#yes I used a stock image in the background I was TIRED-

[kawaiidreameater]

From my Paul 45 AU! Emma and Zoey find out that Ted has been going out with the clone and are totally not threatening him to not break his heart-

Inspired on that one Deep cut drawing from the song Big Betrayal!

Also-

:3

[anika-ann]

Stockings (S.R.)

Type:  Modern-college-professor AU - part of Attached series or a standalone

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 3000

Summary: You just wanted to decorate the apartment for a bit, you swear.

It wasn’t your fault that it was impossible to stay with your mind out of the gutter for longer than five minutes whenever Steve was around.

A/N: No knowledge of Attached needed I think 😉 Feel free to read as a standalone, you’ll find it in my masterlist as both.

A/N 2: For @wonderlandmind4​ ‘s challenge. Congrats on your follower count and for coming up with this awesome challenge!

Prompt: “Those - weren’t the kind of stockings I had in mind-“ (bold in text)

Warnings: suggestive themes, implied smut with tiny bit of action so 18+, nsfw, language (always), and one (1) trope that has definitely been used before

Series masterlist

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When the idea of decorating first flashed through your mind, it was, honest to God, completely innocent.

Due to loads of schoolwork, Halloween somehow passed by and you barely noticed, the most festive thing you had done being the indulgent orders of pumpkin spiced lattés and hogging some of the candy for your exam time stress-eating. Candy which just happened to be shaped like spiders, snakes, witches and other lovely stuff.

But that was it and with ditching the spooky holiday and the Thanksgiving which no one in your apartment was allowed to talk about, you itched to celebrate at least one of the holidays in peace and with everything that belonged with it.

Gifts, obviously.

Baking, perhaps.

Decorations, absolutely.

Last year, you and Penny had gone a bit overboard, fully affected by the holiday madness, and bought half the store (well, as much as your financial situation allowed anyway). Your dorm room looked as if Santa puked there, as Penny elaborately put it, but you both adored it.

Now, with Steve, you knew you had to be considerably more restrained.

Not that he would notice if your apartment turned into a damn Santa village, because he was too preoccupied with grading midterm papers. Non-stop, it seemed. The pile never ever appeared to be reducing.

However, you and Steve had set a rule that even if you were both crazy busy, you’d make time for at least one or two evenings together – simply to take few moments to fully appreciate each other’s company.

That night, Steve’s mind wandered despite trying to stay focused on you, you could tell. You felt for him, you truly did… but you missed him. Your time together, truly together, became so rare lately and--- you didn’t want to end up like the couple that kisses goodnight and good-morning just because they share quarters and a bed, and ignores one another for the rest of the day.

Rather than letting the gloomy thoughts consume you though, you tried a different approach; humour.

After all, that was how your relationship had started, along with loads of awkwardness.

“Penny says hi, by the way,” you said casually, practically feeling Steve’s absence despite his body engulfing you as you cuddled on the couch, movie on your laptop playing in the background which neither of you were watching.

Steve hummed, his fingers never ceasing the comforting strokes on your arm.

You adored him, you did – which really was the reason why you couldn’t but mess with him, tease him for his mental trip to the far-away lands.

“She and Bucky hooked up again.”

“Mm.”

“She still claims he was the best she ever had.”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Steve muttered, almost as if he was actually listening to you.

“I’m meeting them tomorrow both, because they offered me a threesome.”

“That’s nice.”

The corners of your lips twitched. God, Steve was lucky to have you to take his mind off his job sometimes, otherwise he would work himself into the ground with how much of his brain space was filled with university matters. He was so detached from life sometimes…

“Bucky asked if he could film it, do you think I should say yes?”

“Whatever you think—wait WHAT?!” he cried out, sitting up straight, hence pushing you up too since you had been nestled on his chest.

Giggles erupted from your throat as you watched his perplexed and scandalized face, realization slowly dawning on him as he probably went over the last few sentences that left your mouth – and his expression gradually melted into an apologetic one, blending into exhaustion as he ran his hand down his face.

You cupped his cheeks then, leaning in to plant a kiss on his forehead – you would swear it was a fraction hotter than normal, his poor brain overheating – and stifled the aww threatening to spill when Steve closed his eyes contentedly, a hum vibrating in his chest.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing your lips chastely before wrapping his arms around you to hold you close again, face nuzzling your hair. “I’m listening now.”

You curled into his warmth, much more welcoming than the comforter wrapped around you.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I know you’re tired. We’ll just call it a night.”

“But you wanted to talk about something?” he protested softly, earning a hum in affirmation.

“Just wanted to ask if you’d be okay with me decorating the apartment? Just a bit, to bring a piece of the Christmas spirit in here?”

You could feel his smile against your scalp as his thumb caressed your shoulders blades, his large form shifting for a bit.

“We both live here, sweetheart,” he reminded you and you made a tiny sound of protest. Yes, he was correct, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t consult him on stuff before messing with the interior, even if it was with the best intentions. Duh. “But I appreciate you asking. Decorations, huh?”

You withdrew, meeting his tired eyes with a barely-there twinkle. You smiled at up at him innocently, showing him a tiny space between your thumb and index finger.

“Just a little bit. Just the basics…”

“Uh-huh. The basics. So that’s what? Christmas lights, stockings, mistletoe, a tree?” he mused, his thumb moving to your chin, to your lower lip, brushing it tenderly as you nodded minutely with a smile. His irises lit up a fraction with that image he must have painted in his mind and you felt familiar warmth around your heart at the sight. “I guess we’ll have to talk about getting a tree then. But it sounds nice, babygirl. The mistletoe in particular.”

He proceeded to capture that lips with his, lazy but indulgent kiss that sent pleasant sparkles down your spine and yet made you sleepy as it was soothing, feeling like home.

“Yeah. Sounds nice,” you echoed dreamily, meeting his lips again in a short kiss before nudging him to stand up so you could begin to move to bed.

Only later it occurred to you just how nice you could do with the stuff Steve had mentioned if you tried – and you fell asleep in his arms, a menacing grin that would make Grinch green with envy on your lips.

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Carrying the box after hanging one mistletoe branchlet in the kitchen along with very few fairy lights in the window, you were ready to move onto the bedroom, where Steve was, again, working.

Not for long, you hoped – after all, you put notable effort into your appearance.

With a small smirk on your lips, you knocked on the separating wall, peeking from behind it, trying your best not reveal too much.

Steve didn’t even bother looking up, a semi-loud hum the only sign of him acknowledging your presence.

“I’m gonna decorate this room… you mind me messing around for a bit?” you asked, attempting to sound compassionate about his workload, which you were, and perfectly innocent, which you were not.

That got him eye you briefly, an unconvincing smile passing his lips.

“Sure, go ahead,” he encouraged you softly. He turned his gaze back to the papers on his desk and started writing notes before you could even respond – hence missing your victorious smile.

“Thanks!”

You gleefully walked in, steps soundless against the floor thanks to the thin fabric covering your soles, and placed the box on your own desk.

The rustle of papers and the sudden lack of scribbling sound had you biting your cheek so you wouldn’t burst out laughing.

Steve cleared his throat loudly; when you looked at him over your shoulder however, he went back to reading his damn papers.

You swallowed your disappointment, trying not to think much of it – Steve could be very patient when he wanted to be – or very impulsive. And sometimes, he was both at the same time.

So you pressed your lips together and removed the other branchlet of mistletoe from the top of the box, following with Christmas lights, putting whatever you needed on the desk.

“Sweetheart…” Steve’s voice sounded from his seat, partly amused, partly… hoarse, affected, and you had to bite your lips so the giggles wouldn’t spill out. “What are you wearing?”

You turned to him, making a show of checking your outfit, letting your palms sprawl over your barely covered thighs and slowly moving them up, the hem of Steve’s loose ivory sweater hiking up an inch and revealing the lace of your thigh-high crimson stockings; perhaps even offering a peek of the straps holding them in place due to the garter belt.

“Your old sweater… and stockings,” you offered with a one-shoulder shrug, cool as cucumber in December – or as yourself teasing your loveable boyfriend at the end of November – on the outside, giddy on the inside as his gaze trailed all over your figure, wavering at the lace and the patch of skin on display, before focusing on your face.

“Those-- those weren’t the kind of stockings I had in mind-- when I, uhm, talked about decorating this place,” he explained.

He sounded almost patient, as if it wasn’t clear as day. His irises, however, were not clear – a cloud of desire covered them, turning them a shade darker, hungrier.

It sent a pleasant shiver up your spine, heat pooling in your belly, satisfaction at inching closer to your goal causing your chest nearly puff with pride.

“Oh, my bad!” you exclaimed, chuckling self-depreciatingly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you eyed Steve from under your eyelashes, picture perfect of innocence… not. “Silly me! I’m sorry, I know how much you hate me in stockings…”

“Babygirl…”

His voice resembled a growl, a low warning not to toy with him – which was exactly what you did want to do, teasing him shamelessly when having added emphasis on him not liking your attire.

Stockings and/or his clothes on you got your boyfriend going in fact, sometimes for hours even, thank you very much.

“Yes, Steve?”

“This isn’t going to work, you know. I really have to finish these,” he stated and you most definitely didn’t imagine the impatience and his dislike towards his task sneaking into his voice.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. These are just…” you bit gently on your lower lip, sliding your palms up and down your thighs, Steve’s gaze following the motion instinctively, pupils dilating with the craving to replace your hands with his own, “…comfy, just like your sweater. You never minded when I borrowed it before—you know I love stealing it. It just… it smells like you and it’s warm. It’s like you’re all over me. It’s perfect.”

His glare zeroed on your mouth, slightly accented by a natural, yet visible shade of your lipstick. Steve didn’t say a word, simply staring – and shifting slightly in his seat, much to your glee, which hopefully didn’t show too much – and grumbling an unidentifiable noise.

You felt for him, you truly did – god knew that sometimes, you were overwhelmed with schoolwork too – but that didn’t stop you from smiling at him sweetly now, adding an apologetic tone to your next words.

“Sorry. I talk too much. Don’t let me disturb you. You have work to do and so do I. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

Then you spun on your heels and went back to continue your previous activity, laying out decorations on your desk.

Steve only grunted behind you, but you could hear him as he started going through the papers again, probably trying – and hopefully failing – to ignore your presence.

It wasn’t that you wanted to be mean, there was no single drop of malice in your plan; Steve needed to get his head off his work for a bit, even if he wasn’t aware of it. The way he was overworking himself was beginning to threaten to his sanity.

You simply wanted to help and this was just the way that had crossed your mind first; it was entirely on Steve and his stupidly perfect everything that you couldn’t seem to get your head out of the gutter sometimes when in his presence.

You wished nothing more than for him to turn off his brain… and to relax and enjoy himself.

Clearly, he was enjoying the view indeed.

You caught his sharp inhale when you accidentally dropped a tacky plastic Santa and proceeded to bend over to pick it up… offering Steve a perfect view of your rear and revealing the smart garter belt you wore; with nothing as much as a thong, leaving your most intimate areas bare.

You heard him shuffling in the chair and had to smirk, mentally counting down the time until his resolve broke.

He was holding up quite bravely – nearly long enough to make you doubt your ability to seduce him. Except the shuffle of papers that followed sounded as if he was trying to make a point and you knew that the breaking point was on horizon.

So when the time came to set in motion what you assumed would be the final strike – pushing the chair from your desk to the middle of the room to get ready to put your stockings on display right in his natural line of vision – you delicately took the branchlet of mistletoe with you, climbing up and carefully tying it to the lamp.

Steve’s pen hit the desk with a click and you quickly shot him a glance, meeting his stern and yet rather amused eyes. He sighed at your ridiculously unsubtle antics, but one corner of his lips rose anyway.

“Alright, that’s it. Get down here, you little minx,” he huffed.

Oh, sweet victory.

Mirroring his expression, you retorted cheekily: “Come get me.”

There was no missing the dangerous glint in is eye as he rose to his feet and stalked to your chair, a smirk playing on his lips, every movement purposeful and precise as if he was a predator chasing his prey to the corner.

Your breathing picked up as he neared, your heart pounding, chest heaving quickly – fuck, wasn’t it an erotic sight, Steve’s figure cladded in plain t-shirt and sweats, looking up at you as if he was about to eat you alive.

Maybe it was the expression on his face, somewhere between aroused, amused, cocky and predatory at the same time. Maybe it was the outline of his semi-hard dick on his sweatpants. But shit, you knew you were in trouble, you loved it, and you might have been this close to drooling. You were glad for forgoing underwear, because it would be absolutely useless and soaked through in an instant.

And Steve hadn’t even started yet.

Stopping right in front of you, craning his neck only a bit to face you (the tall bastard), his wide palms sprawled over your calves, their heat warming you from inside out.  

An appreciative hum rumbled in his chest as his touch trailed up at torturously slow pace, drinking in the sight of your ragged breaths, indulging in every inch he laid his hands on. You couldn’t withhold the shudder running through your whole body and his grin widened.

“You’re such a fucking tease….” he whispered, licking his lips as his gaze fell lower again, following the movements of his hands, clasping the back of your thighs now, inching toward their inner part, fingers brushing the hem of your stockings.

“Is it-“ You had to clear your throat against the lump that grew there, your body buzzing with anticipation, the smart remark growing heavy on your tongue. “Is it teasing when you can just take what you want?”

He chuckled, a delicious dark sound, bringing more slickness between your legs, much to his apparent satisfaction as he set eyes on his prize.

“Downright naughty…”

His mouth landed softly on the inside of your right calf, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs to nudge them few inches apart to make space for him.

“Does that… uhm, does that mean I won’t be getting any presents from Santa this year?”

You had genuinely no clue how you managed to form a sentence through the fog of arousal around your brain, only growing thicker when Steve’s teeth grazed the skin above your knee, his fingertips brushing an extremely sensitive spot so close to your core.

“You could come down now, be a very good girl and I might put in a good word for you,” he muttered, biting down some more, drawing a mewl from your lips, another one escaping you when he snapped one of the strings holding your stockings in place.

The sharp gentle pain was enough to make words roll off your tongue.

“You think that would work?”

“Oh sweetheart…” Steve chuckled again, a huff of breath warming your thighs, before his eyes, wide-blown and hungry, met yours. “If it doesn’t… you can be damn sure I’m gonna give you fucking everything I have.”

You yelped when his grip on the back of your thighs tightened and he tugged you forward, your hands instantly going to his shoulders to maintain balance as you found yourself with no surface under your feet all of sudden.

He grinned up at you – the show-off, but by God, wasn’t the demonstration of strength setting your body on fire, rendering you speechless – and slowly lowered you to the ground, half-lidded eyes zeroed on your lips. He made damn sure that you felt his erection against your body at all time as he always loosened his grip and tightened it a second later, until your feet touched the ground – and yet you felt your legs shaking, unsteady with the need to feel more of him.

It dawned to you how crazy he managed to drive you, your roles reversed, your plan backfiring. But was it? Backfiring? Because you couldn’t wait to see how it would unfold--

His hands slipped under the sweater you stole from him, one grasping your hip to hold you tight against his body, fingers of the other diving into the pool of slick between your legs, causing you to jerk forward into his hand.

He leaned down to nip at the skin of your neck right under your ear, forefinger circling your clit for a good measure, drawing a needy moan from you.

“And I bet you’re gonna take it…” he hummed into your ear, satisfied smile audible in his hoarse voice, “and thank me for it like the good girl you are.”

You barely forced the words out, heavy with desire but any less true.

“Yes, Professor Rogers. I think I will.”

“Damn right.”

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S.R. masterlist

Attached masterlist

The One Word (next in timeline)

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I really wanted to come up with an original title… and failed. Also, it was supposed to be a drabble, but you know that I tend to babble… and rhyme, apparently.

Thank you for reading and for any kind of feedback :-*

[nazghoulz]

The Definitive Ranking of Richard Armitage’s Acting Roles, Rated Exclusively by How Hot I Find Him In Screengrabs

Richard Armitage. As a diehard Thorin Oakenshield fan I certainly have a complicated relationship with him, mainly because I can never decide if I find him inherently hot or not. On the one hand, I’m a hardcore Thorinfucker. On the other hand my gay ass sees a headshot of Mr. Armitage and I’m just like, “Oh, no thank you.” So in order to set myself to rights, I have gone through Mr. Armitage’s IMDB and done a definitive ranking of all his 44 screen roles on there, based completely and arbitrarily on how hot I find him in screenshots. (Thank you to all the hardcore Armitage Fuckers who keep wordpress blogs with screengrabs of his various cameos and bit parts; my respect for you cannot be put into words.) I haven’t seen like 90% of these properties, and I didn’t bother to research them, so these are mainly just gut first impressions. I hope this helps anyone else out there who as confused by him as I am. Enjoy ?

44. Father Quart in The Seville Communion/The Man From Rome (2020)   — ??/10

I don’t think this movie is out yet? Idk I haven’t been able to find any stills of him, let alone much information about the movie itself. It’s listed on his IMDB though! And apparently he’s playing a priest...which could be extremely  👁️👁️ if done correctly.

43. Unnamed Naboo Fighter Pilot in Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace (1999) — 1/10

OH SWEETIE NO!!!!! This physically pains me to say this, because I unironically love this terrible movie with my whole heart, but unlike a yung Kiera Knightley’s role (pictured front and center) as Padmé’s loyal body double Sabé, this is probably a cameo that we would all like to forget about. The only thing Richard has to offer is this unfortunate turtle-faced realness. This helmet does him no favors.

42. Man in Pub in Boon (1992) — 2/10

As far as I know this is Richard’s first acting credit on IMDB, and he for sure is working the background extra energy. Go on girl give us nothing! He does have a decent backside though, and it’s better than looking at unfortunate turtle face, so I give this one a 2.

41. Paul Andrews in Between the Sheets (2003)  — 2/10

I can’t really articulate why, but I absolutely despise every screenshot I see of Richard Armitage in this role. He is completely unhot, and not even in a way I can laugh at. He takes no advantage of his assets, he has no charisma, no magnetism, no nothing. This is Richard Armitage at his most white bread rando, in a way that makes me actively dislike him. Pbbbbttth. Bad. Throw this whole thing away.

40. Craig Parker in Casualty (2001)  — 2/10

I don’t know, it’s like the perfect storm of the gelled 2001 hair, the terrible quarter? eighth? zip sweater, and overall, er, skeezy vibes that he gives off that makes him particularly unhot in this role. Perhaps not as reprehensible as Unhot Paul, but still. I think the sheer boringness of this has to count for something. Blech.

39. Dr. Tom Steele in Doctors (2001) — 2.5/10

He honestly looks like a villain in an early season of Alias, which... well. Quentin Tarantino was cast as a bit-part villain in Alias season one, so take that as you will. But at least he’s compelling here, which is why he gets half a point over Unhot Paul.

38. Steven in Frozen (2005) — 3/10

Get some rest, tall child! You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends! Also short haircuts do nothing for you, Richard. Styled like this, they just serve to make you look sort of like a sleaze.

37. Peter Macduff in ShakespeaRe-Told (2005) — 3/10

He honestly looks like he could be a guest star in Friends in this one, where he’s a guy named Jason who Ross meets in Central Perk where they find they have a lot in common. Ross introduces Jason to Monica and they really hit it off, but it all comes crashing down because while Jason is sensitive and writes poetry, he also thinks that the Earth is flat. The rest of the episode is trying to get rid of Jason while he becomes increasingly obsessed with Monica, and Ross cannot quite let go trying to prove to Jason that the world is round. Anyway. Macduff Flat Earth Jason isn’t quite as unhot as Unhot Paul, but he’s pretty much on the same level as Tired Steven.

36. Phillip Durrant in Marple (2007) — 3/10

Something about him in this image really makes me want to punch him in the face. It’s huge Peter Parker in Spider-Man 3 energy.

35. Young Claude Monet in The Impressionists (2006) — 3.5/10

I’M LOSING MY FUCKING MIND THE FIRST THING THAT COMES TO MIND IS !!! CARNIVAL BARKER !!!!! STEP RIGHT UP TO SEE THE WORST GOATEE IN HISTORY !!! I was actually going to give Yung Claude a 2 but the more I look at this terrible beard the more impressed I am with the boldness of this look, so I had to bump it up to 3.5. Idk. Just look at this. It’s incredible, especially knowing what kind of beard Armitage can grow himself !!!!!!!!

34. Heinz Kruger in Captain America: The First Avenger (2011) — 3.5/10

This is definitely the best looking he’s been so far in this list, but he’s a Nazi in this one, which makes him unsexy on principle. But do I feel a little something when he gets pinned to the ground by jacked Chris Evans with the above look on his face right before he swallows his cyanide pill? Can neither confirm nor deny. They are also truly playing into his inherently sinister bone structure, so I can respect that.

33. Percy Courtney in Miss Marie Lloyd (2007) — 4/10

Even including Yung Claude and Nazi Heinz, I think Nothing Percy is probably the weakest of Richard’s period looks, mostly because he looks like, well, nothing. He certainly doesn’t pull off that top hat like he does in North and South, and the secret to that might be the lack of sideburns. In this one he just sort of reminds me of the asshole fiance in Titanic.

32. Philip Turner in The Inspector Lynley Mysteries (2005) — 4/10

He’s really giving off bargain bin Hugh Jackman as Wolverine vibes here, if Logan’s energy was more “murderer in a Hallmark channel mystery” than “superhero.” Though, given what sort of show this is, that may be the point! Idk, this isn’t the worst. At least he has a decent haircut in this one. Still, I feel absolutely nothing when I look at him. He’s simply royalty-free stock music given human form.

31. Dr. Alec Track in The Golden Hour (2005) — 4.5/10

I could see how this conceivably be sexy in this role, but to be honest, he’s still nothing to me, sorry. He gets some extra points because he obviously worked out for this role and the hard nips through a white undershirt is a commendable look. I whole-heartedly respect Doctor Alec’s thottitude.

30. Daryl in Staged (1999) — 4.5/10

Speaking of thottitude!!!!! This is one cream-faced business boy that I can certainly get into! He looks like the love interest in a pre-Hayes code homoerotic thriller from the early 1930s. I’m sure that’s just because of the lighting and general staging of this production, but hm... demure. Love it.

29. Capt. Ian Macalwain in Ultimate Force (2003) — 4.5/10

Well, he looks like a character from M*A*S*H but with no charisma, or like an extra in The Great Escape who snitches on Steve McQueen to the Nazis. Also in half the pictures I find of him from this he’s wearing this terrible beret, which I know he can pull off because of a role that ranks much higher on this list. Whoever styles this man really needs to pay attention to what sort of headgear they put on him.  

28. Epiphanes in Cleopatra (1999) — 5/10

Speaking of headgear, you know what?? He doesn’t look awful here. A solid 5, perfectly acceptable. I think the helmet does a lot to accentuate the sharpness of his face in this extremely bit part, though the eyeliner definitely also helps as well.

27. John Mulligan in Moving On (2009) — 5/10

Mr. Armitage’s characters can really have potential when a production’s stylist allows him to wear scruff (IN A WAY THAT LOOKS NATURAL, LOOKING AT YOU YUNG CLAUDE). However, as it is with John Mulligan in Moving On here, he just sort of looks like a rando? They’re not playing into the inherent angularity of his face, which for me makes it sort of confusing regarding what sort of emotion I’m supposed to feel while looking at him. As it is, I’m just like, “Yup, that sure is a regular human man, right there.”

26. Smug Man at Party in This Year’s Love (1999) — 5/10

This is the face of a man who less smug and is more DRUNK OUT OF HIS MIND !!!! Idk. He’s cute here, I’ll admit. That’s all I have to say about it.

25. John Standring in Sparkhouse (2002) — 5.5/10

I enjoy the bold choice of giving him wavy hair in this one, but I’m not sure he quite pulls it off. It doesn’t look bad, per se, just... he looks completely nonthreatening. Which I guess could be someone’s thing, but not mine. He honestly looks like a knock-off Will Graham, sans dogs and trauma.

24. Gary in Into the Storm (2014) — 5.5/10

I think the thing that really gets me is that this character’s name is Gary. Who on God’s green Earth looks at Richard Armitage and goes, “Ah yes, you do look like a Gary” ??? I don’t think I know of a single non-American Gary, especially since the name Gary only got popularized after Gary Cooper renamed himself after his hometown of Gary, Indiana!!!! It wasn’t really a name for human men before that!!!! I want to live in the alternate universe where Frank Cooper was originally from Albuquerque and named himself Albuquerque Cooper and this character is named as such. Gary. Really.

23. King Oleron in Alice Through the Looking Glass (2016) — 5.5/10

I truly hate how much his facial expressions in these stills remind me of Thorin, considering how bad he looks otherwise. Like his face his fine, I guess, especially since this is the first instance of his full beard. I’m charmed despite myself! Take me to wonderland, O King.

22. Adam Price in The Stranger (2020) — 5.5/10

For as compelling as people call this series, Richard here isn’t very much so imo. But despite my utter lack of interest, he doesn’t look bad per se. He just sort of has that stubbly white man blandness that colors a lot of his more recent roles. Like, at least his bad mid-2000′s styling had character. This is just the visual representation of a vague handwave.

21. Harry Kennedy in The Vicar of Dibley (2006)  — 6/10

Gosh... floppy hair, cute sweaters... he also seems to be smiling a lot in this one, which is nice! The only thing I have to complain about is that he looks very much like if Bradley Cooper and Hugh Jackman circa Kate and Leopold had a baby, which may not necessarily be too much of a bad thing, but I can’t unsee it.

20. Sgt. John Porter in Strike Back (2010)  — 6/10

Ah, back to poorly suited haircuts. At least he’s a little bit gritter and grimier than we’ve seen so far, and I will say Richard Armitage does look good covered in dirt, as we will see later on. Also he’s got biceps in this one, which, hell yeah.

19.  Ricky Deeming in Inspector George Gently (2007)  — 6/10

I’M HAVING THE HARDEST TIME RIGHT NOW RANKING THIS ONE BC OF THIS INCREDIBLE LITTLE WHITE SCARF-RIDING LEATHERS COMBO!!! WHICH ABSOLUTE GENIUS DECIDED THIS!!!! EVERY SCREENSHOT OF HIM IN HIS EPISODE HAS THIS!!! Part of me just wants to give Stylish Ricky a big fat 10 because I’m gay and adore the sheer audacity of this look, but I still have to be fair and rank his overall aura accordingly. I think he’s a handsome extremely gay-coded motorcycle lad in this one, but he doesn’t exactly rev my engine, so to speak.

18. Lucas North in Spooks (2008) — 6/10

The tattoos really spice this one up. Luke could have been plagued by the problems inherent in Regular Mulligan’s Moving On styling, but this guy has an edge to him. He has a good haircut and 5′ o’clock shadow, which is something I’ve figured out is integral to Armitage Hotness. I feel like if I got to know this character I could possibly find him sexy.

17. Raymond de Merville in Pilgrimage (2017) — 6.5/10

Speaking of bad haircuts, this one is his undoing. This is almost the perfect balance between full beard and short haircut, which is the only way a short haircut works on this man, but they ruined it with this one! They gave him a bad bowl fade, which completely undoes any inherent sexiness that comes with being a knight. Not even the fact that he’s covered in dirt can turn me on at this point, ugh. Guy of Gisbourne he is not!!!

16. Tom Calahan in Brain on Fire (2016) — 6.5/10

Oh hell yes, WELCUM 2 DA DILF ZONE!!! I’m not super duper thrilled with the looks I’ve seen from this movie, but he seems scruffy and comfy in a way that is slightly refreshing for ol’ Richard. This is certainly the best of his normie looks so far. I’m just sad it took them 24 years to figure out how to style him properly for sympathetic roles in a contemporary setting.

15. James in My Zoe (2019) — 6.5/10

It’s another DILF look, slightly edgier than Comfy Tom but none of that sexy tired energy that we’ll see from Ocean’s 8. I don’t know !! Jimmy here doesn’t exactly thrill me, I think I prefer Tom’s flannels to this sharp bomber jacket/white t shirt combo seen here. Oh well! I am extremely  👀 👀 👀 👀 👀 that he can just casually palm that soccer ball like that.

14. John Thornton in North & South (2004)  — 7/10

Alright. I’m sorry. I just don’t find him that hot in this role. Like yeah, he’s got the scruff and the sideburns that work to his advantage, and the setting does make this character inherently sexy, but in some screenshots he screams too much of an aforementioned Kate and Leopold (the best Meg Ryan movie, imo) era Hugh Jackman to me. And if I was particularly into that, I would just watch Kate and Leopold again. I will admit, however, that this rating could be subject to change if I actually took the time to watch this show.

13. Chop in Urban and the Shed Crew (2015) — 7/10

...I’M??? INTO IT??? He’s dirty and scruffy but also has kind eyes.... I feel like this is knock off Will Graham who has blossomed into his own. His run down, grime-covered own. He’s back edging into Bradley Cooper territory, but somehow it works for him in this one. Like, I’m 89% sure it’s the DILF vibes I’ve been getting from the other screengrabs I’ve seen of this role, and this particular flavor of DILF is way sexier than Jimmy or Comfy Tom.

12. Francis Dolarhyde in Hannibal (2015) — 7/10

His Caesar cut doesn’t bother me quite so much in this, probably because he is pretty explicitly playing a villain in a series that doesn’t have any basis in reality. A villain who is ripped, and who can effortlessly throw real Will Graham around. Armitage uses his inherent sinisterness to great effect as the Red Dragon, which is good actually! I think a lot of how hot he is in any particular role really depends on whether the styling allows him to play to his strengths...idk! I’m not usually a huge fan of clean shaven Armitage, but it works for Frank here.

11. Daniel Miller in Berlin Station (2016) — 7/10

As much as I adore this particular look (beard + fade + green army jacket), I have to compromise and give Danny a 7/10 because it seems like the first season they styled him in usual stubbly white man blandness. I’d say screengrabs from s1 are a solid 6, while this might be an 8, so the average is a 7. That’s all I have to say about this!

10. Claude Becker in Ocean’s 8 (2018) — 7.5/10

!!!!! I love him in this role, I about had a conniption in the theater because I absolutely was not expecting him!! He looks perfectly ruffled and scruffy, edgier than either Comfy Tom or Jimmy, which I’m very into. That plus his two borzois (objectively the best looking dogs on the planet) really put Old Claude over the top for me. Thank you, thank you Hollywood stylists for finally figuring out what to do with him for roles as a Normal Man.

9. Richard Hall in The Lodge (2019) — 7.5/10

I don’t know anything about this movie, but it seems pretty spooky, which I’m into. I think Richard is well suited for this sort of horror/thriller role, where his angular features can play into the overall vibe rather than some hapless stylist trying to work around them. He looks like another cozy DILF here but with a bite to him, like someone who would do anything to protect his brood. I mean, he’s teaching this child to shoot! But idk, he also has the potential for Jack Nicholson in The Shining energy, which I also could be....hm... into. Idk. Is this on Netflix??

8. Lee in Cold Feet (2003) — 7.5/10

FUN!!! FLIRTY!!!! OTTER VIBES!!!!! I LOVE THIS, he seems so goofy here, and Armitage doesn’t usually pull off goofy that well! I’ve giggled at literally every screenshot I could find from the four episodes he was in this show, he seems like a real himbo. I’m a huge fan, even if it comes at the cost of dehydration abs.

7. William Chatford in Malice Aforethought (2005) — 7.5/10

Hoo hoo HOO DO NOT JUDGE ME!!!!!!! Maybe it’s just because I’ve been watching the new season of The Alienist and the new dark and gritty HBO reboot of Perry Mason back to back, but sue me, I love the bold choice they made with giving him a pencil moustache here. He looks like a hot Howard Hughes; if cream-faced business boy Daryl from Staged is the young ingenue in the pre-Hayes Code thriller I cast him in, Bill here is the sexy antagonist. I desperately want to hear a perfect Transatlantic accent coming out out of that  mouth. This look fucks and I’m sticking to that no matter what.

6. Trevor Belmont in Castlevania (2017) — 8/10

Ah, yes, speaking of king himbos... do me a favor and look me right in the eye and tell me that you wouldn’t fuck Trevor Belmont. You can’t, can you?????? At least 80% of Richard Armitage’s inherent hotness stems from his voice, and you can’t tell me there isn’t anything sexier than thinking about letting that guy loose in a recording studio and letting him say fuck. Look, Trevor may be drawn that way, but it’s the absolute stupidity coming out of his mouth in that sweet baritone that makes me want to be raw-dogged by 100% pure Romanian beef.

5. Dr. Scott White in Sleepwalker (2017) — 8/10 

Much like I had intimated when talking about Hot Danny in Berlin Station, this is Peak contemporary normie Richard Armitage styling. I honestly think The Hobbit either awakened something in him, or casting directors finally figured out he looks way good with a full beard. His crew cut even works with his whole look, which is a miracle!!!! I think he should be contractually obligated to have a full beard in all of his future roles, but that’s just me.

4. Guy of Gisbourne in Robin Hood (2006) — 8.5/10

I honestly can’t believe I’m ranking Guy so far up here, but honestly, THIS RULES!!!!!! THIS FUCKS!!!!!!!!! Which is incredible due to Guy’s lack of beard, but I’m weirdly okay with it? Like sure, he looks like he’d probably call me a slur in front of his shitty friends, but he also looks like he could tenderly pound me into the mattress in a way that would have me questioning my commitment to the “no emotions” clause of our clandestine no-strings-attached sex agreement. Anyway. Guy of Gisbourne if you see this im free thursday night. please message me back if you’re free thursday night when i am fr

3. Angus in Macbeth (1999) — 8.5/10

HHHNGHGNHNGHGN HE’S SO HOT.....!!! HE’S SO HOT!!!!! Leather jacket!!! Scruff!! Dirt!!!! Flattering beret!!!!! He’s so hot, and the worst part about this is that this was filmed in NINETEEN NINETY NINE!!!!!!!!!!!! Which means we could have always had this, had stylists and makeup artists PLAYED TO HIS STRENGTHS!!!!! He’s so hot I’m getting legitimately angry. Without scruff and dirt this man is nothing. N o t h i n g.

2. John Proctor in The Crucible (2014) — 9/10

Look, I know I have a type. But... this guy is just so hot, Daniel Day Lewis please step aside!!!! Contemporary theater historians describe John Proctor as a “strong beast of a man,” and... hhhHHOOOGH HELL YEAH!!! HELL !!!! YEAH !!!!! Like, his dick got almost his entire Puritan village, including himself, accused of witchcraft and like, looking at this guy, I kind of get it. I would probably go to war over the raw animal beauty of this horrible dirty, greasy man. Sue me, I confess. I saw Goody Osburn with the devil.

1. Thorin II Oakenshield in The Hobbit Trilogy  — 9.5/10

Come on. You knew it was going to be this guy. Look at my icon for christ’s sake. I am completely biased, I cannot look at his pictures objectively. Anyway. Thank you so much for reading, this was a very stupid list.

[beerecordings]

hey!!! i'd love to see more with the favored puppet au, that's always been one of my favorite concepts. maybe at a point where chase feels apathy in the face of anti, his caretaker, being a bad person? or something from before, when anti decided chase was worrying him and he didn't want to play the games anymore? :'D ty ty

Favored Puppet AU (Chase): After stalking, haunting, and toying with Chase for years, Anti eventually realized it was no longer fun to play with him while his suffering was so high. Instead, Anti kidnapped Chase and keeps him away from the world as its companion. Chase has learned to be alright with that. The human world, after all, was never very kind to him.

Triggers for heavy discussions of Chase’s past suicide attempts and depression and Chase trying to cut himself again, though he doesn’t succeed. Also might be considered soft!Anti, though Chase is the only one it’s soft for.

Florence I decided to combine that first prompt (Chase feeling apathy when Anti’s being awful) with another prompt so you will see that later! for this one I decided to do that moment where Anti decided he didn’t want to play games anymore. thank you for sending them my dude!! also this is my first time writing for this au so the mythology is really experimental but I just tried to do something new with Anti :) it’s very inhuman and doesn’t really understand Chase, but it decides it wants him, so...

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It sits on top of his refrigerator and watches him have his first meal of the day, a depression snack at nine at night compromised almost entirely of the last crumbs in an old bag of Cheetos. The skinny little human creature – though Anti’s seen him staring at his shirtless torso in the mirror enough times to know he’s only growing more dissatisfied with his softening stomach and arms – throws his head back and dumps the rest of the crisps into his mouth, getting orange dust all over his unkempt beard. Anti giggles at the sight of him. Clown boy with his Cheeto dust and the bags under his eyes. Little human thing. Too small and silly even to be able to die. Goofy, stupid human. Slouching, miserable child.

But if there is one thing Anti enjoys about the human, it is his fierce, hateful courage. At first, the laughter in the edges of his hearing sent chills up the boy’s spine and made him turn around with wild eyes, spitting and gnashing his blunt mortal teeth, but now, after months of being haunted, he does nothing except turn around and glare.

Anti is invisible on his refrigerator, but the human – what is his name? Charles, Casey, something – he still tries to find it. He has eyes made to burn, blue as flame, though, to be perfectly fair, fire can be as much a source of life as the bitter weapon Casey makes with his gaze now.

He used to be warm. Anti remembers. He would stutter when the girl came to see him and he carried those little chips with him, rubbing them in his pocket when he passed the liquor store, and his children were all he thought about. But he’s changed. Anti watched it happen. For whatever reason, the girl stopped bringing the children by at all, and at some point the pain of it must have overwhelmed the man, and Anti watched him embrace old habits with a ferocity only describable as self-harm. After his second suicide attempt – that was the only time Anti let Casey see it, standing over him and staring at the crimson of his blood in the bathtub while the man screamed for it to kill him already, shrieking in despair as Anti picked up his phone from the bathroom counter and dialed 911, giggling at the thought of just how powerful his despair would be when he woke up in the hospital – he removed his children from the background of that phone and replaced it with a stock image of the ocean provided to him by Apple’s recommendation.

The light slid out of his eyes at some point. Anti was there. It watched the whole thing.

It enjoyed the whole thing. Mostly.

“Fucking kill me, then, bitch,” hisses Casey, slinking through his own kitchen like he’s being hunted. He is. “Playing games with me, always, well, I’m tired of playing, you know that, I’m tired… fucking kill me then, not afraid of you, not afraid…”

This is also true. Anti’s pretty sure the only reason he moved back to America was to make sure none of his friends would be in the way of the creature who haunts him finally finishing the job. And to stop them from telling him “you need to get help, you’re talking to the voices in your head and seeing things, it’s not real, you need to see a specialist” in an endless carousel of concern and – as Casey always perceived it – condescension.

“Fucking kill me!” he screams, slamming his hand down on his counter. He shatters a pile of unwashed dishes on accident and blood comes pooling up hot and coppery in the lines of his palm, but Casey doesn’t even look down, doesn’t even flinch, just keeps staring straight forward with fire eyes as wild as a horse’s.

But Anti’s bored with him. It hops down from the fridge and wanders through the apartment, whistling. In the kitchen, it hears the man howling as the whistling returns to torment him, the monster’s singing following him for hours and hours every day, never letting him sleep.

Anti used to think it was really funny, that something as simple as a whistled lullaby could make the man shatter in half and sob like his heart was broken open in his hands.

But honestly?

It’s less fun these days.

“Music, music, music,” rants the human in the kitchen, slamming his palm down again and again, cutting open his palm again, again. There’s banging on the walls and muffled yelling. The neighbors are sick of his screaming. He’ll be evicted soon, Anti reckons. Humans used to travel in packs, making it harder to pick them off, but these days ones like Casey often find themselves alone, and no one is around to stand up for him. “I’ll make you stop, I’ll make you shut up, shut up, shut up….”

Anti lets the human sprint past it and retreat to his bedroom, crawling under the bed and taking his laptop with him. He puts on big earphones and presses them hard against his ears, and he rocks himself as his music plays, turned up to one hundred on his computer, mumbling to himself, laughing sometimes, if Anti listens closely enough.

Anti crouches down to look at him. It hums to itself and touches Casey’s face, and he shrivels in on himself and whimpers, but he does not fight or push it away. Not anymore.

He used to be so much more fun before he started to crumble instead of break.

And yet, Anti has not killed him.

It does not know why.

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

When bored – these days, it often is – Anti likes to wander through the other apartments that surround its own. Watching the human sleep can only be entertaining for so long, even if it does like to hear his sleepy, thick breathing and see his peaceful, dopey face, and it’s nice to just roam sometimes. Anyway, the people nearby can be interesting, though Anti doesn’t mess with them the way it does Casey. No one else has ever been that entertaining.

A young couple lives to their right, newly-married with a little rat of a dog they call Barkley. Anti’s human likes most dogs, but he grew tired a long time ago of the shrieking yips through the walls. Anti itself doesn’t mind it so much. One more thing to annoy the human on his slow road to madness.

“Who’s the best boy in the world?”

It passes by their door and hears them cooing and praising the yelping thing. “Are you a good boy, Barkley? Who’s my good little boy? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

Barkley has been sick for a few days and their fussing over him has been endless as they clean the nasty little animal up after every time it vomits, carefully feeding it vet-recommended dog food and plenty of healthy human snacks whenever Barkley shows an interest. How anyone could care to look after a creature so pathetic and useless is well beyond Anti, but it thinks it’s funny, really. Humans will bow down to pet the lowest of creatures.

I am not like that, it thinks to itself, drifting through the door, invisible. It is important for me to not be like that.

Anti had never had an interest in pets before this year, but, increasingly, it likes to come over and watch them look after Barkley. Constantly it reminds itself – I am not like that. It is important for me to not be like that.

But it doesn’t understand why this is important or why it should not be like that. Truthfully, it has never been skilled with its own emotions. It does as it pleases and what makes it happy makes it happy. If there is depth to that, it isn’t interested.

“Okay, Barkley baby, mommy and daddy are going to go for a walk and be right back in a few.”

“Aww, poor baby, we know. You wanna come on our walk and see all the other puppies along the way, but you can’t go while your belly’s all grumpy!”

“Yeah, little Barkley can’t come today, but mommy and daddy will be right back.”

“Mommy and daddy will be right back, we promise.”

They shower the dog in pets and belly rubs as they baby-talk their way towards the door, blowing it kisses as they head out and lock the door behind them.

“Do you think we should check on this guy here who’s so loud sometime?”

“What, that Chase guy? Are you kidding me? What a creep. He’s so fucking loud. We’re going to have to complain to the landlord again. Guy’s out of his mind.”

Ah, yes, Chase, that’s his name. Slipping into their apartment like a ghost, Anti laughs at the human fickleness and leans down to tweak the little dog’s tail, making it yelp in alarm and start running in circles around the apartment. It giggles and spends some time chasing it and leading it around with its chew toys and such. It likes the way it can make the dog do anything. It likes the cute little dog even if it is such a disgusting, purposeless, stupid little animal. It coos and picks the puppy up, tickling its skinny little ribs and rubbing between its ears.

“Stupid puppy,” it manages to say, in its painful, broken voice. Human language has always been difficult for it, but it prides itself on understanding it well. One day maybe it will speak it clearly too, though for now it knows it would sound like a struggling, glitching machine to a real human. “Stupid baby doggy.”

Faint laughter reaches its sharp ears and it quiets, setting the dog back down. For a moment, only silence, and it crouches in the living room with its black eyes boring into the universe, motionless.

Then it hears raucous laughter as the window in the back of the apartment is pried open and a pair of much, much more pathetic creatures than itself or even this little dog crash their way into the couple’s home. It straightens up, shaking its head, and heads back towards the back room, where a baby’s nursery is beginning to develop. Above the cradle, a pair of imps stop short, staring at Anti as they hover, startled, in mid-air.

Wearing its human’s form, it puts its hands on its hips and waits for them to speak.

They begin to laugh again, loud and boisterous, spit flying out of the one’s mouth while the second’s eyes bulge with hilarity.

“A fairy in California?” The imp rolls in circles in the air, shrieking with laughter. “Who would have thought?”

“Little far from home, Mr. Potatohead,” quips the second, floating up to the ceiling, sneering and sticking out its little purple tongue. Anti’s mouth curls distastefully. “Why don’t you go back to your hunts and your parades, your highness?”

“How’d it get here without getting stuck behind all that running water?”

“Careful, pure-blood, this spoon looks like it might be made out of iron!”

They dissolve into maniacal impling laughter, rocking through the air, shape-shifting in the limited ways they can to make themselves look uglier. If it were the sort of fairy who gave a fuck, Anti supposes it would feel disrespected, but it doesn’t much care. They’re little annoyances who have clearly mistaken it for a much less powerful creature than it really is. They break the monotony for a moment. It’ll kill them in a second. Anti supposes they just came here to make trouble. Imps love break into human homes and stealing their food or making their milk go rotten. They may well have been the ones who made Barkley sick, just to watch the humans take care of the dumb little thing for their entertainment. They’re common in this part of the city because the mountains are close, and imps are snuffling, stupid little creatures of the earth.

“Ew, what’s that?” squawks the first imp, floating closer to it. “Do you smell it?”

“Yuck. His majesty stinks like a human.”

“Just like a fairy to keep a pet.”

“Aw, do you have a widdle human to look after?”

“Maybe we should pay a visit to your stinky little human.”

“Yeah, maybe it needs some company.”

“Some friends.”

“Someone to play a couple fun games with.”

“And then we can find out what it is that made Tinkerbell here go all soft in the middle, like a rotten – ”

But they never get to find out exactly what rotted thing Anti resembles. It snatches the imp out of the air in one snapping motion like the bite of a snake and crushes its body between its fingers, its eyes turning black as the juices run down its wrist.

In its fear, the other imp does not even scream. Its eyes bulge in alarm and it scrambles for the window, but it never makes it. Barkley yelps in victory, chasing his own tail around as Anti’s teeth come down around the meaty little imp and tear it to pieces, silencing the both of the little monsters, leaving nothing behind.

It’ll be picking that out of its teeth for a week, it muses, wandering back out of the apartment and towards its own. But that’s what they get for talking about Chase like that.

It’s odd, though, how it makes it pause and think. That is something other spirits do sometimes, isn’t it? Take a human and keep it as a pet.

The couple with the dog are returning from their walk, holding slushies and each other’s hands.

“Barkley!” they coo, greeting their excited dog at the door. “Are you a good boy? Oh, why are you shaking, baby boy? What a silly little puppy you are. Who’s a cutie? Are you a good boy? You just want a big hug, huh, you just want to be looked after. Mwah, mwah.”

It’s kind of a cute dog, in the end.

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

It liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it.

It liked the way his eyes changed. He was not afraid – Chase is a creature of courage and despair, and these, in Anti’s experience, are both flowers from the same root – but he was distressed. Anti would say that this was because the form he takes is such a disturbingly odd impression of a human that it scared the human, but, truthfully, he thinks he saw a sort of awe in Chase’s eyes that day as well.

He loves fiction. This is one thing it learned about Chase early on. He does not have a reputation for intelligence but he does love his fantasy escapism, or he did back when he still had the energy for things like interests and hobbies. He liked Gravity Falls and Doctor Who and anything with sci-fi or dragons and he would get stuck at bookstores every now and then just walking through the YA section and wishing he was still young enough to enjoy them as much as he used to. In the old days, human storytellers were vital parts of their social structure. Anti thinks Chase would have been a storyteller, in his own way, if this were a few hundred years ago. Maybe he would be happier then.

It does not know when it began wondering about Chase’s happiness. Do not ask it.

The point is that Anti liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it, that day he tried to kill himself.

“No,”  he shook his head as Anti took his phone and called for an ambulance. “No.”

But his eyes were looking at something beyond life and death, something he had only read about in books, and Anti did not understand it.

It thinks, now, that Chase was looking at something he had longed for when he was younger. But Anti does not know what. There are fairytales about prophetic heroes and novels about chosen ones and tv shows where fantastical creatures whisk people away on great adventures, but Anti is not a fantasy. Anti is a nightmare. This is something Chase has always known, and Anti has always known, and there should be no misunderstanding between them.

But it liked the way Chase looked at him, that one time it allowed him to see it. That’s all. That’s all it’s saying. It doesn’t mean anything. It is not like that. It’s important that it’s not like that.

Anti touches the human’s face. He has fallen asleep beneath his bed, and his breathing is clear and deep, rhythmic as the song of a bird.

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

Chase sleeps for fourteen hours and then gets up to make a Cup-o’-Noodles. Beef flavored. It’s the only thing left in the pantry except half a jar of strawberry jam and some milk he was too drunk to put in the fridge a couple days ago, spoiled completely by now. Even the cheap rum he’s been buying is out on the table beside the stove. He hasn’t bothered to get dressed and he cuts a pathetically small figure standing over the stove in nothing but some gym shorts and rolled-up Christmas socks because everything else needs to be washed.

Anti roams the apartment, humming distantly and checking up on things. It deletes an unread message on Chase’s phone from contact name “Marv” and waters the succulent Chase picked up on an impulse last week. It’s so funny to it how attached the human can get to things, and so quick too. He once found a bee on the windowsill, brought it sugar water, and looked after it for several hours before letting it outside. The human put on his loudest comedy show afterwards to try and keep himself cheerful, but he’d ended up crying about halfway through, and Anti couldn’t tell if it was related to the bee or not. He’s always crying. He didn’t always used to be crying. He used to be less deep in his despair and much more fun to play with.

Anti shakes the thoughts off and decides to prove that Chase is still fun to play games with. There’s nothing deep about their relationship, Chase just happens to be entertaining. That’s the only reason it followed him all the way from Ireland. It floats towards the kitchen, silent and invisible. It’ll give him a quick scare, not enough to put him off his dinner, just enough to remind him he should still be fighting. Anti shape-shifts cleanly into a small boy with black hair and deep onyx eyes and goes to stand behind Chase, silent and still, staring up at the child’s father as he stirs the noodles in silence.

“I know you’re behind me,” he says after a moment. “Looking like Hunter.”

Anti startles and shivers back into invisibility, drawing away. Chase turns blearily to see that it’s gone and he laughs, deep and hollow.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, stumbling a little as he tilts back his rum. Anti knows he’s already drunk from the calmness in his tired voice. “Used to your tricks by now. You been getting to know me, I know. I been getting to know you too.”

He snorts to himself and leans back against the stove, seeming to forget his noodles. He squints blearily around the room, rubbing at his eyes. He hasn’t put his contacts in since the last time he tried to kill himself. Wanted to make sure he cut the veins, but after he survived that night, it didn’t much matter if he could see or not.

“I think I can sort of tell when you’re close, most of the time,” he adds. Anti sits at the dining table across the room, frowning. “Like… I can feel you. Or something. See you, maybe. I think you make things… a different color. Does that make sense?”

He points sluggishly towards the dining table and then shrugs, letting his hand drop again.

“Doesn’t matter, I guess.”

His pot is boiling over. The water will burn his hands in a moment, resting as they are against the edge of the stove. Chase laughs to himself again, shaking his head, and throws back the rum for so long that he’s panting when he’s done with the drink.

“Funny,” he says. “Would have almost liked for you to be there. As Hunter, I mean. See my baby one more time. My baby. Hunter, my son…”

His eyes trail far away. Anti doesn’t think he’s looking at anything at all. There’s nothing left for him to look at.

Water cascades across the stove, boiling. Chase whimpers as it hits his hands, but he doesn’t pull away.

Something yanks him back.

He stumbles away from the stovetop. Drunk, he can’t keep his balance, and he goes crashing to the ground, falling on his back and dropping his bottle, which shatters into pieces of glass and a small flood of rum across the kitchen floor. Chase gasps, grabbing at his bruised elbow, staring around for a sight of the monster that has haunted him for so long.

The pot of noodles goes spinning off its stovetop onto the other side of the stove and stops boiling after a moment, quieting the kitchen. The knob on the oven flicks to ‘off’ and the red light disappears from the stovetop, leaving it dark and silent.

Chase closes his eyes.

Anti stares at him and it knows, in the moment, that the human was not lying.

He can sense it.

He can tell it’s there.

“Why,” croaks Chase. “Did you call 911 that night?”

Anti steps back from him. His movement shifts glass on the floor with a faint clinking noise.

“Was this what you wanted?” Chase whispers. “Just to see me live like this a little while longer? Just to make sure I couldn’t get away that easy? Was killing myself too good for you? Are you ever going to actually finish me off?”

He is crying. He is always crying.

This isn’t fun anymore, Anti realizes. It isn’t funny.

And honestly –

Honestly…

Honestly, it doesn’t know why it called 911.

“I think that’s what I’ve actually been waiting for,” laughs Chase, sobbing as tears run down his reddened cheeks. “Fuck. Not even staying alive waiting for it, that’s not what I mean, I mean… like I haven’t killed myself because I’ve been waiting for you to do it.”

He throws his head back and cries and laughs and hugs himself with his burned hands and scarred wrists, his whole body shuddering with the tears.

“But you won’t,” he sobs into the darkness, as Anti’s presence draws away from him and the sun fades. “You won’t. Will you? No one will give me any mercy. No one wants me to have any fucking peace. So tired… You won’t…”

Anti retreats to his room.

It doesn’t want to face him right now.

He doesn’t want to face him right now.

Chase cries in the kitchen for a long time, until his whole body feels tired and numb and drained. He doesn’t clean up the glass. He doesn’t clean up the rum. He doesn’t clean up the water. He would probably have slept right there on the wooden floor of his kitchen, but the doorbell rings.

Too drunk to put himself together, he staggers to the door and throws it open to the cold, red-eyed and stumbling like a zombie.

“Uh,” says the delivery kid, fixing her alarmed expression after a moment. “Here’s your food, sir.”

Chase is too confused even to question. Almost dazed by it, he takes the bag of take-out carefully from her hands, thanks her in a mumble, and shuts the door behind him.

KFC.

Did he order this?

No, he was making ramen before he made a mess of it. But it’s what he always gets. Chicken tenders and mashed potatoes and a couple extra biscuits for the next morning.

In his bedroom, Anti closes out of the delivery app and drops his phone onto the bed, deleting one more message from Marv before it drifts past Chase and goes wandering, thinking, roaming, lost.

It’s not like that… it’s important that it’s not. It’s not like that.

Zayn and Mary are walking Barkley. Anti watches the happy little dog go yipping and dancing in the space between them, happy and safe and recovering, cared for by his masters.

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

The apartment fills with soft light in the evenings. White and gold from the weary sun. When it hits the horizon, the gold pirouettes and falls apart into a dozen different watercolors across the long shoulders of the sky. Pouring patiently through the windows, like syrup from the bark of a great dark tree.

Anti sits beside Chase’s bed and watches him sleep, playing slowly with his hair.

It likes Chase’s hair. It always has. Soft and dark but sometimes golden in the sunlight, and ever-so-slightly curly, so you can wrap it around your finger if you’re gentle, and make it spring back again afterwards.

Anti wants to kill something. It doesn’t know what. A human, probably, but not Chase. Chase, Chase, Chase. It had forgotten how much it likes that name.

You like a lot of things about him, it lets itself realize. When did that happen? When the fuck did that happen? One day you’re making him having a repeated dream where he’s carefully cut into pieces and eaten alive by a sentient crocodile because he always got scared of the one in Peter Pan when he was a child and the next you’re thinking about how soft his hair is. It makes Anti laugh, for a moment, but it thinks it feels… sad. It doesn’t know why.

Chase wakes up and it drifts back into invisibility, leaving him to sit up and look around. Check his phone for the time and stare at the floor for a while. Today he is groggy, but not sad, which strikes Anti as odd. Most days he is groggy and sad. Sad groggy stupid human. Anti’s sad groggy stupid hurting human. It sighs and spins lazily in the air, watching Chase push himself up on his feet, his eyes dead and weary.

Someone slams on their door and Chase groans, rubbing at his forehead. He’s hungover again.

“Brody!” The slamming insists. Chase stutters out a breath, slightly frightened, and totters to the door, pulling it open.

It’s his landlord. Anti’s lips curl up in a snarl. A mean, stupid man, stupider than Chase, even, and he looks angry.

And he starts to shout at Chase, and Anti does not like it. It doesn’t interfere, but it doesn’t like it either, and it knows Chase will do nothing. He stands there shirtless in his Christmas socks and stares at his landlord like he can’t believe any of this is real – not because it’s rare for him to be in trouble, just because his life is an alley puddle full of cigarettes and bathing rats and he’s most likely dissociating – and just nods when he’s told to get his act together and pipe the fuck down before he gets kicked out.

“Yes,” says Chase. “Okay.”

The landlord leaves.

Chase shuts the door behind him and looks directly at Anti, invisible on the ceiling above him.

“Jokes on him,” he says dully. “He’ll have to be the one to clean my blood out of the bathtub.”

Anti blinks. Chase pauses, letting his head rest against the cool wall for a moment before he pushes himself back up and wanders back towards his bedroom.

“What you will do?” asks Anti.

Chase startles so hard he slams into the wall of the hallway, whirling around to look at him. Unnerved by his response, Anti scowls and backs away again.

“Sorry, did you just talk to me?” asks Chase. “It’s a dream, then? Or did you talk to me in real life? Or am I really losing it finally? I mean, worse than I have already.”

Anti grumbles to itself and gets up in the fan, making the blades spin slowly, sulking. Can’t even talk to the human without him freaking out.

“Must still be drunk,” mumbles Chase, retreating back to his room.

Anti gets up and follows him.

“What, are you worried?” snaps Chase, digging under the bed, and Anti grins at the heat he’s showing again. That’s more like it. “Haunt me for, what, eight months and now you’re worried? I know you’re there, asshole.”

Anti lets him hear it giggling. Chase rolls his eyes and then he gives a short laugh, shaking his head.

Anti feels pleased, it thinks. Chase turns to look at him. He can’t see him, but he knows it’s there. Anti likes that.

“You really are a monster,” says Chase softly, smiling at it.

And then Anti sees, in his hand, the little tin where he keeps his razor blades.

Anti’s mouth falls in a frown.

Chase looks up into the sunset. Orange and gold, tonight. Flowing over his hair and into his eyes, making them alight. Fire eyes. Fire Chase.

“I hated you for a long time,” says Chase. “But you’re either a monster or the part of my brain that really wants to hurt me, so I guess either way I shouldn’t blame you for being what you are.”

He stands up, straighter than he has in a long time, still fixated on that sunset.

“I… I’ll miss…”

Anti stares at him, waiting, but Chase never finishes his sentence. After a long moment, he turns and takes his phone off of his bed. A slow, shaky breath escapes him.

He always takes his calls between the hallway and the living room so he can pace. Anti knows. Anti knows everything about him. Anti knows things about him he doesn’t know about himself. Anti likes things about him he doesn’t like about himself.

The human steps into the hallway and opens his contacts, carefully picking a name he hasn’t picked in long months, and he closes his eyes, and he waits.

But no one answers. Chase lets out a soft, miserable laugh, gripping the phone in both hands.

“Ah, damn… ha. Sorry, Schneep, I was really hoping you’d pick up.”

He circles quietly in the hallway, running his hands through his hair, his eyes closed and that phone held up to his ear, trying to breathe even instead of weeping.

“Look, man, um. I know we fell apart. Honestly, I really needed you, and you were just too busy for me, and that stung, it did. Maybe it was selfish, but I just… I needed you, Schneep. And I felt like all you cared about was the research, and…”

He rubs his face, brushing away tears. Anti stands at the end of the hall, staring.

“Well, I didn’t call you to accuse you of anything. I just wanted you to know that, um, even though we both hurt each other… I always loved you, man. And I don’t got the courage to call Jacks or Marv, okay, but I love them too. I love them too. And I’m sorry. Cause I was a coward for running away from them, and… maybe you needed me even more than I needed you, and I couldn’t even see it. So I just want you to know: you were my best friend. And I’m really sorry I couldn’t pull you out of your head and that I couldn’t help, or didn’t try hard enough, or just that I wasn’t what you needed. And I…”

Anti sees Chase close his eyes and breathe.

“And I hope I’m not one more person you spend the rest of your life wishing you could have saved,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault, Henrik. I love you. Good night, buddy. Maybe someday – ”

The voicemail beeps. End of recording.

Chase lets out a hurting breath and sets his phone down. His eyes are fixed on the rising sunlit moon, past his window.

“Maybe someday I’ll see you again,” he says.

He goes into the bathroom and crawls into the tub.

And Anti – Anti is paralyzed in the hallway, staring at him, invisible.

But Chase can sense it. Chase can sense him. He looks back at him, his face – fuck, so familiar now, like Anti knows every line of it, every shadow – and says nothing.

Something in Anti cries out against it.

Don’t let him do this. Don’t let him do this.

But another part – oh, another part recognizes what has happened. It has grown attached to this human despite all odds, despite everything. And attachments are dangerous and stupid and useless, just like this little mortal curled up in his white bathtub, holding a razor, staring at it. This is Anti’s chance to let Chase break the attachment. This is its chance to stop this before it goes too far. Before it actually does decide that it likes Chase, that it wants him, that it should keep him, that he loves him in his own fucked-up way.

So it steps back.

It won’t stop Chase.

Let him go. Let him go. It’s better this way. He was just supposed to be entertainment. There was never supposed to be an attachment. So now Chase can die and Anti can leave and they can go their separate ways, and everything in Anti’s life will return to normal. It will go back to Ireland and find something new to do, someone new to torment. And everything will be okay.

It doesn’t stop Chase.

But Chase –

Chase –

“No,” he whispers to himself, gripping the blade. “Please.”

Chase can’t bring himself to do it.

“No!” he screams, lashing himself once, but it hurts and he hates it and he wants it to stop and it’s not like the other times he’s tried to kill himself, not at all. There’s no numbness. There’s no comfort.

He doesn’t want to die.

“Please!” he howls, gripping his own wrists. “Please!”

He’s begging himself. End it. Finish it. Stop it, let me go.

He’s begging the universe. No more. No more, please.

He’s begging Anti.

He’s begging Anti with everything he has.

He turns his eyes to it and he’s screaming, and there’s blood on his wrists, and the glowing moon is like the eye of a god staring down at them, and Anti is illuminated in its light, visible in the shape of a man, visible in a shape like Chase’s, and Chase is begging him –

“Don’t make me live like this any longer!”

Anti turns and flees.

Chase is howling like a shot dog, holding his own shoulders, unable to kill himself, because he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want Henrik to get that voicemail, he doesn’t want to never see the sun again, he doesn’t want to go, he isn’t ready, but he can’t live like this any longer, and he’s never felt more hopeless in his life, and he still doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die.

Don’t make me live like this any longer.

Why can’t he end it?

He’s so drunk and so tired and he thought he wanted to die, he really thought he did. No, no, not… oh, he needs somebody, he needs something, he needs something to change. Henrik. He wants Henrik, wants Jackie, wants Marv. He’s staggering to his feet, trying to get up, trying to get back to his phone –

He slips in his Christmas socks and in his own blood, and he crashes down hard in his bathtub, and lies still.

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

“Oh, no, oh, fuck,” Anti hears him whimpering as he comes awake. “How much did I fucking have? Stupid, stupid…”

It stands in the hallway, pacing, its eyes set on the ground. It is determined now. It has decided.

“Oh, shit! Oh.” There’s a nervous laugh from Chase as he notices the shallow cut on his arm. “Oh, wow, I… I must have tried to… but I didn’t! I didn’t, wow…”

There’s an awe in his voice that hasn’t been there for a long time.

Is it… pride?

“I didn’t kill myself,” Anti hears him whispering. “I didn’t… didn’t kill myself. Or I just passed out before I could, but either way, pretty impressive for a fucking idiot like me.”

Anti retreats back to his room and begins to pack the human’s things up, taking only what’s immediately necessary. It doesn’t care about the personal effects, but there are some things they will need – some clothes, his hygiene products, shoes, medicine. He places the succulent gently on top and zips it into place as an added present.

It can hear Chase wandering around the house, apparently dazed by his own survival, or maybe just still drunk from the night before. Anti shuts his phone down remotely and doesn’t let it turn back on when Chase scrabbles at the power button, mumbling about his friends back in England. Anti doesn’t know where the sudden interest in them after months of deleting pictures and ignoring calls has come from, but it doesn’t care.

Here are the facts, in its mind:

Chase survived last night.

It has grown attached to him.

Because he did not kill himself, it can’t escape the fact that it’s grown… fond of the human.

The human survived one night, but Anti has watched him through a great deal of ups and downs, and it knows that Chase will be suicidal again soon enough, and then he might not survive.

Anti does not want to watch him die.

And so the conclusion it came to last night, watching over the boy as he lay in that tub, gently curling his hair between its fingers, was this –

Chase will be its, and Chase will not die.

It has a great satisfaction with this plan now, more than it thought possible. After months of boredom, finally, finally! Something that makes it excited again, something that makes it feel – well – happy!

Chase is still playing with his phone. Anti steps back into the hallway and sees him frowning down at it, pressing on the power button a few times in a row, looking unhappy.

“Did I call him, or…? Need to tell him I’m okay or he’ll – ahh!”

Chase screams aloud at the sight of Anti standing in the hallway with his backpack on. Anti frowns as he goes tumbling to the floor in his alarm, groaning from the whiplash in an already concussed head.

“You’re – you’re showing yourself to me?” gasps Chase, scrambling away. “What’s – are you going to kill me? What’s going on? Hey, stay away!”

But Anti is moving forward, a smile already on its face. This is perfect! This is perfect! It could howl! It could shout! The man is looking at it again, just like he did that night he tried to kill himself, the night that Anti saved his life, and there is the change in his eyes, the recognition, and Anti feels seen and known and in control all over again, and everything is good, everything is perfect.

“What are you doing?” demands Chase, his hands reaching out to protect himself. A fighter, yes, just like Anti always saw. Small and weak and mortal and foolish, yes, but also courageous, courageous, always something special about him. Anti always knew. It grabs Chase’s wrist and pulls him to his feet, humming to itself, singing the old lullaby it always used to haunt him with.

“No, stop, I hate that!” screams Chase, trying to cover his ears, trying to yank away from him. “Stop it, let me go!”

He’s such a pretty little human, even if he is built so scrawny. Anti likes his dark hair and his fire eyes and his soft stomach and even his stupid tattoos, just because they’re his and he’s so goofy, silly human creature. It’s all familiar to him now. The boredom that it thought it was feeling all this time it now sees was a secret fear of the truth that it was becoming attached to him. But last night woke it up to the realization that it did not want to see the boy die and it’s so pleased that he decided to live. In a way, the human was deciding to stay with it! Everything is good. It wrangles Chase’s other wrist and begins to drag him towards the door, unbothered by the sound of his shouting, which is little more than white noise to Anti after so long spent following Chase.

“No, no! Help me, someone help!” he cries.

Someone pounds on the walls of the apartment. A muffled “can you shut the fuck up for once in your life?” makes its way through the plaster. Chase sobs, tearing at Anti’s hands, his eyes wild and desperate. Anti keeps humming.

It will set him up somewhere just as good as this stupid little apartment. Better even. Bigger and less worn. And it will teach Chase to take better care of it too, so he doesn’t make such a mess like he always does. It will give him things he hasn’t even realized he wants yet. It will give him his little succulent back and he will take care of it. Humans need things to take care of or they get very sad and they die sometimes – that’s the thing about humans, they can get so sad they can die, and it’s no longer fun for Anti to watch, so it will get Chase things to take care of instead. What do humans like to take care of? Cows? Hamsters? Potatoes? Whatever he wants.

It takes Chase’s keys and drags him out to his car, opening the door and letting all of Chase’s trash litter onto the street. Its foot crunches on garbage as it pushes its human inside, chirping politely at him when he struggles and gently blocking him from escaping, keeping him pressed inside the car. When Chase tries to lunge forward past it, Anti shoves him against the glass and makes him yelp, clutching at its aching head. Whoops! It pulls back quickly and pats his cheek, checking the bruise and patting Chase’s head. It will take some time to learn the boundaries for touching the human, but it will learn. It keeps him carefully inside until the human has gone breathless and shaky and realizes he can’t get out right now. Satisfied, Anti gets into the car beside him and starts the engine.

Oh, no, wait. One more thing it wants to do.

Anti sets Chase’s apartment on fire, whistling its song to itself as it disables the alarms and leaves a few rags beginning to spread the fire from the oven to the counters. Fuck that landlord who yelled at him. Now the other humans will probably think he died in the fire or something and not come looking for him. Not that they could find him if they tried. Anti leaves the apartment smoking and gets back into the car, chirping and purring to itself, too excited to care that it’s acting like a youngling on its first Samhain.

The human stares at the road as they begin to move, shell-shocked and trembling. Eventually his eyes flicker over to Anti, and it can see that he isn’t sure if he should be angry or terrified or just numb to all of this, numb to everything.

Numb is what he settles on. Numb and a little weepy, anyway. Anti coos and reaches out to touch the human’s neck, rubbing warmly at his soft skin.

Chase curls in on himself, shirtless and shivering in the seat of his own car, kidnapped and alone, and he begins to cry very softly.

There’s blood on his arm. He’s tired. He’s hungover. He’s still struggling with the desire to die despite surviving the night before. He thinks he left Henrik a weird voicemail. The monster that’s been haunting him for years has just appeared in the flesh and thrown him out of his apartment. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He just wants everything to stop.

He just wants this to stop.

The monster repeats its cooing noise at his side, still petting at his neck and throat. Chase shudders and cries, rocking himself gently in the seat, wishing for his headphones. Anti turns on both the heat and the radio. A top-twenties station comes on and plays music familiar to Chase’s ears, and they drive, and they drive, and he begins to go quiet and still, sniffling to himself, hugging his shoulders. Feeling the monster petting him like an animal.

“Okay,” whispers a warbled voice when Chase has finally begun to calm down, and he looks up in shock to see the monster speaking, or trying to. He’d never known it to speak at all – only to watch him, and laugh, and whistle or hum, playing tricks on him or mimicking him in the corner of his vision. They’d never spoken.

“Okay,” it repeats, touching his hair. “Okay.”

Chase swallows and says nothing.

Anti pulls over after a couple hours of driving and hands Chase the backpack, helping him pull out the clothes and put shoes and a shirt on. It leads him inside a gas station and lets him use his bathroom and wash his face, staying beside him the whole time. Chase doesn’t try to protest or call for help. He does not know why.

Anti leads him carefully through the aisles of the gas station, a big truck stop station with rows and rows of snacks and toys and clothes and knick-knacks like phone charges for cars and California-themed snow-globes. It seems interested in everything, but in an amused way, like it’s laughing at everything, and Chase is supposed to be laughing with it.

He doesn’t know what to do. Anti’s arm is around his shoulder.

The monster buys something with Chase’s credit card while Chase shakes beneath his arm and tries to figure out what’s happening, though his brain seems to be shutting down from being so overwhelmed and he really just wants a drink. Anti pulls him back towards the car and this time, he clambers in without protest, sitting down in the passenger seat and buckling in.

Anti sits down beside him and offers him the bag from the gas station. Chase blinks and looks over, taking the bag numbly from its hands.

There are nuts for protein and three bottles of water. Chips and a breakfast sandwich and jerky and chocolate and a small, stuffed lion with the name “Lionel” in its ear.

Anti starts the car again. They drive.

“What are you?” asks Chase in a whisper.

The monster glances over at him and touches his face, stroking a finger down his cheek, down his beard, and, in that struggling, glitching, inhuman voice, it tells him:

“Anti. And you are mine. No more scares. No more slow dying. I look after you. Human. Chase. Mine.”

The monster who’s been haunting him for months wants to keep him as a pet.

The desert is rolling past Chase’s window. Lionel sits patiently on his lap. The radio plays something inane and catchy. Anti is touching his hand.

“Mine,” it says again. “Okay, Chase. It’s okay.”

Chase closes his eyes, and, leaning back against the headrest of the car, he lets himself drift into sleep.

[drunk-onsunlight]

Day #2 of Promptmas

Chapter 2: I'll hold your hands (they're just like ice)

Summary:

Peter, Morgan and MJ go home to wrap some gifts for everyone but MJ has a huge bag full of money to hide while Tony and Pepper try not to ruin the Christmas decorations at their lovely home

Read on Ao3 

Chapter 1: Beautiful what’s your hurry?

Chapter 2: I’ll hold your hands (they’re just like ice)

Concept: Decorating & Gift wrapping

Dialogue: “Your hands are freezing” & “That ornament doesn’t go there”

Peter, MJ and Morgan arrived to the apartment after their Christmas shopping with lots of presents for everyone. The whole gang wasn't going to get together for Christmas but they will send all the gifts to their respective owner. MJ's mom wanted to see her and MJ was definitely not hyped. She wasn't going to tolerate any discussions about politics, economy or her love life choices. Those topics were forbidden with her family. MJ wasn't physically tired, emotionally... Maybe a little. She was so used to Peter and Ned, but adding the Starks was another level, they were like Peter's family. If she wasn't good at managing her own family relationships, Peter's family relationships were just as complicated to interact too. And she just hanged out with Morgan, MJ have never met Pepper or Anthony. Peter knew her opinion on Stark Industries, the "privatization on World Peace" as Tony Stark once called it and many other things with the billionaire. That's exactly why she did all she did. She wasn't stealing anything from poor defenseless people, they deserved it. And seeing so many super heroes on the news gave her an idea a few months ago, actually one superhero and one article: The Bugle's accusations on Spider-Man. Was he actually a threat? He was helping people around and saving the city from a few awful looking monsters, but is it good to take justice in your own hands? Well, that was exactly what she was doing. The leather suit, the mask and the silver wig was just to not get caught.

The idea of using a closed mask like Spider-Man gave her terrible images of getting sick, chocking and dying without anyone knowing. Not thanks. She preferred the wig that made her look like a dream and the mask that make her eyelashes more visible, she even wore contact lenses, not common contacts, they were modified to see various ranges of the electromagnetic spectrum, she was also trained in martial arts. And the leather suit was very useful to distract people when she needs it. After they went inside the apartment, Morgan, Peter and MJ took off their gloves and jackets. Peter took a small package on his hand and left it on his room and then came back to help Morgan with the million boxes she had dropped on the couch. In that moment MJ knew she had to take her bag to her room and hide a few things, some legal and other not so legal. She managed to sneak out of the living room and when she locked the door on her room, she emptied the bag she was carrying. Two books, the silver wig, the cat mask and 5.000 dollars fell to the mattress. She placed the books on her night stand, the wig and mask under her bed and then took off her clothes to remove the leather suit. The money was a little more complicated to hide, a few shoes boxes will do fine on the top of her closet. After hiding everything she went back to the living room and found Peter and Morgan struggling with some gift wrapping paper. The scene was really cute, actually. Morgan was placing her little hands on the table to hold the paper in place and Peter was trying to fold the paper around a mountain of kitchen supplies. They were a mess. "Do you guys need some help?" MJ asked trying to hide her smile at the ridiculous but cute scene "oh, please! Peter is terrible at wrapping gifts" Morgan looked totally mortified but had funny expression "Me? You are not helping much little lady" Peter looked so troubled that MJ decided to take him out of his misery "ok. First of all, that's not the way to wrap a bakery set. Peter, why on earth are the bowls upside-down?" "He is terrible at this. Told you” "Do you have a better idea, Morgan?" "Nope. But MJ has. You do, right?" Morgan looked at her with pleading eyes "I do. Didn't this have a box or something like that? I can't think of a store just giving a full bakery set without a box" Peter and Morgan looked at each other on a silent conversation and if MJ was getting things right, Peter was on the 'I told you so' part. "You didn't bring the box, didn't you?" "Nope" Peter and Morgan answered at unison "Morgan thought it was better to wrap everything outside the box so it didn't looked so 'lame' if I recall correctly" "And you can't say no to Morgan. Ok, then we can find a nice way to place everything into the big bowl like a fruit basket but with kitchen supplies. Better idea?" "Oh, my god! Yes! That's perfect" Morgan was delighted and Peter relieved. MJ knelt between Morgan and Peter and started removing a few straps of paper that, somehow, Peter managed to hold to the mountain of supplies. She placed the big bowl on the center of the wrap paper and then started to place the different tools on it in the best way possible. When everything was placed on the bowl nicely, she stared to lift the paper around the bowl to hold it above the supplies, it looked like a big candy. MJ put her hands around the wrapping paper and realized she didn't have any ribbons close by to finish. "Peter, can you put your hands here so I can find a ribbon for this?" "Yeah, totally!" he instantly moved his hands to where MJ had hers. When their hands made contact she realized she was freezing or Peters hands were just too warm for her "MJ, your hands are freezing! Do you want some tea?" "yeah. That would be nice. Thanks. But after we finish this" Peter still had one of his hands over MJ's and after a second too long she remembered she needed a ribbon to tie the present. She tried to make a nice ribbon and to make the paper look decent after Morgan and Peter's attempts at wrapping the bakery set. Peter went to their kitchen and started the kettle for MJ's tea and then decided to make some hot chocolate for him and Morgan. MJ kept wrapping more gifts, those were easier to wrap, especially May and Pepper’s shoes, thank God they had those boxes.

Morgan helped MJ cutting tape and that made MJ’s job easier. She discovered that Peter bought a nice dress for May, a Netflix gift card for Happy, Spider-Man and Iron Man plushies for Anthony and a planner for Pepper. No gifts for Morgan or MJ, that she could see, he always made sure that MJ had a very embarrassing present, last year’s was a terrible Christmas sweater that he made her wear for a full day.

“MJ, bring the gifts you bought for everyone so we can wrap them!” How can you tell a 10 year old that you actually snuck off to steal some money from a bad guy and not to buy presents for her family and your friends?

“I want to keep those a secret because Peter is terrible at keeping secrets and I don’t want you, May, Betty or Ned finding out what I bought for them.” Perfect excuse, Peter was terrible at keeping secrets, he got too exited and started oversharing things he knew

“He is actually really good at keeping secrets” Morgan said after a few seconds in a quiet voice while holding the plushies MJ wrapped for Peter. She remembered the Iron Man plushie and realized Morgan’s Dad was Iron Man, he could be retired but if the timeline was correct, Peter knew him since high school and he probably knew other supers. Ned told all their class that Peter knew Spider-Man and Peter looked totally horrified because “he couldn’t speak about it” so yeah, maybe he was good at those big secrets, but little ones? Not so much

“Well, everybody has secrets Morgan, it’s up to us who do we trust with the big ones” MJ felt her leather suit was screaming at her from the room across the hallway, her secret was a big one. One nobody knew about, not her friends and definitely not her family. Just one specific person and he was hell good at keeping her secret

“and Christmas gifts are huge secrets, peanut” Peter said entering the living room with MJ’s tea and hot chocolate for him and Morgan. He was sitting next to MJ while Morgan was in front of them, they chatted for a few minutes when Peter got a call from Pepper.

“Hi, Pete!” Peter placed his phone on the table in the center so everyone could hear. It made MJ a little uncomfortable, she felt out of place, like she wasn’t meant to hear this conversation

“Hi, Mom!!!”

“Hi, Pepper” MJ didn’t say hi, she just kept listening to the rambling and weird noises in the background of the call

“Oh! Hey Morgan. I was actually calling Peter to let him know that Happy is going to get you. Your dad wants you back to help us decorate the house. Would you like that? I know you wanted to spend time with your brother but he saw a few festive decorations and bought a lot of things and now it’s freaking out because I don’t have creativity… his words, not mine”

“It’s true!! You can’t place those led lights on the fireplace, that’s terrible! And the stockings have to be there, so no lights!” MJ hear clearly everything Stark was shouting from not so far away from Pepper apparently

“Sounds like an emergency mom” Morgan was looking at peter trying not to laugh a loud

“I’m sending Happy to get you or your dad will drive me crazy! Tony!!! That ornament doesn’t go there!!!” This time Morgan and Peter shared a loud laugh.

“Nothing new I can see” Peter looked fondly at this phone with their exchange.

“Morgan, please come back” Pepper sounded mortified.

“It’s fine. She will be ready to go when Happy gets here, promise”

“and Pete, we would love to see you and your girlfriend on Christmas. Think about bringing her for some dinner or a lunch or just a coffee! I would love to meet her. Bye!” The phone went quite, just like the three of them. Morgan was looking the phone with curious eyes, Peter was bright red with big eyes and mouth open, MJ didn’t knew how she looked but surprised was a good start.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, you have a girlfriend and didn’t tell me?” oh, oh, Morgan sounded mad.

“What? No! I have no idea what she’s talking about! You should ask your mom where she got that terribly wrong information” Peter was trying to process the last two minutes while getting back his phone from the table

“oh! I definitely will! And after that we are having a serious conversation, brother. MJ, did you know something about this? After all, you guys live together”

“Actually no. I have no idea what your mom was talking about, this idiot can’t be normal so think about him dating someone... Totally unreal!” MJ wanted to ease the mood a little, Peter looked like he wanted to hide somewhere before Morgan killed him.

“ok, peanut! Go grab you coat, gloves and scarf while I pack the gifts back on their bags so you can place them under the Christmas tree” Peter helped Morgan up from the floor and took the mugs to the kitchen. The girl started to run around the apartment to gather her things. MJ saw her entering Peter’s room and a few seconds later running back to the living room and placing more packages next to the ones Peter was collecting. As soon as they finished packing, the bell rang announcing Happy.

“Bye MJ! Hope to see you again soon” Morgan said to MJ surrounded of bags with all the things she bought for everyone.

“Hope to see you soon too, Morgan!” She wanted to be more formal and send some greetings for her parents but she didn’t even knew them in person and she wasn’t going to pretend she cared enough for that formalities

Soon they were alone and MJ tried to avoid the conversation of the mentioned girlfriend, maybe Pepper hear something and took it the wrong way or she was speaking about Gwen, Peter’s ex. Maybe she didn’t know she was dead. Ok no, they were too close for Pepper not to know about her, probably Pepper knew more details of what happened that she knew. MJ needed to clear her mind so she decided to wear her leather suit again and went out without Peter knowing.

Notes:

Thanks for the comments and the kudos here and tumblr! Love you all :3

Find me in tumblr @drunk-onsunlight 

Check more amazing wors in @spiderman-homecomeme

[englass]

Threadbare

Pairing(s): John Seed x F! Reader/Deputy

Warning(s): A little bit of Possessive Behaviour near the end (when isn’t there in my fics haha)

Word Count: 9,101

A/N: Gonna use this opportunity to apologise to @starsandskies @softseeds and @seedlingsinner for not getting back to you on your ‘Last Line Meme’ tags, I’ve been working on this and didn’t want to risk spoiling anymore of it than I have 😅 Apologies again, lovelies! ❤️ Now, I hope you all enjoy this inconsistent mess;  I’m just glad that it’s finally over!

Also, side note: this is the final/original version of ‘A Moment In Time’ that I never thought that I’d finish, so... yeah, I actually finished it; oops? 😅

- - -

The room is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of fabric and your calm breathing, only ever holding when your concentration tightens or a loud sound catches your ear. It’s a risky move you’re making, being here of all places. All it would take is one slip up and any patrolling Peggies would come running. In your current position, rifle resting just out of comfortable reach against a nearby night stand and hand gun securely holstered to your thigh, the potential outcome could be precarious.

Still, such thoughts are far out of mind. If anything, for once, your mind is not plagued by the worries, fears and demands of the people. It is quiet, tranquil, filled with an occupied motion that lulls and eases. It is the most peace you have had since this whole debacle began; and secretly, unknowingly even to yourself, you take your sweet time and milk it for all it’s worth. An unconscious action deeply needed.

Every so often you take stock, pausing to look, only to end up staring at nothing in particular, around the room you hold court in. It’s a surprisingly large room and it is as gorgeous and telling as the man it belongs to: all high-class with expensive taste, yet subtly simple – modest in design and openly exquisite in every minute detail. Almost everything, save for the immaculate wooden furniture and feather-soft carpet, falls within the spectrum of blue. It creates an oceanic space filled with a deep and enriching sense of stillness and liberation, emulating the ebb and rise of a tempered wave.

It’s an absent wonder why sloth is visualised as the coercing colour.

You shift slightly, readjusting your position as you turn back to the article of clothing in your lap, eyes layered with an embedded fatigue not aimed at anything in particular. The glaze is misleading, your movements speaking not of a tired body. Instead, they are easily measured with a humble confidence, working at a steady pace with a precise and focused concentration, all benign.

There is an edge of paranoia, sharp and teetering like the point of a knife. It fuels the anvil-heavy weight on your shoulders, makes it hard to breathe even the shallowest of breaths. Worry gnaws at your edges alongside its cutting twin. ‘What ifs’ are a dangerous line of thought, yet even with an empty mind it turns in the background, twisting and coiling like a viper as worry and paranoia feed and pamper it.

The stress of the situation – the position you’ve been made to hold, a final bastion in a red-dyed field – has left a very real and scarring impression upon you. A bitter taste you can’t wash out.

It’s why you draw out your time with a self-imposed task that could be over within a matter of seconds. You drown yourself in an old action and memory, away from the war you have been made charge of.

It actually makes for quite an interesting scene.

Away from the tragedy of a civil war and the reluctant role you play in it, in the confines of a grand modern home, one would see the image of domesticity. A young woman sat on a satin quilted bed, expression relaxed and eyes tinged with oblivion as they lose themselves in a rhythmic motion, effortlessly mending a piece of male attire with a needle and thread in hand. A simple kit that the young lady wields with a conviction that rivals that of a knight and his sword.

Yes, quite a scene it makes.

Admittedly breaking into the infamous Seed Ranch wasn’t the best place to host such an image, despite how well you fit into the frame (obscenely so), but it wasn’t your idea to come here in the first place. No, the Resistance has a way of... puppeteering you. Not that you would ever openly admit to such a thing.

Thankfully you have it on good authority – ‘it better be on good authority’, you had snarled, before stalking out of the door of the outpost you had been visiting – that the youngest Seed would be away for the day. Overseeing another load of confessions and such, you had no doubt. It would be the perfect opportunity to take the ranch for the Resistance; loot the cave while the dragon is away, so to speak. Perhaps that’s why, along with the decrease in guard numbers, you had somewhat made yourself at home, taking your time to slowly wander the grand ranch and really take it all in; all in its full and undisturbed splendour.

Arguably you could do so once it was under the Resistance’s control, it would be a lot easier and less stressful to do so then, but you are not naive enough to believe that they won’t change anything once it’s theirs. No, it’s better to see it as it’s intended to be, before that travesty occurs.

Yet, despite your initial wanderings into the many, many rooms around the ranch, it was John Seed’s bedroom – of all places – that had caught your eye. It is why you are currently perched contently on the man’s king sized bed as you tend absently to one of his shirts.

It’s truly silly when you think about it, it’s just a shirt after all, but it turns out that sewing your younger sibling’s toys and clothing growing up has ultimately left a very lasting impression upon you. You had found solace in the action growing up and you still felt it now, more so than ever with the violent turn your life has taken, and you wanted nothing more than a brief moment to try and capture that same tranquility once again.

Although, in all honesty, even you know that you’re not potentially endangering yourself like this for a reason so small and seemingly petty.

With your modest sewing kit on the night-table next to you, and the faintest whisper of the birds songs outside, you pause to look over your work. It’s not turned out too bad, it won’t be the worst you’ve ever done, but not the best either. Not that you believe for a second that John would actually appreciate the gesture, no matter how perfect it turned out.

John Seed, though mainly known for his slippery lawyer ways and role within the infamous Eden’s Gate, was a very rich man. His life before Eden’s Gate, before being reunited with his lost siblings, had him as a rather successful property attorney from what you’ve heard, and it’s from that life and accumulated wealth that’s allowed the project to get as large and domineering as it has done.

It’s also allowed him to lavish himself in some of the most luxurious, and most audaciously expensive, brands that you’ve never heard off. Not only was he good looking, tall and slim with a lean frame painted with tattoos and gifted with a pretty face home to a devilish smile, but he dressed impeccably well.

It was near impossible to not initially swoon at such a charming character, but sadly he was a bit of an open book. The exterior may be exquisite, utterly unique and persuasive in how it draws you in, but it’s too easy to read and you find it’s pages to be littered with an underlying venom and rage; a bitterness that may be understandable, but hardly justifiable.

It was actually quite sad when you chose to sit down and actually think about the man and his siblings, to sit down and try to read them as best as you could. Each of them were broken in their own ways, left in disrepair, from the lives they had lived. You had even gone so far as to read Joseph’s physical book, the bible by which Eden’s Gate knelt before, to see if it could tell you more. The question of how they became – how you know them to be – a guiding hand as you flicked through the yellowing pages and over painful words.

Theirs was truly a sad story.

Still, you know it is no excuse for what they have done, or what they continue to do; and yet there is a part of you that, secretly, knows that you do this simple gesture for more of a reason than out of habit or past influence. It’s a simple but nice gesture and, although you don’t feel like it’ll be appreciated, you’re sure it’s something that they – John in-particular and especially so – have never been given before. At least not willingly.

If anything, with how rich John is, you wouldn’t be surprised if he just brought a new shirt from an equally fancy, if not tear-inducingly expensive, brand without even batting an eye. That’s if he didn’t get it custom made. You’re pretty sure your average store doesn’t sell plane printed jackets and Eden’s Gate belt buckles after all.

Even so there’s no need to waste money, even if he can burn it and still be well off, when you can just as easily fix it. Besides, it’s actually a really nice shirt. Even with its predictable colouring.

Despite all the terrible things the man has done, and will no doubt continue to do, you can’t help the small smile that blooms across your lips. The knowledge that the Baptist, the dreaded Reaper, of Eden’s Gate has a favourite colour and is so shameless in embracing it is strangely humanising to you; and also surprisingly sobering.

At a leisurely pace, mind now hollow with an echoing sorrow, you pierce the fabric and loop the needle through the gap between the strand of thread and pull, creating a knot. You do this a second time, creating another knot to make sure it stays, before you reach for the small scissors in the kit beside you, cutting the remaining thread loose.

With a soft touch you run your finger over the fabric, silently marvelling at its heavenly texture as you thoughtfully look over your finished work. The thread you’ve used isn’t as high quality as the shirt itself is made out of, a fact that actually irritates you, but it’s the best that you own and you find yourself sighing in resignation; leaving it be.

Yes, it’ll have to do.

With a lingering gaze you start to slowly turn the shirt back to being inside-in, taking your time to enjoy the quiet that’s fallen over you. It’s only as you go to straighten the shirt, holding it out in front of you and giving it a final, critical look-over, that the silence breaks and you’re startled out of your revere.

Looking toward the bedroom’s door with wide doe-eyes you are shocked to see none other than the Baptist, John Seed, himself standing at the threshold. Eyes equally as wide, but much more bemused than your own, staring at you as you internally curse your luck with a tensing jaw.

He isn’t supposed to be here...

“You know, I must admit, Deputy,” he drawls with an intriguing lilt, ocean eyes dragging over you as he leans his lithe form against the door frame with crossed arms, completely at ease despite the situation, “I never pegged you for a housewife. It makes for quite an... interesting image. Did you also happen to cook me a meal and do the laundry by chance, darling?”

His smile is mocking, sharp and cruelly delighted, and it has you flushing in a mixture of shame and restrained anger. The fact that you’ve been caught in such a position puts a nasty dent in your pride. You know how this looks: the fearsome Deputy, poster child and head of the rising Resistance, sewing; and not just sewing, but sewing the damned enemy’s – a man on your given blacklist – shirt of all things.

It’s a colossal embarrassment.

You’re also aware of what this could do to your reputation if this got out and you don’t need John Seed, the smuggest bastard around, to gloat over that. Nor do you want him making smart quips that you know he’s more than likely going to constantly torment you with now over the radio for everyone else to hear.

Life’s a living hell at the moment as it, and you don’t need something like that being added to the proverbial pile. The humiliation would kill you quicker than a piece of shrapnel from a plane crash.

“Oh shut up,” you snip, “like I’d do you the honour; and if anyone makes for an interesting image around here it’s you, unexpected as you are,” you sass lowly. “Honestly, when are you going to do us all a favour and just fuck off. Maybe you should go and play with that little toy collection of yours like a good little brother instead of harassing all of us, now that would be an interesting image.”

It’s hardly even a half-baked comeback you give him, your bite a mere brush of teeth, yet it’s still enough for his expression to turn into something testing. A tick in his jaw as his icy eyes pierce you like a needle, pinching and uncomfortable; attention grabbing in the worst way possible.

The look is near enough water off a duck’s back. If you’ve come to learn anything from your few, but nonetheless taxing interactions with the man, it's that he won’t take the risk of action unless he’s a hundred percent certain that he has you right where he wants you; where you can’t or won’t fight back.

He wants things, people and confessions alike, handed to him on a gem encrusted platter. Given to him so he can play his twisted little games and break all his new and precious little toys. Always pushing past limits and breaking you down until you can do anything else, but give him exactly what he wants. Spoiled brat.

Perhaps John isn’t as absolved of his sin, carved into his chest like a fatal warning, as he thinks he is.

Closing his eyes John kisses his teeth with a restrained annoyance that is difficult to miss. For all his talk of wrath, and how well you embody it, he puts you to shame in how well it suits him, wearing it like a second skin and parading it like a model wrapped in Prada.

“As much as I’d love to spend my free time doing things that don’t concern you or your petty Resistance, it’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it dearest,” he hits back with a chilled, but airy quality. “After all, you’ve made yourself quite a fixture in my life as it is, and I don’t believe for a second that you’d actually want out of that.” There’s a hint of something knowing in his words that doesn’t sit right with you. “And in case you haven’t noticed, but this is my home that you’re trespassing in. I’m pretty sure you’re breaking the law actually; you hardly have a warrant after all, Deputy,” he bites, cruel and vile and so self-satisfied.

For a brief moment the twins of worry and paranoia raise their heads with salivating jaws, itching like an infection to tear into you as you suddenly start to fret over John’s motives for this back and forth; along with the simmering anger that lurks beneath the water.

The anticipation of what his next rage fuelled actions could be is rattling. You can’t tell if he’s going to laugh this all off like some sort of bad joke or straight up lunge at you with the likes of a wild animal by the end of this. He can be rather unpredictable, and it’s that unpredictability that makes him so feared throughout the Valley. It’s what makes him so dangerous.

Yet it seems you can do nothing but poke the bear lately, your own frustrations and stresses giving you a false and reckless bravado. Albeit with a soft and unthreatening tone.

“And do I look like I care? We’re at war John, I’m pretty sure anything goes; your methods have already proven that. Now, are there any other normal past-times that you want to mock me for while I’m here, or am I free to go?”

Internally you wince. That came out a lot more defeated than you intended it to be. Still, you hope he at least concedes on this petty back and forth of yours and actually lets you leave–

“I’d hardly call your level of wanton wrath ‘normal’, Deputy. Tell me, what is your total body count at the moment? How many innocent lives have you gorged yourself on in order to fuel that gluttonous soul of yours, until it’s satisfied with the carnage you leave in your wake? Don’t worry though, you’re in safe hands. I’ll be sure to give your soul a good scrubbing once I get you in my chair. Starve it out of you until you bleed across my floor...”

You don’t say anything, merely roll your eyes and gently shake your head at the flip in attitude, continuing to look and touch up the shirt in your tender hold. He’s likely lost in his own warped thoughts if the way he stares through you for moment is any consolation. However, even lost in thought, you’ve found that John is not one to keep quiet for long, and he quickly proves that notion right.

“You know,” he says suddenly, conversationally; tip of his tongue wetting his lips as he looks for all the world like he just discovered the weight of gold, “if you wanted to confess to me you could of just called. Really, you needn’t go through all this trouble just to make my life easier, darling. I could have set up a welcome party and everything for you. Pulled out the red carpet, set it all up and made it all nice and perfect, for you... just for you, Deputy.”

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can warp what strangely sounds like the most sweetest and innocent of words into something so filthy, sinful and ultimately twisted; as if whispered around a forked tongue made of false promises and sugared venom. He’s an expert at his craft, you’d give him that. Sadly though you can’t help but skim over your absent companions playful jabs and blasé observations with a newfound air of caution.

The beast of worry looks at you with a telling, razored grin.

“... Flattered,” you drawl warily.

For such a simple and plain response you don’t feel that his boyish grin – filled with an emotion that is so foreign on the sadistic and calculating man that you feel the lazy shift of fear beside the intent prickle of paranoia and worry; something self satisfying and grateful and speckled with awe – is justified.

Like the flippancy of the wind John’s expression shifts, fluidly, into an emotion akin to a played up indignation. He sharply huffs through his nose.

“You should be. I make so many exceptions for you my dear and you do nothing but repay my kindness with more bloodshed. It’s rather rude of you in fact.”

“To be fair,” you cut in with a tired glower, careful with were you step in this game of twister, “your kindness leaves much to be desired. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen, so forgive me for misconstruing your intentions.” It’s said with the most blatant sarcasm, dripping thickly like molten tar, and yet John lights up like a town on the eve of Christmas. The remains of his coiled agitation shifting into an unwarranted giddiness.

Good Lord, you’ve not even spent five minutes with this man and already you’ve got a killer headache.

“Oh? Should I learn by your example then, my dear Deputy? From this... quaint little gesture of yours, hmm?” He’s eyes hungrily roam over your lap, no doubt acutely aware of the way your thumb has comfortingly been brushing over the silken fabric of his shirt. “Not to say I don’t appreciate it mind you.”

You can’t stop the roll of your eyes nor  the huff that accompanies it. “Trust me, John, there’s no gesture here.”

He makes a sound in his throat, chimed with a badly contained mirth. Slightly, barely visible from your perch on his bed, he leans forward with something almost predatory in those sea-deep eyes of his. “Then what’s that in your lap?”

You turn to hold his gaze, icy and sharp with a smugness that screams of a known victory. He’s got you there. Your teeth grind into each other as you will for a retort to come to mind, but nothing does. With a heavy exhale through your nose you turn to the ceiling and pray for the strength to survive this ordeal.

Not that you’re completely confident that you will. With a swift flare of frustration one of your hands shoots up, palm facing skyward, in a half-arsed admission. “I don’t know. I don’t know, okay, I was just trying to be nice I guess.”

“Nice? You?” John barks mockingly, “Oh don’t make me laugh, Deputy. You’re a killer; there’s not an ounce of mercy in that tainted soul of yours. After all,” There’s a humourless chuckle, a glint of something vicious in his sea-deep eyes, “what ever happened to serve and protect?”

The look you throw him is completely disbelieving, practically aghast from insult, but there’s also a familiar rage resting within the glaring pools of your eyes that John knows rather well. Truthfully, it’s not something he’s ever seen in you before, more a muted irritation than straight up fury, and it thrills him something fierce to see it threatening to come into full bloom.

Conflict has never been in your veins. You came from a quiet and career driven family, to the point where your parents were hardly ever around. Arguments were rare, and if they did happen they never lasted long. You didn’t have the courage, nor stomach, for such things; and despite how much this County has twisted your placid instincts into something sharper, more aggressive and impatient, some things will just never change.

Lips in a tight line, brow furrowed and eyes ablaze in a dirty glare, you look away from him; down to your lap then across to your resting rifle. He’s not wrong, and ultimately that hurts worse than anything physical that he could very well do to you. The battle of your morals – your conscious – against your duty, against the pedestal that everyone has hoisted you up onto like some sort of savour – another Joseph almost – , is a constant one.

“Then what does that make you?” You ask quietly, something cruel lurking beneath the surface of your own waters. “What makes what you do so good, so much better and different than everyone else? Because you believe your brother, because he believes he talks to God?” There’s a huff of a laugh, a mocking condescension hissing with fangs bared, “don’t make me laugh, Inquisitor.”

John’s away from the door frame before you can even blink, a warning shift that tells you that this is no longer a strained, but casual banter between enemies. There’s a familiar glare in his eyes, dark and treacherous like the deepest waters and daring you to get a little closer, to swim a little deeper; to say another word against his brother.

Despite your writhing worry at the sudden tension in the air, twisting and flailing and coiling, you take a deep breath, let it suffocate you a moment too long, and then let it go. Tracing the lines and scratches on your rifle as your shaking anger lessens into a quiet ache. You’ve never been able to maintain it for long; you’re just glad that it no longer makes you break down crying anymore.

John on the other hand...

“Joseph,” he starts, voice so tight that it trembles, “wants to save people.”

“And you don’t?”

There’s a pause; a subtle shift.

You watch as John’s jaw gets tight, his head tilting the slightest amount to look down his nose at you; arms crossing over his chest in a defensive gesture as he leans back against the door frame again; a faux display of casualness.

It’s all the answer you need.

Slowly you nod your head, an acknowledgment even though you needn’t give one. A murmured ‘right’ scoffed under your breath. In all honesty you didn’t expect him to be so (indirectly) honest with you. In a way you can very much respect that, appreciate it even, but in another it only has the beast of worry grinning hauntingly at you; a new dread crawling up from the deep. It’s twin sewn from paranoia slinking up beside it with an equally telling flash of teeth.

Surely he can’t be doing this just for Joseph, just for the Project; there has to be something more that he’s gaining out of this. There has to be.

“Atonement,” the word is drawn out, a slow and delicate dissection, “is the absolution of sin… without it we are left to fester in the disease of our past transgressions. If we are not absolved of sin then we can never even begin to hope to be allowed entrance into Eden. However,” the baptist gives you a pointed look, head ducked and eyes alight but shaded, a stray strand of hair falling loose, “that decision must be genuine. They must want to atone, otherwise what would be the point?”

There’s a bitten laugh that scraps between his teeth; bared in a feral frustration that speaks of long talks and discussions that lead to nowhere but dead-ended roads. A hand claws through his hair, putting that stray strand back in place as he looks to bite at the inside of his mouth; eyes briefly cast to the side.

The afternoon sun, gradually turning richer as time goes on, catches against the satin blue of his vest, making it shimmer like the clearest of Caribbean seas. With his gaze turned away from you for the moment you can see the way the light glazes them, can see the hellfire for all it’s worth beneath those choppy waters; the rage given a flare of new life with the setting sun as the shadows stretch and consume, turning the once clear and shallow waters of his eyes deep and foreboding.

You think you may actually be starting to see some of the truths that lie within the Book of Joseph.

There’s a hesitant inhale; a steadying breath.

“But, it is the will of The Father to save everyone, regardless of if they are worthy of it or not.”

Looking away from the shirt still in your lap you turn to John, many questions on the brain, but only one that gets voiced.

“So you don’t think I’m worthy?”

John blinks. A moment of consideration before he meets your curious gaze; stars glinting against a multitude of emotions, all buried and unspoken, but telling all the same.

“I don’t think you believe yourself to be worthy.”

The bluntness of his response catches you off guard, eyebrows jumping high in surprise. It’s straight to the point in a way that you never imagined him to be, and you can’t help the interested ‘oh’ that melts on your tongue in response, lilts in newfound curiosity as your head tips to the side ever so slightly. “What makes you say that?”

You half expect a smile and some sort of jab, another dig to attempt to provoke you and prove a point that only he is fighting to prove. Yet, he does nothing of the sort. He’s quiet, simply watching you, and it’s with a strange type of realisation that you realise that, not only is he back to looking relaxed and at ease, but so are you; the tension lost and in its place lies a peculiar air, a feeling of contented melancholy almost; an accepting moment of reprieve within the wheel of fate.

“You’re still here,” he answers simply, an airy awe cushioning his tone, “if you didn’t want to be convinced then you would have left a while ago. You wouldn’t be asking me in the first place.”

There’s a tightening anxiety in your chest, a truth struck too close. Are you really that easy to read? Is your dissatisfaction and growing suspicion of the Resistance –  coupled with your thirst to learn more about the local cult and its founders – really that obvious? You should hope not, such things will get you into trouble if you’re not careful. Satisfaction over discovering such things would certainly not bring you back if that were the case.

“Tell me, Deputy,” there’s a new glint in John’s eye, a new interest piqued, “what is it that you’re looking for exactly? Because whatever it is apparently can’t be found within your little Resistance, otherwise you wouldn’t be entertaining me like you are, nor would you be concerning yourself over such a touching gesture.” Surprisingly there’s a lack of sarcasm to his tone this time around as he loosely gestures toward your lap, where his shirt still lies under your gentle touch.

You suck on your tooth for second, petulantly glancing away with a quick, but weak rebuttal of, “It’s not a gesture.”

A familiar, if not slightly fonder and more teasing, lopsided smile lights up across John’s face. This strange companionship of yours back on steady waters. “If you say so, my dear.”

The warmth of the gradually setting sun is a welcome blanket at your back, the stillness between you both comfortable despite the different lines you draw and stand on in this war. Faintly you can hear the chatter and motions of the guards outside, the rumble of distant engines, but they quickly fade into the background as you genuinely consider John’s words.

Just what are you looking for?

You’re not too sure, and you don’t suppose John would appreciate such a response no matter how honest it may be. Really, if you were to be insanely honest with yourself, you would guess you are looking for a reason to stop; a reason to turn your back on those you are fighting for and not those who you are fighting against.

No matter how many times you humanise the Seeds, excuse their actions on past situations, you can’t justify what they’ve done. You may one day forgive them, when all is said and done and this whole sorry war is nothing more than a story for the grandchildren; but you could never forget the horrors they have put people through, the uncountable and unimaginable things they have done to get to where they are now; to both you and the residents of the County.

Yet, does that justify what the residents of the County have done? Does that excuse the crimes and damages conceived by the Resistance? No, no if things were even a sliver close to normal, if you were actually a proper deputy and not so damn green, then maybe everyone would of been locked behind bars by now; and you would be no exception, right beside them with blood covered hands.

The world has never looked so grey to you as it does now; and that honestly scares you worse than any cult.

“But please,” John continues after a beat, breaking the silence, “indulge me; what is it you’re after, my dear? What is it that you are really searching for?”

Absently your thumb brushes over the fabric in your lap, a heavy hesitancy causing you to take your lip between your teeth, biting at the skin there until the taste of copper hits your tongue. Eyes downcast as you debate with yourself over how honest you can be with John, how raw you’re willing to let yourself became in front of someone like him; as an enemy, as an ex-lawyer and – maybe, just maybe – as a friend.

You look up at him, see the interest and something else that you can’t quite name dancing like fireflies over a lake’s still surface. Watch as he patiently waits for you, for what you think and have to say… It’s a nice change, if not a little strange.

Without a thought you smile at him, a beam too tight that it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, a huffed laugh under your breath. “Nothing much,” you squeak, “although a decent meal would be a start.” The laugh lingers on your breath, eyebrow cocked and lips tilting into lopsided smile; an intended joke.

John looks wholly unimpressed at your bid at humour, his own eyebrow raising casually in a silent question. Surprisingly though he doesn’t say anything in response, doesn’t call you out or outright accuse you of lying, even though you both know that you just did.

Ultimately, it leaves you with a new type of uncertainty, anxiety rising once again as the smile slowly falls from your face. Still, you push past it as best you can, clearing your throat awkwardly as you decide to stand from your seat on the bed, looking and then making your way toward the set of draws on the left where you had found his discarded shirt.

You feel, but still try to ignore John’s eyes on you as you place the shirt back in (what you hope is) its original resting place, neatly folding and fitting it between others not unlike itself. Briefly you brush your fingers over the collar, savouring the uniquely expensive feel of the shirt before closing the open draw. No doubt you’ll never get an opportunity like this again. It’s a little sad in a way.

With a quiet hum you turn – back facing John – toward the bed, and with a casualness as if you own the place you start brushing down and straightening where you’d been perched on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the creases.

Admittedly, with the sudden lack of conversation, John’s silence is really starting to get to you, a familiar edge of paranoia creeping into the forefront of your mind like scavenging rodents. You listen with a keen interest as you finish your work, the rustling of fabric and your own soft breaths the only sounds that really catch your ear.

With your back facing the infamous Baptist you would have thought this would be a great opportunity for him, your more laidback and docile nature on full display for him to take advantage of if he so wished to. It really would be a perfect opportunity.

Yet, as you turn around, once more with a hum at your work, you find that John hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway. If anything he still looks very much at ease there, completely comfortable and unconcerned as he rests his lean frame against the door, arms and legs casually crossed as he simply watches you with soft eyes; reflective pools that refuse to hide even the tiniest of emotions. Yet, strangely enough, you suddenly feel as if time is impervious to the both of you. As if there is no one else in the world, but you and John.

The sparkling sapphire of his eyes, deep and as unfathomable as the ocean, whisper in dulcet tones the promise of a loving caress within the safe haven of his gaze. An unexpected gentleness in the sorrow of a buried plea, a want for something never owned, but always craved. Such a display of tenderness, from a man that you know to be cruel and volatile at times, is so far removed from the usual turbulent seas in his eyes that it makes you feel breathless.

His face – strong defined jaw, coupled with an immaculately trimmed beard, and skin a naturally tanned hue that looks as smooth as the silk of his shirts – is not masked by barely contained snarls of rage like it often can be, nor the sharp displays of malicious mockery and petulant pleasantries that hiss between his fangs when bared. Instead he bears a freedom and fondness that has your heart racing, a strange vulnerability on his suddenly boyish features; an unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, warmth stroking over something deep within your chest that you had feared you were starting to lose.

A thought skims across your mind, and is banished just as swiftly as it had appeared; but even so it leaves an impression that you can’t help but entertain. No matter how futile and unachievable it may be; a hopeless romantic forever at heart.

Lost in fanciful scenarios that will never come to be you don’t notice the way that John also takes you in, cataloguing every minuscule detail and committing it to memory with a keenness that rivals the amount of silver on his tongue.

With where you stand, still and serene in the heart of enemy territory, the large window of his bedroom holds proudly behind you. The fading afternoon sun casting a light pastel orange across the earth and room, beaming through the glass and haloing you in a warm and intimate glow, your form mesmerising and ethereal with how at peace you look when held within such a divinely born light.

Your eyes, typically brimming with a wrathful defiance and a gluttonous need for misguided justice, are a demure beacon that glitters like the limitless galaxies within the cosmos. A flare of hope and unconditional love, soft and reassuring, for all of those that catch a glimpse of your guiding starlight. And although he feels unworthy, tainted and irrefutably damaged as he is, John also feels unbelievably blessed to bare witness to such an otherworldly sight; to be gifted with the absolute vision that is you.

And, for a moment that never quite ends, John can’t help but question how you could be hell-incarnate when heaven touches you oh so sweetly.

There are many words John Seed would have used to describe you, none of them necessarily complimentary or flattering, yet in this shared time between the two of you – just the two of you – only one word comes to mind as he unknowingly, longingly gazes at you.

Angelic. Yes, angelic you truly are. Stunningly and perfectly angelic.

John can’t remember the last time he felt this way about anyone, if he has ever felt like this at all even, but suddenly he finds that nothing else matters to him. Not the Project, not his brothers, and not even the work that he should be doing but that he had slipped away early from, because – frankly put – he was tired. He was as fed-up with this war and the responsibilities placed upon him as he suspected his dear Deputy to be. Both falling foul to your shared sin of sloth in regards to the duties you uphold.

Yet, John at least holds direction and dedication to the work divinely placed upon him. Knows what the end game is and strives to achieve it to its fullest potential, but you? You’re wavering; you’re doubting. Straying away from the path you are on, looking into the distance for something else, all the while refusing to even acknowledge the right one. The one alongside him.

You may not say it, nor ever even admit it, but John knows exactly what it is you are looking for. Knows the evidence that you’re desperately trying to compile in order to build a strong case in favour of yourself and the choices that you’ve been making, wanting to justify yourself and the many actions that you’ve made until this point between you both in the name of your feeble Resistance. And John also knows that he and his siblings are partially to blame for that.

If it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t have to try and stand alone for yourself in your own self made courtroom. Wouldn’t have to stand before your self-conscious as you pleaded your guiltlessness before your own guilt. But, really, that’s why you needed a lawyer; that’s why you needed him. John could help you with that, could show you a better path where you could be free of such shackles. He would stand and defend you where no one else would; he would protect you when no else could.

He just wished that you’d let him. Wished that you would just sign the contract laid out before you so he could aid you, so he could fight for you. Yet, you still refuse to bless him with the payment of his favoured word. You still refuse to acknowledge just how in debt this battle will leave you without his help. It’s a small ask, a tiny payment, for a lifetime of rightful assurance.

Yet, John wonders if maybe it’s not just the courtroom that he wants to defend you in.

In his previous life, before the Project and his reunion with Joseph, John likely wouldn’t have even paid you a second glance. You’re a bit of a Plain Jane, have a very girl-next-door sort of look about you. Yet, in the wake of this interaction, bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun, John can’t think of anyone more beautiful. So human and down to earth; lost and conflicted, yet certain and firm. You really are an oddity, and one that John finds himself genuinely wanting to learn more about.

True, he had always had an interest in you, especially when this war between you first began, but it had always been a professional interest (despite what many thought or claimed). You needed to join the Project, Joseph decreed it so, and although his interest had risen to a slightly more personal level it was still business; without you he wouldn’t be able to reach Eden. His fate was in your hands.

Yet, fate seems to want to play you both into each other’s arms, for if it didn’t then surely this sacred moment between you both wouldn’t be happening. Surely, if this wasn’t meant to happen, John wouldn’t be longing for the love that Joseph promised him – the love that only you could give him – like he suddenly and hopelessly is.

John knows where he stands in this war, it’s a fixed point that he can’t move away from even if he eventually decided that he wanted to, but really his dear Deputy is still undecided. You still have a choice to make in this divine plan; you still have time to choose. And, funnily enough, it looks as if you’ve already started to make that choice. That curiosity of yours, you being in his home – on his bed – looking so domestic, like a wife waiting for her husband… to John this is a sign, a hint, a mere taste of the future that he’s always secretly hoped and longed for. A prophecy in its own right.

Yet, as much as he wants to fight for you, to defend and cherish you, he regrettably knows that the time for such things isn’t quite here yet. It’s close, certainly within his reach, but you need to meet him the rest of the way. You need those final damning pieces of evidence before you’ll come to him. You’ll want every piece of evidence available before you’ll walk your chosen path; and although he shouldn’t interfere, John could very easily acquire such evidence for you. He could very easily make such evidence for you. A little more time, a few strings pulled and a couple of sins stripped, and he could give you everything you need and so, so much more.

The temptations of the promised future are a fruit too sweet not to savour.

Eden’s Baptist watches with a fresh interest as you sigh heavily, chest rising and falling with the action, as you start to walk towards him. John’s chest tightens, flutters under the way your sparkling eyes meet and hold his own, only a hint of uncertainty, a fleeting touch of something questioning – do you feel it too? Do you feel this like he does? – on your face before you look away, glance down like a bashful bride, and come to stand next to him.

He doesn’t move from where he’s been leaning against the door, doesn’t even dare to breathe in case this moment is blown away like ash on the wind. Yet, when nothing happens and all he can focus on is his and your own gentle breathing, he takes a gamble and swallows thickly, slowly turning his head so he can look down at you next to him, naturally pretty despite the odd scratch and speck of dried blood on your well worn clothes.

The tension is palpable between you both, not so tight that’s it choking you, but tight enough that you can certainly feel it; hear it moan like a bow dragging steadily over a cello’s strings. Although, not as ominous as one would first suspect, but more melancholy; a rich sadness. As though despite how much you might want and wish for something, it will never come to pass; a sad inevitability that you can do nothing but walk past, never to stop and consider. Or at least you shouldn’t, for only heartbreak lies down those withered and desolate roads.

Which is why you shouldn’t stop, why you shouldn’t be wanting to reach out with a tender touch, a reassurance to this greedy want of yours for something more out of this moment, for more out of this strange connection and unlikely companionship you have discovered between the two of you. You shouldn’t feel this safe when standing next to the man that wants to starve this Valley into submission. You shouldn’t feel so at ease around a man that derives a sick thrill out of torture and the power it gives him. You shouldn’t feel like you’ve finally found a home when you’re sitting on his bed with his shirt in your arms.

You can’t deny that you’re attracted to him, that there clearly is some sort of unexplainable connection between the both of you, but whatever this connection may be… it can never be explored. It can never happen. You will never side with Eden’s Gate, and even if you decide that you can no longer be with the Resistance, it’ll be for the same reason why you can’t join Joseph’s cult. Ultimately, your decision, whatever it may be, will change nothing. Just like nothing will change John’s decision.

Ruled by the cry of your heart and the attachments it’s quick to make you hesitantly lay your greedy hand upon him, turning slightly as your right hand crosses you in order to gently grip his toned arm; the familiar feel of uniquely expensive silk sliding pleasantly

against your skin.

You feel him tense under your hand, arms tightening from where they are still crossed across his chest, but you don’t blame him. Really you’re not even too sure what it is you’re doing, this will only hurt you more when you walk away from whatever this could’ve been if things were different, but you always have had a bit of a penchant for torturing yourself with things like this.

So no matter how much the ‘what if’s’ will wound you in the future you still immerse yourself in the feel of him, of the way he relaxes as your thumb brushes back and forth in a comforting gesture against his arm, the smell of his cologne naturally intermingling with his natural scent… it’s a bitter torture that already has the tears coming to your eyes, but still you stay a little longer; heart hopefully romantic even though you know better.

This – the two of you – could never work.

“Deputy…”

“You know,” you cut him off, the slightest fracture in your softened tone, “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, about your planes. They’re not toys; they’re really cool actually,” there’s a buried laugh under your breath, a small smile that speaks of a brief reminiscion, “the way you have them all set up, cataloged with their little name plates… it’s really cute. It would be super cool if you had them hanging down from the ceiling though; like, having them act out dog fights and things almost. Can you imagine it?”

You giggle there, head ducking as you get lost in thoughts and bitter imagines – helping to set them up, walking in and seeing them like that, being lifted and twirled under them like stars in the sky – that will never be.

This war has taken everything from you, has made you doubt and lose sight of who you were before. Even your dreams for the future, regardless of who they may be with, have been tarnished by the stains on your hands and the things you have been pushed into doing. How could you ever have a normal life after this? Who would want a life with you after all of this? It all seems so impossible and far too far out of reach for you now.

Although it may be cruel, your wandering thoughts and the reminder they bring is a good grounder, and in turn your smile sours; even as one blooms sweetly across John’s face, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks.

For the better, you don’t see it.

“Anyway, I better go; got a County to save and all that after all. I’ll see you around though, John,” you pause, hesitate, desperately cling to this fleeting moment that’s finally reached its end, “take care of yourself now, sweetheart. Lord knows we need to...”

With nothing else to say, that quiet piece of compassion laid out before him like a final offering, you leave; letting go of his arm with a parting squeeze and a faint caress as you pull away, walk past him and out the door until you’re eventually lost to him yet again. A weary ghost bound to forever wander the lonely battlefield.

John doesn’t follow you, doesn’t even reach out to stop you like a part of him begs him to do, and instead merely turns to watch you leave. Head down and arms wrapped comfortingly around your waist. He really should stop you, force this moment to last for as long as he can get it to, but he doesn’t; and that surprisingly hurts him, letting you go. Yet, the pain it brings only hardens him, makes his thoughts straighten and become resolute in the face of the same realisation that had dawned on him only moments before hand.

And as the sun sets over the horizon, the sky streaked in sunburnt northern lights, colours shifting like water with the flowing of time, John finally moves to sit in the same place you had been on his bed; alone and lost in thought. Reaching out to pick something up off his nightstand as he draws his elbows to rest on his spread knees. His hands cupped against his mouth and securely around your forgotten sewing kit, as he stares blankly at your abandoned rifle.

Another sign in and of itself.

Although you hadn’t been looking at him when you had left John had certainly been watching you. He had seen the way that your eyes had glistened like unsteady waters as the courtroom erupted into a debate that you felt that you couldn’t win; the choice taken from you as your morals and exploited loyalty raged and dictated the sentence you should face.

He knows you felt it, knows that there is something special between the two of you, and that it’s taken this moment between you – this one act of rebellion stemmed from your curiosity – for him to see it; for him to finally grasp the meaning behind his brother’s plea.

You were right when you had questioned him on his lack of care regarding the Atonement; how he doesn’t care to save those that don’t believe, how he doesn’t want to put in the effort for those that will only put it to waste. If their motives are not genuine then the process is entirely pointless. Although, John won’t deny that there is a certain gratification in having such control over someone. Forcing them to say yes, purely for their own survival, is not the intention, but it certainly works all the same. After all, Joseph hasn’t exactly scolded him for his methods; especially if he gets a little therapy and self management out of it.

But what of you? What do you have as an outlet, as a way to cope and make the prize all the more sweeter? Better yet, what is the prize that you’re working towards, because John certainly has his in mind, and it won’t just be the end of a cruel and uncaring society.

You’re a puppet, both in terms of your occupation and the leading role you’re now being made to fill, dancing on fraying strings. Strings that John could fully free you from, help to cut you loose, if only you would just say ‘yes’. He’d be able to properly protect and defend you then, reassure you in your choices and how the things you’ve done were never truly your own; your caring nature merely exploited by those that you were forced to associate with while under the influence of shock. The trauma brought on by that helicopter crash disorientating you and leaving you vulnerable toward their manipulative and pressurising ways.

At least if you were to say ‘yes’, John would be able to safely guard you and your surprisingly tentative character. He would be able to love and cherish you, hold you close like no other, and make it so that you would want for nothing while in his arms. He could actually keep you in his bed, smother you in the pleasure that he would gladly give you as his beloved; chain you there as he ravished you and the softness that you would offer him, that you allowed him a tantalising glimpse of.

If you said ‘yes’, then John would finally be able to secure you and your loose strings, worn and threadbare under the continued pressure of your wailing guilt, to his own tangled ones; knotting them together until they have been sewn into something new, becoming one and the same. And when that finally happens, you will be entwined around a silk too rich and blissful to be so easily frayed.

[hannahgrunberg-blog]

Chapter 1: Hannah’s Exodus

February 2nd, 1939

The crisp, cold early morning wind swept through the frost-covered railway platform. Parents and children (as old as seventeen) milled about the platform, where a train sat on the track in the middle of the crowd. The exhaust from the old, rusty train emitted hot steam, creating a false illusion of warmth for many. There were hundreds of crying toddlers, who were too young to understand what was going on; why they were forced to wear these large tags around their necks, or why they were handed over to men and women wearing red armbands with hooked crosses. However, there were a number of children who did understand. One of them was eleven year old Hannah Grunberg.

The fear of leaving her mother behind was very clear in the little girl’s eyes. Hannah nervously grasped the small bag that was handed to her. It was filled with necessities, and would soon be all she owned in the world. She wasn’t allowed to bring a lot of material items, only those that would serve her well in a foreign country. Cold sweat crept down her neck as bodies shifted around her. This caused the prickly string that was tied around it to scratch her skin. The worries increased as she heard the sound of her thudding heart mixed with the echoes of footsteps.

She knew she would have to leave Germany eventually. It took her parents long enough to realize this—that they couldn't be safe. Their rights as citizens had been stripped away from them. First Hannah couldn't go to school with her friends, then she wasn't allowed to go to the park or movie theater, and then her Father lost his job as a dentist. Her mother wasn't allowed to teach. They were very smart people, but they weren't smart enough to understand that they weren't wanted. Jews were no longer normal people.

Hannah’s mother knelt down to fix her daughter’s tag, a piece of cardboard that was tied with string. The number 1428 was printed in bold colors. She made sure it was tightly fixed onto her thin red coat. She fiddled with her daughter's braids, caressing her dark hair for what may be the very last time.

"Do you remember your English lessons, Leibling?" her Mother pestered in a quiet tone, "I want you to be able to communicate, even if it's only a little."

"Yes," Hannah replied, though it wasn't very clear English with her strong German accent. She only learned a few words her mother knew, but they may help her communicate a bit.

Her mother's face fell. She has always been a spirited person, but it was rare to see a smile nowadays. She was always beautiful when she smiled; her cheekbones lifted and her short, wavy hair framed her perfectly. After her father was taken away on that dreadful night, her mother couldn't smile. It was as if Hannah reminded her too much of him, with her bushy brown hair and hooked nose that was quite big for the face of a ten year old.

If only she could've seen her mother smile before she left, but of course the Nazis had taken away her spirit too.

"Come here," her mother said, gently. Hannah nearly tackled her, as she wrapped her arms around her.

"I'm scared," Hannah whispered. “I don't know if I'll ever see you again. What if they take you away like they took Papa?"

"Hush, hush," she tried to calm down her child. Tears streamed down the little girl's face. "Everything will be alright."

"No, it won't!" Hannah whimpered. "I can't think of happy thoughts when I know I have to leave you!"

"I'll never leave you. I'll always be right there," she softly pointed to the right side of her daughter's chest. "Your heart will have room for me, won't it?"

"If it's big enough," she said, trying not to choke on her tears.

"There is no one with a heart as big as yours," her mother said, her voice low and mellow. "Make sure that the English don't allow you to forget who you are."

The little girl slowly nodded. She nearly jumped when she heard the announcer's loud voice echo through the station. "Final call to all the kinder! Final call to all the kinder!"

As she heard the announcement, Hannah’s mother grabbed her daughter by her hands, pushing through the pool of people. A guard with a stern, menacing face checked her number before ushering her onto the train. "By, my Liebling," she whispered. With that, she was pushed backwards and into the sea of teary-eyed parents.

Hannah was shoved into a compartment with three girls whom all wore long skirts, black stockings, and plaid shirts. The tallest must’ve been no-older than sixteen. Her brown, thick braided hair separated her from the other two blonde girls. All of the children nervously looked out the window, waving to their parents.  Hannah joined them by the window. She pressed her face against the cold glass. She locked her eyes with her mother, who was all the way in the background.

This was the last image of her Mother she'd ever see. No smile, just droopy, watery eyes. There was no place for her in Germany, and she knew it. What she didn't know, was that this was one of the many moments that would haunt her forever.

"Hannah! Hannah!" a voice whined in her ear.

The girl was awoken by a rough shake. Even though she met her just a few moments ago, she felt as if little Aviva's hands were stronger than her own. No wonder her sisters sometimes got annoyed of her. This adorable, button-nosed six year old really couldn't calm down! She was quite small for her age, but her blonde hair that was braided into tightly weaved German braids made her appear older. Hannah thought the style looked really nice on her. They brought out her big, innocent blue eyes.

"Are we in London? I could feel the train stopping!" she cried.

Hannah rubbed her eyes, the image in front of her started to get clearer. Aviva's older sisters Miriam and Dinah were looking at her with a teasing smile. She got to know them the last half hour before she passed out into a deep slumber. Miriam was a sixteen year old girl with a very straight, mature posture. On the other hand, Dinah slouched in her seat, blowing the short strands of her wild, curly blonde hair out of her eyes. Hannah learned that the Klein sisters lived in Munich, and that they were also orthodox. She thought that orthodox people were rather fascinating because of how tightly they followed the rules. Although Hannah celebrated holidays like Hanukkah and Passover, her parents were never strict about religion.

They all agreed that life was peaceful for them until Hitler grew into power. Miriam told her that her family struggled very hard to get all three of them passports. She originally wasn’t planning on going, but her chances to get selected increased as their father was put into labor. The girls found common ground through that, bonding as they also tried to calm the youngest.

"We won't be in London for ages," Hannah replied. "You're just imagining it.”

"You've been asking us for the past five minutes," Dinah sighed. "I’m getting tired of you asking the same question thousands of times."

"Dinah," Miriam scolded in a gentle tone. "Just tell her that she should be more patient."

"I've been patient," Aviva said.

"No, you weren't," Dinah countered.

"Dinah," Miriam used a harsher voice.

"Alright," the girl sighed, mockingly. "You should be more patient."

Miriam rolled her eyes as her younger sister spoke. "We're not going to be there in a long time. We won't get to London right away. We'll ride on a Ferry from Holland on the Dutch border."

The little girl made a pouty face. Just by the way the three talked to each other, Hannah was able to read them like an open book. There was this inner desire to have at least one sibling to talk to; to grow up together and argue with to pass time. Even if she were going away, she'd still be alone.

"Do you know if you're going to get separated?" Hannah asked, as gently as possible.

The three sisters gave each other uneasy looks. They didn't need to say in words that they were worried—their eyes said it all. Despite all their bickering the last moment, they couldn't live without each other.

"I think we are," Miriam answered, unsure. "The last group of children was from an orphanage. I'm sure siblings were separated."

Aviva's eyes drooped, "I don't want us to be separated."

"We're probably going to be put in foster care," Dinah said, bitterly. "No one wants a girl who’s already in their teens."

"Of course we'll all have a foster family even if we're not together," Miriam said, calmly.

"Who would want to take care of us?" Dinah said, before turning to Hannah with a sneer. "You're lucky you're eleven."

Hannah looked down as she spoke. There was no feeling of shame, but a feeling of sympathy. She knew what it was like when you felt unwanted. It was all too familiar ever since the Fuher declared that all Jews were schwein. Aryan classmates would throw rocks and kick dust into her eye. She heard their taunting voices echo through the walls of her mind: “Jüdisches Schwein! Jüdisches Schwein!“  Her friends couldn't play with her; their parents wouldn't allow their child to be friends with a Jewish girl. This moment caused a black hole to grow in her heart, one that eventually took away her innocence.

"Don't say that," Hannah said.

"If it weren't for Hitler," Dinah spat, gritting her teeth as she spoke. "We wouldn't have had to leave."

"Dummkopf," Aviva agreed.

Miriam shook her head. Hannah couldn't help but smile. Children learned that "bad language" in school. When parents argued, they always called each other names because they were angry. Children easily picked them up, especially if they were the target of those words. She remembered the first time her Mother told her that she shouldn't be a dummkopf and repeat those phrases. Though it was hard to ignore, Hannah made sure to not speak like that in front of her parents.

Memories of her parents seemed to flood her mind, even the ones Hannah usually couldn't remember. She lived in a small, but simple little house in the busy streets of Berlin. Since both of her parents were very smart and hard-working people, they didn't struggle as much after the events of the Great War. Hannah was well aware that most people were struggling and living off of whatever they could fend for. However, she had food on her table every day and didn't have to worry. Hitler thought that they didn’t understand real true suffering, but that changed ever since the Nuremberg Laws were passed.

As the train rattled on, the rhythm of the wheels nearly pulled her into a slumber. She wanted to sleep. Her mother had woken her early this morning. At the thought of her mother, a knife stabbed Hannah's heart, jogging all the memories she'd tried to forget back into place. Her sluggish mind focused on nothing but her weariness, slowly making her memories hazy. The noise around her slowly deafened as her mind’s theatre played a series of short films. She remembered when she'd tried to enter the park and been told she wasn't allowed, and that day when her teacher had called her to the front of the class and dismissed her as sub-human.

It was impossible to be accepted in Germany as a Jew. This caused her to wonder if she was going to have a hard time being in England because she was from Germany. She always heard of Jews being tortured just for their religion. Sephardic Jews who dared not to convert to Christianity in Spain were banished or persecuted. According to the Torah, Jews were enslaved by the Egyptians (the whole story of Moses was confusing to her, no matter how many times she heard it on Passover). Now Hannah was on her own exodus along with more than a hundred Jewish children.

As a dark curtain fell over her war-torn world, Hannah slept. In a few days, she thought, I'll be in England. There, I'll be safe. There, I'll be free. With that, the train swept her away from the German border and into the unknown.

[anononiagent]

A reasonable guy’s reasonable opinion on why stronger gun control in the US would be silly and solve nothing

Like it or not, we are living in an unprecedented age of escalating gun violence in the US. Regardless of where you lie on the political spectrum, this much is undeniable. And with this rise in gun violence comes a debate on what to do about it.

I don’t consider myself right-wing. Granted, I don’t exactly consider myself left-wing either; I’d say I’m a centrist. But I do tend to lean left, and I was raised liberal. I used to be on the other side of the fence when it came to gun control, but as I got older and my views changed and as I became interested in firearms and learned more about them, my position on this issue eventually flipped.

So, without further ado, here’s my reasonable opinion on why stronger control in the US would be silly and solve nothing.

Point 1: What exactly is an assault weapon? The hell if I know.

The image above isn’t lying to you. The rifle on top in the image above is above is of course an AR-15, likely a Colt LE-6920 specifically. It is a semi-automatic only rifle chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO, and it’s pictured here with a 20 round magazine. For those of you who aren’t very familiar with guns, the important thing to take away from that is that it’s a rifle and that it will fire one bullet (and only one bullet) every time you pull the trigger until it runs out of ammo. In order to fire another bullet, the trigger must be released and then pulled again. This is as opposed to what are referred to as automatic or fully automatic guns, which will continue to fire as long as the trigger is held down, burst-fire guns, which work almost identically to semi-automatic guns except that they fire more than one bullet every time the trigger is pulled, bolt action, pump-action, or lever-action guns, which after firing a bullet must have a handle, lever, or pump mechanism manipulated in some way in order to load the next round before the trigger can be pulled to fire another bullet, or select-fire guns, which combine two or more of the previously mentioned modes of fire.

The bottom gun is a Ruger Mini-14 Ranch, pictured here in the 5 round variety, though 20 round varieties are available. Like the AR-15 above it, it is a semi-automatic only rifle chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO. For those who don’t know, a gun’s ability to induce severe trauma in targets (known as “stopping power”) is primarily reliant upon the cartridge it is chambered in. Since these guns both use the same cartridge, their stopping power and in essence their lethality is the same. If anything, the Mini-14 has a slight advantage over the AR-15 as it has a two-and-a-half inch longer barrel, and thus the expanding gasses produced by burning off the cartridge’s propellant have more time to push the bullet up to greater speed before it leaves the barrel.

Yet the AR-15 is an assault weapon, and the Mini-14 is not. Why is this?

This is because the term “assault weapon” doesn’t really refer to anything particularly specific. It’s a vague, nebulous term used to scare people who don’t know any better into being afraid of something that they don’t understand in order to push an agenda. Thus when it comes to codifying what exactly an exactly an assault weapon constitutes in regards to the law, things get very murky and very, very messy very, very fast.

(As a quick aside, the term “assault weapon” is not the same as “assault rifle”. “Assault rifle” is a technical term that applies specifically to rifles while “assault weapon” is an incredibly vague term that applies to any category of weapon. Specifically, an assault rifle is a selective-fire rifle chambered in an intermediate caliber, meant to provide the advantage of greater range, accuracy, penetration, and stopping power of a rifle over a submachine gun, while being more compact and controllable in full automatic fire than a full-length, full-power rifle. As such, the term “assault rifle” is generally unused outside of military applications.)

In law, assault weapons tend to end up being classified based on secondary features rather than on anything having directly to do with their actual killing potential. Things like pistol grips, collapsible and/or folding stocks, “high-capacity” detachable magazines, heat-protective handguards, and accessory rails, that don’t increase a weapon’s lethality in any way. What these features are actually meant to do is improve the weapon’s ease of use, and make it so that the operator can operate the weapon and acquire targets faster while under extreme stress (meaning when someone is shooting back at them). In the case of a mass shooter using this kind of weapon, when it comes to shooting at a bunch of unarmed civilians who aren’t shooting back at you, these features don’t make any difference at all. It doesn’t matter if the stock is fixed or collapsible; as long as you have a deadly weapon and they don’t, that’s all that matters. And in the situations where these features do make a difference, i.e. dealing with law enforcement, these fancy-schmancy tactical features are no replacement for shooter skill, as any shooting course worth its salt will drill into you. These features will not make you a better shooter; they can only augment what skill is already there. And a skilled shooter does not need these features in order to pose a threat, either; they will be able to put up a good fight using a weapon without any “assault weapon”-type features at all. Sure, it’s nice to have a stock that you can adjust exactly to your preferred length of pull and it’s nice to have a red dot sight that lets you acquire targets faster than with irons or a scope with a fancy reticle that makes it easier to estimate how far away your target is, but none of that is necessary. Throughout the history of warfare there are boundless examples of people with inferior equipment prevailing through the use of superior skill, tactics, and strategy. And if you think that a civilian shooter can’t outperform a police office or soldier, you’re sorely mistaken; the vast, overwhelming majority of police departments and military units, including in the United States, only have enough funding to provide officers and soldiers with the absolute bare minimum amount of training required in order for them to be considered duty-ready or combat effective, requirements which are not particularly high. The only officers and troops who receive intense, quality training with weapons handling are some SWAT officers and most special operations forces. Most civilian gun enthusiasts train a lot harder than your average soldier or police officer, so it’s fortunate that the majority of mass shooters (with some exceptions) have turned out to be rather gun-dumb.

What all of this amounts to is the term “assault weapon” being nothing more than a media buzzword made up to scare people. They’re trying to convince you that if it looks like a military gun then its sole purpose must be to kill people, when the truth is much more complex than that.

Point 2: Banning firearms cannot and will not prevent dangerous people from owning guns.

Yes, I know. The whole “criminals don’t play by the rules” argument is tired one. But that doesn’t make it any less true. And furthermore, I don’t think people realize just how big a deal it truly is.

There is a large and well-developed black market for firearms in the United States, as well as in other countries. These guns are already in the hands of criminals, who are selling to other criminals, and thus these guns exist completely outside of the federal system of background checks currently in place. All one has to do is know somebody who’s selling or know where to go on the dark web, as well as of course have the money to pay for the product.

And beyond that, we have homemade guns. Yes, you heard me, homemade guns. People seem to have forgotten those 3D printed guns that made the news just a few years ago. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Functional weapons can be produced in a variety of ways from a variety of items. All it takes are some household items, maybe a tool or two, and a basic understanding of the principles involved.

^One of these was used to kill a police officer in South Korea in 2016.

^A handheld, single-shot .410 shotgun made out of a paintball marker.

^A 12 gauge shotgun made out of a couple pipes and some duct tape.

With the digital age in full swing, such weapons are only going to get easier for the average Joe Everyman to construct as 3D printable designs show up on torrenting websites, and instructions for more conventional designs that can be made out of a few dollars worth of hardware store goods are easily available for anyone to find.

The ultimate result is going to be that the only people with guns are going to be the police, the military, and violent criminals, leaving you more or less completely defenseless during the time it will take for help to get to you in the event you get attacked by someone with a firearm.

Point 3: Guns were around long before any of this was a major issue.

This is a big one that often gets ignored by people on both sides of the issue, but it’s an important point to bring up: this epidemic of gun violence in the US is a new thing, but the presence of guns, even of scary, tactical, “military-style” weapons like the AR-15, is not. Something changed to cause this outbreak of violence, and it wasn’t anything like there being more guns or more dangerous guns becoming available to the public. If anything, the presence of guns in the US has slowly shrunk over the decades. Prior to 1986, any and all American-made fully-automatic machine guns were perfectly legal for anyone to own, in the Sixties you could mail-order surplus anti-tank guns from WW2 for forty bucks or so, and before 1934 there were basically no restrictions whatsoever on what kinds of weapons a civilian could privately own. Yet in spite of this slow decrease in the average American’s access to various firearms, gun violence has skyrocketed.

Something cultural is at the root of our gun violence epidemic. Banning firearms or banning specific firearms or otherwise further restricting access to firearms is nothing but a band-aid solution. If violent and unstable people lose legal access to guns, they will not stop being violent and unstable and wanting to kill people. These people will simply transition to using other forms of weaponry to carry out their attacks, and those more savvy psychopaths will still find ways to acquire or construct firearms outside the bounds of the law. The only people who truly lose are responsible gun owners who wish to legally own these devices for the legitimate purposes of self-defense and sporting use.

Statistically speaking, gun violence causes far less death in the United States each year than, say, alcohol. According to the CDC, in 2013, 33,636 deaths in the United States were the result of “injury by firearm”. Of those deaths, 11,208 were homicides, 21,175 were suicides, 505 were accidental or caused by negligent discharge, and 281 were due to the use of firearms with “undetermined intent” (i.e. possible legitimate self-defense and other stuff). Meanwhile, there are approximately 88,000 alcohol-related deaths per year in the US (again according to the CDC), ranging from drunk driving to alcohol poisoning to any number of the stupid things that drunk people tend to get themselves involved in. Over twice as much death can be attributed to alcohol than guns per year, yet there are no thunderous cries to greatly restrict the availability of alcohol. And this is when guns are supposed to be a constitutionally protected right and alcohol is not.

Now I can already hear people starting to correct me about “a well-organized militia” and what not. But the fact is that the right to bear arms is still constitutionally protected regardless of what the original intent was stated to be. And a “well-organized militia” was also intended to mean a lot more than the face value that people take it for nowadays. When the founding fathers wrote the constitution, they had just led a successful revolution against a government which sought to oppress them. Without a reasonably well-equipped militia acting in the interests of the American people, that would never have been possible. Now, while the founding fathers were doing their best to devise a system of government that would be by the people and for the people, they did not have the hubris to believe that their system was foolproof or that it was impossible something unforeseen could happen many, many, many years down the line that could see the American government also becoming an abusive, oppressive regime. For this reason, they wanted to do their best to ensure that citizens would have a means to fight back if the system they created ever turned sour. Now on the surface that may seem a bit ridiculous in some people’s minds in a modern context, but when you start to consider all the concerns about the corruption of the Trump administration, the federal government not being representative of the will of the people, and the fear of the country turning into a militarized police state, it suddenly stops seeming so ridiculous. That’s not to say that your first option for protesting the government’s actions should ever be to go shoot people, not by a long shot; but it may be wise to have something tucked away just in case everything happens to go tits up someday, because it may be sooner than you might expect.

Just some food for thought.

[tokikurp]

What will it be?

Summary-  It’s a typical Friday afternoon at the cafe. That is, until a new customer comes in and catches Oikawa’s attention.

Pairings- • Main: Iwaizumi x Oikawa • Background/Hinted: Ushijima x Semi (Background) | Daichi x Suga (Hinted)

AU- Cafe

Series- The Sugar Joy

Word count- 3K

And I’m back from my writing hiatus °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Just in time to post for @sound-of-inspiration‘s birthday! Happy birthday Lina!! I love you (*¯ ³¯*)♡

AO3

“Eita-chan, please tell me how we always manage to survive the Friday lunch crowd?” A tired Oikawa Tooru asked as he leaned back against the counter. Another lunch rush had come and gone, leaving the employees tired and happy that the crowd was finally thinning out. Until dinner rush would begin.

But that wouldn’t be for another couple of hours, so it was a good time for a breather.

“I ask myself that every single day.” Semi Eita responded with a shrug, counting how many curry buns they had left. “Three.” The blond mumbled, writing that down on a list.

“But it was another successful lunch hour!” Sugawara Koushi cheerfully exclaimed, coming out of the kitchen and leaning against the same counter as Oikawa. “Tonight’s dinner rush is just going to be as successful as the lunch crowd!”

“Don’t even remind me of the dinner rush.” Oikawa groaned. He didn’t want to image it after having just survived the lunch crowd. Suga laughed and patted Oikawa’s back, while Semi chuckled.

“Don’t worry, tonight is going to be another good night.” Suga tried to reassure him.

“You survived one, you can survive them all.” Semi commented, moving over to the next case.

“Ah, yeah I guess.” Oikawa sighed. Suga giggled before he pushed himself off the counter.

“I’m heading back in to start preparing for tonight. Eita, bring me the list when you’re done.” Suga announced.

“You know I always do.” Semi responded as Suga gave a nod, before disappearing into the back. “Like I could forget that.”

The brunette hummed, watching Semi count all the remaining items. Oikawa looked around the cafe, where just a couple of people were still residing in the cafe.

An elderly couple was sitting by the windows enjoying the rest of their lunch; they had been regulars at the café for years now and were always warmly welcomed by all three of them. Not far of them a younger couple had taken up a table, a young businessman and his girlfriend. She was chatting away lifely while he listened to her with a soft smile.

Lastly a rather large group of students had taken up over 3 tables, seemingly working on a project for their university courses from what Oikawa had picked up when he’d last refilled their coffee. He probably should head over there soon and ask if they needed another round.

Just a typical Friday afternoon.

Oikawa turned around and began to wipe down the counters. They didn’t need to be clean, but it gave him something to do during this down time. Just a few minutes passed when he heard the bell above the entrance door ring.

“Welcome to Sugar Joy!” Oikawa and Semi both greeted, but Oikawa turned around to help the customers. Semi on the other hand, kept doing what he was doing (doing a recount at this moment). The brunette was about to open his mouth, but closed it when the familiar person put their finger in front of their mouth. A smirk crossed Oikawa’s face as the person walked up behind Semi.

‘Oh Eita-chan~! Someone has come to visit you!’ Oikawa sang in his head as the person leaned over and wrapped his arms around Semi, startling him. Semi didn’t yelp, but jumped and groaned when he realized who it was.

“Hello, may I have my usual?”

“Wakatoshi, how many times did I tell you not to scare me like that? Do you want to give me a heart attack?” Semi asked, turning around to face his boyfriend, Ushijima Wakatoshi.

“About a hundred or two hundred.” Ushijima answered, giving his boyfriend a kiss on his cheek. Oikawa giggled as he watched Semi pout, his cheeks taking on a pink colour. Suga poked his head out from the kitchen and smiled when he saw Ushijima in the front.

“I thought I heard Eita griping at someone. The usual, Wakatoshi?” Suga asked as Ushijima nodded.

“Yes and I’ve brought someone else along.”

“Oh did you know?” Suga asked as the person stepped forward, waving.

“Uh hi, that’d be me.” The man greeted. “I’m Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“Iwaizumi recently joined the team about two weeks ago and it’s his first full day training with us. So I decided to bring him here for lunch.” Ushijima explained as Suga’s face lit up.

“Well, welcome to Sugar Joy, Iwaizumi-san! I’m Sugawara Koushi and I’m the owner. Everything is made from scratch and we serve breakfast, lunch and dinner!” Suga briefly explained. “And my wonderful four employees! My cousin Semi Eita, Wakatoshi’s boyfriend, and Oikawa Tooru.”

“Nice to meet you two, but um...you said you have four employees. Where are the other two?” Iwaizumi asked.

“BACK HERE!” A voice called from the kitchen.

“Tooru and Eita work here in the front, while my other two, Azumane Asahi and Nishinoya Yuu, work back here in the kitchen with me.” Suga responded with a smile.

“WELCOME TO SUGAR JOY!”

“That was Yuu.”

“Welcome!”

“And that was Asahi.”

“Oh I see. Well um...Wakatoshi what do you usually get here?” Iwaizumi asked, looking up at the menu. So many items to choose from like salads, sandwiches, soups and desserts (just to name a few).

“I usually get a spicy chicken salad and chicken and rice soup. Unless Eita wants to me try something new.” Ushijima responded as Semi nodded.

“And on Fridays, he gets green tea mochi, which is already waiting for him.” Semi added as he looked up at his boyfriend.

“That too. Everything is delicious here, Iwaizumi.”

“And that’s going to make it harder because everything sounds so good.” Iwaizumi groaned, looking at the menu.

“If you want, I can give you a suggestion.” Oikawa spoke up with a smile.

“Yeah sure, what do you suggest?” The volleyball player asked, leaning against the counter (still looking at the menus).

“Well, I recently tried the tomato and mozzarella flatbread and that was very delicious. The roasted turkey is a big seller here and the spicy chicken melt is a personal favorite of mine. And all the salads are delicious, oh and my favorite soup is the French onion soup.” Oikawa explained, pointing to every item he mentioned. “And the stuff in the castes are just as good. Eita-chan, how many curry buns do we have left?”

“Three. Speaking of which, Koushi!” Eita answered, but headed towards the kitchen while calling out for his cousin.

“Our curry buns sell like hotcakes and katsu sando are each made when ordered.” Oikawa finished explaining. Watching as Iwaizumi blinked and turned to Ushijima.

“You said this was a cafe, this is a full on restaurant.”

“Koushi gets that a lot.”

“Okay well umm...I guess I’ll try,” He started, tapping his chin. “The spicy chicken melt and French onion soup.”

“Excellent choices.” Oikawa responded, adding the items to the bill as Ushijima handed his card over to the brunette.

“And thanks for the suggestions. Can’t wait to try them.” Iwaizumi thanked, giving Oikawa a smile before following Ushijima to a table.

“No problem.” The brunette smiled back and watched the two men walk away.

It had been a few weeks since Iwaizumi came to the cafe and he’d come every Friday for lunch with Ushijima. He had started to try out everything on the menu and was starting to figure out what he liked and what he didn’t like. So far, the French onion soup, spicy chicken salad and spicy chicken melt were his favorites. Oh and curry buns too! He usually took one for the road when they were about to return back to training. Oikawa always had a curry bun set aside in a little go bag for the volleyball player, and he may or may not always pick one of the biggest one.

He also may or may not have left a message or a doodle on the bag here and there.

“Eita-chan, I need dirt right now!” Oikawa explained.

The cafe was just about to open up for the day. Everyone was doing something to get the place ready to open up, Oikawa had been making the coffee, finishing that up. Suga was in the back, putting the finishing touches on the last few food items. Semi was stocking all the cases when Oikawa came up to him.

“Go outside and you’ll get all the dirt you’ll need. Just don’t bring any inside or Koushi will kill you.” Semi answered, placing the freshly made breakfast sandwiches in the cases.

“That’s not what I meant and you know that. I need some information.” Oikawa pouted as the blond smirked at him.

“I know. I couldn’t pass on making that comment.”

“...You really are Kou-chan’s cousin.”

“It runs in the family. But seriously, what’s up?” Semi asked, looking up at his co-worker.

“Well, I’m not a hundred percent sure you would know. But do you know if Iwaizumi is single?” Oikawa asked, his cheeks turning slightly pink. Semi blinked for a moment before tapping his chin in thought.

“I...think so? He didn’t bring anyone to the team dinner the other night or really mentioned anyone.” Semi answered, trying to remember if the volleyball player said anything. “No, I think he is single.”

A smirk crossed Semi’s face when he asked, “Why? Are you interested in the newest wing spiker of the volleyball team?”

“NO!” Oikawa quickly responded and looked away from the smirking blond. “...Okay maybe.”

“So, what caught your attention? How his spiky hair keeps its form while it’s damped from the sweating he had been doing at training. The way he laughs when he hears a funny joke or when Wakatoshi gives him blackmail material of the other wing spikers? Or of Kuroo? Or the way his green eyes become so much more brighter when he comes into the cafe? Could it be how the sun makes his tan skin glow, that you find to be handsome?” The blond asked with a hum at the end.

“...His biceps.”

“Oh really? What’s so great about it?” Semi asked, leaning forward to listen on what Oikawa had to say about them.

“Eita-chan! Have you not seen them! They were sculpted by a god. I mean, they’re so gorgeous and have you seen his back? I mean granted, I haven’t seen him without his shirt on. But the other day when he came in with that tight shirt on, I would have fainted on the spot if I hadn’t been working. Oh and don’t even get me started on everything else like his hair- which did you know he loves Godzilla? Honestly it makes plenty of sence why his hair looks like the way it does. Because he loves Godzilla so much that he just had to have his hair spiky like them! Oh and Eita-chan, have you heard his-”

“Oh yeah, you’ve hopelessly fallen for him.” Semi responded, standing back up and closing the case. Oikawa opened his mouth to say something, but decided to close it again. He couldn’t argue against that.

“I really have. Eita-chan, what do I do?!” Oikawa asked.

“Ask him out. That’s the first step people usually do when they’re interested in someone.” Semi explained.

“B-but how? How did Ushiwaka-chan ask you out?” The brunette asked as he leaned forward to the blond.

“Take a guess how he asked me out.” Semi responded with a deadpan expression.

“...He just asked you straight forward didn’t he?” Oikawa asked as Semi confirmed.

“Yup.”

“I CAN’T DO THAT!”

“Sure you can. Look at ‘Toshi and I. He asked me out and we’ve been together for over five years. Look at my cousin and Daichi, Koushi asked Daichi out and look how they turned out. They’ve been together for four years and married for two of those years.” Semi explained as Asahi came out from the kitchen with a tray of donuts.

“Look at Asahi and Yuu, they’ve together for as long as I can remember. Thanks Asahi.” Semi added, taking the tray.

“Uh yeah, we’re going to make ten years next year.” Asahi smiled, even though he has no idea what the two of them were talking about.

“Well there’s this guy-”

“Iwaizumi, right?”

“Is my crush that obvious?” Oikawa asked as they nodded. “Okay well, yeah it’s Iwaizumi and I’m interested in him, but I don’t know how to ask him out.”

“Ah right, that’s tough. I remember when I was trying to figure out how to ask Yuu out and well, he kind of did it himself. Just ask him, Tooru.” Asahi explained before he headed back towards the kitchen.

“But he’s busy with training and is always traveling with the team-”

“If he is truly interested in you, he will find time.” Semi cut him off. “I know this, because I’m dating his teammate. You can find time to have a quick date, trust me.”

“I guess you’re right. Should I ask him today? Do they have a game this week?” Semi shook his head.

“Nope. It’s their off week, so it’s the perfect weekend for a date. Weather is supposed to be nice this weekend.” Semi responded with a smile on his face.

“Mmm, alright. I’ll ask when he comes in.” Oikawa responded with a sigh. As much as he’s nervous to ask, he might as well just try and see if Iwaizumi is busy this weekend. Maybe they can go for coffee and he can ask how much he really loves Godzilla.

And maybe he can talk about the X-Files.

“Oi Wakatoshi, I’ve got a question.”

“Yes?” Ushijima answered as the two volleyball players made their way out of the gymnasium for lunch. The Sugar Joy being their obvious choice to dine at.

“How long have you’ve known Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asked, sticking his hands into his pocket.

“A couple. I’ve known him for about three years. Why?”

“Would you happen to know if he’s seeing anyone?” Iwaizumi asked as they came to a crossing, waiting for their turn to walk across. Ushijima didn’t respond for a moment, thinking about the question. Has Oikawa been seeing anyone?

“Not that I’m aware of. Why?” Ushijima asked as he looked at his teammate.

“Well I’ve been thinking about asking him out this weekend. Since you know, we have a bye week and coach wants us to rest. I was thinking of maybe asking him out this weekend to get to know him.” Iwaizumi explained as they became to cross the street.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he really seems like a pretty good guy and I mean, he’s cute. Is there anything I should know about him?” Iwaizumi asked.

“He likes aliens and I know he has a passion for space. And I remember while I was away for a week, Eita told me they marathoned The X-Files. So just a note, he likes The X-Files.” Ushijima briefly explained just a few things.

“The X-Files? Did they manage to finish the whole series by the time you got back?”

“I believe so? I’m not sure.” Ushijima shrugged. He couldn’t remember, that was over two years ago.

“So do you have any suggestions for places I can maybe take him to if he agrees? I mean, as much as I really love Sugar Joy, I’m sure he would want to go somewhere else besides going to the place he works.”

“A few places. Eita and I like to go to a cafe called The Garden View. They mainly have vegetarian dishes, but the food is delicious. Eita likes to go to different bookstores, he doesn’t have a specific favorite store. There’s a coffee shop near where we live that would also be a nice place. I suggest sitting outside since they put a lot of work into making their front patio. The coffee shop is called Extra Beans.” Ushijima suggested as they came closer to Sugar Joy.

“The coffee shop doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Maybe we’ll run into you two while we’re there.” Iwaizumi chuckled as his fellow wing spiker nodded.

“Maybe we will. We haven’t decided on what we’re going to do this weekend and upcoming week.” Ushijima responded they arrived to the cafe.

The lunch rush had ended and it wasn’t pack as it usually was during that time period. Just a couple of people still eating what remained of their lunch.

“Welcome to Sugar Joy!” Semi and Oikawa greeted.

“Usual, ‘Toshi?” Semi asked as the wing spiker nodded. “Koushi! The usual for Wakatoshi!”

“Got it!” Suga called back as Iwaizumi walked up to the menu, while the wing spiker took his wallet out to pay. The couple greeting each other as Oikawa walked over to the thinking man.

“So Iwaizumi, what will you choose today?”

“Uhh I think I’ll go with the soba noodle and chicken bowl. That sounds good.” Iwaizumi answered as Oikawa nodded as he wrote down the order. “Oh and a-”

“Your curry bun is already waiting for you.”

“You are seriously the best.” Iwaizumi chuckled and smiled at Oikawa. The brunette smiled back as he finished writing down the rest of the order. “Um hey Oikawa, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you doing anything this weekend? Because if not, do...do you want to go out for coffee?” Iwaizumi asked. Oikawa stopped writing and looked up at him.

“Eh? Coffee? This weekend?”

“Uh yeah. You know, if you aren’t-”

“No, I have no plans this weekend. I was going to watch X-Files all weekend because I didn’t have any plans and I work in the morning and get off in the afternoon and I would love to go out to coffee with you!” Oikawa quickly answered in one breath.

“Oi, breathe.” Semi said as him and Ushijima looked over at them. Oikawa chuckled nervously as Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck.

“Does Saturday sound good?” Iwaizumi asked as the brunette nodded.

“Um yeah! Saturday sounds good. Let me give you my number.” Oikawa agreed, pulling out his phone as Iwaizumi nodded. He also pulled his phone out and the two exchanged numbers.

“Awwww look how sweet! Eita this reminds me of when you told me that Wakatoshi finally asked you on that date.” Suga joined in and hugged Semi from behind, watching Oikawa and Iwaizumi exchange numbers.

“Okay, awesome. What time do you get off on Saturday? I’ll meet you here and we can walk to a coffee place.” Iwaizumi suggested as Oikawa nodded.

“I think noon? Kou-chan is that right?” Oikawa asked, turning to the owner.

“That’d be correct.” Suga smiled. “Now Iwaizumi-kun, remember to have him back by ten o’clock, understand?”

“Huh?”

“No funny business. Ten o’clock or you’re banned from this cafe.” Semi added while crossing his fingers.

“Eita-chan! Kou-chan! Stop!” Oikawa pouted as the two cousins smirked. “OI!”

“Uh what did he mean by banned?” Iwaizumi asked while leaning toward Ushijima, as the three of cafe workers bickered.

“Koushi is married to a lawyer. Let’s just put it that way.” The wing spiker explained.

Let’s just say, Iwaizumi shut his mouth right away.

[the-captains-ayebrows]

Handy Helpers

A CS Modern AU featuring Captain Charming as Handymen with a side of Snowing and some Ruby being Ruby. 

Rated: M for smut and swears. One-shot. About 13K words. 

[On AO3 here]

A/N: About a month or so ago, my house was being remodeled to sell. I made a post about how it gave me a need to write David and Killian as handymen, and a few folks seemed interested in the idea. So, instead of updating one of my many WIPs, I did... this. It is silly and a little smutty and full of bad puns and innuendo. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not... then go yell at @tnlph because she read the beginning part and egged me on. 

Emma always thought of her apartment as quirky and charming. It had character. It’s… okay, it’s kind of a dump. But it’s hers and she liked it the way it is and had no intention of changing it. That is, until her building all of a sudden went co-op, meaning her quirky little rent-controlled rat hole is about to be a gentrified, mortgage-requiring nightmare that she simply can’t afford on her bail bondsperson income.

To add insult to injury, the new co-op board is making her fix the place up so they can sell it out from under her. They had the decency to offer her reimbursement for some of the renovation expenses, but damn. After the fourth general contractor laughed in her face when she told him the budget, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

Well, besides whiskey drinking and late-night google searching.

It is in the throes of these activities that she finds them: Handy Helpers. Two guys, three hands, everything you need for your home improvement project. It doesn’t occur to her until much later that there’s a numerical irregularity in that advertisement.

Much later, as in, at 8 am the next morning when they show up at her door.

“Emma Swan?” The man is tall and blond-ish, with a kind face and a slightly worried expression. When she only stares at him blankly, he prompts, “You, uh, submitted a request through our website for a free estimate?”

Website? Emma narrows her eyes, racking her brain and absently smoothing down her sleep-rumpled hair. Just as she’s about to tell the guy he has the wrong apartment, another voice - this one crisp and accented - chimes in from the hallway.

“I believe the exact words you put on the form were, ‘As soon as humanly possible before the co-op harpies swoop in and make me homeless.’ We don’t normally do estimates on the weekend, but far be it from us to allow a lady to be kicked out on the street. So, here we are.”

Here they are. Here he is. Oh, just… oh crap. He is not quite as tall as the first man and of a leaner build, but where the first man strikes her as the human manifestation of a yellow labrador, this guy is a black cat. Sinuous, wry and smirking, he’s all dark hair and smooth lines and eyes so blue they probably glow in the dark, and why is she standing here not talking and making up animal analogies in her head?

She pulls her eyes away from his, dragging her gaze floorward as she tucks her hair behind her ears, and it is at this point that she has the realization. The end of his left arm is covered by a brace and hook-like prosthetic. Two guys, three hands. Oh crap.

Emma looks up at the blond man who had first spoken to her. “You’re the Handy Helpers.”

He smiles at her, seemingly relieved to have cleared things up and places his hands on his hips in something of a superhero pose. “That’s right, ma’am.”

“Says so right on the shirt,” the dark-haired man adds, tapping a finger just beneath the logo embroidered on the left side of his chest.

Emma follows the movement with her eyes, and that proves to be a huge mistake as just next to that logo is a rather enticing thatch of chest hair, exposed by the fully unbuttoned placket of his polo shirt. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she can stop herself, and if the guy was smirking before, now he’s… Is there a level above smirking? Smarking. He’s smarking at her because he’s smiling and smirking and those stupid blue eyes are sparkling and, oh geez, she must still be a little drunk from last night. What the hell is wrong with her?

The blond man throws a quick dirty look his partner’s way, then extends his hand for Emma to shake. She accepts it, feeling vaguely reassured by his confident grip. “I’m David Nolan and this is Killian Jones. May we come in?”

Emma jolts as it finally registers in her brain that, why yes, in fact, she is supposed to be doing something besides standing in her doorway ogling strangers and steps aside. She gestures awkwardly in the direction of her living room. “Yes, yes of course. Come on in. I’ll just -” and it’s at this point that another completely humiliating thought registers and she looks down at the oversized t-shirt she’d slept in that at least thankfully covers her underwear, if only barely.

“I’ll just go and put some pants on. Sorry. Be right back.” She flees to her bedroom and slams the door.

Aside from the initial embarrassment, it’s hard to argue (and Emma prides herself on her ability to argue about damn near anything) with the Handy Helpers’ estimate. Their bid is thousands (thousands!) of dollars lower than any of the other contractors - completely within her budget, in fact - and they seem to have a realistic view of what work actually needs to be done and what was just the co-op board’s wishful thinking. She hires them, and they agree to begin work the following Wednesday.

On the appointed day, David and Killian arrive exactly two minutes early, which Emma takes as a good sign. As much as she hates to be kept waiting, she also gets irritated with people who are too early. It just seems like pointless sucking up, not to mention the fact that if they’d been about ten minutes earlier, she would have once again been caught pantless. Now, Emma Swan does not have any hang-ups about her body. She’s actually pretty comfortable naked, but at this point, it’s kind of the principle of the thing because what she doesn't like is to be caught off guard. Metaphorically pantless, so to speak, and she’ll be damned if it happens again.

Speaking of attire, this time, instead of their company polos, the guys are dressed for manual labor: basic tees, heavy boots, and looser fitting jeans. There are no buttons to leave undone, and yet Killian’s chest hair seems determined to make its presence known, peeking out at her at the neck of his t-shirt. Not that she was looking. That would be creepy.

They get to work right away, leaving Emma in relative peace to sip her coffee and watch Brooklyn 99 on Hulu until a knock at her door signals the arrival of her ride to work.

“Hey, Snow. Thanks for the lift. The shop called back this morning and the Bug isn’t going to be ready until Friday afternoon. Come on in, I’ll go grab my jacket.” Emma turns and walks back toward her coat closet, hearing the shuffle of her best friend’s feet follow her into the living room.

“It's really no trouble, Emma. I told you I…”

Emma pauses, jacket in hand and looks over her shoulder to see what made Snow trail off mid-sentence. She never considered herself much of a romantic, hell, she avoids rom-coms like the plague. Yet as she looks at David standing stock still, a paintbrush dangling precariously from his hand and his eyes locked on Snow who in turn is staring back at him as if she’s seeing a sunrise for the first time, well… Emma could almost swear she hears a swell of violins in the background.

It’s one of those great moments - the kind you use years later in a Maid of Honor toast. So naturally, Emma ruins it with an unsuppressed snort of laughter that she tries to cover with a cough. David startles at the sound, dropping the paintbrush onto the floor with a wet squelch and Snow nearly jumps out of her skin.

Emma clears her throat (for real this time) and pulls on her jacket as she begins the introductions. “Snow, this is David Nolan. He’s the handyman I mentioned before. David, this is Mary Margaret Blanchard, better known as Snow.”

“Like Snow White? It’s just a silly nickname because of the black hair and fair skin.” Snow tosses her head with a girlish giggle and literally flutters her eyelashes like a Disney princess and Emma had no idea her best friend had that in her. But it seems like David-

“The fairest of them all? I’d say it suits you.” Yep, he’s clearly eating it up if the broad grin splitting his face is anything to go by.

Well, this just got weird. Not bad exactly, but weird. Definitely weird.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular Prince Charming,” Emma says, unable to curb her sarcasm. Snow glares at her, muttering ‘Emma’ under her breath in that disappointed teacher voice she’s perfected over years in the classroom.

David ducks his head, finally remembering the paintbrush he’d dropped a minute ago. “I’ll clean that up while you’re gone. Throw in a free floor polishing.”

He bends to pick up the brush and dammit if Snow doesn’t stare at his ass the whole time. It’s a good ass. Emma can’t really blame her, but she’s going to be late for work and for some reason she really, really wants to get out of the apartment before-

“As the lady said, you’re a regular Prince Charming, Dave. Swan, I’m nearly finished in the bedroom. Do you have anything else that needs nailing?”

-that happened.

He didn’t really say it like an innuendo, but Emma can feel her face heating up, and it has nothing (everything) to do with the mental images inspired by Killian’s particular choice of phrasing.

Now Snow is staring at her with narrowed eyes and a calculating expression and that’s the Snow Emma knows and loves, but really hates in moments like this. And Snow is the one who should be embarrassed right now, not her, because what kind of person just blatantly stares at the ass of some contractor she’s just met, and why does her voice inside her head sound so high pitched and squeaky?  

Emma is sick and tired of being wrong-footed by co-op boards, and handymen, and best friends who are looking between her and one such handyman with way too much interest, so she defaults to her best scowl. “Nope. I have no interest in any nailing. Guess you better put your tool away.”

Three pairs of eyes are staring at her now, Snow’s in near horror, David’s in surprise, but Killian? Killian’s got one thick, dark eyebrow raised, one corner of his lips tilting up, and she meant to be off-putting and prickly, but somehow he doesn’t look the least bit put off. He looks kind of… impressed? Oh crap.

His tongue swipes across the back of his teeth as he seems to consider something, then he narrows his eyes. “How about screwing then? I’ve an incredible tool for that.”

Did he just? Ridiculous smirking, smarking bastard. If he thinks that fake innocent look is fooling anyone he’s-  he’s-  “No need. I’ve got my own tools actually. Motorized. Nothing gets the job done like a little extra power.”

Emma crosses her arms, smug as can be and sure she’s won. Instead, Killian does something positively sinful with his tongue, his entire bearing radiating a challenge, and she has to tighten her arms around her torso, bracing herself for god-knows-what and then-

“Ah, a woman with her own tools! I can respect that. I’d love to take a look at your box-”

“Jones!” David shouts, then catches himself, turning a polite, if tense, smile to Snow. “Why don’t we let these ladies get to work before we get ourselves fired?”

To his credit, Killian manages to school his features into something more or less apologetic and relaxes his stance. “Too right, mate. Have a lovely day, Swan. Miss Blanchard.”

With a genteel nod to each woman, Killian returns to Emma’s bedroom as if nothing had happened. As if he-  As if they- But then nothing did happen, besides him being a dick and she was only showing him she could give as good as she got and boy, was that a poor choice of words and ugh. Irritating, attractive asshole!

When she finishes her internal fuming she looks over to see David shaking, or more accurately holding , Snow’s hand, both beaming like it’s Christmas morning.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Blanchard.”

“Snow. Please call me Snow.” The fingers of her free hand trace the strand of pearls around her neck and David stands taller.

“A pleasure, Snow.”

Emma’s had about all she can take. She grabs Snow’s arm and practically drags her out the front door. No sooner does said door latch shut behind the two women when they both speak simultaneously:

“What the hell was that about?”

“You tell me!” Emma retorts, each heavy thud of her boots down the hallway serving to underscore her words. “What was all the giggling and hair tossing and please call me Snow ? You went full southern belle in there, bless your heart. I thought you were about to fan yourself and faint.”

Snow matches her pace, the sharp clack of her heels against the wood floor acting as a jarring counterpoint. “Me? What was with you and all the dirty puns and the eye-fucking?”

Emma stops dead, nearly knocking into Snow as she whirls to face her friend. For the first time in forever, Emma Swan actually feels scandalized and maybe she’s the one who’s gone full southern belle. “You teach your students with that mouth?”

Snow rolls her eyes. “Emma, I teach middle school. Where do you think I learned that term?”

It takes a beat because it’s been a weird week and holy crap Snow just said ‘eye-fucking’, but Emma bursts into laughter, and Snow joins right in.

As they settle back down, Emma swipes a thumb under her eye. “Okay, so we both got a little weird around the cute handymen. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“But above all else, we can’t tell Ruby about the cute handymen. Agreed?”

“Absolutely agreed. We’d never hear the end of it.”

“You’re both hiding something.”

Well, that lasted all of two minutes. Ruby had fixed them with a gaze like a tractor beam as soon as they'd sat down in her section, her eyes narrowing in suspicion with every sauntered step across the checkerboard linoleum floor.  

It was all Emma could do not to squirm. “Hi to you, too. How’s life treating you? Looks like a busy lunch shift-”

“Don't start that with me, Emma Swan. You can't lie and Snow can't keep a secret, so let's save us all the trouble by just telling me.”

“Can we at least get our tea and hot chocolate before the interrogation begins?” Snow pleads.

Ruby purses her lips, then nods magnanimously. “I’ll give you a hot beverage reprieve, but as soon as I get back with those drinks you better spill. The gossip, not the drinks. You know what I meant.”

As Ruby hustles through the swinging doors that lead to the diner’s kitchen, Snow rolls her eyes. “Remind me why she’s our favorite waitress again?”

Emma shrugs. “She gives us free drinks. That, and because she let you hide in her Granny’s barn when you were convinced Regina and her clique were ‘out to get you’ back in ninth grade.”

Snow’s expression shifts from annoyance to fondness. “Yeah, right. That.”

Ruby returns with the steaming drinks, placing the mugs down in front of Emma and Snow, then plunking herself down in the booth, bumping Emma with her hip to force her to make room. She dramatically places her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together under her chin, then tilts her head and smiles expectantly.

“I’m listening.”

Emma sighs. “There’s nothing to tell. I have a couple of handymen at my apartment doing some reno. No big deal.”

Ruby raises an eyebrow. “Are they hot?”

“Ruby!” Snow exclaims, once again reverting to teacher voice, while Emma makes her standard ‘unimpressed’ face.

“They are . I told you guys you couldn’t hide anything from me. My shift ends at 4, I’ll be over there at 5. Make popcorn.” Before Emma can object, Ruby begins muttering to herself. “I need to think of some home improvement related innuendo between now and then. Lemme see…” She taps a red manicured fingernail against her chin. “Something about pounding? Banging? Nailing! That’s a good one.”

Ruby is rising out of her seat and Emma’s almost in the clear now that Ruby’s been distracted, but she sees it in Snow’s eyes the moment before -

“Emma already used ‘nailing’. ‘Screwing’, too.”

Emma crosses her arms, hunching over until she’s burrowed as far as she can into the cracked vinyl seat and grumbles, ‘ Traitor, ’ under her breath. At the same time, Ruby spins back to face their booth, eyes wide.

“She what?”

Snow’s got this wicked gleam in her eyes, and Emma doesn’t like it one bit. “Oh yeah, Emma was definitely having unprotected eye sex with one of the handymen while the two of them traded comments about his ‘tool’.”

Ruby presses a hand to her chest and blinks rapidly, a distinct look of pride on her face.

Emma makes a garbled noise of disgust. “Seriously, Snow, your eighth graders are rotting your brain, but you’re one to talk. Ruby, miss innocent over here is skipping the part where she fell in pearl-clutching, eyelash-batting, gag-inducing love-at-first-sight with the other guy.”

Ruby presses her lips together and slaps the edge of the tabletop for emphasis. “This is the best day of my life. You guys are better than a primetime drama. I’ll be there at 5:30. I’m gonna need a fresh manicure for this.”

Emma makes a pained expression and catches Ruby’s wrist. “I know better than to try to stop you, but if you insist on coming over, can you at least attempt to be cool? Please?”

Ruby’s smile is broad to the point of being unsettling. “Would you expect anything else?” Emma releases Ruby’s wrist in defeat and sighs, not looking up when her retreating friend calls back over her shoulder, “I’ll bring the wine!”

It’s 5:47 pm. Ruby was early and Ruby is never early. There is a glass of chilled rosé in each woman’s hand and they’re pretending to be watching some movie on Netflix, but in reality, their attention is all elsewhere. Mostly about 7 feet to the left of the TV, where Killian and David are on all fours hand-polishing a paint splatter off of Emma’s wood floor. It’s really all too much.

Emma takes a sip of her wine but nearly chokes on it when Ruby nudges her shoulder.

“Girl, I’m going to buy you a pair of safety glasses. Even eye-fucking that man could get you pregnant. Holy shit. You need protection.”

Snow lets out an inelegant snort and Emma really does choke on her wine, but most of all Ruby really needs to work on her stage whisper . All the blood rushes to Emma’s face because Killian has definitely paused mid-polish or whatever and is looking at her with that damned raised eyebrow. And he winks.

Way, way too much. Emma’s hackles rise. “Does it really take both of you to clean the floor? Jones, why don’t you go work on the bathroom or something. The shower drain is clogged.”

He stands slowly, hitching his thumb at his belt buckle and takes a swaggering step toward her end of the couch. “I see. Sounds like someone needs their pipe snaked. I’d be happy to oblige.”

While Emma splutters, Ruby squeaks in delight, and David sits back on his heels and shakes his head in annoyance. “Actually, I think we’re about done for the day. Jones, how about you help pack up our gear and we’ll get out of here so Emma and her friends can enjoy their evening?”

“Oh, you’re not in the way,” Snow pipes up. “We were enjoying, um…” She trails off, her cheeks pinkening.

Ruby turns to Snow, an exaggerated expression of interest on her face. “Yes, honey, what was it that you were enjoying?”

“The show?” It comes out as a question and Snow is clearly floundering for a reason to keep David there - a fact he must be realizing because his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he’s grinning - but Emma is so glad to have the attention off of herself that she can’t quite make herself say anything to help Snow.

“I, I mean it’s like getting to watch an HGTV show live. I just love Fixer-Upper ,” Snow finishes lamely.

Ruby pats her on the shoulder, but the stage-whispered, “Nice save, honey,” falls a little flat.

Anxious to avoid death by secondhand awkwardness, Emma downs the rest of the contents of her glass and taps her finger against the side. “I’m gonna go get a refill. Anybody need anything?”

“Ooh! Me.” Ruby gulps the last of her wine and hands Emma the empty glass.

David stands, tucking his wipe rag into his back pocket and wiping his hands on his pants, and Snow couldn’t possibly be staring harder if she tried. “I’m more of a beer man, myself, but if you’re offering?”

Emma stands there blinking, making some kind of intelligent sound like “Ummmm”, but David just laughs.

“I’m kidding, Emma, you don’t need to fix me a drink. But,” and at this, he turns to Snow with a hopeful gleam in his eye, “I’d be more than happy to buy you a drink sometime if you’d like?”

Snow is wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open in surprise, and it’s Ruby that speaks first. “Oh, that was smooth. Say, yes!” She chucks a piece of popcorn (rosé and popcorn, god they’re classy) at Snow’s face.

The kernel bounces off Snow’s cheek and that seems to remind her she’s supposed to say something. “I’d like that.” She beams, reaching for those pearls again, and Emma really needs more alcohol for this.

Emma escapes to the kitchen and snatches the bottle out of the fridge. She chugs the first glass she pours herself, then pours another liberal measure, leaving only enough left in the bottle for Ruby’s refill. As she’s taking a sip from what would be her third glass of wine for the evening, she hears footsteps coming her way, and she knows it’s him even before she hears-

“Easy there, Swan. Don’t want you getting tipsy and recruiting more handymen in the middle of the night.”

“That was…” Emma sighs and sets her glass down on the counter. “A one-time thing. I don’t really make a habit of drunk dialing contractors.”

He smiles warmly and his eyes are doing that annoying twinkly thing. “More’s the pity. I wouldn’t mind a late night call from a tough lass like you.”

Emma leans back resting her elbows against her newly installed granite countertop. “And what makes you think I’m a ‘tough lass’?” she asks in a poor imitation of his accent, then raises a shoulder in a half-shrug.  “I mean, I am , but how would you know that?”

Killian leans back as well, resting his (firm, shapely - not that she’s been looking) ass against the edge of her new flat glass cooktop. He crosses his legs at the ankle and his stupid feet are so big that if Emma pointed her toes, their feet would touch.

“You’re something of an open book,” he answers finally. “You don’t want to reveal yourself or be vulnerable, so when you get caught out, you use sarcasm and innuendo as a shield.”

Is this guy for real right now? Emma scoffs. “Hi there, Pot. I’m the Kettle. Nice to meetcha.”

Killian chuckles. “Thank you for proving my point. But you’re right, I suppose. I think the phrase is ‘Takes one to know one’.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but this time there’s a smile teasing at her lips that she can’t quite stifle. Killian reaches out with one of his big, stupid clown feet and nudges her calf to get her attention. When she looks up, he’s smiling at her and it does strange things to her insides.

“I’ll make you a deal. Tell me one true thing, something real, and I’ll stop with the innuendo. Otherwise, I’ve got some great material in store for you.” He waggles his eyebrows and Emma can’t decide if it’s dorky or obscene. “Really kinky stuff about taping and bedding. You’ll have to step up your pun game to keep up.”

“Much as I’d love to hear that ...” Emma exhales slowly, scrunching her mouth to the side in thought, but with the way Killian is studying her face, his eyes catch the movement and flick down to her lips. Her breath catches and her mouth goes dry and… something real, something real… She’s not ready to tell him anything real about her yet, but maybe - “How’s this for real? I’m pretty sure my best friend has a massive crush on your partner.”

Killian laughs, his hand reaching up to tug at the slightly too long hair at the back of his neck. “Fair enough, Swan. I suppose I should have specified I meant one real thing about you , but that’ll do for now.” He drops his hand and Emma finds herself fascinated with the way the little flips of hair he’s just rustled fall back into place and curl around his ear as he speaks again. “Tit for tat, I feel obligated to tell you that I’m quite sure my partner has a massive crush on your best friend.”

They’re talking about their friends but still, Emma suddenly feels a fluttering of butterflies in her stomach, which of course means she needs another sip of wine to drown the stupid bugs.

“Hey! Where’s my refill? I know I heard a man’s voice in the kitchen with you. Are you guys making out in there?” Ruby’s voice can really carry like no other, and Emma huffs, both grateful for and irritated by the interruption.

“I’m coming, Ruby.”

“Oh, good! Take your time then. Go back for seconds if you want!”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I-” Emma stops herself, shaking her head as she picks her glass back up and drinks deeply. She looks back at Killian to find his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, then returns her attention to the wine bottle and Ruby’s refill.

“She’s just trying to get a rise out of me,” she says half to herself.

“By insinuating that you’re getting a rise out of me.”

“Not helping, Jones.”

“Sorry, Swan, that was low-hanging fruit. I couldn’t resist. But speaking of helping, David is right. We should be going. We’ll, ah, get a fresh start in the morning.”

There’s something about the way he looks at her when he says it. Something almost hopeful, and it knocks on a door she thought she’d dead bolted and padlocked years ago.

“Fresh start, huh? Sounds good.”

Thursday morning, when the Handy Helpers arrive to resume their work, Killian proves true to his word. Not a single innuendo in sight. He even goes so far as to start her coffee pot for her when Snow arrives a full half-hour early to take her to work and Emma’s only gotten half her makeup on. A hissing gurgle heralds the end of the brew cycle and draws Emma to the kitchen where she finds Killian tightening the new hardware on her cabinet doors.

“You didn’t have to do that you know.”

Emma catches a hint of a smile in Killian’s profile, but he simply keeps working. “I considered it a public service. Wouldn’t want to send a cranky Swan out into the world.”

She gives him an unimpressed hum in response, but as she grabs a mug from one of the cabinets he’s already finished and pours herself a cup, she feels an odd sense of relief. Almost as if some part of her was afraid she’d miss his banter if he stopped altogether. Huh.

He finishes installing one last drawer pull and asks if she’d mind him having a cup with her.

“Help yourself, Handy Helper.”

“Droll, Swan. Very droll.”

They stand side by side leaning back against the counter and sip in silence for a few moments, but they’ve got a great view into the living room and of the two people in it. David is listening with rapt attention to Snow who is gesturing enthusiastically (and occasionally reaching out to touch David’s arm) as she tells some story they can’t quite hear.

Without thinking, Emma leans closer to Killian and raises her mug in the direction of the living room.

“Think he’s proposed yet?”

Killian takes a sip of his coffee and moves closer as well until they’re shoulder to shoulder, the warmth from that point of contact sending tingles down Emma’s arm.

“Of course not. David’s a bit old-fashioned. He would never propose to a lass before the third date.”

Emma chuckles at that, and they spend the next few minutes imagining what David and Snow are talking about with Emma playing David’s part and Killian playing Snow’s. Emma clamps her hand over her mouth to keep from spitting her coffee when she hears Killian’s falsetto.

“ Oh, David, when you’re finished here, why don’t you come to my place? I’d love to put you to work. I have a gap that needs filling and you seem like a man who can handle his caulk…”

Far sooner than she’d like, Emma’s cup is empty and it’s time to go. She hates being late to work, but still she catches herself lingering. With a deep breath, she pushes off the counter and sets her mug in the sink. Before she walks into the living room to hustle Snow along, she turns back.

“Will you, you know, still be here working when I get back?”

Killian nods, his eyes fixed intently on hers. “Aye, Swan. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

Without anyone ever really saying anything about it, morning coffee and making fun of David and Snow has become sort of a thing. Not like a thing- thing. That’s crazy. Emma has known Killian barely more than a week. They can’t have a thing . It’s more of a- a habit .

Just a silly habit. Like their fake flirting (yep, totally fake). Or his habit of scratching behind his ear when he’s being awkward. Or her habit of scowling at him when what she really wants to do is… but that’s neither here nor there.

She can’t deny he’s easy to talk to, not to mention easy on the eyes, but what difference does it make? He’s only in her life and her apartment because of a job. When the job is over, he’ll be gone. So, there is no thing between her and Killian.

When the work is done, she probably won’t ever see him again until the inevitable wedding of David and Snow, who had their first date Friday night. And now her traitorous brain is lighting up with images of Killian in a tux, raising a glass of champagne as he delivers a best man speech and that’s just- just counterproductive is what it is.

As she slumps into her desk on Monday, her mood is thoroughly soured.  Today was supposed to be a good day! The apartment is almost finished. Her beloved yellow Volkswagen is running again. She’s got a new stack of cases to work.

Work! That’s what she needs to do. Go round up some scumbag and slap a pair of handcuffs on him. Because cuffing a guy will definitely not make her think about Killian, especially in any sort of kinky or inappropriate way. Right.

Eleven hours later, however, Emma is more disgruntled than ever and dammit, what the ever-loving hell is that noise coming from her apartment?

Seething with frustration, she jams her key into the lock and shoulders her door open. The noise only grows louder.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Emma drops her purse on the couch and sticks her fingers in her ears to muffle the sound. Getting angrier with each step, she rounds the couch and ducks under the metal stairs leading up to her junk loft. The pounding finally stops just as she reaches her half-bath where she finds Killian Jones on the floor, pry bar in hand ripping up her old tile.

“Jones, what the hell are you doing here? It’s after 8:00!”

Killian, clearly having not heard her approach, jumps several inches in the air and the pry bar falls from his hand, crashing to the tile with a deafening clank.

“Bloody hell, Swan! You could give a man heart failure.”

“And you could make a woman’s ears bleed from all that racket. What are you doing here so late?”

Of course, the answer is that he’s working. For her. She knows this, and it does a little bit to abate her anger. Emma swallows and shifts her weight between her feet as Killian sighs heavily and stands to face her.

“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. Snow came by earlier and left a key for David and me to lock up. She said you had a stakeout?”

Emma deflates at his words, her shoulders sagging. “I was supposed to, yes. My mark showed up earlier than I expected and saw me taking pictures of the front of his building from my car.  He ran and I lost him and now the bastard knows what I look like, so I have to hand the case to someone else.” She pauses, takes a deep breath and shoves her hair behind her ears. “Sorry for yelling. I guess I’m just frustrated.”

Oh and now the corners of his eyes are crinkling with his stupid grin and Emma remembers the other reason she was feeling frustrated when he says-

“You know, perhaps I could help you with that.”

Emma’s eyebrows form a little peak above her nose, and Killian takes a step closer. “Some physical exertion to blow off steam. Care to bang one out? I’d wager a good pounding would make you feel better.”

“Killian…” It was meant to sound like a warning, but Emma’s so tired it comes out more like a whine.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pair of neon orange earplugs and offers them to Emma. “Here, love. Put these in.”

She takes them and after an encouraging nod from him, places them in her ears. He gestures for her to follow him and she sits down next to him on what’s left of the tile floor. She watches in fascination as he places the chisel on the grout, maneuvering his hook to brace it in place, then using his other hand to hammer until the tile pops loose. He then drops the hammer in favor of the pry bar, positions it and pulls until the tile is removed completely. He slides the hammer and chisel over to Emma.

“Your turn. Picture the face of your runaway criminal or whomever you find most vexing and have at it.”

Emma gives him a sidelong glance but does her best to copy what he’d just done. After a few good hits, she feels the grout and glue give way and dammit he’s right. It’s really, really cathartic. She looks up at Killian and he’s wearing an expression of pride that somehow eases even more of the tension from her. She can’t help but smile back at him.

“I pound, you pry?”

“As you wish, Swan.”

Emma scoots back away from him only long enough to remove her boots, and the two of them set to work. Between the hammer’s noise and the dampening effect of the earplugs, conversation is difficult. The silence between them is comfortable. Easy. Though it’s a small space, they never get in the other’s way. But still…

Emma finds herself hyper-aware of how close Killian is to her. Even with her eyes focused on the chisel and hammer, she feels his every shift and movement. Feels the warmth from his body. Feels his eyes on her. Her pulse kicks up a notch and all the stress she’d been feeling earlier is rapidly being replaced by a completely different kind of tension.

When the last tile is removed, Emma sits back on her heels and pulls the plugs from her ears. Instead of just handing them back like a normal person, she takes the hand holding the plugs and slaps it against Killian’s chest. The gesture was supposed to be playful, or at least that’s how it went in her head, but Killian quickly catches her hand with his, trapping it against his chest. And then they’re just sitting there, eyes locked on each other, both breathing a little fast and he’s kind of almost holding her hand while she can feel his heartbeat under her palm and it’s just... It’s- it’s-

“How about a drink?” Emma blurts, standing up quickly. “To, you know, celebrate my first job as a handyperson.”

Killian eyes her for a second, then stands as well, his hand drifting up to scratch behind his ear. “Aye. That sounds grand.”

Emma digs a mostly empty whiskey bottle out of the back of one of her kitchen cabinets, laughing to herself a little when she realizes it’s the same bottle she’d been drinking the night she ran across the Handy Helpers’ website. She pours two fingers of liquor into each glass, adds a couple of ice cubes and meets Killian at the table where he’s taken a seat.

He fiddles with the glass for a moment, his eyes studying her face, then he raises the glass toward her propping his elbow on the table. “To us, Swan. I don’t mean to upset you, but I think we make quite the team.”

Emma gives him a quick smile and clinks her glass against his. As she sips the whiskey her thoughts are all over the place, but the burn of the liquor is helping and she finally manages to catch hold of one idea. “You know, you never did tell me why you’re here so late. Just because I wasn’t here didn’t mean you couldn’t go home.”

Killian looks down for a moment focusing on the ice cubes as they swirl in his whiskey. “I may have encouraged Dave to leave with Snow for a drink.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes and Emma can tell he’s holding something back.

“That just tells me why you were here by yourself, not why you decided to stay late.” A thought occurs to her that saps the warmth the whiskey had been building inside her and she instinctively draws back. “Are you that ready to get this job finished so you can move on?”

She hates the defensive edge to her voice and the way Killian’s eyes have gone wide and most of all the way this turn of conversation is making her gut churn. But Killian surprises her (which shouldn’t be a surprise, she guesses, because he’s constantly surprising her) by reaching out for her hand.

“No, no, love. Not at all. In fact, if I’m being honest, I’m rather loathe to be done now that I’ve discovered such a competent new apprentice.”

Emma rolls her eyes even as her smile returns because this is the second time he’s used that particular epithet and she maybe kind of doesn’t hate it. He gives her hand a teasing squeeze before releasing it to lean back in his chair.

“I suppose…” and here goes that hand to the back of his neck again, “I just don’t have much to go home to. Not for a while now.”

His eyes fall to his hook. Emma follows his line of sight and it all finally clicks. Why he can read her so well. Why he understands her defenses. Why he feels like a kindred spirit. He’s known loss and loneliness just like she has. It takes one to know one.

“You lost more than just your hand, didn’t you?” It’s a statement, not a question, and Emma levels him with a stare that she hopes shows she gets it. That it’s okay.

He nods and in the slight uptick in his lips, the flash of recognition in his eyes, she knows that he knows. “Aye. But that’s a grim tale for another day. Not appropriate for what’s supposed to be a celebratory drink.”

He picks up his glass and raises it toward her again. “To lost boys and lost girls?”

Emma nods, holding his gaze, and a warmth that has nothing to do with the whiskey begins to bloom in her chest. She raises her glass. “To us.”

By noon on Wednesday, the guys are finished and gone. Emma comes home that evening to an immaculate and beautiful apartment that is barely recognizable as hers. Well, that’s only partly true. It’s not recognizable as her old one bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom, plus a storage loft apartment, but it does look strikingly similar to the two bedroom, two bath apartment she dreamed of but never thought she could have. Which, she supposes is still accurate because the place really isn’t hers. In two days, it will belong to the co-op board and she can only stay there until they find someone to buy it.

So, as lovely as it is, it feels… empty. Or maybe she’s just projecting. Maybe, just maybe, it’s because she didn’t get the chance to tell her handymen goodbye. Because maybe, just maybe she’s going to miss them. Miss him.

On the kitchen counter, right next to the coffee pot, Emma notices a business card for the Handy Helpers. When she turns it over she finds a phone number and a short note written in perfect looping script:

“In case of emergency. -K”

Just like that the butterflies are back in her stomach. She tries valiantly to squash them, tries to fortify her defenses to keep them at bay, but the little critters are tenacious. Still, she decides that the sensible thing to do is program the number into her phone. Like he said, just for emergencies.

It figures that she wouldn’t even get to enjoy her final days in her gorgeous remodeled apartment. Thursday afternoon, she’s assigned to an overnight stakeout. Thankfully, when Emma stops at Granny’s Diner to get takeout, Ruby agrees to help her by swinging by the apartment to turn Emma’s spare key over to the board first thing the next morning.

Stakeouts have never really bothered Emma before. She’s always been okay with her own company, but the long hours alone sure give a person a lot of time to think. About all kinds of things. Like lost boys with understanding eyes, and a lewd sense of humor that matches right up with hers. And how hard it might be for a person to break her own radiator. And what exactly constitutes an emergency. Stuff like that.

She arrives back at the apartment (she can’t even bring herself to call it home anymore) Friday evening. She caught the skip, saved the day and collected her paycheck, but she doesn’t really feel like celebrating. All Emma really wants is to finish off that bottle of whiskey and take a long, hot bath. And maybe if while she’s soaking in the tub, her mind drifts to a certain handyman and her fingers decide to wander, well… who’s to know?

Much to her consternation, there’s really only about one good shot left in the bottle. With a half-hearted shrug, she drinks it down then walks over to the sink to rinse out the glass. One problem. The water is running, but it’s not draining. Maybe she just needs to run the garbage disposal?

She flips the switch and her only warning is a wailing groan like a dying cow before orange gloop shoots up out of the drain three feet into the air. The splatters are everywhere. All up the wall, all over the floor, all over her face, her sweater, her hair… Emma has the presence of mind to flip the switch back off, but now her damn sink is broken and she has to have the place ready for the co-op board tomorrow and she’s freaking the hell out.

She grabs a dish towel and wipes off her face and hands. Somehow she digs her phone out of her purse without dripping goo all over it and calls the first person she thinks of. He answers right away.

Later, she doesn’t even remember what it was that she said to him. All she knows is that he’s here. No questions, no innuendo. He made it to her apartment before she’d even gotten the kitchen floor mopped, and now they’re working more or less side by side. He’s half under the sink while she finishes cleaning the walls and countertop.

“Killian, you need anything? If you’re good, I’m gonna go wash this gunk out of my hair.”

“All set, love. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

Emma slinks off through her bedroom to her en-suite, carefully picking up some clean clothes to change into along the way. It isn’t until she’s standing under the shower spray that she finally begins to process the evening’s events. How when something went wrong, Killian was the first person she wanted. Not Snow. Not Ruby. And how he was there for her. Without batting an eye or raising an eyebrow. Not so much as a smirk.

She doesn’t even bother trying to tell herself that she called him because he’s her contractor. Contractors do not show up at your door to fix your sink on a Friday night. Friends do, though. Is that what they are? Okay, yeah. She can deal with the word ‘friend’ as applied to Killian Jones. Even if it still somehow doesn’t sound exactly accurate.

Once she’s all clean and shiny again, Emma shuts off the water and hopes to God she remembered to shut her bedroom door, because it’s just now occurring to her that she’s very naked and there is a very attractive man-friend-person in her kitchen. She can feel her face and neck flushing at the thought while she towels off and pulls on her yoga pants and a t-shirt. She wills the blushing to stop, but figures at worst (meaning if he notices it) she can blame the heat from the shower. As she’s standing in front of her mirror running a wide-tooth comb through her wet hair, Emma hears a knock on her bedroom door. Guess she did close it after all.

“I’m decent. You can come in.”

Muffled footsteps signal that Killian is crossing her bedroom, but she doesn’t turn around, still attempting to unsnarl a particularly nasty tangle. One last thud of a work boot on tile and the footsteps stop. She looks up from her split ends to see his reflection behind her in the mirror. He’s leaning against the door jamb smiling softly, a hint of smugness but not his usual variety of smug. More like he’s just really, really pleased with something, but she can’t imagine why he’d be so proud of unclogging a drain.

“What?”

“All fixed.” He pushes off the door frame leading with his hips and takes a slow, deliberate step toward her. Emma can’t take her eyes off his reflection, mostly afraid that if she looks at her own she’ll see how flushed her face and chest still are. “You know, if you want to get close to me, you just have to ask. There’s no need to use home repair as an excuse.”

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes, though her pulse has kicked up several notches. Oh, God. Deflect! Deflect!

“Why am I not surprised you’re making this about you?” she mutters, more to herself than him. Setting the comb in her hand down on the countertop, she meets his gaze in the mirror again. “I guess I could’ve called David, but he’s out on a date with Snow right now-”

“Right, right. You could have.” He nods and takes another step forward. “But, that wasn’t really what I meant, and I think you know it.”

He’s right behind her now, close enough she can feel the warmth of his body on her back and the next thing she knows he’s grabbing her hips and spinning her around to face him. So, of course, she goes into full defensive mode. Arms crossed, scowl on face.

“Oh you think so, do you?”

“I do. I also think that perhaps gratitude is in order now.” And with this, Killian somehow manages to turn his usual adorably awkward ear scratch into a smooth as hell move ending in a tap of his finger against his lips. His eyebrow raises inquiringly, but there’s no question at all in Emma’s mind what he’s asking for.

Are they there ? Is this...? Are they...? Careless innuendos and shameless flirting are one thing, and yeah, they’ve gotten pretty friendly lately, but, but, but-

“Please. You couldn’t handle it.” Her voice is breathy and husky and a smile toys with the corners of her mouth, but for a second at least she feels like she has the upper hand again.

His eyes dart between hers, piercing blue and searching. She doesn’t know what he sees, but he’s suddenly locked on target. It’s a strange turn of phrase even as she thinks it, (okay, what she actually thinks is something along the lines of holy shit his eyes are pretty ) but there’s not a better way to describe it, and then-

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.” Low, but clear. Inviting, but challenging. His words shut down Emma’s ability to make words of her own, except for the one word that keeps flashing in her brain like a giant neon sign: Want, want, want, want.

She’s staring at his eyes, his lips, and she’s not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. Then her hands are moving, gripping his ratty black t-shirt and pulling him down into a kiss filled with hours, days, weeks (fucking years for all she can think right now) worth of pent up sexual tension and maybe’s and what if’s finally getting an answer. And that answer is yes. Absolutely, unequivocally and perfectly yes.

It’s messy and urgent. Their noses crush against each other’s cheeks, and Killian can’t seem to decide where to put his hand, first threading it into her still-damp hair, then clutching at her waist to pull her closer. Emma is no better. Her fingers hold so tightly to his shirt she has the fleeting fear she’s ripping out the chest hair beneath it, and she isn’t quite sure if she should use her tongue, but then Killian kind of sighs into her mouth and makes this sort of growling noise in the back of his throat and… Oh yeah. Tongue. Definitely tongue.

But for all the first-kiss frenzy, it’s everything . Passionate and scalding hot and sweet and tender and a little desperate. This isn’t just a guy who wants her. This is a guy who actually gets her, understands her, likes her, defensive mechanisms and all. So, she takes a breath and dives back in, letting herself go and holding onto him for dear life.

When the initial hormonal burst begins to wane, Emma finds herself smiling against his mouth, damn near giggling and Emma Swan does not giggle. He pulls back to look at her, his own smile outshining the vanity light fixtures he’d installed last week, and shakes his head in bewilderment.

“That was…”

Emma presses her forehead against his. “Yeah, it was.”

He lets out a relieved breath, and she releases her grip on him, leaning away just enough to rest her ass on the edge of the counter, but still close enough to loop her arms loosely around his neck. They both really seem to have lost track of the whole personal space concept, and she could not possibly give less of a damn.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she looks up at him through her eyelashes and waggles an eyebrow. “So. You wanna see my toolbox now?”

He gapes only for a split second, running his tongue along the edge of his teeth as he recovers. “No need.” He leans in, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “Darling, you are about to discover just exactly how handy of a man I can be.”

It’s entirely possible that the sound Emma makes when Killian’s lips descend on her neck could be classed as undignified, but it doesn’t seem to bother him much. If anything, he must find it rather encouraging because he redoubles his efforts there, the drag of his scruff against her skin heightening the sensation of his warm mouth and the occasional nip of teeth. His hand and hook find the back of her thighs, lifting as he nudges her further onto the counter and then he’s right there where she wants him, thick and hard and hot. Wrapping her legs around his waist seems like the best idea she’s ever had in her life and he apparently agrees, groaning softly as he nuzzles behind her ear.

Emma threads her fingers into his hair, carefully guiding him back to her mouth. Her whole body is singing, hips rocking against him, lips and teeth and tongue working in tandem with his, but there’s something that’s-

Something she can’t quite-

The back of her head touches the mirror as Killian leans into her and gives a throbbingly wonderful, if hesitant, experimental thrust. Oh. That.

She halts him with a hand on his chest and his face when he leans back is a picture of confusion and worry. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, but if we fuck up my new bathroom counter, the co-op board is going to kill me. And then I’ll have to kill you.”

Killian’s look of panic immediately shifts into her favorite smirk ( smark? ), and he’s clearly headed right back to her lips again as he whispers, “I was thinking more ‘on’ than ‘up’, but if you-” he stops and pulls away again, this time looking supremely affronted. “Wait a minute, are you seriously saying you don’t trust my installation job?”

“Are you seriously saying you don’t want to take this to the bedroom?”

He shrugs a little and good grief, could the man possibly have a more expressive face? Now he’s right back to lascivious again. He takes a quick but deliberate glance at the mirror behind her. “I don’t know, love, I rather like the view right here.”

Emma pats him on the shoulder and rolls her eyes, then nudges him aside so she can hop down from the countertop. She takes his hand as she walks past him and begins pulling him behind her to her bedroom.

“Comfort over kink, babe.” She pauses and looks back at him over her shoulder with what she hopes is a coquettish expression. She can be expressive, too, dammit. “Besides, we’ve got to save something for next time.”

She turns to start walking again, but Killian tugs on her hand, making her turn back to face him.

“Next time?”

And if she wasn’t absolutely sure about this - about him - already, that right there. That little uptick in his voice, that little flash of vulnerability and hope in his eyes. That would’ve done it.

She lets just one corner of her mouth curve gently upwards. “Yeah. Next time.” She gives his hand a squeeze and raises her eyebrows. “Or the time after that. Come on.” She finishes the command with a quick jerk of her head toward the bed and he’s already beaming at her, and after that, it’s less her leading him by the hand and more her just trying to keep up.

Eager hands and searching lips seem to be everywhere at once. His t-shirt is done for. She’s not sure if it was her nails or his hook, but that rip isn’t fixable. Her bra suffers a similar fate. Her pants get stuck on one leg in her haste to get rid of the damn things, but it’s hardly her fault. Killian is already naked and all tight and lean and in her bed looking very much like he belongs there and it’s really freaking distracting.

She finally manages to extricate her foot and lays down on her side, leaning over the edge of the bed to drop her pants on the floor. In an instant, there’s a warm body wrapped around her from behind, a scruffy chin rasping her shoulder and a large hand splayed flat against her stomach. Emma really can’t be held responsible for the sound she makes when he ruts his hips forward, her ass cradling his manhood as he nips playfully at her shoulder.

She cranes her neck to kiss him, but can’t quite reach, so she lays her head back down, opting instead to wriggle back against him and lace her fingers through his.

Killian grunts in disapproval. “Angle’s all wrong.”

Emma cants her hips back suggestively and he groans, tightening their joined hands around her waist. “Seems like the angle is pretty good to me.”

“While I must admit it offers certain intriguing possibilities, I can’t make out with you like this.”

Emma looks up at him, frowning in confusion. “Is that a problem?”

Killian sighs, a heartbreaking openness in his gaze. “You know, I’d normally make a crack right now about how a true craftsman begins every job with a good priming, but the truth is I just really, desperately want to kiss you. Is that alright?”

Emma blinks, swallowing hard, and it takes her several moments before she trusts her own voice not to waver because she can’t remember the last time a man simply wanted to kiss her and be with her. Probably never, actually. And she just- She just-

“Yeah. That’s alright.”

He scoots backward to make room for her and she rolls over to face him. Her arm snakes around his neck, one thigh hitching over his hip, wrapping as much of her herself around him as possible. And he kisses her. God, does he kiss her. So different from the flash-bang clutching and scrambling of their first kiss, this time there’s an unhurried determination about him. It’s almost funny when she thinks about it, how she’s gone from feeling like this is her last night on earth to feeling like she - like they have all the time in the world.

But still…

Just because they have all the time in the world, doesn’t mean she wants to spend it all on first base. Even naked first base. Because that flashing neon sign of WANT is back. His lips are just too damn soft and his arms too solid around her, and with every breath, the coarse hair on his chest teases her breasts making the WANT rapidly shift into NEED.

He’s rock hard between her legs, his hips moving in minute thrusts and she doesn’t think he even knows he’s doing that, but it’s slowly driving her crazy. So she shifts her weight and rolls on top of him until she’s straddling him and this time it’s Emma who can’t keep still, lightly rocking in his lap as she urges him to sit up with her.

When they’re practically eye to eye, his hooked arm holding her fast by the waist while he keeps his balance with the other, Emma realizes he’s studying her face, his eyes darting between hers searching for some sign of hesitation or uncertainty.

“Love, are you sure this is what you want?”

Killian’s dark hair is a mess. Not it’s usual devil-may-care mess, but an I’ve-been-fucked-proper mess courtesy of her wandering fingers. She rakes it back off of his forehead, trailing her hand down to cup his jaw and he leans into her palm, closing his eyes as he presses a light kiss to the inside of her wrist. And if he isn’t the damndest thing she’s ever seen, Emma doesn’t know what is.

She doesn’t even bother trying to hide her smile. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Oh, thank God.”

He surges forward, the words barely out of his mouth before he captures hers in a toe-curling kiss. His arm tightens around her and he flips their positions, Emma bouncing against the mattress at the impact. She giggles (maybe Emma Swan is a giggler after all?) and thinks something very eloquent along the lines of, “ That was hella impressive .”

She’s ready. She’s so, so very ready as he lines himself up, and God, it’s been awhile, but her body seems to remember how this all works. Because as he slides in, slow and steady, there’s no awkwardness, no distracting stops and starts to take her out of the moment. Their eyes are locked, faces flushed and it’s just them. Like this how it’s supposed to be. Like the universe is smiling indulgently at her as if she’s an idiot for not realizing this was its idea the whole time.

His head tips forward, resting his forehead against hers, and they’re breathing the same air, and yeah. This was definitely the plan the whole time. She didn’t know. She’s not sure how she didn’t know, but at least she’s finally learning.

She’s learning a lot right now actually. Like the way that dip just beneath his Adam’s apple tastes. Like the color his skin turns where her questing mouth has left its mark. Like the sound he makes when she drags her nails down his back. Like the way he can make her back arch off the bed when he swirls his tongue around her nipple. Turns out he’s a pretty fast learner, too.

Speaking of fast. It’s illogical and unbelievable and she’s never been able to get off from missionary, but she feels her orgasm building and it’s gonna be the good, deep kind. The kind that makes her teeth buzz and toes go numb. She opens her eyes (because when he found that spot behind her ear with his tongue, there was no way she could manage to keep them open) to check and see if he’s as far gone as she is. There’s a sheen of sweat over both of them. He’s just as flushed as she knows she is, his face set with tension.

“Are you close, love?”

Words are not within her power right now, so she nods quickly, her breaths coming shallow and fast.

“May I…?” He shifts his weight onto one arm and begins to reach down between them to where they are joined, but Emma stops him with a small shake of her head. Instead, she widens her thighs, wrapping one arm tighter around his waist and squeezing his ass (and it’s everything that his stupid tight jeans had promised) to encourage him to go deeper. Not exactly spurring, but it’s close enough for him to get the message.

She has no idea how he’s managing to grind against her clit and thrust at the same time, but it’s-

Oh…

Oh, fuck…

“Oh Fuck!”

Yeah, that last one was definitely out loud, but she’s too blissed out to care. Oh, she was right. Right with the buzzing and the ringing in her ears and the tingling toes and the freaking unicorns and rainbows dancing across her vision as he thrusts a few more times and calls out a few expletives of his own. And her name.

They’re breathing hard, both of them, and he’s smiling down at her and it’s really not fair for a guy to have eyelashes that long and black. She scrunches her nose at him and he kisses the tip of it before shifting himself off to her side.

“You got me all sweaty.” Emma clearly displays her distaste for said sweat by snuggling herself under the crook of Killian’s arm and using his chest for a headrest. It’s a good vantage point for her to hear his low, skeptical hum in response.

“I understand you have a lovely newly remodeled shower you could use to rectify the problem.”

She lifts her head to look at him, and he’s got an eyebrow raised, but his eyes are twinkling.

“The shower head has way more settings than I’m used to. If only someone knowledgeable could, you know… give me a demonstration?” Emma tries to pull her lower lip between her teeth suggestively, but when Killian chuckles she joins right in.

“Oof, give a man a moment to collect himself, Swan. Though I suppose I’d prefer to give you a demonstration of the hardware, rather than have you resort to sabotage for my attentions.”

She was with him right up to the word ‘sabotage’. Emma sits up on the bed, her brow furrowed. “Wait, what?” Killian only grins broadly and tucks his arms behind his head. He’s still gloriously naked and it’s horribly distracting, but she won’t be deterred. “What do you mean ‘sabotage’?”

“Come now. Surely you didn’t think I’d believe the better part of a frozen lasagna accidentally shoved itself down your garbage disposal. I’m actually quite perceptive, darling. And I must say I’m flattered.”

His voice had taken on that rich, purring quality and under other circumstances, Emma would’ve melted like Milk Duds in warm popcorn, but she’s incensed at the accusation. Mostly because she’d kind of thought about doing that. Something like that anyway. But the point is she didn’t .

Her jaw drops open to protest, and he’s starting to look a bit unsure of himself. Good. He should be unsure of himself because did he really think that she-

“Hang on - did you say frozen lasagna?”

“Indeed. Several helpings by the look. Jammed the gears in the disposal, then melted which is why the sink backed up-”

“And then exploded all over my kitchen.”

Killian’s sitting up now, too, looking thoroughly confused. “You mean you didn’t…?”

Emma drops her chin to her chest and huffs a laugh, before meeting his eyes again. “Nope. But I know who did.”

“We’ve been set up?”

“Uh huh.”

“Bloody hell.” Killian flops back down onto the bed, rubbing a hand across his forehead. Emma scooches closer and nestles back into his side.

They lay there together for the space of several slow breaths, Emma absentmindedly toying with the soft hair on his stomach, while Killian gently strokes his fingers up and down her arm. It’s so peaceful that when his hand stills she thinks he may have fallen asleep.

“Hey, Killian?”

“Aye.” His voice is a little rough and maybe he was asleep, but something is bugging her.

“Was that the reason you made a move on me tonight? Because you thought I’d blown up my kitchen just to get to see you?”

“Oi! You kissed me first, Swan, but aye. I must admit it gave me a boost of confidence.”

“I didn’t know you were lacking in confidence, Jones.”

He chuckles softly and resumes trailing his fingers over her arm. “I’m confident in most things, true, but when it comes to whether I’ve won the heart of the woman I fancy? I suppose I have more hope than confidence.”

Emma looks up at him wide-eyed, searching for any hint of a lie, but he means it. She tucks her head beneath his chin to hide her smile.

“Hey, Killian?”

“Aye?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got a massive crush on David’s business partner.”

“Just pretty sure?”

“More like very sure.”

“Good. Because I’m very sure I’ve a massive crush on Snow’s best friend.”

After a short nap and a thorough demonstration of her new shower hardware, Killian spends the night. Emma wakes up warm and sated, her head pillowed on his bicep. He makes a compelling argument for spending the day in bed, his lips on the back of her neck and his fingers slowly slipping down her abdomen and stroking gently when they reach their destination.

It’s tempting. So, so tempting, especially when he dips one finger, then two inside her, curling and thrusting them in earnest now. But her stomach is growling and there’s something she really needs to do, so she very reluctantly stops him with a heated promise to pick right back up where he left off after breakfast.

They dress hurriedly. Emma offers him one of her oversized ‘Storybrooke U’ t-shirts to replace the one she basically ripped off of him the night before. There’s a little bit of groping and a lot of kissing, but they finally make it out the door and down the street to Granny’s Diner.

As soon as they walk through the door (hand in hand, and Emma could really get used to that), they spot a familiar couple canoodling in a corner booth. Ruby spots Emma and Killian a moment later and shoos them over to sit with Snow and David. David shakes Killian’s hand with a knowing smile. Emma hugs Snow who looks as tired and happy as Emma is fairly sure she herself does.

Ruby pulls out her notepad and pen and beams at the four of them. “And what can I get you lovely fornicators for breakfast this morning? And don’t even bother trying to look innocent, Snow. Your eyeliner has clearly been slept in, and that-” she jabs her pen in Killian’s direction. “-is clearly Emma’s shirt. Love to hear about what happened to his, by the way. But I’m just so happy for you guys!”

Honestly, Emma’s feeling pretty good about life right now, but she didn’t come here for pancakes and girl talk. She leans back in her seat and crosses her arms.

“Ruby, did you drop off my key to the co-op board yesterday morning?”

Ruby’s smile falters for a second, but it’s enough to confirm Emma’s suspicion. “Sure did. Now, do you want bacon or toast with-”

“Did you take a look around the apartment while you were there?”

“Oh, yeah. The place looks fantastic. You boys did a great job. So how do you take your-”

“And did you maybe shove half a frozen lasagna down my kitchen sink while you were there?”

Ruby exhales sharply, all pretense gone, and puts her hands on her hips. “I did and I regret nothing. My evil plan clearly worked.”

Emma groans, letting her head fall to Killian’s shoulder. “But why-”

“Because you needed a little extra push, babe,” Ruby answers kindly. She looks over to Killian who is now resting his head atop Emma’s. “Maybe he did, too.”

Killian squeezes Emma’s leg under the table. “Hard to argue with that, love.”

Snow leans in and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, she can argue with anything. Stick around a while, you’ll see.”

Emma harrumphs, but there’s no real rancor behind it. Ruby raises her pad and pen again.

“So, pancakes, bacon and coffee all around?”

There’s a general murmur of agreement, and Ruby scribbles down the order.

“She’s right about the apartment,” Snow says after Ruby disappears back into the kitchen. “I saw it Monday when it wasn’t even finished yet and it looked terrific.” She nudges David with her shoulder and looks up at him through her eyelashes. “You guys really did an amazing job.”

Emma sighs. “Yeah, so amazing that it’s gonna sell immediately and I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

Killian drapes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, the quiet show of solidarity making her feel slightly better.

Snow furrows her brow. “You know you can stay with me as long as you need.”

Emma gives her a small smile in return. “Thanks, but I think it could get a little crowded since you’ve just got the one bedroom.” She turns a sly look to David. “And a little noisy.”

Snow blushes, and David laughs, tucking Snow’s hand into the crook of his arm. “It just might,” he confirms. “You don’t think you can talk your board into coming down on the price?”

Emma shakes her head. “Nope. Definitely not, now that you and Killian converted my junk loft into an actual second bedroom.”

“What about a flatmate, love?” Killian asks. “Perhaps Snow?” He nods in her friend’s direction, but now Emma and Snow are both shaking their heads.

“I’m stuck in my lease for another nine months,” Snow replies.

“Not to mention the building doesn’t allow sub-leasing, and I’m sure as hell not about to try to buy my apartment with some stranger.”

At that moment, Ruby arrives with four mugs and a coffee pot in hand, but she stops at the end of their table, a frown at the corners of her scarlet lips. “And what am I, a day-old bagel?”

“Huh?” is the best response Emma can come up with.

“Emma, I’ve been living here with Granny rent-free for years. I’ve got a pretty nice nest egg saved up. What if I bought half the apartment?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Look, honey, much as I love Granny, she’s really starting to cramp my style, if you know what I mean. I can’t get away with anything. The old battle-ax has ears like a wolf.”

The kitchen door swings open, and Granny herself sticks her head out. “I’m a wolf? You’re the maneater, girl.”

Ruby turns and calls back, “My Granny, what a big mouth you have!” There’s a loud hmph and a smacking sound as the kitchen door swings closed again. Ruby sets the coffee down on the table and faces Emma again. “You see my point. So what do you say to taking on a delightfully inappropriate roommate?”

Emma blinks a few times, still trying to come to grips with this new information. Is it really possible? Can she actually be lucky enough to get to keep her apartment? She can feel everybody at the table looking at her expectantly and it finally occurs to her that she’s not speaking. She shakes herself and looks wide-eyed up at Ruby.

“Yes. Ohmigod. Yes! Ruby, thank you so much.”

Ruby grins brightly. “My shift ends at two. I’ll meet you at the building to do the paperwork after that. We don’t want those co-op bitches selling the place out from under us.” She takes a pointed glance at Killian then waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “And it looks like you’ve got some business to attend to while you still have the place to yourself. I’ll just go pack your breakfast to go.”

Before Emma can say anything else, Ruby turns on her heel and heads back to the kitchen. The next thing Emma knows, Snow is congratulating her and Killian is brushing a kiss to her hair and David is grinning at her and she's just- she’s just…Happy. And it kind of surprises her to realize it, but she thinks maybe she can get used to it.

Ruby returns with a take-out bag a few minutes later, and Emma and Killian stand to leave. Killian reaches to take the bag, but Ruby pulls it back, her eyes narrowing.

“You’re gonna take good care of our girl, right? Because I'll be right there to know if you don’t.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but Killian nods solemnly. “I promise I will.” And Emma’s heart melts just that little bit more.

Ruby releases the bag to him with a toothy grin. “Good. And don’t worry, I’ll give you a good deal when you want to buy out my share of the apartment later.”

David and Snow laugh, Emma splutters, and Killian’s ears turn pink and she knows he’d be scratching behind his ear if he wasn’t holding the food. Before either of them can say anything, Ruby is waving them away.

“Now don’t even try to argue with me. You two just go on home and have… pancakes.”

With a little wave of her fingers, Ruby was off to the kitchen. Emma glanced back at the table to find Snow and David completely engrossed with each other once more. As much as her head was reeling from everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, looking up into Killian’s smiling (and maybe a little bit smarking ) eyes, she finally feels that yes, this is it. She’s finally getting it right.

She wraps her fingers around Killian’s hook, taking note of the little hitch in his breath when she does, and smiles up at him.

“Yeah. Pancakes sound good.”

.

[asunafairywizardessheart]

Part 5 Thanksgiving in the Country: Promises and Acceptances

Elias/Asana

This is the final part of this mini story, hope you enjoyed it. 

Elias emerged from the shower, his hair partially wet. Sunlight streamed through the window and lightly glowed upon her body as she took advantage of the holiday to sleep in. She wore a smile as she slept on her side, with her knees tucked slightly and her cheek resting upon the back of her hand. Her beauty accentuated by the sunlight.

It was a sight he was accustomed to seeing and a view he was never tired of seeing. While admiring her sleeping, Elias saw his phone by the bed side table began flashing as it rang on silent. Vibrating on the wooden surface, the knocking stirred Asana but he sat on the edge of the bed and read the caller ID.

“Hello, Father,” Elias whispered.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he greeted, “Extend my best wishes to Asana and her family.”

“I will, Happy Thanksgiving to Mother and you,” he returned the gesture, “Give me a moment, Asana’s sleeping so I need to take this outside.”

He rose to his feet, careful not to bounce the mattress too much and crept silently along the floor to the door. Shutting it quietly, he could continue the conversation with his father more comfortably, “I am fine to talk now.”

“How is meeting her family going anyway?”

“Is that what you really want to discuss, Father?”

Walter sighed, “Must you feel the need to shut me out, Elias. I am curious as to what kind of people they are.”

“Um, actually,” Elias recalled Owen saying he had met his father before, “Asana’s father has met you before. Remember when you represented the Agricultural College in Wiley City?”

Walter hummed, “Vaguely. Why, that’s before Julius was born.”

“He did say you were younger in those days,” Elias repeated, “His name is Owen Way. Does the name ring any bells?”

Walter had to think for a moment, “Can’t say it does,” though, he couldn’t put a face to the name, “However, asking me to remember something that long ago is a stretch. I have a good memory, but I can’t remember his name or face.”

“Well, he remembers you,” Elias added and made his way down the staircase to the kitchen, “Because of the impression you left on him, he believes I am no different.”

“I take it I left a bad impression,” Walter chuckled, “Country folk tend to be suspicious of the city folk. Asana’s family own a farm and her uncle owns a winery, have you toured them?”

“I have,” Elias nodded and waved to Tobias and Charlotte having breakfast in the kitchen, “That reminds me, Asana is bringing everyone back a bottle of wine from her Uncle’s winery, it is quite delicious actually.”

“I am familiar with her Uncle’s wine,” Walter responded but he sounded preoccupied with other tasks by the way his voice had changed, “It is quite good for a middle-range brand.”

Elias could hear shuffling paper in the background and his mother’s voice in the background, “Anyway, putting aside this conversation. Was there something important you wanted to tell me? Are our plans good to go?”

“Yes, that’s why I called,” Walter said.

“And?” Elias prompted him nervously.

“On your call, federal agents will move in to make an arrest. I have all the files you sent me, and I have passed them onto your Uncle who will lead the prosecution. I have called in this favour from a guy who owes me one. What they want is to make an arrest where he can’t run away.”

“Understood,” Elias smiled, “Thank you, Father.”

“It has helped our country,” Walter answered.

“He was already wanted?”

“Correct. Authorities have had a challenging time catching him because he is always changing his appearance and the car he drives. Along with using fake names and leaving no electronic or paper trail. He’s good but we are better.”

“What will happen to him?” Elias questioned, “I assume maximum penalty.”

“Carl is pushing for the maximum sentence,” Walter responded, “So, whenever you are ready, Elias. They make their move on your command.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I must be going,” Walter had to end the call, “Aside from working, we are attending a breakfast banquet held by the Mayor and his wife,” he sounded unexcited about having to attend.

Elias could hear the disinterest in his voice and chuckled, “Same thing as usual, I suppose. Rich people trying to impress other rich people.”

“Now, it is not all that bad,” Walter insisted, “There will be decent food and pleasant conversation. It is a shame I will not have any of my children here this year though.”

Slowly descending the staircase, he found his way into the kitchen where Charlotte had already started preparations for the Thanksgiving dinner later in the evening, with Tobias running through the images on his camera and Owen devouring breakfast.

“Sounds boring,” Elias continued to talk to his father, remarking on the quality of the mayor’s banquet his parents were attending, “Too be honest, I am quite glad to be missing it this year.”

“Elias,” Walter sighed, “Parties, such as this one, is an effective way to gain new clients. If you want to become a lawyer, advertising your name to the right crowds is important if you wish to be successful.”

“You know I am not interested in defending the rich and powerful from their own corruptions,” Elias reminded him, “I see no point in it. I would rather put them away in prisons. Uncle Carl said if I am interested in becoming a prosecutor having trial experience on both sides of the fence is invaluable experience.”

“He is not wrong,” Walter agreed, “I guess one day you and I will be going against each other in the court room if prosecution is the career path you choose to take. However, whatever happened to your aspirations to research law in other countries?”

Elias paused for a moment, “…I could still research law. It depends.”

“Depends, on what?” Walter tried to gauge his son’s line of thinking, “On Asana, I am assuming?”

He would compromise on his career goals if it meant being able to build a happy future with Asana, “Asana has her own career goals too, Father, and I want to support her. Depending on what we decide to do with our careers, I am willing to compromise on any of my own career goals to be able to stay with her. I would not be unhappy if I became a federal prosecutor.”

“Elias,” Walter worried about him, “Before she came into your life, you had plans. I do not have anything against her, of course, I think she’s a lovely person. However, if you are changing your career plans, set the right stones for your future and don’t overcomplicate it.”

“I know, I know,” Elias mumbled, “You are sounding like Klaus every day. He said the same thing to me before we left the city for Asana’s home in the country.”

“That’s because out of the three of you, Klaus is the most sensible and logical,” Walter commented, “Your brother would have made a fantastic lawyer, but he opted to teach law instead.”

“Father, you once said, ‘to each to his own success and whatever makes a man happiest’,” Elias in turn lectured his father, “Klaus is happy with his career. Listen, Asana and I are talking about our future and how we intend on moving forward with each other. We will make this work, trust us.”

Again, he sighed and in the background, he could hear Mary calling for him to dress for the banquet, “I sincerely hope you both know what you are doing,” Walter emphasised, “It is not good to make your father worry, Elias. As such, I will be calling in soon and checking on you. For now, I must get going.”

“Have fun.”

“Good day,” Walter farewelled him, “Oh, extend my Thanksgiving wishes to Asana and her family, would you.”

“Of course, same to Mother and you.”

With a click, the phone call ended. Charlotte assumed he had come down for a coffee but had made it for him while he was on the phone, “Was that your father?”

“Yes,” Elias smiled and gently accepted the coffee she offered, “Thank you. He sends his thanksgiving wishes to everyone.”

“Would you like some breakfast, Elias?” Charlotte asked, “I cooked up some bacon and eggs a moment ago. I see Asana must still be sleeping.”

She went to the oven and used a cotton mitt to pull out a tray of cooked food she was keeping warm, not expecting Asana to be having a long sleep in. It appears Edith and Fred were not joining them this morning, but Tobias, Owen and Charlotte already had their own serving. Elias gathered a plate and insisted on dishing out his own meal since she had gone to the trouble of making it.

“I hear you went out to Lucas’ winery yesterday, gathering more evidence?” Owen asked him, his voice the calmest and gentlest it had been towards Elias since his arrival, but still had hints of his sternness.

Elias nodded as he ate a chuck of food and spoke as he swallowed, “Well, that was one reason why we went up there, but I think Asana really wanted to show me around the winery.”

His legs still ached from the many times he had to climb challenging inclines of the valleys’ hills as they walked between the lines of fenced grape vines, harvested earlier to produce the next season’s stock of various wines. Unlike her family’s farm, the winery was closer to the mountains and forests that surrounded the village. From the homestead on the largest hill, provided a romantic and panoramic view of Lucas’ home. He not only learned of the variety of wine they produced but also why Lucas had entered the wine business.

With a colour scheme of black, white and pink, Elias had asked about the brand of his wine. Olivia, his late wife, inspired the pink colour because it was her favourite colour and she had lost her life to an aggressive form of breast cancer. A portion of the winery’s profits went towards research, but Elias caught the sadness in his voice as he lived out his wife’s dream of creating a national wine empire. There were similar sad stories when Asana and he had visited Judith and Bill, and why they would never sell their lands and their businesses to any other person.

“I learnt a lot yesterday,” Elias commented as he remembered those stories.

“So, you should have,” Owen knew what he was talking about, “That’s why so many people are excited about you dealing with Aston. For several people, these farms are not just businesses, as some city men may see it….”

“It’s their homes,” Elias interrupted him, “I know.”

Owen was grateful he understood, “I’m glad you get it.”

“Has Grandad done the rounds on the farm?” Tobias suddenly asked.

“Yeah, he did the minor things he could do with one hand,” Owen replied, “I helped with the rest. It’s a public holiday, so he can’t get to a doctor today.”

“Oh, it’s a sprained wrist,” Charlotte wasn’t worried, “He’s had worse injuries than that in recent years.”

“It’s not the point,” Owen shook his head, “Those injuries were self-inflicted and this one wasn’t. My father was assaulted and as a result injured.”

Tobias chimed in, “I could’ve helped out this morning.”

Owen knew he could of, but Fred had insisted otherwise because Tobias was going to give up on his deadline, “He knows, and I know, but you have your deadline to meet. He didn’t want to interfere with your job, especially not after how much you sacrifice to get the shots you do.”

“I already sent my thesis away,” Tobias promised, “I’m not that behind deadline. I just got to send these images into the magazines for publication. It’s not a big deal.”

After yesterday, Elias had realised Owen had taken a step back from accepting him because he thought he was making false promises. That’s why he brought up Aston’s name now. Elias figured he needed to tell Owen the truth to regain the trust he had earned yesterday before Fred was assaulted.

“Mr Way, are you busy right now?” Elias had no choice but to tell him.

“Not really, why?”

“Could I speak to you for a moment?” Elias requested his private company.

Owen quizzically raised an eyebrow, “If it is about that menace, can’t you tell all of us?”

“Not really, there’s something I want to show you.”

Elias gathered his phone where he had been receiving emails from his father. Charlotte motioned Owen to move from his seat and go hear what Elias had to say and refused to take no for an answer, “Go!” she pushed him out of the room.

Casually, Owen joined Elias in the living room, “What is it?”

“Asking you to put your trust into me is not really working,” Elias said.

Owen didn’t disagree, “I’m only trusting my daughter’s faith in you. Yesterday, you could have done something, and you didn’t, and I’m quite used to being told false promises by wealthy city folk like you.”

“You mean, because of my father.”

“All your father cares about his money and recognition,” Owen laughed, “Our case was just another piece of experience for him. We aren’t a wealthy college, but we are an important educational facility to kids who can’t access higher education in the city. We were accused of abusing animals and performing illegal experiments, but we weren’t doing such things. The accusations came from animal activists and a disgruntled employee who had been dumped from the research team for sabotaging our project. As soon as your father got his money, got his name in the papers and on the news, he represented us and pretended to care about our cause.”

Elias listened to him and Owen continued, “He won our case for us, sure. But he’s one example in the reasons why I don’t trust wealthy city folk. Minister for education, he promised he would build us a new centre for agricultural veterinary education with modern equipment to tend to a widespread region. Many farmers invested funds, their time and energy to make it happen, there were fundraisers, and then the Minister said ‘no’, the money is to be spend elsewhere in the region. We were used and there were farmers who were furious, but the Minister didn’t care. He said there were other urgent matters the region needed, when we complained about it, all records of our fundraising had been erased.”

“Now, I have you,” Owen growled, “You are not here to obviously deal with Aston but introducing yourself as my daughter’s fiancée. However, you have promised to the town, to us, that you would get rid of him. Yesterday, you had a chance and didn’t act on it. Only filmed what you could on your phone. You are just like those men, they don’t care who they hurt making promises too so long as they make themselves look good. These people out here, have been played time and time again by the wealthy and the powerful and they get away with it because the people out here are poor and weak and have a sense of right and wrong.”

Elias now understood why he had a major issue with people from wealthy backgrounds, just as Asana had warned him, “I know I am asking a lot here, for you to trust me, but please don’t hold me in the same regard as those men. I may be from their world, but most of time I wish I weren’t. My father thought I signed up for a career into law to defend those who are corrupt, but I would rather see those kinds of people be punished per according to the law.”

“Saying it is much easier than doing it,” Owen answered.

“Before, when you said the farms here are not businesses to the people,” Elias reminded him, “I have never once thought they were at all. Here and at the winery, what I saw was my fiancée’s home and the home of her family. Now, I am not supposed to be sharing this with you because it is under federal investigation. So, promise me you won’t tell anyone about what I have planned.”

Owen’s expression changed to surprise, “Federal investigation?” he whispered back, “How? No one has said anything because they’ve been too scared too.”

“I did,” Elias answered, “Bradley Aston is not his true name. His real name is Marcus Harrington Junior and he has done this before. He’s a con artist and a fraud, convicted on multiple occasions for tax evasion, illegal foreign investments in Asian markets, embezzlement of government money, using false names and lying to police and aiding or causing suicides in previous land owners he has sent broke, doing this exact same thing. I had my brother look into it to begin with and then had my father revisit his old files. On our findings, his industry is non-existent but has been embezzling government funds for the last five years and has lured in several farmers across the country causing them to lose millions in illegal and unlawful contracts with their money sent offshore to fund illegal foreign organisations. Now, the federal government knew it was happening but were never able to trace it. My father, brother and I have been working to piece it all together and pushed on our evidence onto my Uncle, he’s the crown prosecutor. We have everything we need to pin him, and now he we need to catch him.”

“You did all that in a matter of days?” Owen was shocked.

“My family’s power is…remarkable,” Elias shrugged, “But, I’m not doing this for any other reason than for the sake my fiancée and her family and town. Had I not known her, had I not loved her, I would have never known about this and neither would have the federal police. Hence why I can’t just let him go, otherwise he will just do this to another community. Do you understand, now?”

Owen nodded, “So, you can’t say?”

“I only kept it a secret because gossip spreads around this town like wildfire,” Elias chuckled, “If he overheard the slightest gossip that I was after him, he’d run. Federal police have already raided several of the hotels he has passed through and are now wearing plain clothes across Wiley City, watching him but the wrong move could make him run. He could be armed and that’s why I need to catch him off guard. Please, I need you to trust me.”

Hearing his plan, Owen felt a little more relaxed, “Does Asana know about this?”

“She’s been helping me send these files off to my father,” Elias replied, “Now you know what I am doing, do you still have your doubts about me?”

Owen didn’t know how he was supposed to reply after learning about this major investigation had been happening behind the scenes in the three days Elias had been here. It was scary but impressive, “Remind me never to make you an enemy,” he muttered.

“I am not an unreasonable man,” Elias assured him.

“Even, if in the unlikely event Asana was to hurt you.”

“Of course,” Elias sincerely replied, “I’m not immature. Look, if you don’t believe. Read this,” Elias showed him an email on his phone his father had sent him.

Owen took the device and read the words carefully. Everything Elias had told him was true and with proof from the federal police to prove he was not lying, “He goes from town to town using a different name and image?”

Elias nodded, “He’s a top-class con-man but not good enough to fool us. Remember, you can’t tell another person this, not even your father. I only told you because I didn’t want to lose whatever acceptance I earned yesterday morning when I was talking to you. I love your daughter and I want you to be able to see beyond my name and background and see me as a man asking to marry your daughter.”

For a long moment, Owen didn’t reply. He only sighed and eventually handed Elias back his phone. As he did, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs and turned around to see Asana. Her eyes met her father’s and Elias who leaned against the back of the lounge.

“What’s going on?” Asana questioned and slowly stepped towards them.

“Nothing,” Owen promised her with a friendly smile, “Good morning, sweetie.”

She was even more suspicious because it felt tense between them, “…Morning,” she cuddled up to Elias’ side, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You looked peaceful,” his lips curled into a gentle smile, the one he only ever showed her, “I didn’t have the heart to wake you up.”

With her back turned to her father, she whispered in his ear, “Why does it feel so tense between you two?”

“…Never mind,” Elias kissed her cheek, “We’re just men, talking about things.”

She didn’t buy it, “You don’t lie very good,” then she looked back to her father, “Daddy?” her tone demanded she know because she feared they were exchanging unfriendly words.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” Elias squeezed her hand.

“Right,” Owen agreed, “Elias here was just talking to me about Aston. What he has told me, I promise I will not share with anybody else.”

Asana looked back to Elias, “You told him about the federal investigation?”

He nodded, “Also, the truth behind Marcus.”

“Okay,” Asana knew they weren’t lying but what was with the tension, “So, why is it so tense between you two.”

Elias fell quiet, searching Owen for a response. Asana traded glances between the both, “…Elias, are you helping us purely because you want my acceptance as my daughter’s partner?”

He shook his head, “It’s part of the reason. However, I am also doing this because I know the people here are afraid of losing their homes because they believe they are powerless against him. I have come to love this area too, I find it very peaceful and a warm place to live. As I said, I’m not like those men who have disappointed you before.”

“Daddy, Elias is being honest,” Asana begged him, and held Elias hand in one hand and her father’s in the other, “Please, Daddy.”

He found himself in a tough spot, especially with Asana begging him to accept Elias. After speaking with him yesterday, and all he has learnt over the past three days, he has been nothing but honest with the family and they hadn’t even asked him to help deal with this criminal that was harassing them. He realised Elias did it out of the kindness of his heart and because it was upsetting Asana.

“…Will this plan of yours work?” Owen asked.

“I have the federal police at my command,” Elias promised him.

Owen thought for a moment, but wasn’t about to be fooled again and replied, “…If this works, you have my acceptance and blessing to marry my daughter. I only just realised no one had asked you to help us with this man but I get it now. It was upsetting Asana and you’re doing this for nothing but being kind.”

“See,” Asana was happy he could finally see it, “He’s not a bad person, Dad.”

Feeling awkward, Owen gave a small smile and then walked away, “Maybe not,” he muttered, it was loud enough for them to hear it, but he couldn’t say it to their faces.

Elias wasn’t sure how to take his reply, but Asana was happy, “That’s one step to getting that handshake,” she smiled.

“You really think he will?” Elias wondered, “He doesn’t like me.”

“No, he likes you.”

“What if he’s afraid of me?” Elias panicked, “I told him everything and now I just said I have the police at my call.”

Asana kissed his cheek, “He’s grown up in the country his entire life. For any person out here, the power to have the federal police at your call and the shadiest of criminals fear you is like…a super power. Thank you, though.”

Elias wanted to change the subject, “Father extended his thanksgiving wishes.”

“We should see them when we get home,” Asana suggested, “Where are we going to spend Christmas?”

Elias could sense her voice getting excited, “Would you calm down. He hasn’t accepted me yet, so let’s get through Thanksgiving right now before we even speak about Christmas.”

“Relax, he likes you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know my father,” Asana giggled, “Did you watch me sleep this morning?”

He remembered how they were talking about this subject just the other day. His lips curled into a wide smile, “Of course,” Elias gave her a light kiss on the lips, “You clutched at the pillow pretty tightly.”

“Aw,” she felt embarrassed, “That’s because my human pillow disappeared on me.”

Jokingly, he replied, “Oh, I see why you are with me now. I’m your personal pillow.”

“A very warm pillow and your arms are like blankets.”

“Okay, I think I have gone from being a pillow to transforming into a bed.”

She laughed, “Hey, you sleep on me too sometimes.”

“Very rarely,” he laughed and held her hand, “Come on, your Mom made us breakfast.”

“Mom!” Asana gasped at the array of spectacular dishes she had made for their private family dinner and the decorations of the table and the dining room, “I told you not to go overboard.”

“I had to,” she cheerfully clapped, “My babies are home and we have a guest. My little girl’s very handsome fiancée.”

Asana blushed at her mother’s over-excited comments as she helped to bring out the plates and bowls of food. There was the mandatory turkey glazed with marmalade and a pot of roasted and steamed vegetables, a casserole of mashed potato garnished with diced bacon and fresh chives, cranberry marinated meatballs and a pot of gravy to serve the whole table.

“Wow, darling,” Owen expressed his astonishment at the amount she had made, “There’s only going to be seven of us,” he joked as he gathered the carving knives and corkscrew for the wine.

“There’s plenty so no one can say they aren’t full by the end of the night,” she added to his joke and gave him a quick kiss, “Go pour the wine.”

At each plate, a single wax candle burned, and the lights above were dimmed to contribute to the relaxing atmosphere for the family dinner. Tobias and Elias were discussing his exhibit in the city next year and agreed to arrange special VIP treatment for Elias and Asana.

“You are welcome to stay at our apartment when you come, or I can set you up at my parents’ home?” Elias offered.

“I wouldn’t want to impose on you and her or your parents.”

“It’s fine,” Elias assured him, “Asana still has her old apartment on lease until it runs out in May next year. You are more than welcome to stay there.”

“Still on lease,” Tobias laughed, “Sis, haven’t you broken your lease yet.”

Asana set cutlery at each table, “Well, we haven’t long since lived with each other. It’s only been seven months,” she answered convincingly that no one questioned it, “We figured I signed up for another six months in case it didn’t work out. It will be the last lease I sign for, so use it up if you want to.”

Her grandfather than asked, “Are you paying for that place?”

“Yes,” Asana said, “It’s only the rent, Grandad. It’s affordable.”

“In that case, you don’t mind?” Tobias asked.

“Of course not,” Asana chuckled, “You’re my brother and we’ll be across the hall.”

As the table was set, the whole family had joined for dinner with Elias again sandwiched between the two siblings and sitting opposite from her grandparents and uncle. Charlotte and Owen taking the two end chairs. There wasn’t really a tradition, just the family together.

“Darling, what are you and Elias planning for Christmas?” Charlotte asked.

“We haven’t really thought about it,” Asana looked over to Elias, “What do you want to do?”

Elias wasn’t sure either, “Would your parents like to come to the city?” he suggested, “Maybe we can organise for our parents to meet?”

“They can stay in my apartment across the hall,” Asana knew where they could stay.

Elias shook his head, “Considering we would have Christmas at the house, they can stay in a guest room at my parents’ house.”

“Won’t that be too…daunting for them?” Asana worried his family home would be too much for her parents to handle and they would get nervous, “Though, before we decide where they would stay,” she turned to her parents, “Would you like to come to the city.”

Charlotte and Owen looked across at each other and to Fred and Edith, “Go, enjoy the city. Fred and I will be fine here with Lucas and Tobias may as well go with you too.”

There was a murmur of anxiety among her parents, “We may as well meet them if our families are going to become connected through their marriage,” Charlotte mentioned across to Owen, “However, I would worry about your father’s reaction to seeing Walter again.”

“We’ll think about it,” Owen said, sharpening the knives to carve the turkey, “For now, let’s enjoy Thanksgiving first before we even think about Christmas.”

Elias welcomed them to the city any time, “You are all welcome to visit us at any time,” he invited, regardless of how often they would visit the city.

Charlotte welcomed his offer, “Thank you, Elias.”

“I once went to the city,” Lucas added, “Went to a business convention to increase sales and learn some marketing techniques.”

Asana knew the story and began laughing at him. Lucas eyed her, “Stop laughing, you,” he playfully warned, “But, I drank a little too much and had to walk back to my hotel. I got lost and ended up in the wrong hotel. Ended up sleeping in the lobby and the concierges rang the police on me. Spent the night in the watch house until I sobered up.”

“Even after he left, he still didn’t know where he was,” Asana laughed, “I had only just moved to the city as well and received a phone call from him, panicking. ‘Asana, Asana, where am I? What hell is this? I can’t find my way,’. That was just before I met you,” Asana recalled.

The reminiscent story earning laughter from around the table as they dished out dinner and sipped on Lucas’ wine. Elias laughed too, “The city is very confusing, even I get lost sometimes.”

“No, you?” Edith didn’t believe him, “You grew up in the city, right?”

Elias nodded, “Which makes it even more sad,” he laughed.

Asana knew the story he was about to share, and everyone listened to him.

“When I was a child, my brothers and I often travelled by limousine or by our mother in our sedan. I knew where locations were, though I never knew how to get to them. So, when I received my driver’s license, and I drove everywhere, I often got lost. I remember I was at my music practice and after that I had to go to a restaurant to celebrate my brother’s graduation. It took me an hour and twenty minutes to find where I was supposed to go from where I was. Now, the smartest option would have been to use my GPS, but I called my father asked him for directions. The restaurant we were supposed to go to was two streets over from where I was, but I had ended up nearly on the other side of the city.”

They all shared a laugh, “So you see, I grew up in the city and I still get lost too.”

“Same with me,” Asana giggled, “I was hopeless when I first arrived in the city.”

“Could imagine,” Tobias agreed, “She still gets lost around Wiley City half the time.”

“Talk about making first bad impressions though,” Asana giggled.

Elias wondered which story she would bring up, “Which one, you have a few to tell. You want to know how we ended up speaking to each other?”

Asana begged him not to tell them, “No, don’t tell them. It’s so embarrassing!”

“Oh, I’m telling them,” Elias wasn’t backing out of the story.

“Oh, please, tell us,” Edith was interested too, “Is this at the bookstore?”

“No, it was before that,” Elias remembered the day very well, “You remember how I told you all that my brother is a junior lecturer at the same university Asana and I attend?”

They all nodded, “Of course,” Charlotte spoke as did Edith and Tobias.

Hiding her embarrassed red cheeks and pink smile behind her hands, Elias continued to tell them the story of how they had got off on the wrong foot, “My brother and I don’t look that different, but we are certainly different attitude wise. He can be much more meaner and strict, in a good way though. Anyway, they both were not watching where they were going….”

“I was reading a magazine off my phone where Tobias’ photos had been published and Klaus was reading a book for one of his upcoming lectures. He was heading out of the café as I was going in, and we just collided. He had a cup of hot tea and some muffins. Nothing like hot tea drenching my shirt along with chocolate stains,” there was a round of laughter, “He gave me quite the lecture and didn’t even assume any responsibility for his role in that happening.”

“You’re such a klutz,” Owen laughed at her affectionately.

Elias continued with the story, “It gets worse,” he prompted, and they listened, “I met with my brother after that had happened, not even knowing who she was. All I knew was he was in a bad mood and complained that people should be watching where they were going. Yet, I was to discover the young lady he bumped into was also my new neighbour. After a long day of dealing with a grumpy brother, also getting my ears lectured off by my parents and sitting in a two-hour exam, I returned home and started getting yelled at by Asana because she thought I was my brother,” he paused and looked over at her with the family laughing.

“Hey, if you ever saw Klaus you would forgive me for mixing them up,” Asana defended her actions, “All I saw was the same gold locks and violet eyes. I was grumpy too and decided if I saw that guy again, he’d get a piece of my mind too.”

Fred even chuckled at the story, “Oh, Asana. I can’t even imagine what you said to him thinking he was his brother.”

“She called me rude, mean, cold and a big bully,” Elias recalled.

“I wasn’t calling you that,” Asana’s cheeks were bright red.

“Look how red she is,” Charlotte teased her, “I suppose this misunderstanding is what started this relationship?”

Asana nodded, “I can’t regret it, now can I.”

“When did you figure out he was not his brother?” Tobias questioned.

“After I gave him a piece of my mind,” Asana remembered it well, “He sighed, and was like ‘you must be the girl who put my brother in a sour mood. Thanks to you, I had to deal with him.’ For a moment, I had to take a step back and then realised there were physical differences. He introduced himself as Elias Goldstein, and the man I had walked into was his older brother, Klaus. I was mortified and embarrassed, not only did I tell off the wrong person but the person I wanted to yell at was a Goldstein.”

“She quickly ran inside her room and avoided me for weeks,” Elias laughed, “We usually left for class at the same time. She would either peep through her door until I left, or we would walk down together in complete silence.”

“Hey, you noticed that?” Asana pinched him.

“You made it obvious,” Elias chuckled.

“You could have made me feel less embarrassed by that situation, you know.”

“I had some random girl yell at me,” Elias corrected her, “I was just minding my own business and got dragged into it by you and Klaus.”

“We didn’t get off on the right off, as you can tell,” Asana chuckled.

Edith proudly smiled at their story, “That’s a very cute story and a very Asana-like thing to do,” she commented with the others around her agreeing it was something Asana would likely do.

“Those first few days of living in the city were my most embarrassing days, I swear,” Asana had made plenty of first bad impressions that she had lost count, “Klaus and I are on good terms too now, but there was the incident with my lecturer and plenty of the neighbouring city people.”

Elias thought carefully, “Oh, you mean arriving twenty-five minutes late to Professor Schuyler’s lecture. He’s a tough professor though, so many people tend to steer clear from making him mad.”

“Do you have some classes together?”

“I have applied for some workshops that focus around the legal components of becoming a veterinarian, specifically animal and environmental laws because I want to do what Dad does and rehabilitate wildlife too. Then, the guy who does the workshop suggested I do a short course in animal and environment law. It’s more of an integrated learning where they stick us in the same lecture rooms with students undertaking undergraduate degrees in law.”

“Part of my course structure is covering environmental law and ecological jurisprudence, she attends those lectures as part of her short course,” Elias summed up, “She arrived late to one lecture Professor Schuyler was giving. He’s a very strict professor. If you are not there by the time he is, he will kick you out.”

“That happened to me,” Asana remembered it well, “I said I got lost and his reply was ‘if you can’t read a map, what makes you think you can pass my class’, everyone laughed at me. Thankfully, Elias had the notes from that lecture and I could get them from him.”

“All you need to do now is stop falling asleep in lectures,” Elias reminded her and received another round of laughter from the family.

Owen realised how little his daughter had changed even though she had been living in the city for the past two years. Gauging Elias’ reaction, his eyes were gentle as he spoke about their adventures together. Owen chuckled, “Nothing has changed much then.”

“It is wonderful to hear you two are having fun together,” Lucas commented, “Right, Owen?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “Though, how did you make a bad impression on the city. That was the other thing you said. Please tell me you didn’t make the news or something for the wrong reasons?”

“No,” Asana giggled, “It’s nothing too huge but I went sightseeing around the city. One of my first locations was this abandoned lighthouse on the cliffs on the far side of the beach. Elias told me the truth about it the other night which is why I now understand why people were giving me a weird look.”

Fred was curious, “Why would you go up there alone?”

“Well, I wanted to see it,” she shrugged, “I never seen a lighthouse before and it was only my second day in the city. The skyscrapers had me amazed so I wanted to see the lighthouse too.”

“There are two,” Elias corrected her, “There’s the current one on the headlands and the one derelict and a haven for junkies and whatever else dangerous. Of course, she went to the abandoned one.”

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” Asana argued with an embarrassed smile.

“Why is it so terrifying?” Charlotte didn’t understand what was so scary about an old lighthouse, “I imagine there are plenty of old buildings in the city that have amazing history.”

“Elias, do tells us,” Edith wanted to hear about it, “Is it a popular tourist spot?”

Elias shook his head, “Good god, no,” he stressed and sipped from his wine, “Now, I am not one for believing in the supernatural or anything but the history there is pretty dark that it makes for a good haunted location for Halloween. There’s a local ghost tour that goes there too but those who grew up in the city know its history.”

“Here comes a good ghost story,” Tobias joked, “Dim the lights and give the man a torch,” he said, drunkenly, “Continue.”

“That’s enough wine for you,” Lucas took Tobias’ glass from him, “He have to hear your adventures yet.”

Charlotte and Edith admonished the boys, “Quiet, Elias please tell us.”

A short round of giggles echoed their interest in the legend surrounding the old lighthouse, “Okay,” Elias began to tell the same legend he had told Asana a few days ago, “Let me start by saying, no one goes up to that lighthouse and it is not recommended as a tourist spot because a lot of illegal activity happens up there or deaths, and it has stayed that way for plenty of decades. So, when Asana was asking for directions to the lighthouse, plenty of people were suspicious of her.”

“Oh goodness,” Owen placed a palm to his head, “Did you not realise this sooner?” he asked his daughter.

“I was curious,” she shrugged.

Elias continued, “Anyway. So, picture the kinds of lighthouses you see in horror films. It most likely is the same lighthouse used in those films, anyway,” he figured, “It has a very steep cliff overlooking the ocean and the jaggered rock pools below.”

“One of those creepy places,” Fred understood.

“Exactly,” Elias continued, “In 1878, a ship carrying navy men collided with the rocks in rough seas. Twelve sailors were killed on impact. There is a legend the ghosts of those twelve sailors still linger around the lighthouse and they lure people to the cliff’s edge. In 1907, nine people died by falling off the cliff after hearing cries for help and hearing a loud crash of a boat colliding with the rocks below. Between 1907 and now, a further twenty people have died after falling off the cliff. The lighthouse was officially closed in 1908 because of the amount of deaths that were occurring around it, it is listed as a heritage site but was become derelict building amongst the vegetation since no one goes up there.”

“Sounds creepy,” Charlotte wriggled the shivers from her body, “Asana, why would you want to go up there?”

“I didn’t know this at the time,” she defended her actions.

Elias continued, “I don’t believe in ghost stories but when I was in high school, plenty of kids used to go up there on Halloween and try to either prove or disprove the legend of the sailor ghosts.”

“Is it true?” Lucas was curious.

“No, of course not,” Elias chuckled, “The building is visited by no one because it is just a creepy old building now. The only people who go up there are those who want the privacy. There is a slight mafia problem in the city and they have been known to do deals up there, junkies and homeless people use the place to get high or to sleep and it used to be the old make-out point during the fifties and sixties. All those people who fell off the edge of the cliff were treated as suicide, murder or accidental death. Asana is about the only person I have ever heard of going up there for a tourist drive, other tourists go to the current lighthouse on the headlands. There is a museum there for the city’s maritime history to deter people from going up to the cliff.”

“Asana,” Tobias cracked up laughing with tears spilling from his eyes.

Owen joined in laughing at her, “No wonder why people thought you were suspicious.”

“After I left, the police rolled up there and asked me a few questions,” Asana laughed at the memory, “They gave me the dumbest look ever and I just said that I wasn’t from the city and had come to down to study at the university. I wonder how many people in the street thought I was going to jump off the cliff or something. After Elias told me this the other day, I felt like such an idiot.”

“There are plenty of cute stories I could tell them of your adventures in the city,” Elias teased her.

“Don’t you dare!” she covered his mouth with her hand.

Fred shook his head while laughing at her, “Elias, thank god she has you now.”

“Second that,” Lucas agreed, “Stop getting yourself into trouble, Asana.”

“I was excited about being in a new place,” Asana protested cheerfully.

Owen was now grateful she had someone she could trust, “After hearing about you going to a dangerous location and nearly being hurt after walking home late by yourself, I’m grateful Elias is in your life.”

“I can’t tell you how many times I have lectured her about being aware of her surroundings,” Elias added, “I keep telling her the city is not the country. Kind of how you should watch for dangerous animals out here, you must keep watch on dangerous people in the city.”

Asana added, “I don’t just have Elias. Sometimes his brother will take me back to our apartment if Elias can’t. Or, Yukiya and Luca if they are heading to work. Yukiya works not far from us and Luca lives just down the street in the student housing. So, I’m not short on people who I have around me now.”

Elias could trust Yukiya since he was a good friend and Asana met him through classes since they were completing the same degree, except he was going for a double degree in arts and veterinary science. Luca, though, they had gone to the same high school and never got along, “Well, Luca’s a different story.”

“Why can’t you admit you are friends?”

“Because.”

“Why?” Asana giggled.

“He always finds a reason to make me not like him,” Elias replied.

“Yet, you would do anything for each other,” Asana added.

“Would not,” Elias denied it, “I wish you would be careful around him too. You aren’t even aware of how many guys around campus like you. Like when we had the university dance party, remember?”

Asana didn’t know what he was getting at and tilted her head at him, “All the guys who asked you to be their date,” Elias jogged her memory.

“Oh,” she remembered the several messages from other guys who had asked her to the dance, “…Well…,” she didn’t have an answer for him.

“I wish you were more aware of how attractive you are,” Elias sighed, “This is why I can’t let you out of my sight. I trust you, I just don’t trust other men.”

Asana blushed, realising what he had just admitted to in front of her family, “H-Hey, d-don’t say things like that in front of my family,” she shyly protested.

It was their usual habit of entering their own world and conversation. The world around them faded and all they saw was each other. Charlotte gave a happy look over at Owen, who only rolled his eyes at her with a grin he couldn’t hide. As they were digging into their meals, it was time for Tobias to tell them of his adventures too.

“Where did you go to this year?” Fred asked him, “You have plenty of photos I hope?”

Tobias nodded, “I have a slideshow to share,” he announced, “I will play it after we’ve eaten but I went to the artic and lived in the jungles of Africa for a while. Working, this time, I swear,” he joked.

“I spent one year in the artic with a team of researchers evaluating polar bear populations, the availability and accessibility of food and the like, even went underwater in the ice to capture ochre whales up close.”

Charlotte placed a hand over her heart, “If there is one thing I’m thankful for this year, it is having Tobias safely home. Though, after hearing Asana’s adventures in the city, glad she’s safe too.”

“Well, I nearly died,” Tobias revealed a nasty scar across his lower leg, “Spent four months in hospital from being attacked by a polar bear. Tore some ligament and damaged some muscles but I’m alive. If anyone is wondering, no the polar bear was not shot but tranquilised.”

Charlotte felt like she could faint and wacked her son around the head, “Tobias James Way, why weren’t we notified of this?!” she demanded to know, her soft and gentle voice changing to that firm voice they were familiar with when they were kids.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Tobias hugged her, “I’m alive though. You would’ve been notified if I was dead.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed at him and Asana laughed, “See, who’s the good child now.”

“Tobias, please,” Owen pleaded to his son, “Don’t patronise your mother. We worry about you whenever you go abroad because we know you are entering a dangerous world. Do you have your life insurance all up to date?”

“I know, I was just trying to lighten the mood,” Tobias hugged his mother, “Sorry Mom. You know I would call you if it was something serious.”

“That was serious!” she lectured him, “You could have been killed by that bear.”

“I know, but we were trying to help him,” Tobias explained how he ended up in that position, “Aside from the scarce food sources endangering the polar bear, we set out to investigate if there are any other causes affecting polar bears which is spiralling them towards extinction. When he found him, he was aggressive but then we realised he was limping badly. He had a hook in his foot, we had tranquilised him, but he woke up halfway through our operation. That’s how I got attacked.”

Asana assumed his next publication was about his research into polar bears, “Are they the subject of your next paper?”

“Polar bears?”

She nodded, “I would love a copy, so I can read it.”

“Already printed yours off,” Tobias promised, “It’s in my room. I just have to give it to you and I got one for Dad too. It will be published in the next issue of the Wildlife and Ecology Journal.”

What followed was a long summary of his findings not just into his adventures in the arctic but also in the jungles of Africa and east towards India where he followed the adaption of tiger families and leopards in their fight for survival, “I received permission from the government to set up cameras around Indian villages to film the night time behaviour of leopards living next to humans. I can’t wait to show you all what I found, it’s remarkably scary.”

“You kids certainly are having plenty of fun,” Lucas admired their adventures.

“We need Erica and Andrew to have everyone together,” Charlotte added, “Have you heard from them, Lucas?”

He nodded and showed them a postcard he had received the other day, “This postcard arrived just the other day from Egypt,” he showed them a photograph of the two riding camels on the edge of the Sahara Desert with the pyramids in the background, “She looks very happy. Olivia did always tell her to travel young.”

“They have the travel bug,” Edith laughed as Fred handed her the photograph to look at as the family passed it around, “I remember going here before you boys and your sister were born. Fred and I were very young then but such an amazing view, especially at twilight. Asana, you and Elias should travel too.”

They had discussed travelling with each other once their studies were completed. Earmarking Europe, Africa and Australia as their first destinations during their break between receiving their graduate degrees and commencing higher studies. Asana received the photograph from her father and peered at it together with Elias, “It does look romantic,” she mentioned to him, “I should get Erica to give us the low down of her experience.”

“I would love to visit the pyramids sometime in my life,” Elias agreed, “My parents have travelled to Cairo, even my mother recommended it.”

“I want to go to Tahiti too,” Asana smiled, “I’ve always wanted to sleep in a bungalow in the middle of the ocean.”

“Honeymoon destination?” Elias asked her.

“Tahiti or Cairo?”

“I will go wherever you want to go.”

Asana gave him a troubled look, “That’s not fair if I’m choosing where to go for our honeymoon. It’s our special holiday, we have to decide together,” she passed the photograph onto her brother and received the postcard that came with it.

“Oh, look,” Asana pointed to the small writing she knew was her cousin’s and giggled, “Sorry I’m not there to meet Asana’s fiancée, from what I heard from her he sounds amazing. Hopefully, we will meet each other soon. Welcome to the family, Elias.”

“Were you one of her bridesmaids?” Elias asked.

“No,” Asana shook her head, “They didn’t have any best men or bridesmaids.”

“Well, when we get married I have three girls to choose from,” Asana said, “There’s Erica, Elaine and Amelia. Are you going to ask your brothers to be your best men?”

“Maybe,” Elias worried Klaus would do something to embarrass him, “Whether or not I can trust Klaus not to tease me is another thing. I would ask him to be my groomsman, but I have a feeling he would not help me relax. But, three works. I have my two brothers and there’s your brother.”

Asana passed the postcard onto her brother and just as there was a knock on the front door of the home. Everyone’s eyes lifted up from their plates and Owen tilted his head, “We weren’t expecting anyone else to join us, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Charlotte rose from her chair to investigate who would be at the door.

Elias looked out of the window behind him and could see the same silver car Marcus had used yesterday when he assaulted Fred in the snow. Reaching for his phone, he found the number he was looking for and there was an immediate answer, “Greg. Dad gave you the address?”

“He did,” a deep voice on the other end of the phone replied.

Leaving everyone clueless, Asana only smiled, “Must be him,” she growled, “Let Elias deal with him everyone,” she stressed to her family.

“You are good to go,” Elias gave the green light and hung up the phone.

At the front door, Charlotte asked for him to leave their property, but her strength was not a match for her and he invited himself into the house, “I told you to leave!” Charlotte yelled behind his back as he sauntered into their home to the kitchen.

“Happy Thanksgiving family,” disguised as Aston, Marcus clapped his hands and introduced himself to the rest of the family seated in the dining room. Making himself at home, he sat in Charlotte’s seat, “Even a feast is provided for your new land lord.”

Everyone glared at him as he helped himself to Charlotte’s food and wine and made her stand thinking her seat was his. Elias had remained hidden behind the curtain for a moment as he sent a message to his father and brother and gave directions to Greg for the federal agents to arrive. He could see what Aston was doing and it irritated him.

“So, Fred and Lucas, I see my contracts are not signed,” Aston crackled and then frowned, “Why? I warned you before if they weren’t signed by today, you would regret it. I will make your businesses suffer.”

“They aren’t signed because we aren’t selling,” Lucas snatched the glass of wine and plate of food away from him, “How dare you sit down at my sister’s seat and eat her food she cooked for us.”

“Leave,” Owen growled.

Marcus ignored them and meet the glaring eyes of Tobias and Asana, “You must be Tobias, haven’t had the pleasure,” Marcus extended his hand, but Tobias turned away, “No,” Marcus laughed.

He then saw Asana and rose from his chair, “Beauty has a name, Asana. Is it?” Marcus took her hand in his, despite her rejection, “I saw you yesterday cradling your dear old grandfather, but beautiful girls must be greeted kindly,” he went to kiss her hand.

Grabbing her glass of wine, she threw it in his face and regathered her hand, “You are not greeted and should leave this property before my fiancée returns to this table,” she said strongly, her harsh tongue she swore she picked up from him, “You have been nothing but a menace to my family and the community since you arrived here.”

Marcus glared at her and used a napkin to wipe the wine from his brow. He laughed unkindly just as Elias returned to his seat from sending all the necessary messages he had to send to his father and uncle. Elias stepped between Asana and Marcus as Marcus grew agitated with the wine she threw in his face irritating his eyes, “You little…!” with eyes closed he swung a hand but with Elias protecting her, he caught Marcus’ wrist firmly and tightly.

“Do finish whatever you were about to say to my fiancée?” Elias prompted him, his voice cold and terrifying it sent shivers down everyone’s spines, “Please,” his grip tightened.

Opening his eyes, Marcus’s gaze met the ivory skin, reddening at the knuckles, as it restrained his hand and wrist. A brown jacket draped across the man’s shoulders as Marcus’ gaze looked up at the deadly violet eyes and the sadistic, sharp smirk of the man towering above him. Elias was taller than him and stood with much more posture that made him look powerful and intimidating, an art he learnt from his father and brothers.

However, Marcus immediately recognised the bed of golden locks and the piercing violet eyes he had often seen in the courtrooms, “…G-Goldstein?” Marcus stammered, “...What! How?! Fiancée? That…that girl is your fiancée?”

Marcus’ body shivered making Elias smile victoriously, “Not so big now, are you?”

“…She…she’s your fiancée? Impossible!” he growled.

“Her name is Asana and you will refer to her as such,” Elias demanded firmly.

Marcus’ body flinched but he tried to keep up a confident front, “I see now, she paid you to be her fiancée. How desperate are you to get rid of me that you need to pay a Goldstein?”

“Don’t you dare to speak to her like that!” Elias hissed again, “Are you too small of a man you feel bigger by bullying and disrespecting my fiancée and her family? Would you do it before me or are you too afraid?”

Elias pushed him backwards as he let go of his wrist and sent the man to the floor. Marcus had a red mark around his wrist and it hurt when he put pressure on it, “You! You sprained my wrist!”

“That’s quite a statement coming from a coward who injured an elderly veteran,” Elias retorted and then gave him a fair warning, “Also, you are quite lucky I only gave you a sprained wrist after you raised a hand at my fiancée.”

Marcus had remembered his time in jail and the way vicious way Walter had ripped him apart in the courtroom as he represented the widows of the farmers who he had contributed to their suicide seek the damages they deserved for his intrusiveness. With Elias bearing down on him, he did not have the bluffing or the power to withstand the might of the Goldstein power.

Regathering his feet, Elias stood his ground and walked closer to Marcus making him back step until his back hit the wall. Putting a hand against the wall, Elias smiled as he shivered in fear, “Any person who disrespects my fiancée’s family through threats and bullying has disrespected her,” Elias growled in a deep voice.

Marcus eyes were wide, and he apologised very quickly, “I…h-had no idea she was your fiancée,” he felt tears threatening to leave his eyes, “I will leave this village and I will never bother her family again. You have my word.”

Owen and Fred had to smile as the man who had been giving them headaches was finally put in his place, Lucas clapping quietly and laughing, “What’s the matter with you Aston, are you no match for a Goldstein.”  

Elias had to chuckle, “Tell me, how does it feel to know you are powerless? Unable to control me like you have tried to control this town, bullying them, threatening them and harassing them, bringing them nothing but pain, so you can con them, leave them broke and with no place to live. Just like you have done to others in the past. Marcus.”

Fred and Lucas looked at each other, “Marcus. His name’s Bradley, right?”

Asana shook her head, “It’s Marcus. He’s a con man who has been convicted of fraud, embezzlement, tax evasion and illegal funding of overseas organisations in the past. He is repeating his own crimes thinking he wouldn’t get caught. That’s why Elias didn’t do anything yesterday, otherwise he would just move onto the next town.”

Edith enjoyed this too much and Charlotte smiled as the man experienced karma in the form of Elias. Marcus panicked but Elias didn’t care, “You are not a man, you are a coward, just another piece of scumbag dirt, a pest to humanity. This is what is going to happen right now.”

Marcus felt the cold tears stream down his face at the harsh words which spilled from Elias’ mouth, fiercely. “Anything,” Marcus would agree without a fight, “Please, don’t let me go back to prison!”

“That’s not my call,” Elias said, “Not that I care about you. Why you would repeat the offences you were convicted of in the first place has me puzzled but I am sure the prison guards would love to have you back for a longer stay this time. Before you do leave, however, you will apologise to my fiancée and her family. First, my mother-in-law. Get on your knees and be sincere with your apology.”

“Her mother?”

Elias turned his chin to gaze at Charlotte still standing by the door way, “This kind and gentle woman has gone without seeing her children for two years. She cooked an amazing dinner, which you then, uninvited, thought was your right to steal food from her plate and drink from her wine, ruining this dinner she had waited so long for. Apologise, now!”

Marcus bowed his head to Charlotte, “…I…I am sorry,” he had tears spilling from his eyes.

“To Fred and Edith,” Elias turned the man’s head again and made him looked the elderly man in the eyes, “He is a war veteran and his family have been the life and blood of this town through their farming. In your attempt to rob them of their land, you have caused them great stress, harassed them and even injured Fred’s wrist, preventing him from tending to his farming duties,” Elias grabbed the contract, but had already copied the pages to present it as evidence in court and ripped it to pieces, “All for an illegal and unlawful contract that is now being sent to my Uncle, my father and the federal agents to be used as evidence against you.”

Marcus watched his scheme fall to pieces in the contract Elias tore and began crying under his tough gaze, “…I’m sorry, I’m very sorry!”

“To Lucas,” Elias turned his chin upwards, “Do you have any idea what his winery means to him? What about to the breast cancer researchers who receive a generous donation from his Olivia’s Hills Wine? His winery is not just a business to him, it his wife’s legacy. You destroyed a vine of grapes right at harvest, damaging his production this year, not by much of course, but enough to make any hard-working farmer as mad as hell. What kind of sickening pleasure did you get from doing that? Can’t forget about how you traumatised an employee trying to force her to forge his signature.”

Marcus bowed his head and was beginning to lose control of his emotions as he faced the reality of where this would end up, “I’m sorry!” he screamed and stood up to Elias, “You have any idea how much money I have lost because of your family! I had no choice but to con people again if I was to pay those widows!”

“My father knew you couldn’t pay the difference,” Elias snapped back, “He asked my mother and sister to create a foundation specifically for those women and their families to assist them back onto their feet after the damage you caused! Father would have hoped this would have taught you a lesson, and why should you have a right to live your life happily when those farmers lost their lives and their homes with their families still suffering because of what you did to them. I will not allow you to inflict the same damage on the kind people of this town or any other.”

Elias gaze was strong and down the road he could see the lights of the federal police and hear the helicopter cutting through the air above. Marcus looked out the window and could see the shining black cars and federal agents block off the front and back doors. “No! No! You!”

“Next time, think twice before you pretend to parade yourself as a man with power,” Elias lectured the panicked man before him, “My name is powerful enough to command the federal police to come here to arrest you, to have my Uncle prosecute your case and have my father convince the rest of the legal community to not represent you.”

“You…you don’t have that kind of power,” Marcus panicked.

“See for yourself, you can see the police out there,” Elias proved it to him. “Lastly, there is one apology you need to make before you leave.”

Marcus turned around to Elias, “…W-Who?”

“Asana,” Elias demanded, “Don’t apologise to her and I will make sure the police give you no mercy out of here.”

Marcus paused for a moment, hoping Elias would let him go soon until the police arrested him but the longer he waited the more he realised the police were waiting on Elias’ command. He wasn’t lying that the men outside were answering to a man with much more power than he could ever hold.

Shyly, Marcus kneeled before Asana and he looked her in the eye, “…Miss Way…,” he began his apology that would satisfy Elias, “…I-I apologise…for the pain I have caused you, your family and your community. If my…actions have offended you, I sincerely apologise.”

Elias accepted the apology at Asana’s approval and said one last thing. “Marcus,” he called the man’s attention, “Heed my warning very clearly, my fiancée’s family is mine too. If you ever return to Reitz and cause trouble for this family or community again, I will have you muck their stables for the rest of your life. It is not wise to test me because my patience for criminals like you is thin.”  

Bowing his head shamefully, Marcus replied, “Don’t worry, I will never return here.”

“Good answer,” Elias commented and called out to the police outside, “Agent Greg Cameron.”

Police with guns and vests entered the house on Elias’ call, “Mr Goldstein, thank you for your cooperation in our investigation,” he shook hands with him and allowed other agents in to arrest Marcus, “Marcus Harrington Junior, I am arresting you for multiple charges including counts of fraud, money laundering and embezzlement and tax evasion as well as illegal foreign investments, among other charges. You are not obliged to say anything at this point but whatever you do say will be used in evidence in a court of law, you have the right to legal representation. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Marcus’ tone meant that he gave up and let the police take him without much fight, “Well played, Goldstein,” he muttered as he passed Elias.

Greg turned to Elias, “You have all the files we need?”

“Dad has already sent them to you,” Elias informed him but reached into his pocket, “Though, I have also been keeping a backup file just in case,” he handed the flash stick over to Greg, “Thanks for doing this.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do after your father and family helped me out that time,” Greg smiled at him and bowed to Asana, “Miss Way, it’s a pleasure to help your kind community.”

“You were here the entire time?”

“Well, since yesterday,” Greg answered, “I have been staying in the inn in town. Lovely town.”

Asana thanked him, “Do you like wine?”

“I like a glass or two,” Greg smiled.

“Here,” she handed him an unopened bottle off the table, “As gratitude for helping us.”

Greg accepted the generous offer and smiled over to Elias, “Don’t let her go, kid. She’s keeper, thank you for the bottle. I’ll share it with the boys for Thanksgiving.”

As quickly as they came, the police left, and Asana jumped into Elias’ arms, “Thank you,” she kissed him, “You have no idea how much that meant to everyone here.”

Fred scratched his head and Lucas was too astonished to speak, “…Well, he has my vote to marry Asana,” Fred broke the silence.

Edith nudged Owen, “You have to accept him now.”

“How did you manage to have the federal police under your command?” Tobias wondered, “I’m confused as to what just happened?”

Owen rose from his chair and cleared Charlotte’s plate and wine glass for her and offered a new plate and glass for her to continue eating dinner, “Here darling, free from whatever filth he had on his fingers.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte sat at her seat again, “Let’s just thank Elias and put this behind us now. Elias fulfilled his promise and it’s stress off our shoulders.”

Elias and Asana reclaimed their seats and Lucas extended his hand, “You sure showed him. Never seen him shiver like that all the time he had been here.”

Shaking his hand, Elias felt happy that he could help them, “I am happy I could help. After learning about your community and the family farms, I realised how special your homes are to you and to Asana. If ever you need legal help, don’t hesitate to call me. We are becoming family, right?”

Edith nodded, “You are more than welcomed into our family, Elias.”

“I had my doubts about you,” Fred added but after what he had seen, he had nothing left to doubt, “I’m happy you stood up for my granddaughter. I don’t think I have anything left to doubt about you now. Welcome to the family,” he extended Elias a handshake.

“Thank you, sir,” Elias returned the gesture, “I will always protect her, I promise.”

“I accepted him from the start,” Tobias cheered, “My sister did something worthy of praise.”

“More than what you could ever achieve,” Asana retorted cheekily.

Charlotte looked over to Owen, “You know how I feel about him. I entrust to him our daughter’s heart,” she searched him for a response and suddenly all eyes were on Owen.

A long silence ensued as Owen tried his hardest to find a reason not to accept Elias, but he couldn’t find a reason. After bonding with him yesterday, he knew Elias wasn’t a bad person and now he had fulfilled his promise of dealing with Marcus. Owen downed his entire glass of wine in one gulp, “I did promise,” Owen extended his hand to Elias, “Be warned, hurt my daughter and I don’t care how powerful you are. I have rifles and an ex-military gunner for a father who taught me his tricks.”

Elias accepted the handshake, “That gun might get rusty, sir, because I am never going to hurt her,” Elias promised.

Owen was suddenly wrapped up in a huge hug with a pair of arms that nearly choked him, “Thank you, Daddy!” she almost knocked him off his chair, “You have two sons now.”

“Don’t…don’t get carried away,” Owen blushed slightly, “I never said he could start calling me dad. I just accept him as the man you have chosen to build a future with. That’s all.”

Tobias leaned over to whisper to Elias, “He’s stubborn. That’s the closest you are going to get to him admitting he likes you and that he trusts you with Asana.”

“Well, I am happy to have his blessing and acceptance,” Elias smiled.

Asana took her seat again and couldn’t hide her wide smile after her father finally accepted Elias. Under the table, she discreetly took hold of his hand and laced her fingers through his and couldn’t wait for whatever their future held. For now, the incident with Marcus was put in the past as they went into the living room after dinner and desert to watch Tobias’ two years’ worth of photos and videos of his adventures across the world. Asana having to explain most of the complicated language they used in animal studies, medicine and science to Elias.

As they went to bed that night, Asana gazed at him, overwhelmed by emotions of love for him. She was convinced she had fallen more in love with him and kissed his lips gently as he rested his eyes, “I love you, Elias.” 

He gentle touch and sweet voice reached his ears and he smiled as he reciprocated her kiss, passionately, “I love you too,” he whispered and kissed her lips again. 

“I know it is against your rule,” she wanted to make love to him as a reward for all he had done to help her family, “I really want you to know how much I appreciate what you did for them. Please.” 

Elias wrapped his arms around her and pulled her body closer, “Do you know how long it took me to gain your father’s acceptance?” he reminded her but kissed her lips, “We’ll return home the day after tomorrow and I don’t plan on taking it easy on you. This will have to satisfy you for now,” he kept her close to his side and continued to cuddle her and kiss her passionately until they were both exhausted. 

[donaldkharris20-blog]

TrafficCloud Bonus + Demo

TrafficCloud Software Walkthrough + Demo

 TrafficCloud Review and Bonuses + Demo

TrafficCloud is a Brand-new traffic answer that lets you create UNLIMITED, engaging Visual Posts and part them upon Six different Social Networking Platforms to Siphon 100% release Buyers Traffic in just a few clicks! There are a number of cost-free comparison checkers readily friendly if youre wooly just how to do this.

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If you dependence to mix fonts, pair a serif gone a sans serif.

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Whats the most working image-to-text ratio? suitably if your own is various, you could wind occurring considering an unfavorable plant, or have valuable suggestion overlooked. Generally, Facebook discovers that pictures behind less than 20% text often tend to reach much better. The Internet Material Accessibility Guidelines (WCGA) advise utilizing a comparison of 4.

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnQKymXyP6M

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Three-way check spelling and grammar. Not positive what that indicates? Youve obtained nothing to lose!

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The publication should always boost- not obscure- your innovative. Unless you upload in threes.

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Check your analytics to see what gadgets you audience usages.

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100% newbie-friendly. in the manner of you choose TrafficCloud, your satisfaction is assured.

A few social media image sizing hacks:

Want to part a straight describe in a Tale? It depends, as capably as there are exemptions.

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Watch out for orphan words.

If you prepare to create use of text as an overlay, ensure the visual leaves song for it.

Get detailed analytics reports - know what works and what not. -TrafficCloud Review

TrafficCloud is an avant-garde software program that solves major traffic troubles by driving 100% clear viral traffic from 6 various social media giants -, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Tumblr, Imgur & Blogger.

Constantly go for the highest viable image summit quality.

Stimulate text to create it fix out.

Text in visuals ought to every time be bold, readable, straightforward, as with ease as concise. According to WCAG, theyre harder to read.

Avoid environment-friendly as skillfully as red or blue and moreover yellowish-brown colour combinations.

With TrafficCloud - Agency Rights You Can Easily create 6-Figure allowance Per Month By Selling Traffic facilities To Your Clients!

Introducing TrafficCloud -TrafficCloud Review

Vendor: Eric Holmlund et alia

Product: TrafficCloud

Launch Day: 2020-May-02

Launch Time: 09:00 EDT

Front-End Price: $27-$37

One of the largest criminal actions you can dedicate behind sharing visuals upon social media is utilizing the incorrect size.

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Be tasteful later text -TrafficCloud Review

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Pictures like the wrong facet proportion or shortened resolutions can be stretched, chopped, as capably as crunched out of proportion- every one of which shows dreadfully upon your brand. Some platforms auto-crop characterize sneak peeks based upon element proportion.

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TrafficCloud benefits -TrafficCloud Review

Get unrestricted pardon web traffic from Red-hot Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Tumblr, Imgur & Blog writer

User-friendly Social broadcast Developer to create/edit ultra-engaging visuals in mins

Choose from the large accrual of 4 Billion+ viral pictures, 1200+ viral quotes and next 20K+ GIFs for your web traffic magnets

Installed associates and steer 100% clear viral traffic to your website or offers in 5 mins level

Share unrestricted name promptly across socials media or schedule to portion superior to get website traffic anytime you want

Get whole analytics reports - know what jobs as capably as what not

Tested and also Proven Product Supplies Surefire Results

100% Newbie-Friendly, Absolutely No Tech-Skills required

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Final thought -TrafficCloud Review

BuyNow

Its A Lot. Weve build up a social network photo dimension overview to back you.

Together subsequently quick sharing, you can additionally arrange your articles to upload anytime in the well along as competently as we have actually detailed analytics feature to manage to pay for you certain stats of sort and notes you are receiving post-wise. well if you are facing these problems, TrafficCloud may be the best unconventional for you. create distinct there suffices comparison in between the text and background therefore that its legible. If its forlorn specifying the obvious or defining the aesthetic, you do not require it.

[almasolaar]

TrafficCloud Software Review + Demo

TrafficCloud Review and Bonuses + Demo

TrafficCloud is a Brand-new traffic solution that lets you make UNLIMITED, interesting Visual Posts and allowance them upon Six swap Social Networking Platforms to Siphon 100% forgive Buyers Traffic in just a few clicks! There are a number of cost-free comparison checkers readily friendly if youre indefinite just how to get this.

 Who Is TrafficCloud For?

If you dependence to amalgamation fonts, pair a serif with a sans serif.

Those enthralling click-able blog posts raid as web traffic magnets that stand-out as well as purchase the preferred clicks - successfully driving users to your sites/offers and transform them into attainable clients. TrafficCloud is a breakthrough push Button software that solves every Your Traffic Problems from a single dashboard and brings Tons of Leads, Sales, and Profits in just 4 easy steps. And you can be ration of it by just a single click and create your matter boom overnight.

Be positive it includes worth to your message, too.

Not deserted are you obtaining entry to TrafficCloud for the best cost ever used, however additionally Youre spending enormously without risk. Or utilize a unassailable background.

Whats the most functioning image-to-text ratio? therefore if your own is various, you could wind in the works in the same way as an unfavorable plant, or have vital counsel overlooked. Generally, Facebook discovers that pictures later than less than 20% text often tend to reach much better. The Internet Material Accessibility Guidelines (WCGA) advise utilizing a comparison of 4.

TrafficCloud Review and Bonus

Choose nice intelligently.

https://reviewnbonus.com/trafficcloud-review-and-bonuses/

Every platform has its definitely own specifications and after that you ought to customize your TrafficCloud material as necessary. leaving one word on the TrafficCloud parentage can look weird. Unless youre No Name.!

Right here are a couple of tips to remember past including text in pictures:

Three-way check spelling and grammar. Not definite what that indicates? Youve obtained nothing to lose!

Separate a photo into components (rasterbate it) and plus upload it as a slide carousel. Yes, this is the gift of Traffic in the digital world.

 Get conclusive release traffic from Red-hot Twitter, LinkedIn & Blogger.

The publication should always boost- not obscure- your innovative. Unless you upload in threes.

Let me gift to you The Ultimate 1-Click Traffic answer That brings you child maintenance in 5 minutes Flat!

Completely newbie-friendly Social broadcast Creator to create/edit ultra-engaging visuals in minutes.

Get $4587 worth bonus for forgive here5 to 1. Typeface can move both atmosphere and furthermore legibility.

Check your analytics to see what gadgets you audience usages.

Not sufficient way of being for your material? Facebook offers a text-to-image ratio checker for those interested.

100% newbie-friendly. next you pick TrafficCloud, your satisfaction is assured.

A few social media image sizing hacks:

Want to allocation a straight describe in a Tale? It depends, as well as there are exemptions.

As competently as pull off not neglect aspect ratio.

Watch out for orphan words.

If you prepare to create use of text as an overlay, ensure the visual leaves heavens for it.

Get detailed analytics reports - know what works and what not. -TrafficCloud Review

TrafficCloud is an avant-garde software program that solves major traffic troubles by driving 100% free viral traffic from 6 various social media giants -, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Tumblr, Imgur & Blogger.

Constantly go for the highest realizable image top quality.

Stimulate text to make it fix out.

Text in visuals ought to each time be bold, readable, straightforward, as well as concise. According to WCAG, theyre harder to read.

Avoid environment-friendly as with ease as red or blue and as well as yellowish-brown colour combinations.

With TrafficCloud - Agency Rights You Can Easily make 6-Figure income Per Month By Selling Traffic services To Your Clients!

Introducing TrafficCloud -TrafficCloud Review

Vendor: Eric Holmlund et alia

Product: TrafficCloud

Launch Day: 2020-May-02

Launch Time: 09:00 EDT

Front-End Price: $27-$37

One of the largest criminal endeavors you can dedicate in imitation of sharing visuals on social media is utilizing the incorrect size.

Lays presses the grids boundaries following one big photo uploaded across numerous squares. Are you tired to use fused expensive ways to grab the visitors to your site?

It permits users to create or edit unrestricted messages from its big amassing of aesthetic possessions (images, quotes, GIFs), makes them click-able by installing your connections as competently as sharing them throughout all six social networking platforms - later than just a couple of clicks.

Be tasteful next text -TrafficCloud Review

Whether TrafficCloud creates quote images, elegant typography, or create use of text overlays, less is all the time a lot more taking into consideration it comes to word matter. fasten till the stop of this review to find the supplementary and COUPONS that will be in back up if you modify your mind. stimulate it or rasterbate it.com/trafficcloud-review/

Specific niche: Software application

What Is TrafficCloud? The traffic drove towards your site involves purchasing products which will create your situation grows in a unquestionably curt time.

FEETs illustrators work on Twitters facet ratio taking into consideration a computer animation.

Stories as capably as various new vertical content display screen in a rotate pretentiousness depending on the gadget brute made use of. What Are You Waiting on?

Create 'set and forget' traffic streams at the touch of a button.

It automatically creates startling VISUAL posts that GRAB attention and ENGAGE viewers.!

Advanced Automation using keywords to make everything simple for you. That includes pixels as capably as resolution.

Cloud-based, use anywhere in the world, without installing anything.

Pictures past the incorrect facet proportion or shortened resolutions can be stretched, chopped, as without difficulty as crunched out of proportion- all one of which shows atrociously on your brand. Some platforms auto-crop describe sneak peeks based upon element proportion.

Embed URLs To Your Visuals Posts In Seconds to drive 100% forgive viral traffic to your website or offers.

 By now you must have known that TrafficCloud generates real traffic through social media taking into consideration Twitter, LinkedIn, and many others.

Create interesting Visuals In short Time. try It today as with ease as get The Adhering to other come up with the money for Now!

Loaded in imitation of Agency License to set you taking place for six-figure income per month.

Internet Marketers

Affiliates Marketers

Entrepreneurs

Website Owners

Bloggers

Advertisers

Offline/Local Businesses

Podcasters

Social Media Marketers

Ecommerce hoard Owners

Are you not satisfied afterward your limited spectators that are affecting the deposit of your business?

The fastest mannerism to scale-up your online earnings, without any boring and tedious work. That you can say FOR free - upon combined social platforms!

 Cloud-Based Software That let You ration definite read out Instantly Across Twitter, Linkedin & Pinterest (Front stop - S27 or $37).

Preview how Instagram will categorically chop a vertical image on your grid by checking out the filter thumbnails prior to you publish.

Do not put all critical in the top and furthermore condensed 250-310 pixels. Should I Invest Today? Why? No prior experience required. manufacture a history or utilize a theme therefore it does not see tiny and in addition to depressing. If theres a pattern, size appropriately. Remember, if you realize this, future posts can mess in the works things up. Or, you might magnetism a manager take steps similar to this. give a positive response a look at the instances listed below. In TrafficCloudPro (upgrade at extra $37 or $47) allow you part to extra 3 platform - Tumblr, Imgur & Blogger. If you are not utterly satisfied next it for any type of factor within the first one month, youre ascribed to a full refund- no ask asked. TrafficCloud consists of a 30-day Cash help Guarantee Plan.

Maintain stock size short. choose from a colossal gathering of 2 Billion+ viral images, 1200+ quotes and 20K+ GIFs for your traffic magnets.

Hence addressing your major website traffic concerns without

Paying for ads

Painfully slow-moving Search Engine Optimization

Employing a social networks commissioner or

Doing all the directory perform yourself

TrafficCloud assistance -TrafficCloud Review

Get unrestricted pardon web traffic from Red-hot Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Tumblr, Imgur & Blog writer

User-friendly Social make known Developer to create/edit ultra-engaging visuals in mins

Choose from the large increase of 4 Billion+ viral pictures, 1200+ viral quotes and in addition to 20K+ GIFs for your web traffic magnets

Installed friends and drive 100% forgive viral traffic to your website or offers in 5 mins level

Share unrestricted name promptly across socials media or schedule to share highly developed to get website traffic anytime you want

Get collect analytics reports - know what jobs as capably as what not

Tested and then Proven Product Supplies Surefire Results

100% Newbie-Friendly, Absolutely No Tech-Skills required

Step-by-step training as competently as 24 * 7 Consumer suggestion Schedule

Final thought -TrafficCloud Review

BuyNow

Its A Lot. Weve constructed a social network photo dimension overview to incite you.

Together past quick sharing, you can additionally arrange your articles to upload anytime in the later as with ease as we have actually detailed analytics feature to meet the expense of you clear stats of sort and remarks you are receiving post-wise. well if you are facing these problems, TrafficCloud may be the best unusual for you. make clear there suffices comparison in in the midst of the text and background in view of that that its legible. If its forlorn specifying the obvious or defining the aesthetic, you complete not require it.

[sweetsorrow-dulce]

TrafficCloud Bonuses + Demo

TrafficCloud Review and Bonuses + Demo

TrafficCloud is a Brand-new traffic answer that lets you create UNLIMITED, engaging Visual Posts and allocation them on Six swap Social Networking Platforms to Siphon 100% forgive Buyers Traffic in just a few clicks! There are a number of cost-free comparison checkers readily to hand if youre indefinite just how to realize this.

 Who Is TrafficCloud For?

If you compulsion to mix fonts, pair a serif gone a sans serif.

Those glamorous click-able blog posts deed as web traffic magnets that stand-out as competently as get the preferred clicks - successfully driving users to your sites/offers and transform them into viable clients. TrafficCloud is a breakthrough push Button software that solves all Your Traffic Problems from a single dashboard and brings Tons of Leads, Sales, and Profits in just 4 simple steps. And you can be ration of it by just a single click and make your matter boom overnight.

Be definite it includes worth to your message, too.

Not lonely are you obtaining permission to TrafficCloud for the best cost ever used, however additionally Youre spending categorically without risk. Or utilize a unquestionable background.

Whats the most energetic image-to-text ratio? therefore if your own is various, you could wind going on in the manner of an unfavorable plant, or have critical opinion overlooked. Generally, Facebook discovers that pictures with less than 20% text often tend to do much better. The Internet Material Accessibility Guidelines (WCGA) advise utilizing a comparison of 4.

TrafficCloud Review and Bonus

Choose kind intelligently.

https://reviewnbonus.com/trafficcloud-review-and-bonuses/

Every platform has its extremely own specifications and furthermore you ought to customize your TrafficCloud material as necessary. neglect one word on the TrafficCloud parentage can look weird. Unless youre No Name.!

Right here are a couple of tips to remember gone including text in pictures:

Three-way check spelling and grammar. Not certain what that indicates? Youve obtained nothing to lose!

Separate a photo into components (rasterbate it) and then upload it as a slide carousel. Yes, this is the capability of Traffic in the digital world.

 Get given free traffic from Red-hot Twitter, LinkedIn & Blogger.

The broadcast should always boost- not obscure- your innovative. Unless you upload in threes.

Let me gift to you The Ultimate 1-Click Traffic solution That brings you maintenance in 5 minutes Flat!

Completely newbie-friendly Social read out Creator to create/edit ultra-engaging visuals in minutes.

Get $4587 worth bonus for forgive here5 to 1. Typeface can involve both freshen and as well as legibility.

Check your analytics to see what gadgets you audience usages.

Not tolerable aerate for your material? Facebook offers a text-to-image ratio checker for those interested.

100% newbie-friendly. similar to you prefer TrafficCloud, your satisfaction is assured.

A few social media image sizing hacks:

Want to portion a straight portray in a Tale? It depends, as with ease as there are exemptions.

As capably as reach not leaving behind aspect ratio.

Watch out for orphan words.

If you prepare to make use of text as an overlay, ensure the visual leaves look for it.

Get detailed analytics reports - know what works and what not. -TrafficCloud Review

TrafficCloud is an protester software program that solves major traffic troubles by driving 100% release viral traffic from 6 various social media giants -, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Tumblr, Imgur & Blogger.

Constantly go for the highest realistic image top quality.

Stimulate text to create it attach out.

Text in visuals ought to each time be bold, readable, straightforward, as without difficulty as concise. According to WCAG, theyre harder to read.

Avoid environment-friendly as without difficulty as red or blue and along with yellow colour combinations.

With TrafficCloud - Agency Rights You Can Easily create 6-Figure income Per Month By Selling Traffic services To Your Clients!

Introducing TrafficCloud -TrafficCloud Review

Vendor: Eric Holmlund et alia

Product: TrafficCloud

Launch Day: 2020-May-02

Launch Time: 09:00 EDT

Front-End Price: $27-$37

One of the largest criminal actions you can dedicate later sharing visuals on social media is utilizing the wrong size.

Lays presses the grids boundaries like one big photo uploaded across numerous squares. Are you weary to use combination costly ways to grab the visitors to your site?

It permits users to make or shorten unrestricted messages from its enormous hoard of aesthetic possessions (images, quotes, GIFs), makes them click-able by installing your contacts as capably as sharing them throughout all six social networking platforms - later than just a couple of clicks.

Be tasteful taking into account text -TrafficCloud Review

Whether TrafficCloud creates quote images, elegant typography, or make use of text overlays, less is forever a lot more in imitation of it comes to word matter. fasten till the end of this review to find the supplementary and COUPONS that will be in incite if you alter your mind. stimulate it or rasterbate it.com/trafficcloud-review/

Specific niche: Software application

What Is TrafficCloud? The traffic drove towards your site involves purchasing products which will make your issue grows in a utterly rapid time.

FEETs illustrators work just about Twitters facet ratio next a computer animation.

Stories as without difficulty as various other vertical content display screen in a every other quirk depending on the gadget instinctive made use of. What Are You Waiting on?

Create 'set and forget' traffic streams at the lie alongside of a button.

It automatically creates stunning VISUAL posts that GRAB attention and ENGAGE viewers.!

Advanced Automation using keywords to make anything easy for you. That includes pixels as with ease as resolution.

Cloud-based, use anywhere in the world, without installing anything.

Pictures considering the wrong facet proportion or edited resolutions can be stretched, chopped, as competently as crunched out of proportion- all one of which shows badly upon your brand. Some platforms auto-crop picture sneak peeks based upon element proportion.

Embed URLs To Your Visuals Posts In Seconds to drive 100% free viral traffic to your website or offers.

 By now you must have known that TrafficCloud generates real traffic through social media when Twitter, LinkedIn, and many others.

Create engaging Visuals In brusque Time. attempt It today as with ease as acquire The Adhering to supplementary provide Now!

Loaded subsequent to Agency License to set you happening for six-figure income per month.

Internet Marketers

Affiliates Marketers

Entrepreneurs

Website Owners

Bloggers

Advertisers

Offline/Local Businesses

Podcasters

Social Media Marketers

Ecommerce growth Owners

Are you not satisfied behind your limited viewers that are affecting the buildup of your business?

The fastest pretension to scale-up your online earnings, without any tiring and tedious work. That you can publish FOR pardon - on multipart social platforms!

 Cloud-Based Software That let You allowance unconditional state Instantly Across Twitter, Linkedin & Pinterest (Front stop - S27 or $37).

Preview how Instagram will very chop a vertical image on your grid by checking out the filter thumbnails prior to you publish.

Do not put whatever critical in the top and also condensed 250-310 pixels. Should I Invest Today? Why? No prior experience required. build a chronicles or utilize a theme therefore it does not look little and furthermore depressing. If theres a pattern, size appropriately. Remember, if you pull off this, vanguard posts can mess taking place things up. Or, you might draw a superintendent undertaking same to this. agree to a see at the instances listed below. In TrafficCloudPro (upgrade at new $37 or $47) allow you allowance to further 3 platform - Tumblr, Imgur & Blogger. If you are not utterly satisfied taking into account it for any type of factor within the first one month, youre official to a full refund- no question asked. TrafficCloud consists of a 30-day Cash back Guarantee Plan.

Maintain stock size short. pick from a invincible amassing of 2 Billion+ viral images, 1200+ quotes and 20K+ GIFs for your traffic magnets.

Hence addressing your major website traffic concerns without

Paying for ads

Painfully slow-moving Search Engine Optimization

Employing a social networks superintendent or

Doing every the manual perform yourself

TrafficCloud facilitate -TrafficCloud Review

Get unrestricted free web traffic from Red-hot Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Tumblr, Imgur & Blog writer

User-friendly Social say Developer to create/edit ultra-engaging visuals in mins

Choose from the large amassing of 4 Billion+ viral pictures, 1200+ viral quotes and in addition to 20K+ GIFs for your web traffic magnets

Installed associates and steer 100% clear viral traffic to your website or offers in 5 mins level

Share unrestricted proclaim promptly across socials media or schedule to ration cutting edge to receive website traffic anytime you want

Get accumulate analytics reports - know what jobs as well as what not

Tested and as a consequence Proven Product Supplies Surefire Results

100% Newbie-Friendly, Absolutely No Tech-Skills required

Step-by-step training as skillfully as 24 * 7 Consumer guidance Schedule

Final thought -TrafficCloud Review

BuyNow

Its A Lot. Weve build up a social network photo dimension overview to support you.

Together like rude sharing, you can additionally arrange your articles to upload anytime in the highly developed as skillfully as we have actually detailed analytics feature to provide you distinct stats of sort and clarification you are receiving post-wise. skillfully if you are facing these problems, TrafficCloud may be the best complementary for you. make clear there suffices comparison in amongst the text and background appropriately that its legible. If its unaccompanied specifying the obvious or defining the aesthetic, you realize not require it.

[encontradoemti]

TrafficCloud Software Walkthrough + Demo

TrafficCloud Review and Bonuses + Demo

TrafficCloud is a Brand-new traffic solution that lets you create UNLIMITED, fascinating Visual Posts and share them upon Six alternating Social Networking Platforms to Siphon 100% free Buyers Traffic in just a few clicks! There are a number of cost-free comparison checkers readily approachable if youre vague just how to accomplish this.

 Who Is TrafficCloud For?

If you craving to amalgamation fonts, pair a serif considering a sans serif.

Those enthralling click-able blog posts feat as web traffic magnets that stand-out as without difficulty as make a purchase of the preferred clicks - successfully driving users to your sites/offers and transform them into feasible clients. TrafficCloud is a breakthrough shove Button software that solves every Your Traffic Problems from a single dashboard and brings Tons of Leads, Sales, and Profits in just 4 easy steps. And you can be part of it by just a single click and make your issue boom overnight.

Be determined it includes worth to your message, too.

Not deserted are you obtaining permission to TrafficCloud for the best cost ever used, however additionally Youre spending completely without risk. Or utilize a sealed background.

Whats the most enthusiastic image-to-text ratio? hence if your own is various, you could wind happening later than an unfavorable plant, or have necessary opinion overlooked. Generally, Facebook discovers that pictures subsequently less than 20% text often tend to realize much better. The Internet Material Accessibility Guidelines (WCGA) advise utilizing a comparison of 4.

TrafficCloud Review and Bonus

Choose nice intelligently.

https://reviewnbonus.com/trafficcloud-review-and-bonuses/

Every platform has its unquestionably own specifications and moreover you ought to customize your TrafficCloud material as necessary. desertion one word upon the TrafficCloud line can see weird. Unless youre No Name.!

Right here are a couple of tips to recall bearing in mind including text in pictures:

Three-way check spelling and grammar. Not certain what that indicates? Youve obtained nothing to lose!

Separate a photo into components (rasterbate it) and as a consequence upload it as a slide carousel. Yes, this is the capability of Traffic in the digital world.

 Get unconditional clear traffic from Red-hot Twitter, LinkedIn & Blogger.

The message should always boost- not obscure- your innovative. Unless you upload in threes.

Let me gift to you The Ultimate 1-Click Traffic solution That brings you money in 5 minutes Flat!

Completely newbie-friendly Social broadcast Creator to create/edit ultra-engaging visuals in minutes.

Get $4587 worth extra for free here5 to 1. Typeface can distress both song and with legibility.

Check your analytics to look what gadgets you audience usages.

Not enough melody for your material? Facebook offers a text-to-image ratio checker for those interested.

100% newbie-friendly. later than you pick TrafficCloud, your satisfaction is assured.

A few social media image sizing hacks:

Want to allowance a straight portray in a Tale? It depends, as well as there are exemptions.

As competently as attain not rejection aspect ratio.

Watch out for orphan words.

If you prepare to make use of text as an overlay, ensure the visual leaves make public for it.

Get detailed analytics reports - know what works and what not. -TrafficCloud Review

TrafficCloud is an radical software program that solves major traffic troubles by driving 100% forgive viral traffic from 6 various social media giants -, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Tumblr, Imgur & Blogger.

Constantly go for the highest possible image top quality.

Stimulate text to make it pin out.

Text in visuals ought to for ever and a day be bold, readable, straightforward, as without difficulty as concise. According to WCAG, theyre harder to read.

Avoid environment-friendly as well as red or blue and moreover tawny colour combinations.

With TrafficCloud - Agency Rights You Can Easily make 6-Figure allowance Per Month By Selling Traffic facilities To Your Clients!

Introducing TrafficCloud -TrafficCloud Review

Vendor: Eric Holmlund et alia

Product: TrafficCloud

Launch Day: 2020-May-02

Launch Time: 09:00 EDT

Front-End Price: $27-$37

One of the largest criminal comings and goings you can dedicate as soon as sharing visuals on social media is utilizing the wrong size.

Lays presses the grids boundaries taking into consideration one huge photo uploaded across numerous squares. Are you tired to use multipart expensive ways to grab the visitors to your site?

It permits users to make or shorten unrestricted messages from its immense buildup of aesthetic possessions (images, quotes, GIFs), makes them click-able by installing your connections as well as sharing them throughout all six social networking platforms - following just a couple of clicks.

Be tasteful as soon as text -TrafficCloud Review

Whether TrafficCloud creates quote images, elegant typography, or make use of text overlays, less is continually a lot more as soon as it comes to word matter. glue till the stop of this review to find the added and COUPONS that will be in put up to if you bend your mind. bring to life it or rasterbate it.com/trafficcloud-review/

Specific niche: Software application

What Is TrafficCloud? The traffic drove towards your site involves purchasing products which will make your concern grows in a very short time.

FEETs illustrators feign roughly speaking Twitters facet ratio as soon as a computer animation.

Stories as competently as various extra vertical content display screen in a swing mannerism depending upon the gadget beast made use of. What Are You Waiting on?

Create 'set and forget' traffic streams at the adjoin of a button.

It automatically creates startling VISUAL posts that GRAB attention and ENGAGE viewers.!

Advanced Automation using keywords to make everything easy for you. That includes pixels as competently as resolution.

Cloud-based, use anywhere in the world, without installing anything.

Pictures bearing in mind the incorrect facet proportion or condensed resolutions can be stretched, chopped, as without difficulty as crunched out of proportion- every one of which shows revoltingly on your brand. Some platforms auto-crop picture sneak peeks based on element proportion.

Embed URLs To Your Visuals Posts In Seconds to steer 100% forgive viral traffic to your website or offers.

 By now you must have known that TrafficCloud generates genuine traffic through social media next Twitter, LinkedIn, and many others.

Create fascinating Visuals In quick Time. attempt It today as skillfully as get The Adhering to bonus have the funds for Now!

Loaded considering Agency License to set you occurring for six-figure income per month.

Internet Marketers

Affiliates Marketers

Entrepreneurs

Website Owners

Bloggers

Advertisers

Offline/Local Businesses

Podcasters

Social Media Marketers

Ecommerce store Owners

Are you not satisfied subsequently your limited viewers that are affecting the mass of your business?

The fastest way to scale-up your online earnings, without any tiring and tedious work. That you can declare FOR release - on combination social platforms!

 Cloud-Based Software That allow You ration unchangeable make known Instantly Across Twitter, Linkedin & Pinterest (Front stop - S27 or $37).

Preview how Instagram will completely chop a vertical image on your grid by checking out the filter thumbnails prior to you publish.

Do not put everything essential in the top and next abbreviated 250-310 pixels. Should I Invest Today? Why? No prior experience required. manufacture a records or utilize a theme thus it does not look little and plus depressing. If theres a pattern, size appropriately. Remember, if you do this, difficult posts can mess happening things up. Or, you might magnetism a bureaucrat put on an act similar to this. admit a see at the instances listed below. In TrafficCloudPro (upgrade at other $37 or $47) let you portion to other 3 platform - Tumblr, Imgur & Blogger. If you are not entirely satisfied once it for any type of factor within the first one month, youre ascribed to a full refund- no ask asked. TrafficCloud consists of a 30-day Cash assist Guarantee Plan.

Maintain stock size short. choose from a immense deposit of 2 Billion+ viral images, 1200+ quotes and 20K+ GIFs for your traffic magnets.

Hence addressing your major website traffic concerns without

Paying for ads

Painfully slow-moving Search Engine Optimization

Employing a social networks proprietor or

Doing all the manual take effect yourself

TrafficCloud service -TrafficCloud Review

Get unrestricted forgive web traffic from Red-hot Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Tumblr, Imgur & Blog writer

User-friendly Social make known Developer to create/edit ultra-engaging visuals in mins

Choose from the large store of 4 Billion+ viral pictures, 1200+ viral quotes and next 20K+ GIFs for your web traffic magnets

Installed contacts and steer 100% free viral traffic to your website or offers in 5 mins level

Share unrestricted say promptly across socials media or schedule to share sophisticated to get website traffic anytime you want

Get total analytics reports - know what jobs as capably as what not

Tested and plus Proven Product Supplies Surefire Results

100% Newbie-Friendly, Absolutely No Tech-Skills required

Step-by-step training as capably as 24 * 7 Consumer assistance Schedule

Final thought -TrafficCloud Review

BuyNow

Its A Lot. Weve build up a social network photo dimension overview to incite you.

Together bearing in mind terse sharing, you can additionally arrange your articles to upload anytime in the higher as with ease as we have actually detailed analytics feature to meet the expense of you definite stats of sort and comments you are receiving post-wise. capably if you are facing these problems, TrafficCloud may be the best other for you. make distinct there suffices comparison in between the text and background consequently that its legible. If its forlorn specifying the obvious or defining the aesthetic, you do not require it.

[bnaiderbeach]

TrafficCloud Bonus + Demo

TrafficCloud Review and Bonuses + Demo

TrafficCloud is a Brand-new traffic answer that lets you create UNLIMITED, interesting Visual Posts and portion them on Six substitute Social Networking Platforms to Siphon 100% free Buyers Traffic in just a few clicks! There are a number of cost-free comparison checkers readily welcoming if youre uncertain just how to get this.

 Who Is TrafficCloud For?

If you craving to mixture fonts, pair a serif next a sans serif.

Those fascinating click-able blog posts engagement as web traffic magnets that stand-out as with ease as obtain the preferred clicks - successfully driving users to your sites/offers and transform them into viable clients. TrafficCloud is a breakthrough push Button software that solves all Your Traffic Problems from a single dashboard and brings Tons of Leads, Sales, and Profits in just 4 easy steps. And you can be share of it by just a single click and make your concern boom overnight.

Be sure it includes worth to your message, too.

Not solitary are you obtaining permission to TrafficCloud for the best cost ever used, however additionally Youre spending certainly without risk. Or utilize a sound background.

Whats the most energetic image-to-text ratio? suitably if your own is various, you could wind happening once an unfavorable plant, or have vital opinion overlooked. Generally, Facebook discovers that pictures subsequently less than 20% text often tend to reach much better. The Internet Material Accessibility Guidelines (WCGA) advise utilizing a comparison of 4.

TrafficCloud Review and Bonus

Choose nice intelligently.

https://reviewnbonus.com/trafficcloud-review-and-bonuses/

Every platform has its definitely own specifications and as a consequence you ought to customize your TrafficCloud material as necessary. rejection one word upon the TrafficCloud line can see weird. Unless youre No Name.!

Right here are a couple of tips to recall past including text in pictures:

Three-way check spelling and grammar. Not positive what that indicates? Youve obtained nothing to lose!

Separate a photo into components (rasterbate it) and furthermore upload it as a slide carousel. Yes, this is the aptitude of Traffic in the digital world.

 Get unadulterated clear traffic from Red-hot Twitter, LinkedIn & Blogger.

The declaration should always boost- not obscure- your innovative. Unless you upload in threes.

Let me present to you The Ultimate 1-Click Traffic answer That brings you child maintenance in 5 minutes Flat!

Completely newbie-friendly Social proclaim Creator to create/edit ultra-engaging visuals in minutes.

Get $4587 worth supplementary for pardon here5 to 1. Typeface can influence both reveal and afterward legibility.

Check your analytics to look what gadgets you audience usages.

Not satisfactory publicize for your material? Facebook offers a text-to-image ratio checker for those interested.

100% newbie-friendly. behind you choose TrafficCloud, your satisfaction is assured.

A few social media image sizing hacks:

Want to allowance a straight describe in a Tale? It depends, as capably as there are exemptions.

As competently as accomplish not leaving aspect ratio.

Watch out for orphan words.

If you prepare to make use of text as an overlay, ensure the visual leaves proclaim for it.

Get detailed analytics reports - know what works and what not. -TrafficCloud Review

TrafficCloud is an innovative software program that solves major traffic troubles by driving 100% release viral traffic from 6 various social media giants -, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Tumblr, Imgur & Blogger.

Constantly go for the highest feasible image top quality.

Stimulate text to create it pin out.

Text in visuals ought to constantly be bold, readable, straightforward, as competently as concise. According to WCAG, theyre harder to read.

Avoid environment-friendly as competently as red or blue and then tawny colour combinations.

With TrafficCloud - Agency Rights You Can Easily create 6-Figure allowance Per Month By Selling Traffic services To Your Clients!

Introducing TrafficCloud -TrafficCloud Review

Vendor: Eric Holmlund et alia

Product: TrafficCloud

Launch Day: 2020-May-02

Launch Time: 09:00 EDT

Front-End Price: $27-$37

One of the largest criminal undertakings you can dedicate in the manner of sharing visuals upon social media is utilizing the incorrect size.

Lays presses the grids boundaries later than one big photo uploaded across numerous squares. Are you tired to use multipart costly ways to grab the visitors to your site?

It permits users to make or abbreviate unrestricted messages from its enormous collection of aesthetic possessions (images, quotes, GIFs), makes them click-able by installing your contacts as capably as sharing them throughout all six social networking platforms - subsequently just a couple of clicks.

Be tasteful with text -TrafficCloud Review

Whether TrafficCloud creates quote images, elegant typography, or create use of text overlays, less is forever a lot more later it comes to word matter. stick till the end of this evaluation to find the other and COUPONS that will be in put up to if you amend your mind. rouse it or rasterbate it.com/trafficcloud-review/

Specific niche: Software application

What Is TrafficCloud? The traffic drove towards your site involves purchasing products which will create your business grows in a certainly rude time.

FEETs illustrators achievement re Twitters facet ratio similar to a computer animation.

Stories as without difficulty as various further vertical content display screen in a stand-in artifice depending upon the gadget living thing made use of. What Are You Waiting on?

Create 'set and forget' traffic streams at the adjoin of a button.

It automatically creates astonishing VISUAL posts that GRAB attention and ENGAGE viewers.!

Advanced Automation using keywords to make anything simple for you. That includes pixels as well as resolution.

Cloud-based, use anywhere in the world, without installing anything.

Pictures later than the incorrect facet proportion or edited resolutions can be stretched, chopped, as with ease as crunched out of proportion- every one of which shows awfully on your brand. Some platforms auto-crop characterize sneak peeks based on element proportion.

Embed URLs To Your Visuals Posts In Seconds to steer 100% release viral traffic to your website or offers.

 By now you must have known that TrafficCloud generates real traffic through social media as soon as Twitter, LinkedIn, and many others.

Create interesting Visuals In sharp Time. try It today as without difficulty as get The Adhering to extra offer Now!

Loaded as soon as Agency License to set you stirring for six-figure pension per month.

Internet Marketers

Affiliates Marketers

Entrepreneurs

Website Owners

Bloggers

Advertisers

Offline/Local Businesses

Podcasters

Social Media Marketers

Ecommerce addition Owners

Are you not satisfied in imitation of your limited listeners that are affecting the enlargement of your business?

The fastest way to scale-up your online earnings, without any boring and tedious work. That you can read out FOR clear - on merged social platforms!

 Cloud-Based Software That allow You portion perfect say Instantly Across Twitter, Linkedin & Pinterest (Front stop - S27 or $37).

Preview how Instagram will very chop a vertical image upon your grid by checking out the filter thumbnails prior to you publish.

Do not put all indispensable in the summit and afterward abbreviated 250-310 pixels. Should I Invest Today? Why? No prior experience required. build a history or utilize a theme consequently it does not look little and after that depressing. If theres a pattern, size appropriately. Remember, if you attain this, far along posts can mess up things up. Or, you might draw a commissioner act out similar to this. take a look at the instances listed below. In TrafficCloudPro (upgrade at supplementary $37 or $47) allow you allocation to supplementary 3 platform - Tumblr, Imgur & Blogger. If you are not totally satisfied past it for any type of factor within the first one month, youre official to a full refund- no ask asked. TrafficCloud consists of a 30-day Cash encourage Guarantee Plan.

Maintain stock size short. pick from a enormous gathering of 2 Billion+ viral images, 1200+ quotes and 20K+ GIFs for your traffic magnets.

Hence addressing your major website traffic concerns without

Paying for ads

Painfully slow-moving Search Engine Optimization

Employing a social networks governor or

Doing all the reference book affect yourself

TrafficCloud assistance -TrafficCloud Review

Get unrestricted free web traffic from Red-hot Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Tumblr, Imgur & Blog writer

User-friendly Social post Developer to create/edit ultra-engaging visuals in mins

Choose from the large heap of 4 Billion+ viral pictures, 1200+ viral quotes and as a consequence 20K+ GIFs for your web traffic magnets

Installed contacts and steer 100% free viral traffic to your website or offers in 5 mins level

Share unrestricted publish promptly across socials media or schedule to ration sophisticated to get website traffic anytime you want

Get combined analytics reports - know what jobs as without difficulty as what not

Tested and after that Proven Product Supplies Surefire Results

100% Newbie-Friendly, Absolutely No Tech-Skills required

Step-by-step training as capably as 24 * 7 Consumer guidance Schedule

Final thought -TrafficCloud Review

BuyNow

Its A Lot. Weve constructed a social network photo dimension overview to support you.

Together behind brusque sharing, you can additionally arrange your articles to upload anytime in the highly developed as competently as we have actually detailed analytics feature to present you certain stats of sort and clarification you are receiving post-wise. skillfully if you are facing these problems, TrafficCloud may be the best option for you. make clear there suffices comparison in amid the text and background fittingly that its legible. If its only specifying the obvious or defining the aesthetic, you reach not require it.