrance hall, feeling him close behind me. He’s too close; I can smell him. I close my eyes, sending a small prayer to God to get me through this quickly, with at least a bit of dignity intact. He’s just way too intense and it’s throwing my senses in a million different directions.

‘So, now for the main feature,’ He begins to climb the wide staircase. I follow him, gazing around the colossal void that leads to a huge gallery landing. ‘These are the private rooms.’ he says, pointing to various doors that lead off of the landing.

I follow, admiring his lovely backside, thinking he possibly has the sexiest walk I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing. When I drag my eyes from his tidy rear, I see that there are at least twenty doors, evenly spaced and leading into rooms beyond. He leads me until we reach another grand staircase that stretches to another floor. At the foot of the stairs, there’s a beautiful stained glass window and an archway leading to another wing.

‘This is the extension,’ He guides me through to a new section of the mansion. ‘This is where I need your help.’ he adds, halting at the mouth of a corridor that leads to a further ten rooms.

‘This is all new?’ I ask.

‘Yes, they’re all shells at the moment, but I’m sure you’ll remedy that. Let me show you.’

I’m way past shocked when he takes my hand, tugging me down the corridor to the very last door. Inappropriate! His hand is still clammy, and I’m sure mine is trembling in his grip. The arched brow on a slight grin he flashes me, tells me I’m right. There’s some sort of super charged current flowing through us – it’s making me shudder.

He opens the door, directing me into a freshly plastered room. It’s vast, and the new windows are sympathetic to the existing property. Whoever built this did an excellent job.