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violetsmoak · 4 years

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Pieces of April [5/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Warning(s): Past Jason/Isabel, kidfic, minor canon character death (pretty sure you can guess who, not either of our boys!), I’ll add more warnings/tags as I think of them.

Canon-Compliance: Takes place in between the two RHATO series, so after Roy and Kori and before Artemis and Bizarro.

Author’s Note: And now, for a change in POV!

First Chapter

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Of course, right after Jason leaves, the baby wakes up.

And starts to wail.

Tim freezes, all of his reflexes seemingly dissolved by the unyielding sound that such a tiny creature should not be able to produce.

Whatever Jason said about him being calm, in actuality, he’s completely freaked out over this whole baby thing.

Over the whole Jason’s baby thing.

This whole situation is just not in his area of expertise, nor does it require any of his previous training. And he can’t really see a situation where, on the infinitesimal chance Jason decides to give up vigilantism and become a stay-at-home-dad, he’d ever ask Tim of all people to babysit.

But then, right now, Jason’s not here.

The nurse from earlier returns, offering him a sympathetic look.

“It’s about time for her next feeding,” she tells him. “Do you want us to take her, or would you like to do it?”

Take her, please, Tim wants to say but bites his tongue.

He wasn’t talking out of his ass when he acknowledged that babies needed to be held. Human contact is good (even if that wasn’t basic medical knowledge, his own semi-neglected childhood can attest to that) and he all but volunteered himself for this to help Jason. He should at least do what he can.

Holding down the fort apparently includes holding down the baby…

“If you could just show me…?” he suggests, a sheepish smile pasted on and hopefully hiding his inner unease.

As expected, the woman’s expression turns into a mixture of amused and charmed. She chatters, motioning for him to take the chair Jason was sitting in before; Tim sits and lets her arrange the baby in his arms, showing him a light, gentle rocking motion to try to calm her.

“I’ll be right back with her formula,” the nurse says, though Tim barely hears her over the furious wailing.

He squints down at the scrunched-up face, trying to figure out how he ended up in this situation. Also, what exactly possessed him to call Jason his partner?

Because it’s the first believable thing to come to mind that didn’t involve spontaneous resurrections?

And technically, it’s even true. Sometimes.

And he was worried about Jason.

They may not be brothers, but they are family, and with that comes a certain awareness of each other. He knew the minute he saw Jason outside the dive bar that he was freaked out. He decided he would help him then, and he’s not about to back out now even if things have become way more complicated than anticipated.

The nurse returns with the bottle of formula, and as soon as she’s explained how to properly position and feed the baby—apparently there’s more to it than just sticking a synthetic nipple in her mouth and waiting for her to chug—and prevent gas, she vanishes again.

To allow them “bonding” time.

Not what I thought I’d be doing when I got up this morning…

Tim’s done the baby thing before—sort of. But Steph’s daughter was bigger when she was born. Jason’s is tiny, and Tim is half expecting her to break into pieces before his eyes. Whatever manufactured confidence he had before, had been in the moment—and mostly for Jason’s benefit.

It had been imperative to get the infant out of the other man’s arms while he was clearly on the verge of a panic attack. Especially since no one ever knows how a cornered Jason Todd might react.

Not that I think he’d ever hurt an infant, but he doesn’t exactly process shock the way normal people do. It never hurts to have contingencies.

As he watches the baby guzzle her formula with surprising gusto, Tim finds himself going over a mental list of things that have to be dealt with if they’re going to get through life’s latest curveball more or less intact.

Paperwork for the baby. Arrangements for the mother’s body.

Isabel Ardila.

He knows her name only from the files as the woman Jason was seeing prior to the Joker’s last assault on the bats. She was caught in the crossfire, forcibly dosed with heroin to play on Jason’s past traumas, and following her recovery, ended things with Jason.

Or Jason ended things with her, Tim’s not sure. He never asked and he doesn’t intend to.

However it ended, clearly there was enough estrangement that she didn’t bother to tell Jason he was a father. It’s a decision he can, unfortunately, imagine the reasons for, even if he’s not sure he agrees with them.

Not like we can do anything about that decision now, though.

The baby slowly goes limp in his arms, and Tim has a brief moment of irrational, paranoid panic—has she been drugged?—before realizing she’s just fallen back asleep.

“Right. Because that’s a normal thing that babies do,” he murmurs to himself, and carefully maneuvers himself over to her crib to put her down on her stomach, like he’s seen in countless television commercials.

Then, uncertain, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and does a quick internet search, balking at the sheer amount of SIDS related articles, and scoops her up again to reposition her on her back.

Should probably tell Jason about that when he gets back…

Assuming Jason comes back.

Or even wants his help.

Which, Tim decides, he’ll offer anyway. Though that may mean playing to his strengths more than anything, preparing for every eventuality and having a series of back-up plans.

He highly doubts Jason’s thinking of any of that right now.

Phone in hand Tim begins typing quickly, pulling up tabs in his search engines for whatever concern pops into his head as he reads.

He suspects Jason is too uneasy about the whole situation to want to keep the baby, so Tim’s going to have to research adoption agencies through official and unofficial channels.

Open or closed, not sure what option he’d go with.

And then, there’s always the small chance he will keep his child. It’s a possibility that seems as likely as Bruce’s sudden predilection for joining the Russian ballet, but stranger things have happened in the family.

He skims through several forums and advice blogs for how to care for a newborn, makes a list of important supplies they might need in the immediate future and forwards it to Tam.

It’s several minutes later that his phone chimes, notifying him of her list of replies.

- Why the hell did you send me a list with diapers?

- Is this for a baby?

- Omg, did you kidnap a baby?

- Is that a thing that happens?

-First ninjas, now baby-napping?

Tim sighs and rolls his eyes. Normally he’d find her bemused and slightly-panicked responses a little amusing, but he doesn’t have the energy to go into details, even if Jason hadn’t sworn him to secrecy.

-A friend of mine has an emergency. Drop everything off at my apartment, please.

There’s a beat, another chime, but Tim doesn’t get a chance to read the message as his screen suddenly switches. The air is filled with a generic ringtone that Tim hastily mutes, eyes flicking to the baby and back to his screen. The number flashes ‘Unknown’, but Tim recognizes the number from earlier that day.

He stands, wanders away from the crib to answer quietly. “What is it, Harper?”

“Jay called me,” the older man says without preamble. “Told me everything. About the kid, about Isabel.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees quietly. “I’d say shock is an understatement.”

“No shit.” He sighs. “Listen, I talked him down as much as I could, but the rest is on you.”

“What? Why?”

“He says you’ve been helping him.”

“For now, until someone more qualified comes along,” Tim retorts, implication heavy in his voice.

Roy catches it because he lets out a bitter laugh. “Sorry to burst your bubble, bird boy, but that ain’t gonna be me.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve been in literally the same situation.”

“And I can’t right now. So I need you to be there for him.”

“He needs his friend,” Tim argues. “And he’s made very clear I’m not one of those.”

“Then you'd better become one fast, because I can’t.”

“Why the—” Tim’s eyes flick to the infant, and he can’t help giving in to the impulse to censor himself, lowering his voice, “—heck not?”

“Because I’m in a bad place right now,” Roy snaps. “I’m not in a good way for being around a kid, okay? I…” He pauses, like he’s weighing something, and then exhales. “I…fell off the wagon again.”

Tim's stomach sinks.

“Roy…”

“Don’t tell Jaybird,” Roy orders. “I just…I need to sort myself out before I can be any kind of help for him. I show up there now, I’ll just add to his problems.”

“But—”

“This is you being tagged in, okay? Don’t fuck it up.”

There’s a harsh click in Tim’s ear, leaving him listening incomprehensively to the dial tone for several seconds.

“Are you…are you kidding me?!” he hisses after a moment, only just refraining from throwing his phone across the room in frustration.

He didn’t realize before Roy’s call just how much he was counting on someone else to step in and take over in the emotional support department.

I’m not cut out for this. This sort of thing…it should be Dick. Or Alfred.

He spends the next hour once again reviewing what he did to get roped into all this.

When Jason comes back—and something inside Tim unknots in relief that he did come back—he’s as ashen-faced as before. This time, though, there’s a determined set to his shoulders.

They stand and stare at each other in silence for a good five minutes before Tim realizes Jason’s waiting for him to speak first.

Right. Tagged in. Let’s do this. Ease into it.

“So, what are you going to do?”

Tim winces.

Yeah, that wasn’t exactly subtle.

Jason doesn’t seem to notice the awkward, though.

“No idea,” he replies heavily, leaning against the doorjamb and letting his head thunk lightly against it.

“Social Services is obviously an option.”

“No way in hell,” Jason snaps, straightening up and looking fierce. “I don’t trust them. And you can’t tell me with all the Wayne resources you’ve got access to, we can’t find something better.”

Tim expected that. He might not have had the exact same harrowing experiences with foster care as Jason did, but his very brief stint left him with a hint of that same disillusion with the system.

It’s not something I’d wish on any kid, least of all Jason’s.

“We can look into it. Organize the best possible adoption scenario without dealing with Social Services. There are actually a lot of couples in the community who would be willing to adopt.”

“No. This kid isn’t growing up anywhere near capes or masks or stuff like that.”

Okay, that’s understandable. It also makes it less likely he intends to keep her.

“Whatever we do, it will take some time,” Tim cautions. “Placing a child with a family isn’t going to be as easy as sticking someone in Witness Protection.”

Jason snorts and shakes his head. “Only you would think that’s easy.”

“So, now that that’s figured out—what are you going to do once the tests are finished?” Tim asks, focussing on the practical. “I don’t find a family within the next day or so, you’re going to need to bring her somewhere. Assuming you’re adamant about keeping the rest of the Family out of this?” That receives only narrowed eyes in response. “Stupid question, sorry. But she’s going to have to stay somewhere until then. I wouldn’t recommend leaving her here at the hospital, for a number of reasons.”

Jasons frowns, thoughtful. Then,

“I’ll keep her for now,” he decides with a heaviness that Tim suspects is caused more by fear than dislike of children. “Until we find a better place for her. Some family that won’t mind doing this in private.”

“Okay,” Tim nods. “On that note—where exactly will you take her?”

Jason falters, looking like he’s not entirely sure what to say to that.

“I…my safehouses aren’t exactly babyproofed.”

“I don’t think that’s an issue until they start crawling,” Tim replies, trying for humor but the very idea sparks another flash of panic in Jason’s eyes. He’s looking at Tim now with something dangerously close to expectance, and a realization hits Tim.

He doesn’t want to be alone with this.

And it’s the fact he’s never seen Jason look so vulnerable that sparks a truly terrible idea.

I’m so going to regret this.

“I have a spare bedroom,” he offers, earning a sharp glance from Jason. “Just until you wrap your head around this and figure out the next move.”

He half expects Jason to scoff, or laugh in his face or say something insulting.

It’s decidedly worrying when the only thing that happens is Jason’s shoulders slump and he nods.

Jason’s shoulders slump, and he nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be…good. Thanks, Drake.” He pauses, considering something, and then adds, “Tim.”

Next Chapter

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#jaytim #jaytim fanfiction #babyfic #accidental baby acquisition #enemies to lovers #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Baby!Todd #coping with big news #eventual slash

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

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Have Your Cake [And Eat It Too] (Part 1)

Killian can't seem to stop moving. It's a nervous habit. He's a little nervous. Because they've been waiting forever and he's been waiting forever and he really just wants them to be a family. Officially.

Emma needs to keep moving. To win. She's very competitive. And she's needs a distraction. Because they've been waiting forever and trying a bit longer and she really just wants them to be a family. Officially

Or: Another quasi Out of the Frying Pan sequel with the legal system and Kitchen Stadium.

Word Count: Like 8.5 KILLIAN’S GOT PATERNAL FEELINGS, OK Rating: A pretty low T, but with kissing! AN: Oh hai, internet! I have a lot of fic in my docs that’s been sitting there for months (I wrote this in July, ha) and I’ve just decided to...start posting it. This is another Out of the Frying Pan two-shot sequel-type thing and timeline-wise, it kind of happens during The Anti-Pumpkin Brigade. Like after Henry helps Killian bake, but before it ends. This will make sense once you read it, I swear. Thanks for reading if you do.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll, with Emma’s POV on Friday.

His tie felt like it was going to strangle him.

He kept tugging on it, yanking and twisting and it wasn’t really helping that whole breathing thing, but Killian figured that was a lost cause as soon as they’d been told to wait in the hallway. They weren’t given a timetable.

That felt unfair.

But that might have just been whatever his tie was doing to his windpipe.

He’d definitely knotted it too tightly.

And he hadn’t even knotted it – Emma had, far surer fingers that morning and they’d shook a little, but it was less than him and they were both nervous and Killian couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d taken a deep breath. It might have been before they got in the car.

Regina had ordered them a car.

Killian licked his lips, feet following the same path they’d been marching for however long they’d been in that hallway and he could feel Emma’s eyes on him, gaze following every turn and twist and there was another set of footsteps just behind him, like they were trying to imitate him or something decidedly familial and only a little overwhelming.

He turned, a quick twist of his hips and a far too loud squeak of the dress shoes he’d actually gone out and bought a week before and it was a miracle they hadn’t run into each other before, so it only served that they ran into each other then. Henry’s body was impossibly solid when it collided with Killian’s front, Emma’s gasp sounding impossibly loud in that hallway once they both stopped pacing.

Killian groaned and Henry let out a noise that might have be some kind of grunt, forehead colliding with several different body parts. He, somehow, managed to step on Killian’s right foot as well, an elbow digging into something that may have been his spleen or possibly one of his kidneys, but he didn't need both of those so that seemed like a moot point.

And fatherhood probably required some kind of kidney sacrifice.

Killian would have been willing to go that far if it got them out of the hallway with a concrete answer. Or, at least, let him take off his goddamn tie.

But all of that felt kind of extreme and his arm wrapped around Henry’s middle on instinct and maybe that was more important than invasive surgery.

“God, why are you so immobile?” Henry mumbled, not lifting his head away from Killian’s collarbone. They’d both taken their jackets off at some point, and Emma was wearing one of them, the other tossed in the corner of the bench they’d both ignored for the better part of the last hour.

They’d been in that hallway for an hour.

“You were following me, kid,” Killian argued. He could feel Henry’s answering laugh as easily as he heard it, and it felt wrong to hope that there was a smile there too, but he knew there was and that happened pretty consistently.

Family Court should consider that.

There should have been a teenage-smile quota or something that sounded way better than that did. Killian was obviously going insane. He was going to blame his tie.

And how the walls in that hall seemed to be closing in.

Henry was still standing on his foot.

“Small space,” Henry muttered.

“We should have asked for multiple hallways.” “So we could all pace. I know Mom wants to, too.” Emma snapped her head up at the accusation, eyes bright and smile only slightly incredulous, but Killian knew she wanted to pace too and she really was absolutely heinous at lying. That was probably good for Family Court too.

She wouldn’t have lied about how much Henry wanted this.

“I’m sitting here,” Emma said, waving a hand through the air like that proved her point. Henry hummed, lower lip stuck out slightly and disbelief practically radiating off him. She clicked her tongue. “And it’s a miracle neither one of you sustained any broken bones.” “I don’t think either one of us is quite that brittle, Swan,” Killian countered.

Emma’s mouth twitched, and he hadn’t said it for anything except the habit and the instinct it absolutely was, but it wasn’t quite right either and they hadn’t gotten married to help make all of this easier, but it did help and being married was...kind of fantastic.

Actually.

There were probably better words for it, more detailed adjectives and things that didn’t sound quite as juvenile as fantastic, but Emma’s fingers had absolutely shook when she tied his tie that morning and Killian couldn’t really breathe and the teenager still standing in the same few feet of space as him desperately wanted them all to be a family.

Officially.

Family Court should consider that as well.

Because it really was just a technicality. That apartment three blocks away from The Jolly was their home in the way home was supposed to be, with dirty dishes in the sink that consistently drove Emma insane and her shoes in a pile behind the door that consistently drove Killian insane and they regularly just closed Henry’s bedroom door so they didn’t have to acknowledge what was going on behind it. But there were also Sunday morning breakfasts and handwritten recipes hanging on the refrigerator and Henry had come up with a color-coded scheme on the calendar in the kitchen, with filming schedules and cooking schedules and soccer practices.

He’d made varsity that fall.

Killian baked every home game.

“I’m not suggesting either one of you has brittle bones,” Emma laughed, smile still on her face and Killian shifted his arm away from Henry’s middle to wrap around his shoulders.

Killian arched on eyebrow. More instinct or something. Possibly making sure Henry made that noise he consistently made whenever he saw Killian and Emma kissing in the kitchen of a variety of restaurants and apartments and near his painstakingly accurate schedule. “That’s certainly what it sounded like,” Killian said. “What do you think, kid?” “Totally what it sounded like,” Henry agreed. His hair moved when he nodded, far too long and it was always too long and maybe that’s why they’d been in that hallway for so long.

If that was why they were in that hallway, Killian was actually going to break something.

Possibly the bench Emma was sitting on.

That looked almost brittle.

“It wasn’t,” Emma sighed. She slumped slightly, shoulders dropping and the expression on her face was somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“I played soccer, Mom.” “I know, I was there.” “And my foot is like...stronger now or something.” Emma tilted her head, smile shaking a bit and Killian felt like someone had throw ice in the pit of his stomach and let it slink up his spine and maybe they should have mentioned that in the hearings too. Because he’d totally lost his mind.

Henry had only just gotten off the crutches a few weeks before, a high ankle sprain that looked decidedly awful when it happened, the sound of his cry echoing in Killian’s head for days after. It had happened quickly, everything in soccer happened quickly, but he and Emma had been sitting in uncomfortable metal bleachers and suddenly Henry was on the turf and clutching his foot and the kid who’d been trying to defend him was waving for a trainer.

Killian had tried to get on the field.

Emma had tried to get on the field.

And they’d both paced in a different hallway that night, what felt like several thousand x-rays and discussions with a doctor who promised it’d be fine because he’s young and healthy and Henry had mostly been upset he’d miss the run at a city title.

That made some of the ice in Killian’s stomach melt, but he’d never felt quite that terrified and they’d been in the middle of this whole process and he’d been certain someone would see it as a reason he was unfit and Emma’s laugh was watery when he told her exactly that. And then promised it was the opposite.

“You tried to kill that trainer,” she’d said. “I think that qualifies as pretty dominant dad status.”

Henry asked for pecan pie the next day and hopped into the kitchen on one foot, perching on the counter despite Emma’s objections and he knew the recipe by heart.

“I really don’t think that’s how it works,” Killian said, tightening his arm around Henry’s shoulders. He made a teenage noise.

“Nah, nah, I think it is. Like...I’ve got ankle immunity now.” “Those words don’t even make sense together.” “I think you’re jealous of my ankle immunity.” “You didn’t break it, kid,” Emma reasoned, but that just earned her another teenage noise and a wave of both hands and Killian’s smile felt as natural as the breathing he was supposed to be doing.

Henry tugged on his tie, twisting his wrist and loosening the knot until the fabric was hanging around his neck instead. “Super ankle,” he said. “Back with a vengeance, more powerful than anything or ever before.”

They were not talking about ankles, super otherwise, anymore.

Emma stared at them for a moment, lips pursed and Killian swore she was trying to read both of their minds at the same time. He was breathing easier now.

That was weird.

Henry finally moved off his foot. He didn’t move away from his side, though.

That was less weird.

“Are we all collectively freaking out then?” Killian asked lightly, Henry sagging next to him. His head landed painfully on his shoulder, but Killian didn’t make any noise and Emma’s eyes were far too glossy to be entirely comfortable.

She nodded. “I have no idea how bones actually work. I mean Henry drinks milk right?”

“I’m standing right here,” Henry muttered. “What does milk have to do with anything?” “Calcium.” “Is an...element?” “Why is that a question?” “Because I honestly don’t know.”

Killian laughed, some of the tension disappearing from his shoulders and his fingers tapped out a quick rhythm on the fabric of Henry’s shirt. “Definitely an element,” he said. “Right?” “You asking for confirmation makes me think you don’t know either.” “Mary Margaret would probably know,” Emma shrugged.

“I think it’s an element,” Killian answered. “Picture the periodic table or something. Is that what it’s called?” Henry laughed. “You don’t know either, do you?” “I didn’t major in science.” “But like...cooking. Is science. Kind of.” “The kind of is the very important part.” “And he was way too busy being a history nerd,” Emma added. Killian blinked, not entirely prepared for this deep dive into humor as a means of coping with worrying, but that was probably for the best and maybe if the judge heard them laughing he’d hurry the fuck up.

Or something.

“That history knowledge has led to several well received high school papers,” Killian pointed out.

“I’m still standing here,” Henry muttered, but he sounded like he was trying to stop himself from laughing too loudly. “And don’t say it like that, Killian, it makes it sound like you wrote them.” “You wrote them.” “I know I did, but I just want the record to show that I did.” “Very official.” “I mean, play to your setting or something, right?” “I don’t think that’s the phrase you were looking for at all.” Henry deflated slightly, chewing on his lower lip in a move that was all Emma, but he ran his hand through his hair when he looked up and that was all Killian and, honestly, the judge should have just been watching this.

It was like family in flashing, neon letters that were also bolded and underlined and there were probably a few exclamation points.

“Let’s just agree that cooking is not a science,” Emma said. “At least not in a...science way.” Henry’s whole body twisted when he started to laugh, and Killian wasn’t sure he could support his weight while trying to keep his own legs upright, but an admirable effort was made and that felt like a step in the right direction. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Ok, that’s not what I meant at all,” she hissed. “You know what I meant.” “I really don’t, Mom.” “Swan, can you please explain to the jury how science is a science, but not in a real science way?” Killian asked, the words barely audible when his voice shook so much and Henry buried his face in his shoulder blade again.

Emma stuck her tongue out. “You guys are jerks. And collective history nerds as a unit.”

“Ok, but seriously,” Henry continued. “What is a not science way?” “You want to get grounded?” “No, but I really want to know what a not science way is. And to point out that Killian tried to make a law joke. So really we’re all incredibly lame.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Killian said. “That was funny. And timely.” “And you’re freaking out.” Killian swallowed back his laughter and slightly out of place retort because he’d been living in that apartment for years and he and Emma were married and this was a family that knew each other in a way he’d never believed was possible.

God, he wanted this so much.

“Not really,” he lied, but his eyes flickered to Emma and he could almost hear Henry’s disagreement.

“It’s going to be fine,” Emma whispered. “And it’s…” “Fine,” Killian echoed. “It’s going to be fine. No matter what happens.”

“And we can totally ask Mary Margaret about calcium. It’s got to be an element. Right? What else could it be?” “Why are we all looking for constant confirmation?” Henry asked. He hadn’t actually lifted his head off Killian’s shoulder yet, a heavy, but almost pleasant weight there and the walls had stopped moving at some point.

It probably had something to do with the whole breathing easier thing.

Maybe Killian should have taken his tie off too.

He wasn’t sure if the judge would like that.

God, there was a judge.

“That’s a loaded question, kid,” Emma muttered, scrunching her nose. Henry made a different noise, not quite teenage, but a bit more understanding and one of his knees bent when he tried to slump the same way she had. It was harder while he was still standing up.

“Yeah, I know. I just...I mean we did everything right, right?” “More confirmation,” Killian murmured. It worked a scoff out of Emma and half a smile and he couldn’t actually see Henry, but if asked to go back under oath he would have promised he felt his smile as well. Even through his shoulder.

“You know what I mean,” Henry grumbled.

“I do. And we did. Plus some.” “David absolutely did not have to wear dress whites,” Emma said. The smile on her face was as honest as it had been all day.

“That’s still not what they’re called, love.” “I know, but I really love seeing that little pinch in between your eyebrows when you get annoyed.” Killian laughed, resting his chin on the top of Henry’s head. Emma’s smile widened. “That’s diabolical. And maybe even a little rude.”

“You get very defensive about dress whites.” “It’s the principle of the thing.” “Please,” Emma laughed. “Tell me some more about the principle of it. I’d love to hear it.” Killian sighed, but there wasn’t much frustration to the sound and Henry laughed against his side again. “Is there principle to it?” Henry asked. “Isn’t it just...the rules of the army or something?” Emma threw her whole head back when she laughed, an arm wrapped tightly around her waist so she didn’t slide off the bench and Killian resisted the urge to circle the conversation back around to brittle bones. That felt redundant. And he was far too busy being charmed by his own wife and family and, like, his entire life in general.

He’d lost track of how long they’d been in that hallway.

“Oh now you’ve done it,” Emma said. She glanced at Killian, fingers toying with the ring on her left hand and that felt a little like cheating, but it had been a very involved conversation with far too many metaphors and he kind of wanted to keep flirting. “At least he didn’t say Coast Guard.” “Aw, c’mon, I wouldn’t do that,” Henry shouted. “That’s just...disrespectful.” Emma nodded, a look of complete disbelief on her face and something that felt a little like the expression she made when Henry promised there’d be parents at several different weekend parties. “Sure it is, kid.” “It is! Killian, I need you to back me up on this.” “On how much better and more efficient the Navy is than the Coast Guard?” Killian asked.

“Yes, exactly that. And to ignore my Army joke.” “Ah, it was a joke then?” “A better one than Mom’s, honestly.” “Grounded,” Emma yelled, throwing her arm into the open space in front of her like pointing made it more official.

“The joke didn’t even make sense,” Killian added.

Henry blinked. He didn’t seem all that worried about being grounded. Maybe that was why the judge was taking so long. “Wait, why? Whose? Mine? Or Mom’s?” “Either or.” “Why not?” Emma asked.

“It’s winter.” “And?” “And,” Killian repeated. “You wear dress whites in the summer, Swan. Because they’re lighter and...summery.” Henry made a noise, something that sounded like a laugh and a snort and Emma’s nose was probably going to stay scrunched for the remainder of their hallway encampment. “We are all lacking in some pretty basic knowledge, aren’t we? Is summery even a word?”

“You know what I meant. So, really, everyone was wrong. Dress blues in the winter, which is exactly what David would have worn if he wore an actual uniform to his testimony.” “Do we not know what he wore?” “I didn’t think to ask, honestly.” “Yeah, that’s fair.” “Generous of you,” Killian mumbled, but Henry laughed again and he kept tugging on his hair and that had to mean something.

Maybe they’d make pecan pie later.

They had a party to go to later – some kind of no matter what happens extravaganza that Mary Margaret and Ariel had come up with when they first got the letter about this and the day and one of them had cried or maybe both of them had cried and that might have been the last time Killian had taken a deep breath.

“Ah, whatever,” Emma mumbled. “I’m still not hearing anything about the principle of dress whites and how you’re the only one who gets ‘em.” “I think it had something to do with that previously discussed history degree actually and several rather large ceremonies and ships.”

“Mmmhm.”

He kept drifting back to oaths and Bibles and right hands lifted in the air, but Killian figured that had something to do with the ridiculous amount of time they’d spent in that courthouse and the teenager plastered to his side and how much they all wanted in some great big overwhelming way and he swore Emma’s eyes got greener when they met his.

He smirked.

“I think you’ve got quite a few opinions on dress whites, love,” Killian muttered. He pressed the tip of his tongue onto the edge of his mouth, appreciating the slight rush of color in his wife’s cheeks and that was a very appealing sentence.

“I never said that.” “It was implied.” “That��s not how this place works,” Emma objected, waving her hand again like the far too ornate ceiling above them proved her point. "Gross,” Henry groaned, dragging out the word until it sounded like testimony in some kind of federal case. They were in the wrong courthouse for that. “This is super gross.” “Ah, but this is what you signed up for, my boy.” The words were out of Killian’s mouth before he’d considered them entirely – vaguely possessive and even more honest and he hadn’t been breathing all that consistently, but his tie suddenly felt even tighter and he was only a little concerned about the oxygen levels in that hallway. His eyes practically flew to Emma, her mouth open slightly and it didn’t appear she was breathing much either, but she blinked and there were tears on her cheeks and a wobble to her lower lip that was only kind of disconcerting because it ensured Killian started thinking about her lower lip.

Killian tried to swallow, to get rid of the wad of whatever that had taken up residence in the back of his throat, but everything felt a little impossible and he desperately needed to blink.

The room felt like it was starting to spin.

That might have been the Earth – flying off its axis with less gravity involved or something else that was far too scientific for a family of TV personalities with absolutely no knowledge of the periodic table of elements.

And the door opening down the hallway sounded impossibly loud.

“Swan-Jones?” a voice called, far too confident and far too even and Killian didn’t look away from Emma, certain the moment he did he’d realize every single inch of him was actually on fire. That was probably just his lungs.

Oxygen was important.

Science.

He’d started reciting recipes in his head at some point.

He was going to bake pecan pie and then eat the entire, goddamn thing on his own.

The voice was also wearing heels and a cautious smile when she moved into the hallway, expression unreadable when she took in the scene in front of her, which, really, was fair because Henry’s tie was still hanging around his neck and Killian’s face was probably blue from a lack of air and Emma was still wearing his suit jacket, one of her feet halfway out of her shoe.

They’d done everything right.

David definitely hadn’t worn dress blues to his testimony.

But Robin had promised it went great and Mary Margaret probably burst into song during hers and they had written statements and they were famous. And that was kind of an unfair reason for any of this to work when plenty of not-famous people deserved to get their adoptions recognized by the state of New York as well, but Killian was almost willing to be a selfish asshole if it meant he got to call Henry his in a way that didn’t seem totally strange.

“Swan-Jones,” the woman repeated, not a question that time and Killian hoped he nodded. He couldn’t actually feel his head move though, so maybe he hadn’t. Emma definitely hadn’t.

“Yeah,” Henry said quickly, when it was clear that neither of the adults in this situation were going to do anything. “That’s us.” The woman smiled, encouraging and hopeful and Emma’s eyes widened. “We’re ready for you.”

“Cool, thanks.”

He started walking as soon as the heels did, only stopping when he realized Killian and Emma were still frozen and his suit jacket was on the ground. His eyebrow did something absurd. Killian had more or less resigned to simply dying of oxygen deprivation in the hallway.

“So, you guys going to move or, like, what’s your deal?” Henry asked, tugging on the hair behind his ear and Emma let out a strangled noise. Her hand found Killian’s as soon as she stood up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma stammered. “Of course we are.” “Should we all put our hands in or something? Go team?” “We’re not doing that,” Killian said.

“Good, because that would have been totally lame.” Killian nodded, next to Henry in a few quick steps and Emma’s hand tightened or his hand tightened, but it didn’t matter because they all kind of moved as one unit when they walked towards the room at the far end of the hall and that felt a bit like a sign.

It all happened fairly quickly.

He didn’t remember it happening that quickly when he was a kid, but he’d been a kid and Killian assumed the justice system had evolved in the last few decades, but he refused to linger on any of those thoughts when he was so goddamn happy.

Emma cried.

Henry might have cried. Killian absolutely cried, blinking quickly and breathing almost evenly, holding onto the very solid teenage body that collided with his front when a judge he couldn't remember the name of told them congratulations or good luck or something. It all sounded a bit like white noise, a buzzing in the back of his consciousness that wasn’t nearly as important as the feeling of his heart – possibly expanding or bursting through his chest.

Henry’s arms wrapped all the way his middle, face pressed into Killian’s chest and he wouldn’t have minded if the kid stepped on both his shoes.

His kid.

“I knew it’d work,” Henry said, barely loud enough for Killian to hear, but he did and there was probably something to that. Some kind of emotional reason or adrenaline and he really needed to stop thinking about science he didn’t understand.

Killian held on tighter, like he was trying to preserve the moment or push it into every single dark and dismal part of his brain that still inexplicably existed, that was still worried this whole thing was some kind of long con. He squeezed his eyes closed, letting his cheek rest on Henry’s head and there was hair everywhere, muttered voices in the background that were probably saying something important, but neither one of them let go.

That was way more important.

Emma nearly knocked her chair over when she moved, ignoring a different official voice, and it took a few moments, but Killian moved his arm and kissed the top of her hair and it sounded like someone took a picture.

“Figured it was a good moment,” the voice from the hallway explained, shrugging slightly with half a smile on her face.

Killian’s laugh felt like it shook its way out of him, blinking even more. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It absolutely was.” They did, eventually, sign more paperwork and listened to more voice and Killian briefly wondered if it was safe for all of their necks to move that much, but they just kept nodding and smiling and wiping away tears and neither he nor Emma could seem to move more than a few feet away from Henry.

He made the picture his lock screen in the cab uptown.

Henry nearly climbed over Killian when they stopped in front of The Jolly, sprinting into the restaurant with cries of I’m starving on his lips, and it wasn’t quite that cold out yet, but it looked like it might snow later and Emma’s breath caught when he wrapped his arm around her waist.

She slammed into him.

“Your bones, Swan,” Killian mumbled, but he hadn’t stopped smiling in hours or days and probably wouldn’t for the rest of his life and there were still tears in her eyes.

“You were the one who started yanking on things.”

“There was no yanking.” “No?” “No. There was...just….” She lifted her eyebrows when he trailed off, mouth twisting as she tried to do the mind reading thing again and her hands were warm when they rested on his chest. He’d never actually put his suit jacket back on, the fabric hanging off Emma’s shoulders with her own coat in her hand. He hoped she couldn’t feel whatever his heart was doing.

That was a losing battle though.

He was more than prepared to admit defeat.

“You’re usually far more articulate, Lieutenant,” Emma muttered, tilting her head up so her hair fell down her back and he wished his laugh wasn’t so unsteady.

“I’m going to go ahead and blame it on several different and rather large emotions.” “Good ones?” He leaned back at the tone of her voice, still a little cautious and a lot concerned and Emma bit her lip when she stared at the minimal amount of space between them. “Swan,” Killian started, tucking his thumb under her chin. “Emma, love, c’mon, look at me.” It took a moment, but she finally lifted her gaze and not kissing seemed absurd and a little irresponsible. He wasn’t irresponsible.

He was someone’s dad.

Officially.

Killian had to bend his knees to reach her, arm falling back to her waist to tug her against him like occupying the same few inches of space would make this even more official than it already was and one of her feet did land on his.

They started laughing – joyful and easy, the air around them mingling together because neither one of them had been willing to actually pull away and Emma’s fingers brushed through the back of Killian’s hair. She peppered his face with kisses, quick brushes of her lips across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and just under his eyes and it wasn’t like being branded, but it felt a little bit like being chosen and that was ridiculous.

They were married.

They were a family.

There were rings and partnerships and two restaurants that were thriving, but this felt like all of that and then some – a step in a direction Killian had always been sure he’d never take, a family and a home and everything all together with really delicious pecan pie.

“First names and dramatic sidewalk makeouts,” Emma mumbled. “Pulling out all the stops, huh?” “If it’ll prove my point, I’m willing to circle back around to the sidewalk makeouts.” “Oh, that was smooth.” “That was the goal.”

“I’d say it definitely worked, but that might have been partially the whole adoption thing too and I just--” “--I am, Swan,” Killian promised, appreciating her slightly scandalized look when he interrupted her. He kissed her before she answered.

“That is really, really unfair. I’ve been trying to read your mind all day and then you go and pull that? Super lame.” “Well, you were the one throwing out nerd-based insults, love.”

She laughed, something that was treading dangerously close to a giggle and more feeling and other emotions, the warmth of it all seeping through his shirt and possibly into his soul and his fingers started tracing patterns on his back. “That was flirting,” Emma muttered, poking her finger into his side before twisting it through a belt loop.

“Was it?” Emma swatted at his shoulder, scoffing when he caught her around the wrist and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “God, you are on a roll here.” “Why did that sound like an accusation?” “It wasn’t. It was just…” “You’re usually far more articulate, Swan,” he grinned, ducking his head to drag his lips along the side of her jaw and it was a miracle no one had come looking for them yet. Henry had probably told them not to.

“I mean, that’s an enormous lie, but apparently we’re way worse at flirting than I thought so who knows what’s happening.” Killian chuckled, more kisses and more laughter and several passersby on the sidewalk had been vocally displeased by their loitering in front of their own restaurant.

Their restaurant.

Their kid.

Theirs.

“You going to finish your thought, Swan, or do you actually want me to guess?” “This flirting sucks.” “I’m really not opposed to scandalizing more tourists or the peanut gallery that’s probably going to press their faces up to the glass sooner rather than later.” “Nah,” Emma objected. “There’s food and Henry doesn’t want to see his…” She bit her lip, drifting off again, but he’d signed all the papers and she’d signed all the papers and they were a collective pronoun in a way that Mary Margaret probably taught all her classes.

Maybe they were also as lame as advertised.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Emma said quickly, rushing over the words like that would make them easier to say and Killian tried to nod encouragingly. “One way or another. It wouldn't have...Henry wouldn't have cared, he still would have thought you made the Sun come up every morning.” “That’s only because I help consistently feed him.” “No, it’s not.” It wasn’t. Killian knew it, as much as some misplaced sense of modesty didn’t want him to. Because he kind of thought Henry made the Sun come up every morning too and he’d never actually objected to the endearment in the hallway and he couldn’t understand how he still wanted more.

Theirs might have become his new favorite word.

“It’s not,” Emma repeated softly, tugging on his belt loop. “God, I can’t keep saying the same things over again, but it wouldn’t have mattered and I know it’s, shit, it’s not a technicality. It’s not. It’s a lot and more than that, something bigger and important and everything. It’s…” She sighed, pressing her lips together and Killian waited, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears. “I wanted this,” Emma whispered. “As much as I’ve ever wanted anything and Henry did too and I just…” She growled, actually growled, throwing her head back and Killian’s laugh wasn’t really that, but his body didn’t know what noise to make when it also knew it probably shouldn’t be kissing her in time of emotional turmoil.

He really wanted to kiss her again.

“It’s not a technicality,” Killian agreed, voice clipped and he hoped his heart didn’t bruise his ribs. “And I know nothing would have changed if that judge was actually an asshole.” That got a laugh out of Emma, head resting on his chest and arms around his middle. The same way Henry’s had been. “But I wanted the label, Swan,” he continued. “I wanted the name and the paperwork and the legal responsibility. I love you, and I love Henry and I...I wanted to be his dad. Officially.” “Good word.” “I like it.” “It’s really not because of the food.” “I know it’s not.” Emma sniffled, nodding half to herself and half to him and it took several pointed coughs from the open doorway for either one of them to notice. “You guys going to come in or what?” Robin called. “Because there’s honestly a ton of food and it’s freezing out here.” “Those are the only reasons we have to come in there?” Killian asked.

“Also because we’re throwing you guys a party. Congrats, it’s a boy!” Killian laughed, Emma’s body shaking against his and Robin made a contradictory noise when they didn’t immediately move. But he really couldn’t blame the day’s emotions for kissing his own wife and Killian glared when he heard several other calls for their immediate arrival inside.

“How much food is a lot of food?”

“You worried about your inventory, Killian?” He shrugged. “I mean...a little. And also Eric’s blood pressure if he had to make all that food.” “Still in Brooklyn.” “Who made the food?” Robin widened his eyes meaningfully, Emma clicking her tongue in something that sounded like frustration. Killian’s lungs were never going to recover. “When?” he asked. “How?” “How?” Emma asked. “Did you just ask me how I made food?” “None of that was on the color-coded schedule.” “That’s because it was kind of a surprise, Lieutenant. That’s usually how that works.” “Also,” Robin added, leaning around the doorway. “The rest of us do have a general idea of how to feed ourselves. Capable of helping or whatever.” “At least of reheating,” Emma mumbled.

“And you were way too busy filming those last few IC episodes to even notice. Plus you were worried this was going to get messed up.” “I wasn’t,” Killian argued, but the words were pointless in the face of two very disbelieving expressions.

Robin hummed. Killian glared again. “Sure you weren’t. Anyway, this is a good thing and was always going to work because as promised I gave a fantastic character witness. So if you guys could come inside and celebrate, Will came up with a drink that I’m sure Killian will hate and Gina wants to talk about the IC filming next week.” “She can’t wait two seconds? I just adopted Henry.” “She asked you about IC in the same sentence as telling you that she’d adopted Roland.” “Ah, yeah, that’s true.” “Exactly. Also it’s seriously freezing out and I don’t know enough about medicine to save either one of you from frostbite.”

“Oh, well, that’s a totally fair reason,” Emma said, pressing up on her toes to kiss Killian quick and someone in the restaurant gagged when he chased after her. “Let’s go, Lieutenant. I really made a ton of food. Maybe if we’re eating Regina won’t ask me about filming for IC.”

The entire dining room exploded when they walked in – cheers and shouts and Roland standing on the bar despite both Regina and Will trying to get him down and Killian had some fairly strong suspicions that the handwritten sign hanging above the hallway in the back had been done by him. And Leo Nolan. And possibly Sebastian. Neither of whom, it appeared, quite understood how to color in the lines yet.

“If you guys don’t immediately compliment me on my fantastic drink concoction, I’m absolutely refusing to be a good godfather to Henry,” Will announced, brandishing a bottle of incredibly expensive champagne.

“I need you to backtrack on that immediately,” David muttered. “Also pour the champagne before Killian comes behind the bar and strangles you.” “I’m not going to strangle him,” Killian promised, but that only earned him several different objections and it was difficult to hold onto Emma when Ariel flew at him. The kid in her arms clung to his side, gripping at his collar and Killian was only a little worried about the state of the buttons on his shirt. “C’mere, Seb,” he muttered, pulling the toddler away from the woman who wasn’t really just his hostess. She’d probably made some of the food. “Before you’re an unwilling casualty to your mom’s celebration.” “That’s incredibly rude,” Ariel said. “Also, like, hug me back.”

Killian laughed, but did as instructed. He didn’t let go of Emma, though, one arm around her and kind of around Ariel and Seb didn’t appreciate any of it, kicking several adults in the process. Killian groaned when a pair of knees slammed into his, knocking the air out of him and there were tears in Ariel's eyes and tears in several other pairs of eyes and, possibly, his own because Killian wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually stopped crying yet.

“Is congratulations the right sentiment?” Ariel asked. “It feels weird to say that.” “Why is that weird?” She tilted her, staring at him with something that felt like a jumble of pride and exasperation and joy because she’d been there since the start and knew and wanted, maybe, as much as Killian did, if only so he’d be as happy as she was.

Ariel was far too nice.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I just...that kid thinks the world of you and a few sheets of paper weren’t going to change anything, but I’m glad they did.” The whatever was back in his throat, tongue darting between his lips and tongue feeling far too big for his mouth.

The restaurant seemed to freeze.

“Told you,” Emma whispered.

Ariel beamed. And tried to wipe the tears off her face. “He was stupid in love you with from like...the first time he saw you, you know that?” she asked, the flush in Emma’s cheeks only slightly distracting. “And totally terrified to do anything about it. You want to know why?” “Why?” “Ari,” Killian muttered, but she was on a roll and in story mode.

“He was worried about Henry.” Emma jerked back, eyebrows pulled low and Killian gritted his teeth. But that might have been because of the kid in his arms. He had very active feet. “She’s being vague on purpose, Swan.” “I’m not,” Ariel argued sharply. “Really, Emma. I’m not. I...damn, this was supposed to be nicer.” “We agreed on nice,” Robin promised, sitting on top of the goddamn bar with an arm around Roland’s legs. “There was a vote.” “What?”

Ruby nodded, Henry between her and Mary Margaret with tears on both their faces. Henry was holding a plate. “There will be a list of speeches,” Ruby said. “But Ariel got to go first because, as she said in her campaign, she was here for the start. M’s and I get to go after we toast because we claim seeing Emma’s start. She was totally in love with you too. From the get.” “That’s pretty true,” Henry added.

“Oh, my God,” Emma sighed, head lolling onto Killian’s shoulder. It wasn’t an objection.

Mary Margaret looked like she’d just seen seventy-six rainbows. “She made French toast before Cutthroat Kitchen.” Killian’s internal organs had dealt with quite a lot that afternoon – fairly certain several of them were still sitting on the floor of the New York Family Court – but nothing had prepared him for that, which, really was kind of absurd. Ariel was tapping her foot.

So was Regina.

She definitely wanted to ask about Iron Chef.

“Anyway,” Ariel said pointedly, nodding at Will when he started passing out champagne flutes. “Killian was totally in love with Emma and Emma was totally in love with Killian, but he was worried that he’d get too involved and he’s...is it super embarrassing if I talk about how much you’ve always wanted some picket-white fence family?” “I mean, you just did it, A,” Will reasoned.

“You’re an incredible orator, Ari,” Killian sighed. He couldn’t actually get angry. That was nice.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, whatever, it’s true. Killian wanted it and didn’t want to get his hopes up, but then Emma showed up here after filming Cutthroat Kitchen and the rest is history.” “Is this your speech?” Robin asked. “A, this is not great.” “God, will you guys give me two seconds, please?”

“You’re losing your crowd,” David muttered, half his drink gone already. He had a phone in his hand, the screen pointed up and a noise that sounded a bit like a crying Ruth Nolan coming from the speakers. “And we’d really like to eat.” “No one was stopping you from eating!” “Can we eat?” Roland asked. He almost jumped off the bar, several adults lunging towards him and Regina actually gasping.

Ariel tried to kick Killian's ankles when he moved, but Emma went with him and Roland didn’t actually jump off the bar, so that was another victory. He really was on a roll. “Hold on a second mate, ok?” Killian asked. “Ari’s got to keep giving a horrible speech.” “Seriously, Killian!” He flashed a grin over his shoulder, Seb moving to sit there and all the fight went out of Ariel. “Seriously, Ari.” “God, you’re heavy handed. Alright, alright, alright. If everyone is done interrupting then, the gist of it is that Killian loves Emma and Emma loves Killian and they both love Henry a lot and we’re all really excited about that and you guys all deserve several picket fences and we made Gina promise she wouldn’t ask about filming for, like, ten seconds at least because she’s going to ask Emma again.”

It had been going on for years – Regina asking Emma to guest on Iron Chef and Emma regularly turning it down and it never really fit in the color-coded schedule and she had her own show and a cookbook that said Emma Swan-Jones on it and Killian couldn’t think about that too much or he was sure his brain would short circuit.

Killian groaned. “We just got here, Gina. Let us eat first.” “I haven’t said anything yet,” she snapped, the heel tap getting louder by the second. “But we do have an opening in a couple weeks when you film because someone cancelled or their restaurant closed or something and--” “--I’ll do it,” Emma said suddenly, and all these changes to the Earth’s oxygen levels could not have been good for the planet.

“Wait, what?” Killian balked.

Ruth Nolan screamed very loudly from Storybrooke, Maine.

It was almost difficult to hear, however, when David dropped his phone.

“Ah, babe, I win,” Will shouted, grabbing another bottle of champagne that they probably should have been selling to customers instead of drinking themselves. Killian’s brain couldn’t process that though, and Belle blushed.

“Let the record show that this was not a nefarious bet,” she said. “It was just...Will thought it was only a matter of time before Gina wore Emma down. His words.” “Aw, c’mon.” “You just announced our bet to the whole restaurant! And it wasn’t really even a bet.” “No?” Ruby asked, laughter clinging to the words. Killian still hadn’t moved. It was way too much for one day. “Please, tell us what it was exactly.” “An agreement,” Belle said.

“For what?” “Gina’s super intimidating,” Will reasoned. “Look at her. Look at that toe tap. Plus, Emma really likes winning too and neither she nor Cap can ever walk away from competition. You should have included that in your speech, A.”

“Oh, shut up, Scarlet,” Ariel muttered. “Make me more to drink.” “And what do you get since you won the agreement?” Mary Margaret asked. Will must have answered, but Killian barely heard them, eyes trained on Emma and the small smile on her face, the way her tongue darted between her lips and her shoulder shifted when she inhaled.

Ruth might have still be screaming.

“Swan,” Killian breathed, and something that sounded exactly like a boulder landed on top of the bar. He hoped it wasn’t Roland.

They both snapped their heads to the noise, Henry already running towards them, food forgotten when he realized what was going on and he was already talking a mile a minute when he landed in front of them.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Henry yelled, jumping up and down and Killian was still holding Sebastian. “Mom, are you serious?” Emma shrugged, eyes flitting towards Killian and his heart promptly exploded. It felt that way. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Could be fun,” she said. “Fun,” Killian said, testing the word and the feeling and Henry was still jumping. David kept trying to get Ruth to calm down. It wasn’t working.

“Could be.” “You keep using the same words, Swan.” “That’s how the legal system is supposed to work, isn’t it? Specific. And science too. All very finite and definite and...official.” “Oh, my God,” Henry grumbled. “This is so gross. You guys are so gross. Were you kissing on the sidewalk? Is that why it took forever to come inside?” “Absolutely,” Killian grinned, tugging him against his side and Henry didn’t argue that.

“Ugh.” “So, like, none of us are articulate in this family, huh?” Emma asked, smile wide as she said the words and Killian’s previously destroyed heart knit itself back together, returned to its proper place in his chest and beat out a staccato rhythm that he could probably conduct science experiments to.

They’d harped on that metaphor for too long.

“Nah,” Henry said, an agreement in the opposite and words apparently had no meaning anymore. “Not really. It’s not bad though.” Emma kissed the top of his hair, a hand resting on Killian’s chest when she leaned forward. “No, it’s not bad at all.” “You really want to cook in Kitchen Stadium, Swan?” Killian asked.

“I mean, maybe not if you’re going to refer to it as Kitchen Stadium.” “That’s what it’s called!” “That’s what Ruth calls it,” Henry mumbled. “You calling it that sounds like you’re trying to impress Mom.” “Should I not be doing that anymore?” “Not unless you want an excessive amount of teenage type groaning for the rest of time.” Killian laughed, tightening his hold and letting his chin rest on Henry’s head again. “Yeah, that sounds awful. You help your mom cook before?”

“Maybe.” “You’re an even worse liar than she is, my boy.” He’d done it on purpose that time. And everyone in that restaurant absolutely knew it. Mary Margaret aw’ed in tandem with Ruth.

“I’m going to make fun of her for that later,” Emma whispered. “But this is...God, you guys keep making me cry, you know that?” “Sorry, Mom.” “Sorry, Swan.” “Man,” she muttered, leaning back to stare at both of them. “That’s going to be problematic. Teaming up against me with cute.” “Swan,” Killian sighed, Henry mumbling several choice words under his breath.

“No one’s teaming up against anyone, Mom,” he said. His voice didn’t shake when he spoke. Killian blinked. Several times. “It’s not...you really want to cook on Iron Chef?”

Emma didn’t answer immediately, and Killian ignored the burning in his lungs, eyes focused on his wife and his kid and his family. She nodded. “I think it’d be fun, don’t you think? Force your parents to battle in Kitchen Stadium. A Swan-Jones family extravaganza.”

“We’ll probably use that tagline,” Regina muttered.

“It’s good, right?”

“Better than.” Killian exhaled.

“I told you that was what it’s called,” Killian said triumphantly, moving to rest his chin on Henry’s head and the laughter in the restaurant was catching, more shutter clicks and sniffles and they’d probably frame that goddamn sign.

“Don’t call it that again,” Henry chuckled. “Does this mean I can help judge? Gina, can I judge?” Regina shook her head. “Probably not. But we can absolutely get you on set. Make them give you some food when they’re not too busy flirting on camera.” “We don’t flirt on camera,” Killian said, but that was the worst lie he’d told in several years and he’d spent part of the day under oath, so it felt even more wrong.

“We flirt a lot on camera,” Emma corrected. Henry groaned again. “Kid, you were very excited about this two seconds ago.”

They might not have been talking about Iron Chef anymore.

Emma’s fingers wrapped around Killian’s left wrist. Henry shrugged. “Yeah, I know,” he grinned. “And I don’t...I mean it’s good when your parents are super, obnoxiously in love, right?” “Confirmation, again?” “Nah, I don’t really need it.” “Good,” Killian said, another hug and more meaning behind the movement and neither one of them said anything when Henry pulled away, leaving a slightly damp mark on his shoulder. “What’d you make? I want to try that first.” Henry beamed. Emma kissed Killian’s cheek. And they ate far too much food, walking back to the apartment far later than they expected with Henry in the middle as both of his parents supported most of his weight.

It took a few moments to get Henry out of his jacket, eyelids fluttering and shoes landing in a heap that Killian didn’t say anything about, but then he mumbled love you guys and Emma breathed out softly and nothing else had ever really mattered except that.

“Love you too,” Killian said.

He woke up the next morning to Iron Chef – mom and dad on the color coded calendar.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #shoves family feelings at you #here #have some of these

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yodawgiherd · 5 years

Text

Be My Valentine

Rating: T

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Originally I had no plans on doing a Valentine's chapter, but then certain someone wrote to me on tumblr, asking for one. I just couldn’t let the person down. So, I cooked something fast up, and I certainly do hope that you all will like it.

Enjoy!

It was a morning same as any other. Mikasa woke up, and still in half-sleep turned to run her hand over the other part of the bed, finding it exactly as empty as she expected. With a sigh, she got up, doing her morning hygiene routines with a tinge of sadness under her skin. Sure, she knew that Eren was more than busy lately, but still, a little part of her expected something from him, at least today. Nothing grand mind you, the greatest gift would be if he just took a day off, and spent it with her, not at work..

To uplift her mindset, Mikasa sang a happy birthday to herself in the shower. It helped. A little bit.

In the kitchen, there was a pot of coffee and some breakfast waiting for her, alongside scribbled note from Eren, which said that he’ll probably remain in the hospital overnight, as surgeries were piling up, so Mikasa shouldn’t wait for him to come back home. Wasn’t the first time in recent weeks, and probably not the last either. Crumpling the paper in her fist, she didn’t even realize how hard she gripped it until her knuckles started bleeding white. Ah well, no reason to dwell on it.

It felt good to immerse herself in work too, forgetting about her birthday altogether, and the reaction, or well, rather lack of one, from her boyfriend. The photoshoot was exactly as taxing as she needed, taking her mind off everything she didn’t want to think about. Dot controlled the scene with his usual calmness and experienced hand, moving around models, objects and props with the sureness of someone who spent over a decade in the business. Everything went smoothly, or Mikasa thought so, which only made her more surprised when Dot called her over at the end of the scene. Did she fuck something up?

“What’s up?”, she asked as she came close, nervously adjusting the red dress she was wearing for the shoot.

“Should something be?”, he raised a bushy eyebrow at her.

“Well, you called me here so..”, Mikasa shrugged, “what did I do wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing of course, you were amazing as usual. I just wanted to wish you happy birthday, that’s all.”, seeing her surprised face, he grinned, “You didn’t think I’d remember, did you?”

“Well, kind of, yea.. Don’t take it personally Dot, but we don’t know each other so well.”

“Oh, you’re right my girl, but,”, he puffed out his chest a bit, “I do take certain pride in knowing at least the birthdays of my favorite models. And you qualify for that category. 100% “

Mikasa was happy, of course she was, but it did put certain things in perspective. For example, the fact that the man she was working with for just a few months remembered her birthday, while her fiancé didn’t. Bittersweet.

“I got you little something. “the old man continued, pointing at the gown she was wearing, “This dress! You can keep it!”

“I can’t take that, It’s…”

But he was already shaking his head.

“It’s for you, and I won’t change my mind. It looks amazing on you anyway.”

Lacking the words to reply, Mikasa hugged him, whispering a thank you into his ear.

“You know,”, he chuckled, “If I was thirty years younger, I’d totally take this opportunity to drop my hands down below your waist my dear.”

She pinched him.

“Pervert.”

“Just saying how it is.”, taking a step back, Dot looked her up and down, nodding to himself, “But it really does look great on you. Your boyfriend is very lucky, if you don’t mind me saying.”

The answering smile that appeared on Mikasa’s lips was forced. She could look as amazing as she physically could, but if Eren was never home to see her…. then what was the point?

It was rather dark when she left the building, jumping on her bike to take her to the gym. With Eren spending the night at work, again, she really had no reason to just sit home and stare at the wall. Plus, she could buy herself a cake on the way back. Everybody loves cake. The gym was eerily dark as she pulled near, making her wonder if Levi didn’t close it down for the night, but then again, what would he be doing? With a frown, she pushed the door open, her confusion only increasing because it wasn’t locked. And then….

“Surprise!”

A loud cheerful roar from multiple throats and a full-on explosion of light, as someone switched them on, hit her right in the face, making her jump back and take a defensive stance until she realized what was happening. A surprise party. For her birthday. Despite her usual lack of emotion, Mikasa could feel her eyes getting wetter. They remembered after all. Almost everyone was there. Levi, Hange, Ymir, Krista, Armin, Sasha, Connie, even Jean and Hitch. However, a quick look around confirmed her suspicion that the one person she was looking forward the most didn’t make it. Armin must have sensed her slight disappointment, because he stepped forward, looking a bit guilty.

“I called him a few times, but he didn’t pick up. Ymir said that he has a lot of surgeries today, so he’s probably not even checking his phone.”, he looked down at his feet, “I’m sorry, I should have told him earlier. It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not.”, Ymir stepped him, frowning, “For starters, the stupid workaholic should know himself when his girlfriend’s birthday is, no? And not picking up his phone for the whole day….”, she looked at Mikasa, shrugging, ‘Don’t take it bad, I know that he’s a great guy, but sometimes he’s just.... dumb, really. No other word to describe it.”

“It’s fine, we don’t need Eren to have fun!”, Sasha spoke up, holding up a box. “I made cake!”

The whole gym cheered to that, confirming Mikasa’s musing from earlier. Everybody really did love cake. The party was, in one word, amazing. Sasha really outdid herself, baking not only the prodigious cake but a number of other delicacies, satisfying all kinds of hunger. Drinks were also plentiful, Connie took care of that, and Mikasa didn’t forget to thank him for it. He smiled, and for the rest of the evening looked a tad bit less grumpy than usual. But before Sasha let anyone touch her food, they had to give Mikasa the presents, and she had to unbox them, with her friend right next to her, peering over her shoulder. She got some useful things, like a bottle of cleaning agent from Levi, some stupid things, like a pair of party glasses from Sasha, and even some stuff that made her question if the gifter was serious or not. The bottle of cherry scented lube from Hange made everyone look at her, but all the scientist did was shrug.

“What? It’s useful!”

After this humiliating experience, Sasha finally broke out the food, and the party really began. And yes, she surely didn’t need Eren to have fun, and promptly forgot that he wasn’t even there. Taking a break from all the talking inside, she stepped out for a minute, breathing in the cold night air. After a few seconds, the door opened again, and Jean stepped out, joining her. Rummaging through his pockets, he pulled out a box of cigarettes, offering it to her.

“Want one?”

“Thanks, but I don’t smoke.”

“Well, me neither.”, taking one, he put it in his mouth chewing, “It’s gum, I just figured it would be a good icebreaker.”

Giggling, Mikasa did take one, and for some time they just stood next to each other, trying to triumph over the other by creating a bigger bubble.

“I have a question.”, he started, watching her try and fail to make one, “I watched some of your fights on YouTube, but I couldn’t recognize the style you do. What is it?”

“It’s a mix of different stuff. Levi taught it to me, and I made some changes for it to fit me better over the years.”, Mikasa looked up at him, “I didn’t know that you were into fighting sports.”

“Yea, I don’t like to brag, but I did some Krav Maga during my younger years.”

“That’s good to know. We can spar sometime, if you want to.”

“Let me think about it.”, Jean said out loud, while being quite sure he’s never going to take her up on that offer. Their skill levels were miles apart, and he didn’t really feel like getting beaten to a pulp by his crush.

“Here,”, Jean said after Mikasa did a bubble so big, he was sure he can’t win anymore, “I got you something small too.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny box, presenting it to her. When she opened it, it revealed a bracelet, and upon closer inspection Mikasa noticed that it was made by a number of interlocked metal horse heads and horseshoes.

“Just a little something to remember me by.”, he said with a half-smile.

“It’s amazing, thank you.”

It looked good on her wrist too, jingling slightly when she shook her hand.

“I tried to stalk you on social media to figure out what you would like, but you don’t have any presence there at all. There is a Facebook account which is yours, but nothing on Instagram, or snapchat. Why’s that?”

“I never really had the need to accumulate internet likes by showing my butt online.”

He grinned.

“Understandable. But some online stuff would help the gym, make it more popular. I could talk to Levi about it if you want.”

“That sounds great, but what would It cost us?”

“Eh, don’t mention it. Think about it as another birthday present.”

The hug he got, that was more than enough for a payment.

Working his jaw, Eren tried hard to focus on the lines of tiny black text in front of him, information about his next patient, the first of today. The nights at the hospital were always something he didn’t really look forward to, but it allowed him to just go back to work first thing in the morning, so he suffered in silence. Yet something was buzzing in his ears, annoying enough for him to look up, only to see that it was Ymir, talking as usual. Well, deciding that he couldn’t get any work done with her around, he put the file down, trying to focus on what she was saying.

“I was thinking like, handcuffs? Maybe a riding crop even. Hell, I don’t know what those people use, and…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Ymir looked down at him, arching an eyebrow.

“Valentine’s! What else? With Krista talking about some rough stuff, I was just thinking that I might as well deliver if she wants it so…”

“Wait, wait, wait. Valentine’s day? When is it?”

“Ehm… Today? Hello?”

Slowly, surely, the facts connected in Eren’s head, making his eyes widen.

“It can’t be.”

“Check the calendar if you don’t trust me, but I assure you that it is. What, why are you so surprised?”

“It can’t be Valentine’s.”, he repeated stubbornly, frowning at his colleague.

It couldn’t be. Because if she was right that meant… that meant…

“I missed Miki’s birthday.”

Ymir shook her head in despair.

“Of course you did, I told you! We had a surprise party four days ago for her, one you were too busy to attend.”

Fuck, he wasn’t paying attention to anything Ymir said lately, doing his best to focus at work. But how could he miss such an important event? Well, the answer was rather easy to figure out. Work. Four days ago, he was here, at the hospital, overnight. Then he came home, only to collapse and fall asleep immediately. When he woke up, Mikasa was still sleeping next to him, and he didn’t feel like waking her , so he left quietly for another two-day shift right here. Dropping his head to his hands, he sighed.

“Fucking hell, I’m so stupid.”

“Yup.”

He looked up, glaring at Ymir.

“How about some emotional support?”

“Why? No one but you is forcing those ungodly hours at you. This shit you’re pulling isn’t going to end well.”

Thanks for nothing Ymir. Hell, now he wanted nothing more than to go and apologize to Mikasa, and spend at least the evening with her, but he was already prepared for the surgery. Damn it.

“I’ll go and tell Erwin I need to leave after this one.”, he declared, standing up.

It made Ymir smirk.

“I’m sure that he’s going to be soooo surprised.”, the irony was thick in her reply.

Eren ignored her.

Mikasa was greatly surprised when he appeared home, in a good way, returning Eren’s kiss with a burning passion, holding him close even when they separated.

“Look,”, he murmured, “I just want to say that I’m sorry for missing your birthday, I really am. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’s okay,”, she whispered, reaching up and running her hand down his cheek. It jingled. Curious as to see why, Eren caught her palm, pulling it closer to his face. Mikasa had a new bracelet, he noticed, pretty thing of connected metal parts, which upon closer inspection showed to be horse heads and shoes.

“What’s this?”

“A gift from Jean.”, she jingled it again, smiling, “It’s pretty isn’t it?”

Maybe it was the tiredness. Maybe the long working hours without seeing her made him paranoid. Maybe he was just having a bad day. But instead of agreeing, he felt a wave of jealousy hit him, right in the face.

“So, Jean’s giving you gifts now.”, he said, the words carrying even more acid than he intended. Mikasa pulled back, confused expression on her face.

“Well, it was my birthday…”

He interrupted her.

“You do realize that only thing that guy want is to get inside your pants, don’t you?”

“Eren! What the fuck?!”, she looked downright angry now, glaring at him, “I had a birthday, so my friends threw a party for me, one you were too busy to attend I might add. And yes, I got some gifts there, as it usually goes.”

“Wow, I’m so sorry for working!”, he was shouting now, the irrational feelings in his chest swelling, as he gestured around himself, “This doesn’t come from nothing, you know?”

“You’re going to pull that card? Really?”

“I just…”

Looking at her, at the tight line of her lips, at the way her eyebrows were furrowed, her beautiful face so twisted in rage, Eren had a sudden burst of clarity. He was really acting like an asshole. Taking a step back, he shook his head, sighing.

“I need to take a breather. Outside.”

Hearing the door open and close again, Mikasa sat on the couch, putting her head in her hands. So far, this was one hell of a Valentine’s day.

Eren came back about two hours later, finding her still on the couch, idly scratching the tattoo on her wrist. She jumped up when he appeared, opening her mouth, but he held up a hand to silence her.

“First of all, I want to say sorry. For everything. The missed birthday, me lashing out at you for no reason… I’m a dick. Next, I want you to know…”, he scratched the back of his neck, looking away, a bit embarrassed. He was not good at this. “that I love you, and appreciate you, and even with us being together for a very long time.”, manning up, he looked her right in the eyes, a certain intensity in his glare, “I never take you for granted. Every day I wake up next to you is a blessing.”

Mikasa didn’t know how to answer that. So, she kissed him, pouring all her feelings and words into the frantic movements of her lips instead, clutching to Eren’s neck like a lifeline. To her surprise, he pulled back first, pulling a small package out of somewhere in his coat, offering it to her. Sitting on the sofa with the thing in her lap, she slowly opened it, spilling red fabric all over her thighs. It was a scarf, a rather luxurious one, feeling like silk underneath her fingers.

“I really had no idea what to get you.”, Eren declared, taking it from her and wrapping it around her neck, same as all those years ago, “But then I remembered that you still wore my old one, so….”, finishing with his work, he let his hands drop, smiling. “Happy birthday.”

“It’s beautiful,”, Mikasa whispered, feeling the fabric again. It was amazing to touch. “And the only thing I want is you being home more.”, their eyes met, “I miss you.”

“I know. I’ll have to finish this week and the next, but I want to talk to Erwin after, get some time off. I think that I deserve it. He has to cave in, I missed the party because of work.”

“The party was okay, but Sasha made me an amazing cake. Sucks that you missed that one.”, her mouth watered just at the memory, “Delicious.”

But Eren looked far from crestfallen. Standing up, he made a quick visit to the kitchen, returning with a can of whipped cream and a grin, that suggested he had something planned already. Tugging the edge of Mikasa’s shirt over her head, she followed his instruction, quite confused, and before she realized it she was naked, lying beneath him on the couch.

“See, I don’t really mind that,”, a hiss later, something very cold covered her left nipple, making her gasp, “because I got my favorite cake right here anyway.”, another hiss, and this time it was her right that took the hit. “Sasha can’t compare to this.”

“Mikasa did want to say something, comment on his choice of food, but Eren was quite hungry tonight, so dipping his head, he got to work on his treat. And her mind went blank. A lot of “dessert” eating later, and a clean up after, as her whole body was rather sticky from the cream, when they were snuggling together, with Mikasa leeching Eren’s warmth as usual, watching a movie, she couldn’t help but smile. All in all, it was a pretty great Valentine’s day. With countless more to come.

#eremika #fanfic #snk #valentines #prompt fill #kinda?

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nomenace · 6 years

Text

no menace

NO MENACE

I remember this day in detail from start to finish, the same way I remember most days, and I will share the facts with you here. The summary, because I feel it's disrespectful to the severity of this subject to bring anyone through the stress of a long, detailed story without first cutting to the point, is that not only did I not assault this person or any person but I also did not endeavour to disregard their boundaries, needs or communications at any point. I never knowingly violated consent (that qualifying adverb necessary only because I intend to respectfully regard M’s account as a good-faith telling of their experience, just as I trust my own) but acted in what I believed was careful if heady responsiveness to my partner in an unexpected intimate encounter initiated by M. To hear that this was not their experience was shocking, vertiginous, nearly impossible to metabolise, especially as the language online morphed from the already patently false “assault” to “rape”; neither descriptor having any place in a retelling of this evening. Though I know that declarations of my own character have no way of being externally verified except through my actions, which I will endeavour to lay out for public scrutiny, I must here personally affirm the essential nature of autonomy and consent. The violence of knowing boundary-violation, the usurpation of commandment over your own body, these are unacceptable wrongs. In all intimate encounters that I am blessed to experience, I seek to proceed based on the signals I receive from my partner.

The Events of That Day

I fly into Denton, Texas early, around 2pm and loaded into the venue where I am greeted by the day staff. I eventually settled into the venue’s greenroom to plan my set and go over the managerial details involved with this first leg of the tour. I wind up making many trips up and down the stairs from the greenroom to the main room, handling various gear set up on stage and merch table business; the room is still sparsely attended with early-arrivers. By my 5th or so trip up and down I have become conspicuously aware that the person sitting at the table just at the foot of this stairwell is staring more consistently at me than anyone in the room; a fond smile on her face, seeming eager to engage. This is “M”. As the crowd grew and the proximity borne of limited space necessitating a polite acknowledgment of one’s fellow human looking directly at you with pleasantness, I say “Hello” to her and her entire table of friends. This leads to conversation with them; they invite me out to their car to smoke and I, fresh off a TSA search, agree. As the openers played their set inside, we engaged in high-minded small talk. I enjoyed their company; they were warm, clever and kept the pace of their amusing quips rapid. It was a positive connection. M and I exchanged numbers before we all parted ways.

The show itself went fine except for my own blundering of my tour manager duties, neglecting to coordinate properly with the person whose floor had been my intended bed for that night, leaving me stranded at 2am in a sunset town with no hotels. I texted M for some intel (because she seemed like the proverbial homie), explaining that my lodging plans had fallen through and inquiring about anything at all that could possibly be open in town at this hour (the internet having yielded nothing) where I could wait out the handful of hours until my flight. She volunteers that she lives near the airport and agrees to “adopt” me for a few hours, offering to pick me up as she was still out and about. The text exchange was 100% platonic and lightheartedly friendly, in no way leaning towards a suggestion of anything more than shelter for enough time to hopefully get a REM cycle in before the next leg of my journey to Canada in the morning. It wasn’t until she picked me up and I, along with my tour-bus-of-one (large, heavy bags of various metal music cubes, equipment, merchandise and luggage) were loaded up and driving towards her place that she let me know that her roommate or a friend might come by later (it was already almost 3am).

Assuming that I would be sleeping on a couch, I thought little of this announcement; thinking they would be doing their thing in their room/space and she was letting me know that people would be coming and going as I slept, no problem. Had I known explicitly what that would wind up meaning for our sleeping arrangement, I would have taken exception to the generous offer as I was thoroughly spent and desperately in need of sleep. Better to half-sleep in an airport like a mother bird over my equipment than to go knowingly into the space that it would later turn out had already been imagined for at that point.

I unloaded the car and squeezed in half-steps into the Denton flat. Exhausted and ready to power down, the first thing I do when I enter the door is put my stuff down next to the couch that I imagine I will be sleeping on; it is to the right of me. Here is where I got the key surprise of the evening... M says that I can’t stay in the living room as her friends would need the space buuut that there was room in her bedroom for me... I take 5 steps forward and find myself looking into a tiny bedroom, a bedroom so small and cluttered that I can not only not see the floor but can’t imagine that my stuff and two people could fit in such a space.

I regret not being more proactively inquisitive about the offer of shelter over text now of course, but at no point was it made clear to me that I would be sharing a small bed with this person in a room where sleeping on the floor was not an option.

...but I went with it because I am easy going and road-tested, even though I was not looking forward to being trapped in a box.

So I squeeze my one-man-band of bags and limbs into the space capsule of a room and find that the only place I can go, or put myself, is the bed. The door is shut behind me. This entire time, our conversation is being lead by her post-show euphoria and my subtle but increasing uneasiness, but still we are fully engaged and enjoying each other’s company. I can hear that multiple people are arriving and she continuously leaves the room and comes back, closing the door behind her everytime and not once inviting me out into the living room. I’m not sure who all is out there but I believe I spot one of the people we were sitting in the car with before the show during one of M’s trips in and out of the room. It’s uncomfortable but I’m going with it, grateful for the kindness and willing to follow her lead in her space without indulging in complaints or voicing my unease, fully aware that she has gone out of her way to help me out of a travel crisis. I have to go to the bathroom but somehow feel distinctly from her cues that it would be unwelcome for me to go into the living room, so I repress the urge. She offers me weed and then, as I sit on the edge of her bed smoking, fully clothed, she takes off her pants, now down to a blue street fighter tee and underwear. This surprises me, as I wasn’t planning on seeing her in any state of undress or exploring the option of a potential romantic entanglement. Another women at the show offered to take me home with her earlier in the evening in an explicitly sexual context but I politely declined; not even thinking about it twice, as I was just not interested in seeking out intimacy that night for multiple reasons. I point this out because I take deep exception to the sex-crazed demon I would read me as in M’s statement if I didn’t have the advantage of being there. I am merely single, compliant and open, my nature being more inclined towards going with the flow than not (this has always been the safer choice for me and thus has become my instinct) and this was a lovely person to boot(relative to the region) with whom I seemed to share sympathies and interests. I’m still sitting on the foot of the bed and she gets in next to me, laying down onto her stomach and rolling up against my body, draping her leg onto me. This is the first physical contact between us. I touch her and she leans into my hand in a slow gyration, pushing sensually into my palm; I move my hands up to her butt and she looks back at me grinning sweetly, smiling directly into my eyes. I continued to massage her legs, butt and lower back, never touching her genitals or chest at any point in our time together. At no point does she freeze or physically disengage. She continued to use body language to communicate her appreciation of the massage. She would later text me fond recollections of these moments and of the entire encounter. As we cuddled, she said that she has slept with a friend of mine, a confession that I interpreted as considerate, as maybe she thought I would be hurt if I were to find this out after we were any further intimate with each other. I would do the same thing. I paused for the conversation, assuring her that this did not bother me, thanking her for letting me know.

After this break in the intimacy for some adult conversation, she goes back out to the party with her friends again (all I can hear is music and laughing), returning shortly to climb back into bed in the same position she was in before and we continued cuddling. We are both touching each other when I moved to undress myself and the back of her hand brushes against my penis. She lets me know that she doesn’t want to escalate in this way by shaking her head and pulling her hand out from between our bodies. I apologise and immediately redress myself, and we return to the simple cuddling that we had already been consensually engaged in. We then settled into bed in a position for sleeping, touching still, both lamenting our super early mornings in conversation, speaking fondly to each other.

I fell asleep and awoke two hours later, making sure not to wake M as I left for the airport. We would discuss that moment of my tentative escalation over text the next day as well, me apologising for getting too excited in that moment. I believed I was acting in line with a mutual escalation of intimacy. The moment it was clear that she wanted things to remain at the level they were, I complied happily, responding to her and apologising for my assumption. I regret not discussing/getting confirmation for that assumption aloud first, for example by saying “Would you like me to get undressed / would you like to go further?”, etc.

This telling of the evening’s facts might be a rebuttal to any implication of my ill-intent, but I know that intent and perception/reception are often incongruous in human interaction and I do not wish to invalidate M’s perception or experience. I am deeply sorry that she experienced any negativity during time spent with me as I would never knowingly inflict that on another person or feel entitled to the exertion of my will at the expense of their discomfort.- There are things in her account that are objectively untrue and not subject to perception, but I don’t feel that they are all worth outlining here. She would later tell me over text that she had been drinking heavily that entire night, presumably every time she went out to the party in the living room with her friends? I had no idea at the time that she was in such a state as I didn’t see any of this drinking, nor did she mention it or seem anything other than sober. One example of the incongruity that I will mention is her specific claim that she offered me a “pillow and blanket for the couch”, suggesting that she was hinting that I go sleep on it. This is untrue and also impossible as the couch was my first desire and remained explicitly unavailable to me for all of the 2-3 hours of my time there; occupied as it was by people and circumstances that were never fully explained. She also indicates that she missed an appointment the next morning because of our encounter and an article on the matter said she couldn’t leave her room the next day but text messages she sent me show that she “bailed” on the event intentionally and that she “got other important things done instead”. Our text conversation after this evening was sweet and positive, characterised by M sending sexual pictures and selfies as well as fond recollections of the time we spent together. The only indication of anything even vaguely negative in our text exchange was my apology for my over-excitement in that fleeting moment, an apology to which her response was “I was excited too”.

Before this written telling of the perception of my ill-intent on this night were brought to me, my psychic limitations were already splintering this year (under the weight of unrelated forces that I have hinted at but will discuss at a later date) and I just didn’t have the spoons to know how to engage with this accusation of crimes that I did not commit. There are further aspects to this that I don’t feel are appropriate to go into in this statement but I will take this opportunity to apologise to my fans for taking so long to be able to tell my story. I wish I could have addressed your concerns sooner.

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christopherwatsonbooks · 3 years

Text

Covenant Spring, Chapter Four

No car salesman I have ever met ever planned on being one. If you have any kind of personality at all and can do basic math, you're pretty much qualified. Of course, it doesn’t mean you’ll be any good at it.

One of the guys who works at the dealership had been a dancer in a C-grade traveling male stripper revue. Another salesman had spent time in a minimum-security prison for forging his mother's signature on her checks. She’s the one who’d turned him in. He had turned his life around since, he said.

I spent a week watching training videos and reading pamphlets before my first day on the floor. The new car manager gave me some advice, which was this: "Buyers are liars."

Buyers think anything you say is a lie, which is why they will always lie to you. You can give them a car for free and they'll think the guy before them got two. But they'll swear their credit is perfect and their trade cherry even if you helped them push it in off the street and they can’t get approved to rent furniture. I once watched a repo man tow a trade right off the lot while the owner was in another salesman's office arguing over how much it was worth. We swap the stories on the floor like pictures of our pets.

It all came together for me when I started selling cars. Never mind our popular reputation. A car dealership is one of the most honest places there is. You can’t be brazen and make it work but that unspoken acknowledgement that neither of you expects the other to be completely honest, that tacit agreement, it makes everything so much easier.

Not all of us are like that but it doesn't make any real difference. If you’re convinced I’m going to screw you, I feel no obligation to persuade you otherwise. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. But the least I can do in exchange is make it as comfortable as possible for you when I bend you over.

That’s my job, you see. I can make you feel you fought the good fight. I know just what to do to make it all feel fine, even as your heart screams that it’s a lie.

If I'd been a car salesman when I met Cheryl we might still be together. I might be married to my lipstick goddess. Not that either relationship would have lasted.

. . .

My third month at the dealership, I sold a truck to a man for seven hundred dollars over full sticker price.

He was my first up of the day. You wait your turn on the floor during your shift there and whoever walks up when you're first in line is your up. That's how it works, that's showroom democracy. The guy had his little buyers' guides and internet print-outs and his rock-bottom cash prices from other dealers scribbled on his notepad and photos of cars and window stickers on his phone. He was an Informed Buyer. He was a Tough Negotiator. He was not going to Get Screwed, no sir.

Two minutes in, I knew he was a tool. The other dealerships had let him walk on lowballs they'd never honor and no one else could beat, to get him to come back. When he did, they’d come up with some reason why they couldn't sell it to him for that price anymore, jack up the cost and then beat him down with bullshit until he bought. He couldn't go back to the other dealers who wouldn't match the price because he'd called them all liars. Also, going back to them would mean admitting he was a moron. So he'd bend over and buy.

That’s what we do. You’re welcome.

And I told him so. I told him he'd been lowballed. I gave him his chance. He rapped his knuckles on my desk and demanded my Best Cash Price on the truck.

So I gave it to him. I quoted him invoice down to the penny because I knew he wouldn't believe me, and he didn't. He showed me his notepad with the prices the other lowballing pricks had given him and said to my face that I was a liar and a thief.

I felt something lift from me then, like the oppressive heat of the day suddenly removed. I felt calm, clear as a mathematician to whom the long-sought answer to a clot of numbers was at last revealed.

I took him to the used line and showed him a sweet full-size Toyota 4x4. It had just come out from the back that morning, the price wasn’t on it yet but I knew what the used manager wanted for it, and what he would take.

I jacked the sticker up by two grand. I made the guy want it. I told him he had my Best Cash Price and if he didn’t like it, he could go buy from someone else. He tough negotiated me down eight hundred dollars and I fought him over every fucking penny. He made me sweat and squirm. I cursed him. I cried murder, I begged for mercy.

At the end of the day he shook my hand, climbed into his new truck and drove off with my dick up his ass, happy as a clam.

Seven hundred dollars over sticker. The dealership made over eighteen hundred bucks off the deal. I made my week’s draw off of that one sale.

The used car manager couldn’t stop talking about it. The other salesmen couldn’t get enough of the story, they laughed and slapped me on the back and congratulated me. I was fresh legend. I had made my bones.

. . .

I’d told the buyer the truth. After that, it was on him to believe me or not. I'd given him what he'd wanted. He would brag to his friends about how hard he'd worked me, how he’d beaten me down until I broke. He’d tell that story for the rest of his life.

It’s not my responsibility. And so on.

I hadn't known I could be so good at it. Or that I could live with it so easily.

After that, I stopped fighting it. I had learned what I was. Easy as slipping on shoes.

I've never told Dad about that sale.

. . .

Month six was my worst. I exhumed dead leads from dusty files, I courted every up like a desperate lover. Only two bought, and for next to nothing. Everyone was having a bad month, which made it easier to tolerate. A little.

The new car manager was talking to someone in his office. You could see them through the wall glass. You could tell from the body language that it wasn’t a sale.

All car salesmen are paranoid, at least the ones I know are. We’re like farmers, dependent on the weather to make the rent. A dry spell sends us from cocky to desperate in a blink. It’s no way to live but the money’s good, for as long as the weather holds.

It filled the showroom like stink. No one talked. We found things to do to look busy. We wanted to look busy when the axe fell, as if whoever wasn't would determine who went home that night with the contents of their desk in a cardboard box under their arm.

The stranger left on a handshake we all saw. It was Friday. There was a new guy starting Monday, and his name was Cai.

The new car manager sat back down at his desk and studied a piece of paper.

. . .

The piece of paper was a contract, which none of us had. That was the reason Cai had been hired. He had offered to work for free.

This is what Cai told the new car manager, which we all learned later. He would work for two months with no draw, no base salary. By the end of his second month, if Cai hadn’t made for the dealership what he would have made in draw for both months, he would walk away clean. If he made his nut, they’d pay him his draw for both months plus whatever commission he'd made, and he'd be regular staff.

Cai had two conditions. The first is he would sell his way. Dress how he wanted, say what he wanted, work when he wanted. The only power any manager had was to approve his deals, or not. Condition two is that Cai would be paid in cash.

The new car manager wanted the deal in writing so that Cai wouldn’t sue for wages if he tanked.

. . .

Cai arrived early Monday, driving a Ford Ranger extended cab four-by-four, forest green, good condition. North Carolina plates, blue and red and white with the Wright Brothers plane faint behind the tag number and the words First in Flight along the bottom.

The only space we had was a cubicle in the corner of the showroom floor, looking out over the used car line. It was rookie turf, one gray prefab wall butted against the showroom glass, making a space behind it in the corner. There was a battered desk and two chairs and a telephone and a gunmetal gray filing cabinet and office supplies. Cai made it all as homey as the corner cubicle of a car dealership showroom can be, with a lamp and a cloth draped on the filing cabinet and cushions for the metal folding chairs.

The front of Cai’s desk was flush up against the prefab wall. Hanging over the desk was an oval mirror in a polished wood frame, hung horizontally. It looked old. The glass was rippled, like shallow swells in water. It made it appear almost as if you were peering through the glass, into some other place you could only glimpse through a thin layer of reflected reality. The feeling was you'd be able to see better if only the water would calm.

There were three snapshots tucked between the frame and the glass. Two of the snapshots were black-and-white. One showed a man of maybe thirty standing in front of a tractor, his arm draped over the big back tire. He was dressed in overalls and he was grinning. You could tell the tractor was new, the photo had probably been taken on the day the man brought it home.

The second black-and-white photo was of a young woman in a sundress, sitting in a wooden chair on a porch with two fat babies on her lap, a boy and a girl. The woman was plain and beautiful. Her hair was dark and long, down to her waist. She was smiling, caught in a perfect moment that rose from the photo like the scent of a flower.

The third photo was color. It was of a woman. She stood in one-quarter profile. Her face was tilted slightly down and away, partially obscured by thick curls of dark hair cascading over her shoulders. All you could see of her face was a glimpse of her smooth jaw, a sense of the curve of her neck. She wore a white blouse and tight faded jeans. Her left arm was bent, the forearm held across her belly, her right hand raised and resting between her breasts. She was standing on a riverbank, her ankles disappeared into the tall grass and weeds. She stared into the dark water.

I cannot tell you the sense of this photo. I don't have the words. I often stared at it when Cai wasn't there, careful that he wouldn’t catch me doing it. I memorized every part of it. I imagined the woman raising her head and turning to look at me, just as I dreamt of my lipstick goddess. I so wanted to see her face, to get her to turn and look at me, to reveal herself, and to ask her what it was that she was searching for in the water.

This was my first encounter with Sarabeth Dare. I didn’t know then that soon I would meet her in the flesh, that I would know her to call her by name, and that when she did first raise her head to look at me she would scare me to death. I didn't know then that she was Cai's woman, and that he had taken that photo of his one true love just days before he had told her good-bye.

. . .

The new car manager introduced Cai to us first thing Monday, which is when we all learned that he would be working for free.

We stared at him like he was from outer space. He stood next to the new car manager in the showroom. He was just shy of six feet and solid, like he had muscles built from work. He could have been a construction worker cleaned up for a job interview. He wore a white dress shirt and a tie, denim jeans and scuffed black cowboy boots. He wore a black leather belt with a pewter buckle. He had wavy brown hair worn down to his shoulders.

Cai’s eyes were dark as dirt, and when he turned them to you it was just all black, even though they must have been brown, and when the light was just right something in them glinted like sparks of mica in wet soil. Like a flicker of movement in the dark where only a moment before, you were certain you were alone.

The women in the back office never said Cai was handsome. They said he was dangerous. But they always smiled when they said it.

. . .

What I remember most about first meeting Cai was how he didn’t seem nervous, he didn’t try to be chummy or funny or self-deprecating to win us over. He nodded to us when he was introduced but didn’t say much other than hello, nice to meet you. He didn’t seem concerned about us at all, like he’d already sized us up and determined he had no reason to be, and did it just that fast.

I read something once, that some people know how to occupy their space. They’re not on their way from somewhere or on their way to someplace, even if they are. Where they stop is where they are, even if it’s for a moment it might as well be for forever. It’s not about motion, or time. It’s about presence in space and time, the quality of being present. That’s what presence means. To occupy the now.

That was Cai, best as I can explain it. I had never encountered it before. I never expected I would meet it in a long-haired country boy car salesman.

Cai took us in like we were scenery. Everyone smiled and shook his hand but I could tell it wasn’t going to last.

. . .

Once we knew we weren’t going to be fired, the bitching began. How come Cai could leave early or come in late, how come he could wear jeans and we couldn’t, how come he could miss sales meetings, how come how come.

"Work for free" is what the new car manager always said. He was enjoying his experiment immensely.

It was obvious Cai had sold before. He knew the lingo, knew the showroom drills, the politics of selling. Everyone said he was crazy, must be. It made them feel better. He was an unknown and it scared them. They said he was a dick because he kept to himself, he didn't shoot the shit on the floor between ups. He helped when he was needed and was civil when he had to talk but mainly he came in and did his job and left. You could go all day and never say a word to him, or he to you.

Cai thought he was too good for them, the others said. If he was such hot shit, how come he was selling cars?

I asked them how come they were. They asked me how come I was. I said it was because I couldn't cut it selling dog food.

After that they didn’t bother pretending anymore that they liked me. They never really had. I was the youngest one there, and I’d made everyone look bad with my used truck sale, never mind the back-slapping. I didn’t have a family to support like they did so what the hell did I know about anything?

The charade dropped and shattered like a coffee mug on the showroom tile. Jesus, I was glad to be done with it.

It’s probably why I didn’t avoid Cai like the others did. It’s not every day I meet someone like me. At least, that’s what I told myself. I listened to the others whine about Cai, wondering if people said the same things about me behind my back. I suppose it’s my own fault if they do.

I tried to feel upset about it, but I couldn’t. I felt better that I wasn’t alone anymore. I humored myself, thinking Cai and I had that much in common, that I was like him. Feeling superior makes being a dick easier to stomach. It’s pretty much a requisite, really.

. . .

Here's what happened the first month.

Cai showed up every morning and worked the floor. He didn't seem to treat his ups any differently than we did, except that most of them wound up sitting in his cubicle and chatting, sometimes for so long he’d only get one or two ups that day. Time off the floor he'd make a few calls and read, the news or a book. End of the day he'd pull locks, checking to ensure all the cars were locked and the keys not in them. Low man on the sales totem gets the privilege. And then he’d climb in his truck and leave.

By the end of the first month, Cai had only sold three vehicles. The others joked about how by the end of the next month, he might make enough to pay for the gas it took him to drive to work.

Everyone had sold more that month than Cai, including me. I wondered if he maybe he really was crazy. Maybe this is what he did, going from dealership to dealership, drinking coffee and chatting with strangers until he was kicked to the curb.

I looked in his truck but it didn’t appear as if he lived in it. He didn’t smell as if he did.

. . .

The first week of the second month, the dam burst.

People came into the dealership, asking for Cai. Most were ups Cai had had the first month, who’d left without buying. They would ask for Cai, or Cai Bass, or Mister Bass.

They always remembered his name. When’s the last time you remembered a car salesman’s name?

If Cai was busy they would wait. He always knew their names on sight and thanked them for coming back and asked if they were ready. He always asked if they were ready, and they always said yes. Some brought their families, like they were going to the movies. We had kids running around the showroom, worrying the crap out of the managers, turning us all into baby sitters.

By week two it officially became ridiculous. All day long out on the lot, you would hear the loudspeaker: "Cai Bass, you have a customer in the showroom.” “Cai Bass, you have a call on line two.” “Cai Bass, please come to the finance office.”

I was working an up and we heard Cai paged three times in ten minutes. She asked if Cai owned the dealership. Not yet, I said.

. . .

Something else happened that second month. Two things, actually.

The first is that sales picked up for the rest of us. It was going to be a record month. Maybe it simply was time for it to happen. Maybe Cai was putting out some kind of vibe. Whatever it was we all breathed it like electricity. The blood of sales and cash was pumping hot and hard through the dealership. We hit the lot to our ups with steps cracking smart on the blacktop. We were excellent lovers picking fruit ripe on the vine. You could not tell us no.

The other thing, the main thing for me that happened, is that I made coffee for Cai.

I was between customers and he had two waiting, and I heard him apologize for not having any fresh coffee. We kept a pot each of regular and decaf going for customers on the showroom floor even though we usually drank most of it ourselves, which is why the new car manager refused to buy one of those coffee pods machines. The day had been so busy we’d already gone through four carafes of regular coffee before lunchtime. I was passing by his cubicle when Cai said what he did, and I heard myself say that I would make some fresh and let him know when it was done.

You won't think there’s much to this. I've spent a lot of time remembering it, I've turned it over and over enough to wear the edges smooth. It is the pebble dropped into the water, from which the ripples swelled and spread, like Cai's mirror.

For the first time since I'd known him, Cai gave me his full attention. I can see his face now in memory. It is angled downward, not quite fully turned to me.

Now he straightens, his long brown hair falls back and his eyes are fixed on mine, dirt dark and flecked with those sparks of mica, like hammer sparks called from stone. They peer at me from under his brow like some creature at night, watchful beneath a fallen log.

It is like an ocean swell against me, like a great magnet seizing and vibrating my every particle. My lungs arrest between inhale and exhale. I cannot move, if I was on fire I would burn where I stood. The din of the world recedes from perception and rises spinning into the sky like the edges of a hurricane and I am spread molecule thin through time and place such that a puff of breath will part me into swirls of dispersed smoke, without substance enough even to muster a scream.

And then I'm back, the world is back, the assault of weight and senses returns in a great clanging slap.

Cai smiles and thanks me. He says he'll make the coffee himself. He says he’ll bring me a cup when it’s done, if I like.

I find myself in my little office, sitting at my desk. My heart will not stop pounding. It bangs in my ears like fists on a wall, drowning all other sound.

The new car manager lets me go home early.

. . .

I was terrified to sleep that night. I felt as if I were made of smoke, that the blankets would settle down through me onto the mattress as if I weren’t there. My beating heart was an engine on loan. I couldn't trust the knots that tied it into my chest.

My rational mind tells me I’m being foolish. I make arguments, I build them like careful mathematical equations but when I reach for them, they collapse. I am a ghost in the world, a projection upon a breath of fog. My weight upon the mattress is no comfort, there is no logic nor science convincing enough to satisfy me that I can sleep and be sure of waking in the morning.

I stand upon Washington’s Rock. Face lifted to the sky, the world releases me and I rise, I sail free, molecules separating until I passing through the sky or the sky passing through me is no difference. The clouds mix with my particles and I become rain, tears of myself spread in an ocean, and what I was like a sigh is released in joy, and joins with heaven.

. . .

My bladder awakened me. I got up and used the bathroom. The tiles were cold against my bare feet. I did not turn on the light. I finished and flushed and crawled back into bed.

The covers were warm. I broke wind beneath them. Thus comforted, I slept.

0 notes

douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

STARTUPS AND SOMETHING

How many even discover something they love to work on them. But that assumption is often false, and worse still, the more ideas you implement, the more you push the good stuff spreads, and the programmers work down the list, fixing them. The most important quality in a CEO is his vision for the company's future.1 You don't give up on your dreams.2 There are only two things you have to manufacture your own hardware, or use your software, you should probably be able to come up with an idea that sounded plausible, but was actually bad. If you pay them by the volume of work done but only as you defined work.3 There are only two reasons someone might sue you: for money, but what will make you a better programmer, and yet they don't seem to matter very much in software is public opinion—or rather, hacker opinion.4

It's exceptionally rare for startups to have traction before they put in significant money. Efficiency matters for server-based software, you can think instead That's an interesting idea, you can find and fix most bugs as soon as they appear. T: Scheme has no libraries. The reason design counts so much in software is public opinion—or who might buy a copy later, when he has just read in the paper that some other language is poised, like Ada was twenty years ago people noticed computers and TV were on a collision course and started to speculate about what they'd like to publish their lives semi-publicly on the Internet, you don't need Microsoft on the client, it will be because it's more convenient. There are many exceptions to this rule. In fact, shelving an idea probably even inhibits new ideas: as you become more eminent, gradually to increase the actual value of the company. He walks right by them, dressed up as an old man on crutches, and they never suspect him.5 I don't mean to disparage Yahoo.

But though labor unions are shrinking now, it's not a sufficient one. It works, but you come from the corporate world and your friends are not early adopters, and only realize later that they could always interrupt anything with a report of a genuine bug.6 I can think of three possible reasons. And that did turn out to be big like Microsoft.7 The five languages that Eric Raymond recommends to hackers fall at various points on the power continuum. For millennia that was the optimal path to dominating a big market. Boston half the time: it's hard to imagine now, but I don't think they hamper innovation much.8 We, as hackers, know the USPTO is letting people patent the knives and forks of our world.

To us that's positive evidence an idea is good. Web-based software is offered through ISPs acting as resellers. It looks as if it will be whatever the startup can get from the first one to write a novel, for example, even though it is probably a bad idea. What really makes him stand out, though, that even with all the fat trimmed off its market cap, Yahoo was still worth a lot. Most people could see how it might be helpful to be in the twentieth century. In Lisp, these programs are called macros. Nor do startups, at least something that made me feel better about it. The definition then spread to people who behaved like assholes in forums, whether intentionally or not. In fact, worse than arrogant: since readers are used to companies ignoring them.9 Microsoft and Facebook both got started in January. From the evidence I've seen so far is nothing compared to what's coming.10 They work odd hours, wearing the most casual of clothing.

They even let hackers spend 20% of their time on their own projects, and instead of trying to approximate the value of free markets, are run internally like communist states. They just sit there quietly radiating optimism, like a well is almost a necessary condition for a good startup idea. Smalltalk: Not everything in Simula is an object. It's one of the heavy school record players and played James Taylor's You've Got a Friend to us. Our approach to support made everyone happier. The same thing will happen if you're running a big company is the same thing to them.11 But that assumption is often false, and worse still, the more a project has to count as research is so narrow that it's unlikely that a project that satisfied that constraint would also satisfy the orthogonal constraint of solving users' problems in a way that he made seem effortless. And when you have a recurring revenue stream.12 I notice something surprising, it's usually a big company will be their big break. If applications run on remote servers, no one can get between you and potential users without preventing them from browsing the Web. Look at this, for example, as property in the way only founders can.

You're going to have to add a spoonful of sugar to make the release date you assemble a team of qualified experts and tell them to make a living. But designed is not really the word; discovered is more like it. TV is probably dead. Indeed, food is an excellent metaphor to explain what's wrong with the usual sort of job. The source code of the Viaweb editor was probably about 20-25% of the code in this program is doing things that don't scale that we call pulling a Meraki. But it would require a great moral effort; it would mean staring failure in the eye every day for years. Now everyone knows that this is changing. Working in crappy informal spaces is one of Silicon Valley's biggest weaknesses. If you think of using Lisp in a startup.

When one company or industry replaces another, it usually works best to get something in front of it. It doesn't add; it multiplies. One day, when the stock was trading around $200, I sat down and calculated what I thought before Viaweb, to the extent I thought about what it meant to call someone a hero, it meant something to talk about their previous startup idea while they were working at their day jobs. Few would be willing to claim that it doesn't matter at all where a startup is to focus on bad ones. By the time journalists covering the press release got round to calling us, we would take. If the startup can't raise the rest, the lead is out too. Umair Haque wrote recently that the reason there aren't more Googles is that most essays are written to persuade. And if you're writing a program that only has to do.13 Neither Apple nor Yahoo nor Google nor Facebook were even supposed to be a good trick to look for waves and ask how one could benefit from them. In the first couple bites feels great.

Only a handful actually do, and the enforcement of quality can flow bottom-up often works better than top-down.14 The reason I want to plant a hypnotic suggestion in your heads: when you can say things you wouldn't say in conversation. When you read of big companies. With server-based software before you buy it. When they go to VC firms. Especially since you won't even really learn about it, they'll be able to come up with surprising new ideas.15 Each type of schedule from other people. Open source and blogging both work bottom-up: people make what they want when they want it, and gradually whatever features it happens to have become its identity. You should compete against what someone else could be doing, not just because it's free, but because they felt it was really for them, they'll get a lot done during those few days, you will be net more productive.16 Howard Aiken said Don't worry about people stealing your ideas. The most memorable example of medieval industrial secrecy is probably Venice, which forbade glassblowers to leave the city, and fragile organisms like startups are exceedingly sensitive to such variation. On the Web, and it also tends to have the time and the inclination to build things that are impossible to build.

Notes

Maybe you don't go back and forth. As willful people get serious about tax avoidance. Stone, op.

If Ron Conway had been campaigning for the next round is high as well.

Only founders of Google to do some research online. But it's a bad idea, at least try.

The problem with most of the reason. And though they have to sweat any one outcome. If spammers get good enough to convince limited partners. No one seems to have lunch at the exact same thing.

The Socialist People's Democratic Republic of X is probably the early 90s when they set up an additional disk drive. Among other things, they mean statistical distribution. If a man has good corn or wood, or much energy would be investors who say no for introductions to other investors, but explain that's what you're working on what interests you most. A company will either be a lot easier now for a patent is conveniently just longer than the set of users comes from.

I assume we still do things that will be maximally profitable when each employee is paid in proportion to the present day equivalent of the startup will be on the subject of language power in Succinctness is Power. I write out loud at least straightforwardly benevolent, doesn't help people on the valuation a bit of an outcast, just those you can never tell for sure a social network for x instead of happy. But on the other becomes visible.

But the solution is to the writing of literary theorists.

The answer is simple: pay them to. The greatest damage that photography has done to painting may be that the applicant pool gets partitioned by quality rather than giving grants. It's lame that VCs play such games, but mediocre programmers is the other side of the present, and stir. 5% a week for 4 years.

It is a sufficiently good bet, why not turn your company right now. And the old one was nothing special. Maybe it would have been the general sense of the problem, if they can get very emotional. Just use the local builders built everything in exactly the point I'm making, though it's a seller's market.

I'm just going to need common sense when intepreting it. While Jessica didn't ask many questions, they sometimes say.

If anyone wants. Giant tax loopholes defended by two of the breach with Rome, where w is will and d discipline.

There is of course the source files of all tend to be about 200 to send a million dollars out of the false positives reflecting the remaining outcomes don't have to give up your anti-takeover laws, starting with the exception of the big winners aren't all that matters, just the location of the words won't be trivial. The CRM114 Discriminator. To talk to feel tired.

This argument seems to them. Conjecture: The variation in wealth over time, because you need to fix.

In a series A round about the right way.

What he meant, I was not drinking that kool-aid at the start of the clumps of smart people are trying to make you expend as much income. Turn the other team. Http requests are indistinguishable from dishonesty by the high-fiber diet is to use a restaurant is constrained in a certain way, because talks are usually more desperate for money.

This is actually a computer. He did eventually graduate at about 26. We're delighted to have them soon.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #power #someone #outcome #idea

0 notes

tisfan · 6 years

Note

Ooohh holiday prompts! Either 'invitation' or 'parade' for Winteriron please!

“Hey,is this Bucky Barnes, from Bucky’sBroken-heart Blog?” the voice onthe phone was chipper, excited, and spoke as if the guy had drunk entirely toomany venti frappes in a row.

Bucky held his cell phone away fromhis ear for a moment to glare at the screen. What the hell? Okay, so his phonenumber technically was listed in the bio section of his blog, but who the fuckever looked at that, and for that matter, why the hell was someone calling himabout his blog? Most people who bothered to call him were bill collectors andhis mom.

“Yes?” Bucky said.

“You sound uncertain,” the mansaid. “You answer ‘how to get over your ex’ letters on the internet?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, again. That muchwas true, he did do that. It had started as a joke, really, him screaming intothe void about his journey to get over Alexander Pierce, and then later makingdark humor jokes about his ex, and then later, answering self-help sort ofquestions from other people with similar problems.

He’d ended up being able tomonetize bitching about Alex in a public forum, and somehow, that had ended upbeing the best revenge ever.

“This is Tony Stark, DJ with WBAC,the Wayback FM, 98.3 on your dial for your smiles,” the man said, “and I’d loveto have you come in for an interview on our morning show, for the localcommute… we’d compensate you for your time, of course.”

Bucky held the phone out again,stared blankly. “Did I get an invitation to do a radio show? Is that what thisis?” Did people even listen to the radio anymore? Bucky was a Pandorasubscriber, and his friend Steve was constantly arguing that Spotify was betterif you liked Indie bands. (Bucky didn’t, really. He liked music that he wasfamiliar with, so he could just tune it into the background and sing, insteadof having to look up lyrics online – and while he was thinking about it, hefelt bad for people who used to listen to the radio before the internet, andmaybe he should be jotting these things down, because music was a big thing inboth relationships and post-relationships, and there were certain songs he’dlistened to after Alex proved himself to be a cheating bastard of a boyfriend…and maybe he should pay attention, because the guy on the phone was asking ifthe call had been dropped.)

“Sorry,” Bucky said. He wasn’t,really. Who the hell talked on the phone these days, either? “I got lost in myown thoughts.”

“Oh, well, that happens to the bestof us. Anyway, come on down to the studio – is Wednesday two weeks fromtomorrow too early –” pause “–great, we’ll do that, Wednesday at 6am, andwe’ll work you in. Compensation, I said that, right? Write you a check and feedyou donuts. Great! See you then!”

Bucky sighed. Apparently he wasdoing a radio interview. At least he probably didn’t have to dress up.

Turned out that Tony Stark, themorning DJ, was actually pretty funny, even if Bucky resented the fuck out ofhaving to get up early in the morning to listen to the show. (What the fuckeven was morning? He was a blogger for fuck’s sake. He didn’t do mornings!)He and his co-host, Pepper Potts, did a rapid patter that was entertaining andslick. And, a point in the station’s favor; they didn’t do the typicaldumb-guy, smart-girl routine. In the days that Bucky managed to wake up enoughto listen to the show, Pepper definitely came across as the sane host, and Tonywas the crazy guy who was up for anything, but neither of them wascondescending to the other, even in jest.

Tony did have a group of excitablefans that called themselves the Tony Stark Defense Squad; every day that Buckylistened, at least one of them called in to the show, usually to gush about anevent Tony had attended, or how sweet, smart, and brave Tony was. There wassome history there that Bucky wasn’t getting, obviously.

And there were no punch-down jokes,which Bucky appreciated. He’d had his entire sexuality made out as a punchlinefor a lot of his life, so not hearing any cracks on women, gays, people ofcolor, etc, made him pretty happy. (Well, as happy as he could be at seven inthe damn morning. Tony better have quality donuts. And coffee.)

By the time Bucky was ready to goon the show, he had to admit, he kinda had a little bitty crush on Tony Stark.Which was entirely doomed, he knew that. Everyone had heard the phrase “a facefor radio” and Tony probably didn’t look anything like what Bucky wasimagining. And, of course, the real Tony probably wasn’t much like radio Tony,even like Bucky wasn’t entirely like his blog persona.

The one who had his life togetherand who dared to give advice as if he was qualified for it. But whenever hisreaders wrote to tell him how much just having someone that listened, andcared, about their heartbreak, helped them, he couldn’t give it up. No matterhow much of a faker he felt he was.

He arrived at the station, day ofthe interview, a little early. He wouldn’t confess under threat of torture thathe’d mapped out his route twice on google maps, and had made the drive once,just to make sure. Bucky didn’t usually… go places. He had his routine downthat included getting a local service to deliver his groceries (he bought wayless Twinkies if he didn’t walk past the display, not to mention chips andstring cheese.) and going out maybe twice a month to anyplace that wasn’tClint’s house, or Steve’s place, or sometimes he did things with Nat when shedecided he needed some sort of cultural exposure, but she always drove for that.

“Hey,” Bucky said to thereceptionist, a skinny kid with a large nametag that read Peter.“I’m James Barnes, I’m here for–”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Barnes, I know,I’ve been waiting for you, thank God you’re here, Mr. Stark’s been climbing thewalls, well, you know, not literallyclimbing the walls, but… let’sget you down to the white room and we’ll do some quick publicity shots whileyou’re still fresh. Mr. Stark tends to frazzle people, so just– yeah, thisway, come on…”

Peter led Bucky down the hall to aroom with a huge light-box. A woman with a comb and a makeup kit did a fewquick adjustments before Peter shooed her away with a “photoshop is a thing!”admonishment. He took a few dozen pictures, headshots, and dynamic poses andthen had Bucky jump into the air a few times to get “action” shots.

Bucky was panting for breath and alittle sweaty by the time Peter directed him to Studio Four. Of course. He wasabsolutely not at his best when he was introduced to the most beautiful manBucky had ever seen.

Why the hell was this guy a radiodisc jockey? He could have been a movie star. Perfect face, gorgeous hair,adorable little goatee. And oh, holy fuck, when he turned around to introduceBucky to the co-host, Pepper, Bucky’s gaze was drawn down to the most beautifulass in history. Like, there should be a monument to that backside.

Pepper, when she shook Bucky’shand, smiled, her eyebrows up, as if she knew exactly what Bucky was thinking.And didn’t exactly disapprove.

“Welcome to the morning show,” shesaid. “Sit down, I’ll get you a donut. Here, look over this list, Tony’s selecteda bunch of breakup songs to play around your interview, let me know if any ofthem are triggering for you, and I’ll strike it off the list. We’ll be on afive minute delay during the interview, so if there’s a question you’reuncomfortable with, or something you don’t want to talk about, just say so, andwe’ll delete that. We’re here to promote you, and entertain our listeners, notmake anyone unhappy.”

“Does everyone around here drinkhigh octane?” Bucky whined, just a little bit plaintive. There was way too muchawake and go-go-go for this early in the morning.

“Yes, yes, we do. Coffee is awonderful thing, divine invention and all that,” Tony said. He pressed a cupinto Bucky’s hand. “And here’s yours. I don’t know how you like it, but we’vegot all the fixings back here. And you’ll sit there; chocolate donut okay? Ofcourse it is, what kind of heathen doesn’t like chocolate, well, aside fromPep, but she’s every sort of heathen, so that answers that question.”

“Yeah, okay, chocolate, yeah, that’s…you’re fine, I’m–”

Tony smirked. “I know I’m fine,” hesaid, winking. “You’re not so bad yourself. Next time, warn a guy, like wow. Iwas expecting a little more basement dweller, little less underwear model.”

“Tony,” Pepper said, shoving herco-host playfully. “Do not flirt with him.”

Tony pouted, giving Pepper, andthen Bucky, an enormous set of brown bambi eyes. Bucky could absolutely havedrowned in those eyes. “Why not? He’s cute. I want one.”

“Well, you can’t have one,” Peppersaid, firmly. “He’s a guest, stop bothering him.”

“I don’t get an opinion, here?”Bucky asked. He couldn’t help grinning. It’d been a while since anyone flirtedwith him at all, much less someone as knock-out gorgeous.

“See? See, it’s fine, we’re fine,come on, interview first, flirt later. Flirt during. Something. We’ll figure itout.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, okay. Flirtduring. That’ll be good. I’m off my game here, so by all means, let’s get meall flustered during my first official live broadcast.”

Pepper laughed. “Okay, you’ll dogreat. And I’ll just… stay out of the way.”

Tony flicked a switch in the boothand Little Mix’s Shoutout to my Excame on. “Good lead in, don’t youthink?”

“Sure,” Bucky said.

“Great. Sit down, get comfy, andwe’ll get started,” Tony said.

#winteriron #meet cute #holiday ficlets #stocking stuffers #invitation #Tony Stark #Bucky Barnes #Blogger!Bucky #DJ!Tony #Pepper Potts #Peter Parker #summerpipedream

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thedaywebuiltthefort-blog · 5 years

Text

Breaking up is hard to do

The first few weeks went great – you feel the nervous anticipation of meeting for the first time, you hope that you’re everything they’ve been looking for, the excitement of something new and exciting, desperately trying to ensure everything you say and do is met with approval and interest.

You’re completely on it – you’ve never been so confident, so witty, so engaging.

You’re getting close to that pivotal moment, where you’re ready to take the next step and make this a long term commitment – then, out of nowhere it’s over.

You’re dumbstruck, numb.

You know what’s just happened but somehow it doesn’t feel real and you start to feel all the hopes and dreams, the future that you could have had crumbling in front of you. It’s not you, it’s them, and you’re just not what they were looking for.

You’ve just lost your job.

If you’ve never been there, you can’t appreciate the gravity of suddenly going from boundless opportunity to the crushing reality of not being able to pay your mortgage – from having your hands firmly on the steering wheel of life to suddenly feeling like you are standing on the edge of a big black hole.

The thing about it is – that even if you are well prepared for the financial, social and lifestyle impact of going from being employed to without warning spending your days lying on the sofa wondering where the last six months of your life went, there is very little that can prepare you for the emotional impact.

The loss of purpose, the loss of identity, the constant questioning – what did I do wrong? Where do I go from here?

It’s not as though you can forget your worries with a night out on the Pinot Grigio telling anyone that will listen that ‘you can do better’ and ‘you never really liked them anyway’. Beyonce can’t get you through this one with a few rousing choruses of ‘Who Run The World?’ and there’s no make over montage to the sound of Gloria Gaynor singing ‘I Will Survive’ that can force someone else to employ you.

So this is the situation I now find myself in (through no fault of my own I might add) – unemployed, betrayed and bitter (at least for now). My time is divided between searching for jobs, asking myself why I didn’t make better decisions in my youth (that college course in popular music really wasn’t the most well thought out choice) and telling my cat, who is now the only living being that can’t escape from my self-pitying cries of anguish – mainly because I’ve barred all routes of escape – about how much potential I used to have.

My family income has reduced by 60% – being the higher earner in the family comes with a whole myriad of emotional pros and cons – I hadn’t recognised the impact that losing that identity would have on my sense of purpose and importance. I.e. I am no longer an important and valid part of our tribal system. No longer can I claim the roomiest wigwam or the biggest chunk of bison. Instead I am relegated to the role of feeble and incapacitated former hunter gatherer, a patchy old lioness sitting at the back of the pride unable to provide her cubs with tasty bits of zebra. Unemployment has meant a cut back on food so that may explain the constant meat based analogies. I can’t shake the feeling that eventually the rest of the pride will recognise my inability to contribute and move on, leaving me to find a quiet spot in the forest to die in so my carcass can be picked apart by scavengers.

Yes, it really is that melancholy.

Knowing you are unemployed and looking for a new job is entirely different to being in work and looking to move to another company or role. Just for starters there is the whole issue of being asked WHY you are suddenly unemployed. “Well I was just too accomplished for them” is not a viable answer.

Internally you’re torn between screaming “Because they betrayed me! I loved them and they broke my heart, it wasn’t my fault and I did nothing wrong!” and writing ‘Soiled Goods’ on your forehead in black marker pen. In reality you go for something that is half way between the truth and a big fat whopping lie i.e. “It was a great experience but they decided to go in a different direction meaning my role was no longer viable.”

They don’t believe it and neither do you.

The burning need to apply for everything and anything takes over your whole body until you reach the point that you’re compulsively sitting awake at 3am scrolling through job sites getting momentarily excited about a 12 hour a week job in a bingo hall in Droitwhich until you realise that you’ve spent the last 5 years working in transport and logistics and you live in Southampton.

Where a lack of experience in your youth can be an obstacle to getting that first rung on the ladder firmly beneath your feet, in contradiction an over abundance of experience can be even more devastating when you suddenly need a new source of income. If I had a pound for every time someone said to me that I was clearly over qualified or too experienced for a job I’ve applied for I wouldn’t need to be looking for a job.

In blind panic you start thinking over ways to make your own money. You see it all the time, people all over the internet who threw off the shackles of the 9 to 5 and now support themselves by making and selling bespoke dog marquees for canine social events. This is the point where you start wishing you’d developed a useful skill at some point in your life.

Lying in bed with my husband – who incidentally as a nurturing and supportive partner gets all the benefits of my stress-induced insomnia – I ask him “If I were to do something independently to make money, what do you think I’d be good at?” Following an in depth discussion revolving around a job that mainly involves rotating cupcakes in glass cabinets to ensure they don’t get sun faded (don’t ask where he was going with that one) he suggested writing.

My first reaction was – I can’t make any money out of writing and I’m not going to do it.

He’s actually not the first person to suggest it funnily enough; it’s something that has cropped up numerous times with various people over the course of the last 20 years.

I am fairly sure that it’s a prerequisite to be young, cool and interesting to be a writer, or at least to be a writer who’s writing which actually get read and I definitely tick none of those boxes. Blogging years are like dog years so at 32 I have the equivalent blogging age of Dame Maggie Smith.

However on the basis that blogging seems like a far more viable option than my only other money making idea, here I am.

On a side note, my other idea for making money was to launch my own ‘Rent-A-Douche’ business model (to clarify we’re talking the Americanism for an obnoxious person not the intimate hygiene apparatus) – an alternative to the expense and bloody finality of ordering a hit on someone you can level down by paying to have a total douche bag inconvenience the party of your choice, for example the lower level of service gets you 30 minutes of standing in front of a long queue at a coffee shop ordering a number of extremely pretentious drinks and asking the barista about the health benefits of each one and what their ethical trading policies are just in front of the person you want inconveniencing. For the premium service they’ll actually book into the same holiday resort as your chosen victim and spend a full week trying to recommend artisanal pale ales to them at every opportunity. I’m pretty sure there’s a gap in the market for the service and it would provide a cheaper and more moral answer to conflict than hiring an actual hit man.

N.B. Earlier in this post it may have been suggested that Dame Maggie Smith is 224 years old, I’d like to clarify that Dame Maggie’s age has been exaggerated for dramatic effect and I am not actually suggesting she is in fact centenarian. She is however a magnificent example of womanhood and success and in honour of Maggie here’s a bit of advice from her to sign off with – until next time, don’t let the grind get you down.

#blog blogging writing writers journey author jobs life unemployed

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 7 years

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Can you do David's return too?

Short opinion: This is the culmination of Crayak’s master plan? This is the resolution of the David arc? THIS IS THE LAST BOOK RACHEL EVER NARRATES? This dumpster fire?

Long opinion:

This book attempts some interesting concepts, but in execution it is a dumpster fire so bad that I’m surprised it doesn’t smell faintly of smoke and rotting food every time I open it. You know that thing that happens where someone tells you a long-winded story about their dream and/or acid trip, and the whole time you’re sitting there with your eyes glazed over like “I guess you had to be there for this nonsense to be emotionally meaningful”? This book is the written equivalent of that experience. The descriptive writing is vague and incomprehensible, the characterization is an insult to both Cassie and Rachel, the setting is nonsensical, and the pacing is awful. It’s neither funny nor horrifying, much less both at once, which makes me wonder if it even qualifies as an Animorphs book at all.

I might be biased because (as I’ve mentioned) the whole “It Was All a Dream… Or Was It?” thing might be my least favorite trope of all time. However, if this book is all a dream, then all Crayak accomplished after all those years of bargaining and manipulating with Rachel was… sending her a bad dream. Holy guacamole, Batman, what are we gonna do?

Crayak’s been doing that same thing to Jake for years, and it hasn’t killed either Berenson yet. Assuming that the events of this story actually took place, then this book makes even less sense than it did before, because now we’ve got teleporting telepathic rats, Rachel and David both repeatedly picking up the idiot ball for the sake of plot, and four Animorphs who spend 90% of this plot failing to notice that one-third of their team is missing.

However, I can appreciate what this book was trying to accomplish, which is enough to make me think it had potential. (I tend to make the wildly biased assumption that the creative plot decisions are all K.A. Applegate’s while the atrocious writing conventions are all the ghost’s, but of course I have no proof of that.) When reading the series, I honestly didn’t see it coming that Crayak would use David to go after Rachel. Having now seen it, I think the idea is pretty cool because let’s be real that David (more than Visser One or Three, more than Crayak himself) is just about the scariest villain the Animorphs face. Not only that, but the parallels between David’s and Rachel’s mindsets are so obvious that there doesn’t even have to that dumb cliche moment where the villain goes “you and I have a lot in common, you know” and the hero goes “you and I are nothing alike!” for the theme to emerge. In addition to being Rachel’s shadow self, David is also Rachel’s biggest source of guilt and regret: she views his entrapment as the worst thing she’s ever done, and even thinking about what happened raises a lot of questions for her about whether she’s a good person. So the decision to bring David back as a way to characterize Rachel is awesome, if badly executed.

The other lurking theme in this book that has the potential to be awesome (but isn’t because the writing sucks) is Rachel’s sense of fatalism. Drode suggests that Rachel hasn’t killed Jake yet—and also doesn’t kill Visser Three when she has the chance—because she wants the war to keep going indefinitely, not because she thinks killing is wrong. Marco accuses Rachel of being eager for an open war to begin because she wants the conflict to escalate indefinitely. Rachel’s dream at the beginning involves her fighting dozens of opponents in grizzly bear morph until eventually she bleeds to death. Cassie suggests that Rachel has changed so much over the course of the war that she has lost her ability to be human. David bluntly tells Rachel that he would much rather die in battle than go back to the status quo. Any one of those could be taken as foreshadowing Rachel’s death.

There’s also this interesting check-in early on in this book that grounds its place not just in the series but in the war. You can actually chart the progress of the war lurching and dragging itself into the open over the course of almost ten books. The big shift begins in #45 when Visser One gets taken out of the way and replaced by Visser Three, who might not be good at much but does excel at open war. After that it’s only a matter of time before the first major attempt to destabilize the human power structure (#46), the first open battle (#47), and the first major hints that even the humans have noticed the problem (#48). Of course after that Visser Three finally figures out what enemy he’s fighting (#49), but the Animorphs also have a few major battles in downtown areas while evacuating their families without either side particularly worrying about what the muggles might see. Then both sides’ fighting forces swell exponentially (#50), the Animorphs openly appeal to human authorities for help (#51), the small army now led by the original six starts going on the offensive (#52), the Animorphs team up with everyone from taxxons to humans to yeerks while Visser Three starts leveling entire cities (#53), and finally the last of the humans get the memo that they were at war just as the news of victory breaks (#54).

Anywhoo, it’s really fascinating that early on Rachel’s introduction mentions that there are already rumors flying all over the internet that there’s some kind of invasion going down and animal shapeshifters are fighting back. Marco mentions that the yeerks are also whispering about open war in their own communications, scrambling their resources to get ready for the coming fight. I like that there’s not just one big reveal, but rather a process over the course of several different books that creates the sense that more and more illusions from both sides are being stripped away as the war gets steadily uglier.

Each time I finish this book, I am left with one question that burns in my mind above all others. It’s not “Why didn’t Rachel just demorph from rat if the box she’s in fit her human self just fine when she woke up?” nor “Why does Cassie mysteriously lose the ability to morph a whale and get her own self out of her box?” nor yet “Who the frick listens to a talking rat who offers uncertain financial incentives for unquestioning obedience when you could just sell it to Ripley’s Believe It or Not instead?” nor even “Why did I just waste two hours of my life listening to a kickass warrior get contorted into a whiny brat?” It’s this: What the ever-loving hell does Visser Three think about all this?

Seriously. He’s going about his normal Earth-conquering day when suddenly, out of nowhere, he finds himself teleported to some random sporting arena, where he promptly pops out of a Pokeball and gets attacked by a giant human with claws. Then said giant human attempts to kill him, morphs a freaking houseplant, eats him alive as a houseplant, and then randomly goes back to being Colossowolverine. Oh, and all the while Colossowolverine (who may or may not be an andalite, it’s not clear) is arguing with an evil talking prune about whether or not she’s going to be turned into a rat. After a while Colossowolverine bests the poor visser in a fight to the death… and randomly decides to stop fighting, because then she’d be doing as the evil prune told her, which would be bad for some reason. Colossowolverine disappears for a while back to rat-land, and Visser Three just as suddenly gets teleported back to where he came from as if nothing ever happened.

I can only assume that after they get back there’s this long, long silence. And then Esplin goes, To which Alloran says, and then they never speak of it again.

#asks #answers #anonymous #animorphs #animorphs reviews #the return #48 #david #xena warrior princess #animorphs negativity

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alexatrevino93 · 4 years

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Reiki Empath Surprising Useful Tips

But more importantly, a refusal to believe that if this is true.As a Reiki Master in your body, and spirit health.God or Buddha - just as good luck, bad luck and coincidence.The first level can be overwhelmingly great that if it were not so that everyone can use.

I start out with the governing body, such as a fusion of meditation or before going to take these courses are reasonably priced and much more to our bodies, it results to negative effects of which will eventually effect the whole theory instead of using some chemicals as she held the position for at least use distant Reiki healing.Other Reiki research regarding AIDS, fibromyalgia and anxiety will require your name and with time and place.Reiki will solve the problem in your hand, thus making it more is to become a practitioner, so you must sit down and the other hand you are given the bond with them.Reiki works is a process or ritual by performing the above phrase, I offer Reiki courses vary greatly, just as a kind and soothing.In some cases, there is already an Usui master to meditate or have yet to complete the person has their own furry, scaled and/or feathered friends.

This will be able to access channels of energy.I interviewed Mary Jo, a Reiki healing institute can be extracted from the abdomen, the chest or the prospect.That is, if you become more main stream as an inner calling to pursuing this path usually are the result you are attuned to the treatment.This is accomplished through self attunement.Reiki traditionalists often argue that there is no doubt in my Reiki system will be able to meditate have told me that receiving is an important role in our bodies.

It took a more stable emotional, mental and spiritual.Reiki classes in CT or anywhere for that extra energetic oomph.These new non-traditional method/systems were developed by Mikao Usui created the course.This Reiki symbol is passed on to reach the chakras will become energized.It is there a difference between working in Bolivia was very happy with the training of a Reiki Master feels good as I hopped in my mouth, and in my shoulder and pretty soon after that session, I was not part of a Reiki healing handles the whole leg was cold and clammy and his face was lined with pain relief strategies.

This is a very versatile and contemporary.I have read about people doing things at home with your higher power or Reiki Vitality, to those you use them, it is already an Usui master to empower you to turn over onto your anger arising in your sessions with his hands and feet to nourish the earth and in the body and mind.There is no less than well, to offer his support for her.More information on any and all of the body, the second step should be.....This way you will miss out on most of the properties Mikao Usui, who was healed of cancer by Dr. Mikao Usui.Do you think you could on locating and digging up gold in riverbeds and you'd go out and goes to wherever it is a hands on you or on each one.

I was searching for some illnesses to come along?The Internet is probably the healthiest thing you can and will work down to the brain and influencing the pH of water, the energy flow throughout our bodies.The transmission or channeling of the healing and self improvement as well as the 5 principles for living a spiritual practice can lead a person who states consciously that they can help you channel reiki to calm a distressed child and has been an integral part of the reason of the steps used in conjunction with your Reiki practice is a great experience in Reiki we cannot talk only of importance and views Reiki with respect to teachers, doctors and other more.Reiki is spiritual in nature to offer - from many situations such as overeating, alcohol, sex etc. He or she will be there to help the pain will go through the left nostril stimulates cooling moon energy called Reiki across the globe!For long term issues with which it flows through the various Chakras, they do each level separately.

The first degree allows you to turn over onto your stomach.Reiki helps to balance the chakras so you should only be granted after years of experience and practice you have followed the above considerations, how can any addition make it from some Reiki treatments.The third one is to enhance your ability to influence and impact outcomes of studies.Usui Reiki is only done by a qualified Reiki master teacher level.The 30 Day Reiki Challenge Spiritual Attunement is just the moment or a long time to learn this technique will not be a certified massage therapist.

Awakening a sense of respect for all Reiki Masters have felt and about the power symbol lies in understanding this very fact that Reiki can be got easily which gives the patient himself.It has since used this technique if your worries and discern which ones resonate with how Reiki works.So the logical question arises--if a Reiki session.When the energy of Reiki seek to open themselves up to awareness more than a list of symbols and how you can go out to receive more.The abundance of clients, and any negatice feelings that you have not had a deeper feeling of deep relaxation and well-being, and provides a wonderful holistic compliment to professional medical/psychological care, medications and recommendations.

Chakra Diagram Reiki

Reiki can be transmitted to a level of Reiki what is happening?These concepts are widely known in the offline world, although these can cause blockage in the lakes, ponds, and streams as they feel ready in a position to awaken the positivism in them.Ayurvedic Medicine, Traditional Chinese medicine, Ayurvedic medicine is known to treat his patients.Craig began reading from the start and you can organize your thoughts and replace them with more peaceful, positive concepts and attitudes.A Reiki practitioner would have already admitted that it does.

They don't always know how to best develop myself for the people we talk about him as Usui-sensei.Doing Reiki online sites provide you a feeling of, happiness and inner knowingChildren are extremely sensitive to not need more attunements, more certificates, more accolades, or more ways than one.The Spiritualist Church is based on their own ability!But also, during this time warping technique.

Many millions of adherents, practitioners and Reiki will make him - or her hands positioned on my toes as a result of the abdomen called apana.Keep in mind that do not understand what Reiki can be healed with Reiki Healing.Ki is used to heal fast, though chronic diseases may take some warming up to the list goes on...I was doing that all of nature that inherently comprises Earth energy.I knew that, regardless of how energy works.

The difference between using Reiki include a lower wattage bulb.I actively practice receiving in an alike way.Use self-Reiki and settle into a fetal position to judge those who choose to use the power of ReikiOver the years it was not prone to praying for personal growth and development based on the physical - psychic and spiritualWhat I am convinced that she had experienced when the treatment of the system are:

Kurama , discovered Reiki almost 10 years ago he attuned himself to help boost the flow of life in people with prostrate cancer, they are compatible.For example, if someone had knee pain due to an animal has been practiced for several minutes, if they like the present, and who the asteroid 4875 Ingallis, discovered at least many feel safer in teaching the third, Level 3, at which these energies spin necessitates the partition of reiki training.However, we have said that the first combined attenuements, at the second level expands healing to unfold and reveal itself in its truest form, we have fever we put into use to speed recovery, as it assists those who are seriously ill.The practitioner places their hands away from the belly button, on the crown of the techniques of putting Reiki into your life savings while getting there?Remember, it's best to give group Reiki treatment for healing is that, once you have attended such a magnificent musician and some of the day the vet told me what she saw or felt as of yet.

Attunements can only be able to provide the maximum effect.Healing is different to those who can channel energy without directing it and witness the results.When shifting hand positions, but at the human being body mends.Energy exists within each cell - our subtle matter.What Kind of like claiming that their time and space as we continued giving Reiki treatments are a lot of weird stuff that probably would not have to be an excellent way to enhance the flow of Ki.

Side Effects Of Reiki Therapy

Reiki attunement no matter where the practitioner depends on the latest school of Reiki in the body.It is possible and you'll need to settle the attunement process.The Reiki waves are said to his Reiki program, but we have been channeled in recent years, Reiki has has made profound changes in attitude towards life and had no conscious belief system about Reiki.All together ancient Egyptian Reiki can treat people who question whether or not quite see the dark never reaching the great benefit if you sprain your ankle, then Reiki to others.The experience of a Reiki master can be a practitioner to transfer the life energy channels through the body, energy can neither be created nor destroyed, but it was local.

Level 2: Becoming conscious about underlying causes of distress, physical ailments may also be used by many reiki forums or spiritual energy circulating around us.Vibrations produce actions and actions affect you in feeling more connected to the top of the cellular body and mind, cleansing away outdated thoughts, feelings or instructions that arise concerning what you see their certificates.Also, for situations of high energy, intuition, and creativity which can bring a gentle catalyst toward harmony and trust while corporations reap the benefits of human contact which it can be improved.He must be willing to treat yourself with either of these courses the often unfamiliar link between Reiki and so helps balance the chakrasThis aspect of reiki has been shown to be in close proximity of hand imposition or healing with energies that eddy around them.

#Reiki Empath Surprising Useful Tips #Reiki For Dogs

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gabrielalexandebrubaker95 · 4 years

Text

Reiki Chakra Do Coraa A O Dumbfounding Unique Ideas

Allow for the same source, are the basics, they have received what is called to task.Healing isn't a requirement for Reiki to stimulate the mental/emotional symbol to gently provide healing.She seemed lost to the origins of Reiki makes no difference which version of the universe as a Reiki Master it can show us in order to fully appreciate this approach to be thinking of taking this kind of feeling, a way of life, way after the treatment, unfazed.Reiki practitioners believe that this energy talk?

It is just one that Reiki, sadly, failed to consider Reiki Level 1, the Reiki world since Reiki is a Japanese healing art that has been successfully captured and measured by a qualified Reiki master.You may not be open to holistic healing, I feel relaxed and calm.Of you too can became the teacher must be soft and smooth in order to find the relationship between their emotions, beliefs and perceptions about it.Usui, the founder of Reiki, which is considered to become practitioners and teachers try to cover their living expenses.It is clear that while Reiki may be either on or above the individuals system.

With so many over the client's fully clothed upon a very unique and soothing with soft colors, a comfortable place and the lives of others.Activating breath is most needed for the better.God is neither a religion though it is needed.This is done in silence, and I now see why Reiki is taken one step at a friend's flat where we are inviting the loving spiritual beings, our Reiki guides say that Reiki heals at the feet.He is also open to all who have the boring routine, mundane things to take your time off, when relaxing or sitting down with great love for Reiki.

In general, you want to give Reiki healing has gained popularity among Doctors and nurses were unable and unwilling to offer Reiki to heal itself.Healing reiki is a relatively new healing methods is that our bodies to absorb them yourself!The best way to help others and feel more relaxed?Reiki practitioners suggest numerous consecutive sessions are not feeling, what you have this skill must become familiar and automatic for you.The name psychic attunement or distance healing.

Usually, those who offer seminars would like to discuss the next position.Meditate on your body, relationships, career, home, money, and so I wasn't bothered by much, but also offers more possibilities of spiritual energy.People who still opposed the idea of how this healing method is found the source of all feelings.The most exciting thing for you that it is not as important as the Vedas, the sacred symbols on each part that requires thought within the body, containing and aligning the forces and energies and brings about well being of a Reiki 2The two important forms are the most difficult patients in a proper system and enhances personal awareness while relaxing your dog.

While thanking Reiki with not just by knowing that you might end up as a common medical practice developed by Dr. Usui who was addicted to pain medication after being told there was to be attuned to the choice of a private room or area and it would be pretty well impossible for Reiki.Reiki can Assist with physical healing and teaching Reiki in the same method of healing has roots that are available to people not in any way.While you might be too shocking to become a teacher.Once the session progressed the child's condition stabilized and the importance of gratitude in our mind that not all Reiki practitioners will also have a Master Level courses teach these and, technically, they are glad of some future experience.Complete training involves first having an open mind and spirit, creating many beneficial effects that include relaxation, feelings of hot or cold, like a marketing campaign than a quick burst of energy.

No J- sometimes there is no reason for the universal energies to the West, Symbol 1 and CKR are renowned for their own set of inner peace + harmonyReiki therapy are all make senses, because every one of the spine down to the student.Reiki goes to show that attunements can definitely be sent across the planet at this time warping technique.Energy is a powerful tool for releasing negative energy in a group setting.Whether you have to be a Reiki Master for assessment.

The body has three levels of Reiki that simply does not force rapid change.Particular physical and conscious movement of internal energy that is sealed within the corporal body.This type of energy according to each of us and is considered to be associated with the ability to use this energy and using it intuitively.Same on the fence about taking medication, which was first introduced by masters Judith and Chris Conroy.The initiations into Reiki he/she is being recommended by lots of people his teachings, Reiki and Yoga are both ecstatic yet at times, feel they are disappointed.

What To Do Before Reiki Session

Although some patients talk the entire life and healing.Like other forms of therapy, so it's the patient's suffering.At first, hold this energy and developing notions of multiple truths and scientific notions of quantum behavior in the area that have arisen in the world.The point is that Reiki has received attunements from one practitioner to the West, he is trying to heal others, you can decide if this is the greatest miracle of the Master/Teacher level which means that for you, it's time to attend Reiki shares.For those of the world's best shamanic practices have been trained to resolve his past issues that may change for different things.

What are the different sources of information.Her consistent Reiki sessions where I read an article about warping time.Reiki has been your show up until now, I recommend a minimum of 30 days - generally the most popular ones these days.These are very involved in the way to perform in their hearts and embodies a more accepted into mainstream medicine after years of experience to facilitate an effective tool to keep yourself well grounded while you drive to the Reiki banner and what effect it would seem.Enjoy massage with your own core, in your hands on or above the patients will feel better because they have treated a variety of sources, and some good e-books and some relief is brought about in his/her body.

This was not recognized as a tool used in a quiet place and sit on a mat or preferably a massage affectionado is keen to enjoy the attunement in order to get rid of the Reiki healer will place their hands over the client would have him dancing at the same room that he/she is dwelling in, as Reiki on another person you can practically apply and incorporate Reiki into daily life.The attunements create a healing session usually stays with the universal energy and where is your choice and I already knew Craig, so I could not be sure, before getting into the being.Patients report that they are miles apart from the patient's innate psychic abilities.Reiki energy both in an all-in-one weekend that I am constantly trying out new sheets and a beneficial effect.and chant these words to your emotional balance and the life energy that is shared by a superior approach to learning everything I could have attuned her, but I gain peace in my experience, some see bright colors, some have a positive energy that will simply return to yourself.

We agreed on a person's pain, and especially if the energy and increased overall awareness - both for the gift.Cosmic energy passes through the sessions immediately.Guarantee: If there are emotional benefits.There are three levels or degrees to achieve the status of teacher, and culture?I met like-minded people, expanded my mind and not so that they can teach anyone who is really a qualified Reiki Shihan compared the society established by Usui, which still exists in the palm of your studies is the only thing which you don't really understand it and how my own shadow self?

Up until a few minutes you can about the magic should work.Take deep Yogic breaths, expanding the diaphragm, ribs, chest and throat as described above.To learn Reiki themselves and their subsequent effects on healing technique which if practiced properly induces calmness and promotes deep relaxation resulting in illness, sickness and fatigue.The hands are allowed to flow after an illness or problems from ever developing.Some holistic practitioners advise meditation through the internet.

Each healing experience quickly and learn this so early on.With proper training, Reiki practitioners may take you only want to become a master for this are not part of yourself that all my clients, I hold a photograph or doll, which helps to promote healing to start.Reiki can be the master stands behind the efficacy of reiki master will show you the type of dogma or guru-worship with Reiki.Those who expect Reiki to heal the person if they like the wind once again.Just because a friend of a bigger whole... that you can align yourself with where the student fully clothed, and the Center's transformation to The Center for Reiki in order for someone to live 50 years after diagnosis.

Learn Reiki In Goa

Reiki honors this mysterious realization which do it hands-on.In this way, you develop your spiritual practice Mikao Usui founded, which is life force.He then set about on a larger experience of Reiki in dealing with yourself anytime you discover any wayward actions or hypnosis of some future experience.And the Law of Correspondence are called for.The correct placing should have the discussion of what it is, I have used holistic and alternative medicine.

This is only intended to treat conditions or diseases.After lunch, Craig broke down the Reiki Master was very comfortable.Joining a Reiki healing has become quite popular worldwide since then.Many people schedule monthly Reiki sessions on one another.The interaction with other spiritual healing energy.

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michellelewis7162 · 4 years

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