#that's four more periods maximum then NEVER A FUCKING GAIN

[wearetheunholyfamily]

GETTING A HYSTERECTOMY THIS SUMMER

#FUCKIN FINALLYYYYY #sometime in August or September looks like #that's four more periods maximum then NEVER A FUCKING GAIN #so so so so so fucking happy holy shit #captains log

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony's Stupid Daily Blog (713): Wed 28th Feb 2024

Spent the day binging more of the Comedy Central run of Futurama and it's striking how much the quality of the gags improved during this first revival. Futurama was always a funny show but it feels like every episode post-revival has had at least one laugh out loud moment. My favourite episode so far from seasons six to eight is from the episode The Late Phillip J Fry where Fry, Bender and the Professor are travelling forwards in time to look for a civilization that has invented a backwards time machine so they can return to the year 3007. They stop off at a year where the robots have taken over, killed all the humans and arranged all their decayed skulls and bones into monuments and mountains. Fry and the Professor sensing the threat quickly propel the trio forwards in time and land in a time period where beautiful women have taken over and have also invented a backwards time machine. However Bender, annoyed at his co-workers for taking them away from the robot rules time period, propels them even further into the future. When Fry angrily reminds Bender that the women had what they were looking for Bender replies "The robot world had some nice things too. Did you even see that mountain of skulls?". It's a beautifully, well layered and superbly written scenario with an incredibly payoff and Futurama has been full of moments like this since it came back after those braindead fuckwits at FOX cancelled them. I don't know if this is due to a shakeup and influx of new / additional writers or maybe on Fox there were certain people who were preventing certain jokes from making it on screen. It might also be that during the four years that the show was off the air the writers had more time to come up with ideas should the show ever return and didnt have the pressure of constant looming deadlines. Whatever the reason for the improvement I'm glad it happened as the world is definitely a happier place when some Futurama is around and I can't wait to see this latest revived series. I re-watched the documentary movie Super Size Me where journalist / sex pest Morgan Sperlock undertakes an "experiment" to see what will happen to him if he eats nothing but McDonalds for 30 days. Personally I don't understand how this ever got greenlit because if somebody pitched to me that they wanted me to give them a load of money so they could document the consequences of eating unhealthy food and refraining from exercise for a month I would more than likely say "Well you'll probably get really fat". You don't need to make a movie to show people that eating too many Big Macs will make you gain weight. Does he expect McDonalds to start following the casino method of having all their customers select the maximum amount they are allowed to spend every week / month / year. I'm aware of how unhealthy the food from McDonalds is but I dare say that if you decide to eat exclusively only one kind of food for an entire month it will more than likely fuck you up (unless it was grapefruit, that would probably finish you off after about three days). Maybe the reason Spurlock wanted to make the documentary was because he was so broke that he couldn't afford food and he figured that convincing a movie studio that Super Sized Me could function as an important societal study would allow him to stuff his face for an entire month. A few years ago Spurlock admitted to inappropriate sexual behavior and hasn't really worked since but it was never divulged what the inappropriate behavior was. My guess is that consuming so much McDonalds has affected his mental state so much that he forces his lovers to dress up as Ronald McDonald while he fucks them.

[shireness-says]

The Prickly Witch’s Guide to Magic

Summary: Emma Swan tries to keep the witch thing on the down-low. But when a handsome stranger discovers her secret and begs her to teach him magic, Emma finds herself using her powers for good to try and save his brother. ~9.6K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

A/N: It’s finally here - my @cssns piece! I’m really pleased how this one turned out, and I hope you love it too.

The fantastic fic art up top was put together by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713, and will also be posted on her page. Go give her some love - she deserves it! Thanks for the edit, darling, I love it!

Special thanks also go out to my beta, @snidgetsafan; @distant-rose and @winterbythesea, who helped me come up with titles at the last minute; and the great mods for this event, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, and @katie-dub. Thanks for making this such a great event, I’ve loved getting to know folks in the fandom!

Tagging the folks I think might be interested: @branlovesouat, @awkwardnessandbaseball, @searchingwardrobes, @courtorderedcake. If you ever want to be tagged in my stuff, sent me a message.

And a quick disclaimer: my knowledge of anything medical is completely non-existant.

Without further ado: Enjoy!

Emma tries to keep the whole witch thing on the down-low.

It’s not that she’s ashamed – she’s really not. It’s just that if someone’s going to put the whole witchcraft thing into the public eye, it should probably be one of the people who view it as a way of life or whatever, instead of Emma, who tends to treat it as a hobby at best.

The thing is, she wasn’t raised as a witch, and she didn’t really actively seek it out either. She just went into the second-hand bookstore looking for a birthday present for Mary Margaret, and the old, leather-bound tome had just seemed like it was calling to her – like it was there for her and her alone. Like it wanted her more than anyone (with the exception of her best friend) ever had. So she had bought it for nearly obscenely cheap and brought it home.

(She learns later it’s technically called a grimoire, but when she first found it on the shelf, it was just a weird looking old book with a lot of funny illustrations.)

It was just messing around at first. It was pretty obvious the book was about some sort of magic, filled with discussions about the pros and cons of using wands and short biographies of famous wizards (hello, Merlin and da Vinci) and the importance of using as fresh of snake scales as possible for maximum potion efficacity. Emma didn’t take it too seriously right away, but she was finally bored enough to look through it one day, and shocked to find most of the instructions actually worked. At first, it was just little things – seeing if she could turn on the lights (she could), make a grilled cheese appear (she couldn’t, but that’s apparently less about ability and more about obscure laws of witchcraft), clean her dishes (and oh fuck yes she could, this was the best book ever; her apartment would finally be clean and Mary Margaret would get off her back). So spells go pretty well.

And then she got into potions because her cramps were fucking awful one month and she never wanted to go through that again. So she looked through the book and found a potion for curing muscle aches and made up a batch to keep on hand. And the next month, when her uterus tried to kill her again, she tried it as practically a last resort, and it worked. It worked even better the next month when combined with the potion for “intestinal distress” that she found and thought might be good for the bloating (and hot damn, it was).

So Emma Swan, who can barely feed herself, is suddenly using her stove to cook up all kinds of potions – mostly the frivolous ones for, like, shiny hair or ‘an aura of confidence’ or whatever, but still. It counts. The massive soup pot Mary Margaret got her years ago has never seen so much use in its short, somewhat sad life.

And she kind of thought that’d be it – Emma Swan gains a weird hobby, keeps Mary Margaret stocked with all the aphrodisiacs she and David could ever hope to go through. But she’s out and about at a little café one day, and that same sixth sense that led her to the book starts going off again, and that’s how she meets Belle – librarian by day, witch and magical researcher by night.

And then Mary Margaret gets her a fish and calls it her familiar as a joke, and she and Belle keep meeting to try new spells, and it sneaks up on her, just like that, that oh my God she’s totally a witch. Even if Harold the goldfish doesn’t do much more than placidly putter about his bowl instead of helping Emma channel her magic, like she thinks a familiar is supposed to (that is the idea, right? The book wasn’t particularly helpful on that subject).

Things kind of spiral from there. It’s just her and Belle for a while, until Emma has to swing by the library to print stuff one day and finds a woman in there about to hyperventilate because she accidentally froze someone’s water bottle. And even if they haven’t noticed, the woman is still standing there shaking and muttering about this being why she can’t leave the house, and Emma can’t just let that go. So Emma manages to calm the woman down enough to get her into the Bug and back to her tiny apartment, and goes about plying her with hot chocolate made with magically operating equipment (à la Mrs. Weasley, if Emma’s being very honest about how this all looks) in an effort to show her that magic can be controlled and is actually a good thing. And that person is Elsa. Emma and Belle do a lot of research and invite Elsa to all their meetings, and are generally able to help Elsa get her powers under control – especially since so much of the problem was that Elsa thought she was the only person in the world who could do magic and everyone would hate her if they learned of her abilities. In time, Elsa becomes a regular member of their little social/research group.

(It’s especially nice when, after Elsa pulls her life together, she offers to let Emma live in one of the rooms of her old Tudor-style home and just pitch in on the utilities and groceries.)

(Anna still likes to periodically send Emma fruit baskets as a thank you for coaxing her older sister out of her shell, and Emma has never been one to turn down free food, even if the whole thing makes her somewhat uncomfortable. Emma Swan is not great at thanks, ok?)

Belle is the one who meets Regina at an old bookshop, when she actually has to fight her over an old spellbook (a fight that Regina wins because Belle is a total pushover, but what are you going to do). Regina is looking for a new circle after a whole debacle with her previous group – “My batshit crazy sister turned it into some sort of power-hungry coven, and I was not there for that” – and Belle is, again, too kind to say no.

(Never mind the fact that they’re practically becoming their own little coven after Belle moves in to one of the other rooms at Elsa’s, and shit, they really are becoming witches, aren’t they? Clichés and all.)

And they’re good, the four of them. Regina may want them to stretch their wings a bit, get out there and use their magic to effect small changes in the world, but Emma is more than happy with the way things are right now, searching out new texts and comparing notes with other local witches, and finding the perfect spell to extend their rooms to include an ensuite bathroom because that is a priority if Emma’s ever seen one.

But they’re not a coven. They’re just a group of mutual friends - or acquaintances, as the case may be with Regina - who all practice magic, and sometimes get together to do some research. That’s it. It’s like… a weird book club or something. And so what if they sometimes test out some of the more intriguing spells in the house or back yard? It’s not that unusual. And honestly, some of these spell names are so smudged they have to test them somewhere just to figure out what the hell they do.

(Oh fuck, they’re totally a coven.)

Honestly, Emma tries to keep her magic inside the house. That’s not everyone’s strategy; Elsa in particular uses hers out in the world, now that she’s opened an ice cream parlor, which makes sense given where her magical strengths lie. Belle sometimes uses her magic as a research tool at the library, Emma knows, especially when she needs that one specific book that has been reshelved in the wrong place (she’s actually fashioned this impressive computer application that will give her a map showing exactly where it is, which is hella impressive and something Emma thinks they could totally capitalize upon if the magic thing becomes common knowledge). Emma really doesn’t want to know if lawyer Regina is using magic in her profession because that seems pretty unethical. And Emma doesn’t want to be in the middle of it if it’s happening. Better for her to just… not know.

So she tries to keep the magic inside the house, but sometimes, exceptions have to be made. Like when she breaks a heel while chasing one of her skips and it just seems more efficient to create something magical for him to trip over than to keep chasing. Or when the horrible ancient computer in the bail bonds office freezes up again, and she sends a little spark into its ancient guts just to encourage any kind of action. Or any of the multiple things that go wrong with her Bug.

Like now. Standing on the street, staring at a dead battery.

And yes, eventually she will have to get that new battery, but it has been a Long Day, and Emma is tired, and she just wants to get home, dammit, without calling Belle or Elsa to come pick her up. And hey, she does have a way to fix this, doesn’t she?

So Emma metaphorically winds up and lets loose a little burst of magic, just enough to get the old girl running.

Unfortunately, when she steps back, satisfied with the now rumbling engine, she notices she has an audience.

Fuck.

She should have paid more attention, checked the area, but she was so damn tired, and now some dark-haired dude is staring at her with his mouth wide open. Which, granted, is warranted, since Emma just started her car with magic.

As Emma makes eye contact, his jaw snaps shut, and she throws him a look she hopes conveys “Don’t you dare tell anyone, idiot.” It must work, because he nods frantically with wide eyes. She’ll have to take his word for it; lord knows she’s not marching over there to demand a promise and even debating a memory spell feels far too Regina for Emma’s liking.

So with a final look, Emma gets into her car and drives away, trying to forget the whole debacle.

------

The problem is, she can’t just forget it, though not for lack of trying. After taking down her latest skip, Emma gets a few days off of work, finally getting the chance to replace her damn battery and even have a little downtime. But the afternoon of her first day back, when she’s just ready to get into her car and go back home to the creaky Tudor and maybe talk her roommates into takeout, he’s there, waiting for her to show up. The guy from the other day - the guy who saw her do magic, the guy who could probably expose her secret to the world if he felt like it - standing, just leaning against a streetlight right next to her car. And it’s fucking creepy, but Emma can handle herself. She’s got her gun at her hip and a switchblade in her boot and a whole encyclopedia in her head of ways to hit a man and make it hurt.

She’s just paging through her mental catalog for precisely which move she should use to get him to hit the road when he opens his mouth and shocks her.

“Can you teach me magic?” he demands, leaving Emma somewhat startled.

“Excuse me?”

“Magic,” the man repeats. “You have magic, right? Can you teach me?”

He may not actively be a threat, but he has now been reclassified as an annoyance in Emma’s book, which is almost worse. Threats? Emma can deal with threats: shoot them, punch them, kick them in the balls. An annoyance? Well, she still wants to do all that, but can’t find any justification to act on those impulses.

So again, Emma just rolls her eyes, climbs in her car, and drives away.

------

This continues for a week.

Emma will walk out of her building to find the dark-haired nuisance waiting and ready to beg. He always keeps his distance, never makes her feel unsafe, but is a near-constant irritation that she just can’t shake, dammit.

Her week goes something like this:

Monday: Tall, dark, and irritating flashes a grin he must think is flirtatious or disarming or something, starts to say “Excuse me, Miss, if I could just ask you a few questions…” and earns a car door slammed in his face for his trouble.

Tuesday: The annoying bastard comes with bribery this time in the form of a cup of coffee and that same charming smile. Emma gives him another look and drives away without words.

Wednesday: The persistent son of a bitch tries to get personal. “Hi there,” he starts, “my name is Killian Jones, and I was hoping we could talk -”

“Still nope!” Emma tosses over her shoulder before driving away.

Thursday: Emma doesn’t go in because she has an overnight stakeout that evening. It’s a nice break from Killian(noying) Jones.

Friday: He starts to seem a little desperate. He shows up with an honest-to-god hot chocolate and one of those packaged chocolate chip muffins she loves and tries to convince her (“The lady at the cafe said this is your order, and I was hoping to have a word with you…”).

Emma is not convinced, but she does take the muffin and tries to ignore the way his face falls in disappointment that her reaction hasn’t changed. (Even if she is starting to feel a bit bad, there’s no way in hell she’s taking an open beverage from a stranger. She’s not interested in becoming the next installment of Dateline, thank you very much.)

By the time the next Tuesday rolls around, he’s resorted to outright pleading.

“Please, Miss, I am begging you, teach me something about magic.”

Even Emma and her prickly heart are a little moved and intrigued by his desperation and persistence. A little. But the thing is, even if Emma wanted to teach him magic, she can’t. It’s not something he’d be able to just… pick up. You’re either born with the ability or you’re not, and Emma’s been able to tell which, ever since she first picked up the grimoire. It’s like a magic sixth sense or something, an itch under her skin that says all is not as it seems. It’s an itch she’s probably always had - come to think of it, that might have something to do with her lie detector and uncanny talent for tracking down people who don’t want to be found - but ever since she had found the book and delved into the study of magic, she’s suddenly and acutely been aware of that instinct. It’s how she met Belle, it’s how she met Elsa, it’s how she knows that her favorite waitress at the local diner isn’t just what she appears (and why Emma tries to tip extra well at the full moon, because if working with PMS is a bitch, working before you turn into a freaking wolf has to be equally awful). But this guy? This Killian Jones? Emma’s not getting any of her little mental alerts. There’s not a magic bone in his body. And Tuesday is the day she finally snaps and tells him as such.

“I can’t, alright?” she snaps. “Sorry to disappoint.”

But of course, a man as inexplicably desperate as he just has to push, to prod, to refuse to accept her damn answer.

“Well why not?” he demands. “Too busy? Just give me an hour, I’m sure we can figure something out - ”

“Because I can’t teach people who don’t already have magic, you idiot!”

His entire body practically collapses in on itself as he registers her words, and Emma almost feels bad. Almost. Except for the part where he’s been pestering her for a week now.

“You’re a muggle, Jones,” she chuckles humorlessly, before a thought catches her. “Why the hell is it so important that you learn magic, anyways?”

------

She feels like a total ass when he tells her.

Killian Jones, she learns, has an older brother, who is his entire world.

“He’s all I have left,” he chokes out through the tears. Because Liam Jones, beloved older brother of one Killian Jones, has been in the hospital ever since a drunk driver plowed into his car a month ago. There’d been a convenient bus stop nearby with a bench on which they could sit and talk, but Emma finds that he’s having trouble meeting her eye, as if fully facing the woman he’s begging for help means facing the reality of his brother’s situation. “The doctors were able to set the broken bones and fix the internal bleeding, but he won’t wake up. They’re saying things about brain damage…” the sad, dark-haired man in front of her trails off, running a hand through his hair. Emma can’t decide whether the gesture is more absent-minded or distressed. “He’s everything to me. And they’re saying it will take a miracle for him to ever be alright again.” His back straightens, as if with new resolve, and finally fully turns to face her. “Well, I don’t have a miracle. But you have magic, and I thought if you could teach me, that might be enough.” As the memory of her earlier words catches up, he slumps again. “But if you can’t teach me…”

“I can’t,” she interrupts, hating herself for the abruptness as new tears spring to his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I won’t help.”

For the first time, she sees a flicker of hope cross his face. “Yeah?”

Emma nods, once, definitively. “Yeah. Hop in.”

------

“Dinner will be ready soon!” Belle chirps as Killian and Emma walk through the front door of the old Tudor. “I found this mac and cheese recipe in one of the new cookbooks. It’ll probably be our cause of death, but hey, what a way to go - ”

“We’ve got company,” Emma finally cuts in, trying not to chuckle as Killian looks around the entryway with eyes comically wide, like he’s expecting a stack of broomsticks in a corner or something.

(To be fair, there is currently a broom in the corner where the stairs meet the wall, but it’s one of the plastic ones and there because Emma’s a bit of a slacker when it comes to cleaning.)

Belle rushes into the living room a moment later as Emma is still trying to motion to Killian to take off his shoes (technically, she could do it for him, but using magic on unsuspecting people who don’t deserve it is rude). She looks like some picture out of a misogynistic 1950’s Betty Crocker advertisement, with her heels and carefully coiffed hair and a damn apron, for fuck’s sake.

“Company?” she asks a little breathlessly - probably what running around in platform heels will do to you - “You didn’t mention company this morning.” And then, not nearly far enough under her breath to disguise the words, “You never have company.” It earns her a glare from Emma and an even more bewildered look from Killian.

“Yeah, well this wasn’t exactly planned.” Gesturing to the man in question, Emma continues into the introductions.  “Killian Jones, my roommate Belle. Belle French, Killian Jones. We’re helping him.”

Belle furrows her brow. “We? I’d love to help, Emma, but I’m not sure how much I can do to help find your skips -”

“No, not that. Magic. We’re helping him with magic.”

That catches Belle off guard, sending them into several moments of shocked silence, only broken when Killian quietly offers, “If that’s okay with you…”

Belle finally snaps back to attention. “Oh! Yes, of course! Oh Emma, this will be such a good opportunity to finally use these powers to make a difference…”

And they’re off.

------

Elsa reacts similarly to Emma’s sudden pronouncement, and Regina is practically giddy over the phone at the opportunity to finally fucking do something (and someone really needs to talk to her about interacting with people, because this is not the way to go about it). By the time Belle has the goopy macaroni spooned into bowls, they’ve brought down every spell book they own and spread them across the kitchen table.

Belle full-out cries when Killian tells the story again, and Emma knows she’ll do anything to help, what with her tender Disney Princess heart. Elsa’s already pulled out a legal pad to write down all their ideas, and Emma’s actually feeling really confident about this. Regina’s proved particularly good at locating sleeping curses and antidotes (which is, frankly, a little alarming), so that’s what they decide to try first. They all agree to meet at the hospital two days later to test their first batch of potential solutions.

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” Killian tells Emma quietly before he leaves, standing by the door and trying clumsily to put his shoes back on while juggling the Tupperware containers of chocolate chip cookies and macaroni that Belle insisted on sending home with him.

It’s the wrong thing to say, at least if he wants a real answer, because Emma Swan has spent her life looking out for herself and never really learned how to react to others’ thanks. She thinks she manages to mutter out something along the lines of, “Yeah, whatever, no problem,” but honestly there’s no telling - she’s too busy shuffling her feet and not making eye contact to really pay attention. He must sense it, because his words change from sentimental to almost business-like.

“I’ll see you Thursday, then? The main lobby at City Hospital, 6pm?”

Emma nods, grateful for the change in subject. “We’ll be there.”

He almost manages a smile. “Wonderful.” And then he’s gone.

(It’s not quite relief that Emma feels at his departure, but Killian Jones just makes her feel off balance, so it’s not sorrow either.)

------

Liam Jones looks rough.

Emma isn’t quite sure what she expected—she is coming to see a comatose hospital patient, after all - but it’s shocking all the same. She can see such a strong resemblance between the two brothers, but his frame looks diminished from a month hooked up to wires and fed through tubes, cheeks hollow and frame slim with an unhealthy, sallow tint to his skin. She can see the hint of a curl in his sandy brown hair, but it’s lank and slicked back. Overall he has the look of a man barely clinging to life, a barely breathing corpse, and it brings what two days ago in the kitchen was a theoretical problem into horrifying reality.

Maybe it’s just the harsh fluorescent lighting inside the hospital, but Emma Swan can suddenly see how awful Killian looks too. There are faint shadows under his eyes, and his cheekbones stand out in stark relief, more gaunt than they ought to be (though Emma does suspect that he always has those handsome, defined cheekbones, but this seems excessive and unnatural). Clearly, the worry over his brother is taking its toll on him.

Killian still tries to stay cheerful, plumping the pillows of a man who can’t tell one way or another and chattering away about “all these lovely ladies come to see you, you lucky bastard!”, but Emma can tell his confidence is wavering.

It’s only now, here at the hospital, that Emma realizes exactly how out of their depth they all are, how out of place to boot. They’re all here at the behest of a man they barely know, trying to help a man they’ve never met. No matter how Emma looks at it, she feels like an imposter, and even worse, a bearer of false hope for a man they may already be too late to help. Killian is trying as hard as he can to bring normalcy to this situation by making one-sided introductions, but there’s an awkward and heavy cloud that hangs over the whole situation.

It’s Elsa who’s the ice breaker, surprisingly, walking up and taking Liam’s hand like he’s anyone else she’d greet  in a meeting or on the street. Emma may have helped Elsa out into the world, but she’s still a retiring sort, shy and nervous about meeting new people. But she’s the one able to take the human, compassionate approach where the rest of them have fallen into the mistake of looking at Liam as a problem to be solved.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Liam,” she says in her soft, matter-of-fact voice. “We’re going to do everything we can to help you.”

And that’s enough to focus their attention and get everyone started.

Emma’s the first up, which is nerve wracking, but she’s the best at healing spells (way too much practice on herself), and they collectively decided that would be the first theory to try. Maybe, if they’re very lucky, this can be an easy fix, and Emma can sort out whatever is wrong with Liam’s brain the same way she would deal with a sprained ankle or broken ribs. Emma isn’t particularly hopeful, but looking over and seeing the trusting look in Killian’s eyes helps.

So she holds her hand over Liam’s forehead, gathers every ounce of concentration she possesses to collect the necessary magic from that well deep inside her, and releases it all at once. And yeah, it creates a nice little glow, but Emma can tell right away that it’s not going to work. She can already feel with her magic that there’s nothing to fix. She’s sure there’s better medical terms the doctors would use, but the closest she can describe it as is a feeling that his brain is stalled, or hibernating. She can help with some of the swelling, but Emma just knows, in a way that she can’t describe, that she can’t make him wake up.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to tell Killian with words about how she’s just failed; one look at her face, and what must be an incredibly guilty look, and he nods resignedly. “Thank you for trying,” he tells her, and that hurts almost as bad as her failure itself - the way he isn’t blaming her.

“We’ve got other things to try,” she adds, whether to remind him or herself still unclear.

And they do. Regina is already stepping forward with a list of spells to reverse sleeping curses, and Emma willingly passes the proverbial baton to allow the other woman a chance to try her solutions. A concentrated blast like she had just attempted is a pure burst of energy, and Emma welcomes the chance to slump into the nearby chair, no matter how uncomfortable, and take a moment to recuperate.

Emma has to admit - Regina is good at these complex spells, where each and every word has to be pronounced just so or it all goes awry. She’s also surprisingly gentle with their patient, brushing his hair back where a gust of magic must have tousled it, and Emma is surprised and gratified to realize that Regina must actually have a heart underneath that terrifying shell.

But even her skilled spellwork doesn’t do it. Liam Jones is still resolutely unconscious.

Back to the drawing board.

------

“I know technically it’s not a sleeping curse, but it’s not like magic is the most exact thing in the world,” Regina says, pacing the front room and blatantly contradicting her many soapbox speeches about how exact you have to be in magic and spellwork. “I was so sure it would work.”

She’s disappointed. They’re all disappointed. It had been heartbreaking to leave Killian with what was still only a shell of his brother, but they’d filed out one by one, Emma the last to leave.

“We’ll find something else that will work,” she says as confidently as she can muster.

“I believe in you,” he says. It’s funny how just those four words warm her heart. “But even if you can’t, I just want to thank you for everything you’ve tried. It’s a lot more than most would have done.”

(And damn if that doesn’t make her all the more determined to find a way to fix this.)

So they’re paging through the books again.

“There’s one here for ‘opening the mind’…” Belle uncertainly offers.

Emma shrugs in return. “Worth a shot. Can’t be any worse than that thing Elsa found about reversing a soul being trapped in the wrong body.”

They’ve made it through the obvious options - healing magic, sleeping curses - so the evening has been taken up by more outlandish suggestions. Light magic used in the wrong context doesn’t backfire, thankfully, so even their more absurd ideas won’t negatively impact Liam.

Emma has just shut one book and is about to open another when there’s a knock on the door. It’s late, nearly 9:30, and as far as Emma’s aware, they’re not expecting anyone (she’d been counting on it, actually, when she’d pulled on her fleece Mario pajama pants and an old t-shirt). But none of them are in the habit of just ignoring the door, so she hauls herself up off the old couch to find out what the hell this mystery person wants.

And (of fucking course) it’s Killian, standing there on the front porch holding a collection of Granny’s takeout bags like some sort of fried food fairy. And of course he looks bashful and adorable, while Emma’s in sloppy clothes and the glasses she never lets anyone see if she can help it. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“I, uh…” She can see his hand moving like he wants to scratch behind his ear, but he’s got too many bags and a tray of drinks to actually manage the maneuver. “I thought I’d buy you all some dinner as thanks for what you’re doing.”

Oh. That’s unexpected. Very sweet, but unexpected. “That’s, uh.... thanks. That’s nice of you.” She moves to take some of his load, and he gratefully hands her one of the stuffed bags. Emma can already smell the fried goodness, and she is so ready to eat (she may have forgotten to do so in the middle of all this research, a fact Killian undoubtedly knows somehow). Holding half the haul, she stands there, confused and with raised eyebrow, as the man on her porch makes no move to hand over the other half, and then some, of her dinner.

Seeing her questioning look, he smiles sheepishly. “I was hoping to maybe come in? Eat with you? I picked up something for myself as well.”

And suddenly, it clicks. He’s lonely, just like Emma used to be before witchcraft brought so many people into her life. He’d already said it; Liam is his entire world. And without Liam, he’s probably wondering what to do with himself. So she steps aside and lets him in the door.

“I hope it’s alright,” he says, “but I just went to the place down the street. They seemed to know everyone’s orders, so there wasn’t any guesswork.”

It’s more than alright. In fact, Emma’s switched her opinion and he’s clearly some sort of food bearing angel. The other ladies are in similar states of surprise and gratefulness - Regina earns a particularly baleful look for saying “Why are you here?” instead of a proper greeting - but dinner is a welcome distraction from their hours of research, and Emma is even convinced to give up part of her sprawl on the couch so the bearer of diner food can actually sit down. And then Granny is the saint, because the bags contain everyone’s favorites - some sort of salad and an iced tea for grease-phobic Regina; lasagna and a Reese’s milkshake for Elsa; a burger, loaded fries, and strawberry milkshake for Belle; and Emma’s classic grilled cheese, onion rings, and butterscotch shake. It’s just what they need to refresh their depleted energy, and offers a chance to step away for a few minutes and come back looking at things from a new perspective.

“Can I help?” he asks, halfway through his own bacon cheeseburger, and Emma can’t find any reason to say no. Especially not after he adds, “I’m surprisingly good at research.” This is an all hands on deck type of situation; another pair of eyes would be more than welcome for wading through stacks of dense text and Regina’s weird internet research.

He actually is pretty good at it, they find out. Killian Jones may not have a lick of magic in his entire body, but he’s got a knack for recognizing when some of the weirder wording might be applicable to their goal, like the “cleansing of the mind spell” that’s probably meant as a forgetting tactic or the “jolt of wakefulness” potion they could probably feed into his IV (and that Emma definitely wants to try on some of her stakeouts).

“Thank you for letting me be a part of something,” he tells her at the end of the night, his eyes hinting at meanings she’s not yet ready to understand. So she shrugs it off.

“We’re the ones who should be thanking you. You’re the one who brought us dinner, after all, and then stayed to keep looking at spellbooks. That’s not everyone’s idea of a good time.”

He smiles, a sad little thing. “Maybe not, but it’s an awful lot better than sitting at home, worrying about Liam and unable to do a damn thing.”

And she hates the confirmation that her suspicions were correct, that he’s lonely. But the good thing is, they can do something about the loneliness, because if Emma never had to be alone again after meeting her collection of witches, Killian won’t have to be either. Still, she tries to keep her words as nonchalant as possible. “Well, you’re welcome any time. Belle’s always looking for someone else to fuss over.”

He still smiles, like he can see right through her and knows Emma likes his presence too. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then, in a final maneuver she thinks must be unplanned, if the way his ears turn bright red is anything to go by, he grabs her hand to press a kiss to its back. “Goodnight, Emma.”

And then he’s gone into the night, leaving Emma wondering what the hell just happened.

------

They’re back in the hospital again on Saturday, this time at a more decent hour. Liam Jones doesn’t look any better in the full light of day, and it’s with some alarm that Emma thinks he might be looking worse. She hopes it’s all in her head, that her eye has been prejudiced by the sight of all the hospital equipment, but she can’t help but remember what Killian had said - that the doctors decreed Liam would need a miracle. It’s absolutely crucial, imperative, that one of their attempts work.

Killian is still trying to keep the positive attitude on in front of Liam, but Emma can almost physically see the frayed edges of his optimism. “The lovely ladies are going to try a few more things, Liam,” he says, adjusting blankets. “So hold still, would you?”

There is some progress. The wakefulness potion is a dud, but the spell for opening the mind does increase brain activity, so Emma’s counting it as a slight victory. Even if Liam is still firmly unconscious, Killian is thrilled to see any change in his status. But unfortunately, they still end up having to leave again without finding a real solution.

It’s a pattern that continues over the next two and a half weeks. Emma, Elsa, Belle, and Regina spend every spare moment researching, and Killian will bring them food from various local restaurants or, on a few memorable nights, cook a meal (and Emma doesn’t even really like fish but damn if that baked whatever with the lemon sauce wasn’t the best thing she’s had all year). Schedule permitting, they visit Liam in the hospital every two or three days to test out new potential cures, some with more success than others - the potion for “opening one’s eyes” turned out to do literally that, which resulted in a still unconscious Liam staring at them with unseeing eyes until Killian carefully lowered his lids again.

Killian tries so hard to hold on to hope, but Emma can see the toll this has taken on him. He’s gotten progressively quieter, his shoulders more slumped, the determined fire in his eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. The more she sees his optimism fade, the more her own determination grows, until she finds herself pushing to try some of the more risky solutions that the other women are hesitant about, because anything has got to be better than making Killian just watch his brother slip away.

“I don’t understand why you won’t try these things!” she argues one night.

“Well, we’re trying to cure Liam, not cause his demise,” Regina drawls, and somehow that only makes Emma’s anger burn hotter.

“And this is better?” she demands. “Sitting around, just hoping the right solution will fall into our laps? When it hasn’t in the past three weeks?”

Belle, as always, is a voice of reason. “I think if we end up moving into the riskier options, that’s a decision Killian should make, not you, Emma. If that’s what he wants, I’ll be more than happy to try.”

All eyes turn to Killian. He’s been especially quiet and downcast today, only picking at his sandwich and fries. That’s part of the reason Emma’s pushing especially hard for a change in tactics today - it hurts in a way she can’t explain to see Killian like this. But even with so many eyes on him, he just sits there quietly, rolling a French fry back and forth between his fingers and not responding.

“Well?” Emma prods. “What do you think?” If she can just sway him to give it a try, maybe they can make this better, and maybe she can put that smile back on his face, the one he gave her when they first started this endeavor and he was still excited and hopeful…

But something within Killian must break, as he stands up and mumbles something about needing fresh air before he stalks out of the room, the front door banging shut in the distance.

Regina offers her a disapproving look that is, honestly, probably deserved for her actions. “Great job, Emma. I’m sure it was absolutely helpful to piss off Jones when he’s the one whose favor you needed to win.”

Emma glares right back before exiting the room herself, following Killian out to the front stoop and sitting down at his side. He looks a mess, honestly; his hair is all mussed from running his hands through it, and she now finds him clutching his head like he’s trying to block out everything else that’s going on. They sit there for a few moments in silence - Emma gathering her thoughts, Killian seemingly suppressing them - before she finally finds her words.

“I’m sorry for pushing,” she says quietly into the night. “I know this is all your decision, and you shouldn’t do anything that you think isn’t what’s best for Liam -”

“It’s not that,” he says, flapping a hand to wave off her concerns. “I appreciate all you’re doing, really. It’s just…” He trails off, head dropping again before he finally turns back to her and completes his sentence, so quiet she has to strain to hear. “The doctors told me today that if Liam doesn’t show marked improvement by the two month mark, the middle of next week, that he probably won’t ever. And then, I’ll have to seriously consider letting him go.”

Killian’s quiet explanation leaves Emma feeling like there’s suddenly ice running through her veins instead of blood. It’s been obvious from day one how important this is, but now they will have to contend with the fact that they’re running out of time. There’s no words she can say to fix the situation; she can’t even begin to imagine what Killian is going through. All Emma can offer is to take his hand and squeeze it gently, simply offering the comfort of not being alone.

“I don’t know what to do, Swan,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to lose him, but if we don’t do anything, it’ll still happen.” There’s a heavy pause, as he once again stares off into the darkness, lost in his thoughts, before he finds the words to continue. “I trust you, Emma, and I trust your magic. Do you think the best chance to save Liam is in some of these riskier options?”

She’d suggested it out of desperation, but the truth is, she does. They’ve gone through all the obvious and safe answers, so if they’re going to save Killian’s brother, they’re going to have to step outside their comfort zone, try other options.

So she takes a deep breath, gathers all her courage, and replies in as confident a voice as she can muster:

“I do.”

------

Regina and the others take the new direction somewhat better when the marching orders are coming from the man any issues would most affect. There’s still quite a few mentions of “If you’re sure…” but that’s more or less expected, and they continue on all the same.

They’ve really had to get creative now. It’s not entirely unexpected that they start looking for spell combinations that might work in tandem where they’d be ineffective alone, but Belle also starts dabbling in writing new ones herself, taking the useful parts of several different incantations and somehow mashing them together. It takes a skill with languages that Emma frankly doesn’t possess, but she thinks the results ought to be effective, and Belle gets excited talking about the potential for publication if any of them work.

Each of their next several tries is still woefully ineffective. Liam is stubbornly unresponsive, and all the attempts just result in utter exhaustion on everyone’s part. Killian tells Emma over and over how much he appreciates their efforts, her efforts, that he’ll remember that regardless, but they’re all tired and desperate and it’s not working.

Until it does.

It works. It finally all works. Emma is so relieved, she doesn’t have the words to properly describe it. Killian’s belief in her may never have wavered, but Emma’s faith in herself certainly had, and the last days had been plagued with the panic that maybe she wouldn’t be able to save Liam Jones after all, that she’d be forced to disappoint Killian and his beautiful hope. But they succeed.

She’s right, too; solution that ultimately works is so far outside the box that it’s a miracle in itself that they were able to devise its steps. The easiest way Emma can think of it is as the human equivalent of turning the computer off and then back on again: Elsa freezes his brain in stasis for protection, Belle enacts a complicated spell for removing the soul from the body in a shining ball of light before reaffixing it as Regina shocks his heart with a burst of magic like defibrillator paddles. Then Emma’s left to send another glow of healing magic as Elsa removes the freeze, the whole thing topped by a kiss from Killian to his brother’s sleeping forehead - a True Love’s Kiss. It’s a cheesy measure, one that makes Regina roll her eyes, but Belle had argued that it couldn’t hurt.

And it hadn’t. There’s not some ridiculous blast of rainbow light or anything, but the moment Killian’s lips touch Liam’s brow, Emma feels the world settle in a way she can’t quite explain but attributes to magic, to things setting to rights again, to a sleeping soul breathing a sigh of relief.

It’s not like the movies. Liam doesn’t gasp and sit up in bed, eyes flying open in a cinematically dramatic moment. But he squeezes Killian’s hand where it clasps his, and that’s enough to signify drastic improvement.

“Liam?” he asks, so hopefully, and while the elder Jones may still be unconscious, they all watch as his hand tightens around Killian’s. It’s conscious movement at last, and with that realization, the room becomes jubilant, exploding in a chorus of cheers.

There’s hugging and smiling and they may all be tired but Elsa lets out a little joyful screech, and it’s probably a miracle they’re not all kicked out. Somehow, Emma finds herself in Killian’s arms, and he’s smiling that smile again and there are tears in both their eyes and his face is just so close—

—and she kisses him.

It’s not planned, not at all, but her lips meet his and he’s kissing her right back, and God, she could get lost in this if not for the fact—

—if not for the fact that he’s only doing this because she saved his brother.

It’s like a bucket of cold water, that realization, and Emma steps back with wide, horrified eyes to find Killian looking at her with an unfocused gaze.

“Swan—” he begins, but Emma’s not willing to hear where that sentence ends - hear the excuses and the apologies and the buts. Almost before she knows it, she’s backing away until she’s out the door and into the hallway.

And then, Emma Swan runs.

------

She knows she’s really fucked up when even Elsa comments about her desperate exit.

“I know I’m not one to comment on others’ love lives,” she says, “but that was quite harsh, Emma. We might know about all your… let’s say struggles with dating, but the poor boy was just left there in a daze without any idea why you had booked it out of there.”

Emma really hates the picture that puts in her head, of a sad Killian just standing there with that stunned look on his face melting into confusion and disappointment. There’s a shock of guilt that accompanies that vision, but she does her best to push it aside. It was a moment of weakness on both their parts; it didn’t actually mean anything. Killian was undoubtedly just so happy that something had finally worked, which led him to reciprocate… whatever Emma’s excuse is. She’s still not entirely sure. Anyways, it was surely just a one-time thing. Her usefulness to him is effectively over, now that Liam is firmly on the road to recovery; they likely won’t ever cross paths again, now that there’s not any real reason for them to.

Of course, that’s not strictly true. Emma may not be having anything to do with the Jones brothers, and Regina is not enough of a people person to willingly pursue any further friendship without measurable advantage to herself, but Elsa and Belle are much better people who still stop by the hospital with dinner and check up on how both men are doing. It’s how Emma gets updates on Liam’s condition - how he finally opened his eyes and properly woke up two days after their breakthrough, how he’s still tired and healing and a bit out of it, but how the doctors expect him to make a full recovery, against all odds. By all accounts, he’s starting to get antsy, and Emma hopes he’ll be allowed home soon for both men’s sake.

“He asks about you, you know,” Belle contributes, and Emma can’t even pretend to not know who she’s talking about. “Whenever we walk in the room, he perks up for a moment until he realizes you haven’t come with us. Really, Emma, you’re being ridiculous.”

And she probably is. She definitely is. But she can’t get over the fear that Killian isn’t really interested in her, just in what she can do.

The weeks pass by. Elsa and Belle keep inviting her to the hospital, insisting Liam wants to meet her and Killian would just love to see her, but Emma dodges and avoids and works more hours, just to have an excuse not to go.

(She’d tried Mary Margaret at first, who had relished spending more time with Emma until she realized it was an emotional avoidance ploy. And then she’d flatly refused to be a part of it.)

At the end of the month, Liam gets to go home to the apartment he and Killian apparently share, and Emma gets to hear all about it. Elsa and Liam have apparently taken a liking to one another, which has resulted in even more visits and even more updates on all things Jones Brothers and the promise of an actual date once Liam’s well enough to drive them both to a nice restaurant. Emma’s happy for her friend, she truly is - Elsa deserves the world, after everything she’s been through - but it really throws a wrench in Emma’s plans to just never see Killian Jones again. If his brother and her roommate start dating, it’s a little inevitable that their paths will cross eventually, for better or worse.

Their latest ploy - ok, it’s not a ploy, but each invite Emma has to dodge feels like an individual attack on her resolve in some larger evil plan, so she’s sticking with ploy - is a welcome home party for Liam. Emma declines, almost out of habit now - she’ll find work or something to occupy herself, give herself a plausible excuse. The thing is, if she was to show up, it probably wouldn’t be that big a deal. They’d all talk and laugh and have a good time. Elsa’s trying to figure out what flavors of ice cream she’ll bring, and there’s sure to be cake. But Emma’s a wuss, and she might have feelings for Jones, hesitant as she is to admit it. She’s not sure she could take it if she spends an entire night in his company where he treats her as nothing more than a friend or, even worse, some sort of business associate. So she’ll stay home instead, thank you very much.

And she does have plans. They just involve executing a honeytrap on the latest jumper instead of socializing at some party. The problem is, those plans don’t last nearly as long as she anticipates, and Emma finds herself back home at the Tudor much sooner than she planned, sporting a number of scrapes from where she had to tackle her man to the ground outside the coffee shop. She’s barely limped inside and taken off her shoes, flipping through the mail in the kitchen, before she hears the awful dramatic doorbell that some relative of Elsa’s had installed God-only-knows when. Groaning audibly, she hauls herself downstairs again and throws the door open much more forcibly than she really needs to. “Look, I’m really not in the mood for whatever pitch this is,” she begins, fully ready to give whatever door-to-door salesman is bothering her a piece of her mind—

—only to find one Killian Jones standing on her doorstep.

The guilt hits her immediately as his face shifts through sheepishness to shock and then on to anger.

“You are avoiding me!” he accuses, and it takes every bit of willpower Emma possesses not to physically flinch at the words. Even if they are true. “I thought I’d come check on you tonight when you didn’t show, and thought I’d find you sick or working, or any reasonable excuse, but you’re flat-out avoiding me!”

His anger hurts, somewhat, and makes her feel guilty, but at the same time, those are fighting words. And Emma Swan has never been one to back down from a fight. Defenses raised, she shoots back with all the vitriol she can muster, “So what if I am? Most people would get the hint, or figure there’s a reason.”

“Well, as the one being avoided, I think I have a right to know the reason!” he demands, before softening once again, seemingly suddenly aware of his tone. “Look, Emma, it’s just… we kissed. And I thought it was a pretty good kiss,” he adds bashfully, scratching behind his ear in that way Emma has always secretly found adorable. “But then you just… ran off. And have conveniently not shown hide nor hair ever since. Did I do something wrong?” By the end, he’s almost painfully earnest, and Emma feels that knife of guilt dig just that little bit deeper. She still needs to stand strong, to protect herself from heartbreak, but there’s no reason for her to hurt him in the process, so she finally shakes her head, all the while avoiding his eyes.

“What then?” he asks, as gently as the situation allows. “Because I’m observant, Swan, and this? This is avoiding me.”

There’s a pause. A great, big, heavy pause. How do you tell a person the fears of your heart, when the greatest fear in your heart is letting anyone in?

He plows on, nonetheless, in the face of her silence. “I like you, you know?” he says softly, scratching behind his ear again, a tell-tale nervous tic. “I don’t know if that kiss meant something to you, but it did to me. Because I think you’re brilliant and fierce and… I like you.”

“You just like the magic,” Emma mutters. She can tell the moment her words process in his mind because he suddenly stares at her like she’s grown a second head.

“You think I just like you because you can wield magic?” he asks incredulously. He almost looks insulted, oddly enough, and it takes Emma somewhat aback. “Emma, that’s… that’s ridiculous, really. You really thought I only valued your company for what you can do, and not who you are? I mean, maybe at first…” he runs his hand through his hair in frustration, and she’d almost think it was cute, if she wasn’t anxiously waiting for his next words. “But then I got to know you, Swan, and you were much more than that. So brave, and determined, and… honestly, anyone who’s only interested in you for your magic is an idiot, love. You’re so much more than that. Well, and you treat it like some kind of bloody ridiculous hobby instead of the power it probably could be.” Killian laughs at his own joke, and Emma cracks into a slight smile too, unable to resist the sound. “But no, Swan, I find you fascinating for many, many reasons, and your magic is the very least of them.”

Tentatively, Emma meets his eyes, seeking confirmation. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t disappoint, smiling and nodding back at her with a chuckle. “Aye. You’re a marvel, Emma Swan.” His smile is so wide, so full of hope and truth, that try as she might, Emma can’t find a reason to doubt him.

She’s never been good at this part of relationships - making the first move when things are still so tentative and unsure. But she can sense that Killian’s nervous too, can practically feel it rolling off him in waves, and that gives her an unexpected boost of confidence. This doesn’t have to be like magic, be precise and exact or the whole thing will fall apart and your nose probably will turn green. It doesn’t matter how either one of them approaches this, just that they do.

So Emma gathers all the courage she can muster, and steps forward to catch his lips with hers, creating a different kind of magic altogether.

It’s a little bit fanciful (okay, a lot a bit fanciful), but Emma can’t help but feel like there’s an energy that flows between her body and his, between her soul and his, as their lips move together - at first softly and gently, but then deeper, stronger, more passionate as lips open and tongues caress and they both lose themselves in the special magic of a first kiss. Some might call it fate, or soulmates; Emma’s not quite ready to call it anything yet.

(But she very well might be some day, perhaps sooner than she thinks.)

They’re both breathing heavily when they finally separate, foreheads still touching as if connected by invisible threads.

“That was…” he begins, a smile creeping over his face.

Emma quickly interrupts. “If you say magical, I swear to God, I’ll smack you, don’t think I won’t.” She tries to look stern, but honestly, her kiss-swollen lips and mussed hair from where Killian had slipped his hand into her curls probably ruin that illusion.

“Of course not, darling,” he good-naturedly replies with a smile and what she suspects is a suppressed laugh. “Who am I to challenge a witch?”

------

Killian Jones has no magic to speak of.

But he’s a great cook and patient with all the chaos only a house full of witches can conjure up - not to mention, a damn good kisser - so Emma’s more than willing to overlook that fact.

Magic and Killian don’t always mix - he’s particularly not a fan of how Emma sets off the magical equivalent of firecrackers under their bed for April Fool’s Day - but overall, he’s so casual about the whole topic that Emma wants to laugh at herself for believing even for a second that he’d have a problem with any of it.

Things change, of course. Their relationship strengthens and solidifies and eventually relocates to their own place when Elsa decides they could all use a bit more privacy (especially since things have gotten serious between the elder Jones and herself), but their relationship is the constant. That little corner within Emma that hosts her magic simultaneously boils and settles every time she and Killian are together.

Killian Jones couldn’t perform a spell if he tried. But sometimes, curled into his side in bed and feeling her heart glow with happiness as he pulls her just that little bit closer, Emma Swan thinks he possesses his own magic all the same, one born of the feelings they share for one another.

And that’s a witchcraft more powerful than any spellbook.

#cssns #cs ff #my writing #the prickly witch's guide to magic #cs au #witch!Emma

[z4g4c-blog]

3/18/2019

I’m glad that it is almost time to quit my current job. This place fucking sucks. I knew this place was fucked early on but I had to stay for a while to gain experience for the future. There was no other option in the city other than places I tried applying to, but didn’t hear anything back from. In the long run it was worth it because I made a lot of connections. The problem is how miserable and insane it has made me feel for the years I spent there. Having to work in a place run by someone who has no clue what they are doing is very painful. Trying to help someone you don’t get along with very well is also difficult. Doing tons of work for someone that you don’t like very much for very low pay makes you wonder what the point is. But the point was being able to make connections and gain experience while accumulating discounted product during the time. I think the main problem was when I started working full time. Prior to that I had only been working three days a week which allowed a generous balance of my free time. Especially during the period where I had graduated from school and was able to do anything during the other four days of the week. I had been studying a lot of Japanese every week and learning a lot. I had been working on music at least every other day. Then I would work three days out of the week which was the maximum that is tolerable for anyone at that place. Once I started working full time, I completely gave up on accomplishing anything outside of work because I was too tired when I got home and had no motivation on days off to do anything. I also had completely stopped drinking during the period after I graduated before I started working full time. Once I started full time, it seemed pointless to spend any free time doing anything other than drink because of a lack of motivation. So for the past near year now I have basically been doing nothing other than working and drinking. I will be finally out of this job in less than two weeks now. I have gained certain things from it, but have lost a lot of sanity. The mental and emotional state this job has put me in has ruined relationships with many people I know because I no longer had time for any people in my life due to complete fatigue. I have only had six jobs in my life. It’s hard to say which one is technically the worst. This one is the highest paid one, but it also has the highest level of inequality of what I put in versus what I am getting out of it monetarily. The amount of tasks I complete for this business is fucked. The amount of benefit I have given this place is so much that I would regret helping them in the first place if it hadn’t been for the experience. My last main job I worked at a hospital doing IT work. I was technically paid the same wage, but this current job I am paid the same amount in cash under the table. The thing is that at my last job, because of the size of the hospital, they eventually forgot I worked there. The way I was assigned tasks was through the computer but I was never given a computer so I was supposed to just use any computer I find in the hospital. This meant I was allowed to be anywhere in the enormous campus of the hospital and when assigned a ticket I would go to wherever the problem was and fix it. Eventually for whatever reason they stopped giving me tickets. I realized months later it was because they forgot I worked there because i ran into some lady that was sort of my manager and she got really confused and thought I had left already. So during that time when I was just on the clock doing nothing, my only job was to figure out how to kill forty hours every week. At one point I found out that there was no longer a security guard assigned to the information desk of the maternity ward, so I would sit at that desk every day and use the computer to browse the web. Whenever someone came to the desk asking for information I tried to help them but, in general they wanted information I had no access to so I would just tell them I didn’t know. The look on their faces when I’m sitting at this desk with a huge statue that says “INFORMATION” and I am literally telling them I don’t know and do not have access to any system that allows me to look up doctors was always amazing. I have no clue how nobody cared that I sat at that desk. I did this for months and was never questioned. Eventually I got tired of this and started just pretending to be a patient in waiting rooms because I bought a bunch of books online to read at work. So I just blended into the environment of other people waiting for surgery or xrays and etc. Otherwise I would just try to get exercise and walk around the campus. At one point I was just on the roof of the hospital and somehow that wasn’t a problem. Because my security badge had full clearance I could open any door. So one day all of a sudden all these people started yelling at me asking what the hell I was doing because apparently I had wandered into the final sanitary zone of the surgery ward and wasn’t supposed to be in there without a full body covering suit. That’s another thing that was crazy about the hospital. There is no security protection whatsoever. One day I was assigned to fix some mobile computer system that ran information about heart rate and various things within some patient’s room. So I got to the intensive care unit and ask them about the ticket and they point me to the room where it is. Only after being in this room for twenty minutes, some doctor rushes in and freaks out because I’m not wearing full scrubs and a mask telling me the patient is highly contagious and my life was at risk. Another point about security that I found amazing was that I figured out that from taking the sidewalk in front of the hospital as a starting point at any hour of a day, it is technically possible to get into the intensive care unit and enter patient’s rooms without ever having to use your security badge to open a door. And keep in mind this is often the area of a hospital where someone involved in a violent crime would be taken. So let’s say that a witness to something was in this hospital. They could be accessed by anyone who knows where to go. And look I’m not talking about some insane maze I figured out. It’s just trial and error of opening a bunch of doors and going through certain elevators. It could be figured out quickly by anyone with determination. Which comes to another interesting point about hospitals. There is virtually no location in a hospital where you can be no matter what you are wearing that you will look suspicious. As long as you look confidant you can start walking into rooms and opening drawers. While I worked there, I had no dress code so I was wearing anything I would wear any other day. Times where I needed to fulfill a ticket for a nurse that went to lunch I would just be inside the nurses station spinning around in a chair for 30 minutes and nobody would question why a random person they have never seen before who isn’t wearing scrubs is just in their private area. At one point I found a wing of the hospital that was under construction and just slept all day in a room they were storing all the furniture in. Eventually what this job boiled down to was that I realized the power that I had in the fact that nobody was paying any attention to me at all. If they were never going to give me any work to do for months and never once call me or email me and say anything then why even show up to work. So I realized I could just wake up get on the subway, clock in, get back on the subway hang out at home until it was time to ride the train back to clock out and go home. So thats what I ended up doing for the last month I worked there which I wish I had realized I could have done earlier. Granted this obviously instilled a level of paranoia, but it was better than being trapped in that place for 40 hours a week. The reason I brought up the hospital job was to describe the level of freedom I had at the job I worked before my current job that confines me to a single room. Having to work only out of a single room is very painful especially when contrasting from a job like that. Other than that I’ve lost my train of thought after describing my experience at the hospital. Overall the lesson is that you should be a lot more skeptical of your visits to the hospital and not place high levels of trust in entities like them that the right thing will be done. After working in a hospital I do anything I can to stay away from them as a patient.

[ds4design]

Router assimilated into the Borg, sends 3TB in 24 hours

reader comments 0

"Well, fuck."

Harsh language was appropriate under the circumstances. My router had just been hacked.

Setting up a reliable home network has always been a challenge for me. I live in a cramped three-story house and I don't like running cables. So my router's position is determined by the fiber modem. In a corner on the bottom floor. Not long after we moved in, I realized that our old Airport Extreme was not delivering much signal to the attic, where two game-obsessed occupants fought for bandwidth.

I tried all sorts of things. I extended the network. I used ethernet-over-powerline connectors to deliver network access. I made a mystic circle and danced naked under the full moon. We lost neighbors, but we didn't gain signal.

Eventually, I gave in to the inevitable. After some research, I purchased a router that, I was told, would probably deliver useable signal to the outer reaches of the solar system. And it worked. The Netgear R6400 left only one place in the house with little-to-no reception. But, crucially, my wife and son were happy gamers upstairs, <Netflix flixxed, and Youtube tubed. Life was sweet.

Then, sometime in January, I came home to find my boy Adrian with his face in a book. Adrian reads a lot, but there is a time and place for everything, and this was gaming time and gaming place. "How's it going, Adrian?"

"Oh, good. I gave up gaming. I kept getting kicked. Even downstairs."

I attributed that to a busy server somewhere. My connection seemed good, and no one else was complaining. A few days later, my daughter Jennifer was home from school sick. She sent me a message saying that her laptop couldn't connect to the network. I talked her through a bit of trouble shooting, and, after restarting the router, all seemed to be right again.

I was troubled, though. Adrian had basically given up on gaming, but Netflix worked, and no one else seemed to be having problems.

I looked at the router settings, and they seemed OK. The router showed no interference from competing networks, but the amount of traffic it logged was suspiciously high. Or was it? I'd never tracked my household traffic before, so I couldn't be sure that what I was looking at wasn't the normal combined Youtube and Netflix usage of five people plus regular visitors.

In fact, interpreting the data use was more difficult than it should have been. My computer was confused about how numbers should be displayed. Applications that pay proper attention to the system settings use a point as the decimal place and a comma for separating thousands, millions, etc. Applications that only pay attention to my location use a comma for a decimal point and dot to separate thousands and millions. (This discrepancy can probably be attributed to me being a New Zealander living in the Netherlands.) So either the router had logged terabytes of traffic in the last period, or it had logged almost nothing.

I knew I would have to investigate. But I travel a lot for work, so finding time was difficult.

Suddenly, connecting to the network in the attic was impossible again. I couldn't figure out why. Then I noticed that my phone was randomly connecting and disconnecting from the network. A few days later, I got a message from T-Mobile saying that I'd used all my mobile data for the month. For the remainder of the lunar cycle, I would be reduced to data delivered by drunken sloths. This had happened before, but I'd been traveling a lot then, and I had been careful when traveling ever since—the sloths had caused fellow passengers to complain. In any case, I knew it was time to pull finger and do somethingTM.

Events intervened, and I was forced to delay doing anything useful. But everyone in the house was getting increasingly frustrated with the network. Then, on my way home from work one Friday, Donna told me that absolutely nothing in the house could connect to the network. And now she couldn't do her work. Deadlines were being crossed, and it wasn't her that was going to be dead. I got the message.

I arrived home that Friday night to find a house full of disconnected family members. Then, bizarrely, upon my arrival, everything connected. I ran a speed test from my computer and Donna's phone at the same time. On average, we obtained 150 percent of our maximum-rated upload and download speed. I declared there to be no problem right now. We decided to watch a show on Netflix while I kept an eye on networking performance.

To do this, I installed Peakhour. It found the router and started displaying traffic. It didn't look like much. Netflix started streaming, which caused a small bump in traffic. But traffic swiftly flattened out to background value. As I watched an old Star Trek episode and the network traffic, I contacted the Orbiting HQ for advice on how to figure out if my router (or anything else) had been hacked.

"When the police arrest your for distributing child porn" was the helpful response.

In the meantime, the total amount of data that I'd transmitted crept up, and Netflix choked on a particularly painful Wesley Crusher moment. That's when the first useful suggestion came from the collective Ars brain: a stranger had probably managed to connect to our wifi.

I know our neighbors, and I didn't think that was likely. But a huge number of devices were connected to the router, so I couldn't be sure. We turned off everything that could be turned off and slept everything that could be slept. That left a couple of unknown devices, which I kicked off the network.

Nothing changed. In the first half hour or so that I'd been monitoring, I'd transmitted 25GB of data. By the time everything else had been disconnected from the router and I'd checked that the TV software was up to date, I'd logged 188GB of data (up and down combined).

Meanwhile, Eric, our managing editor, had dug up an article from December disclosing a vulnerability in my router. The command that was supposed to kill the problem... didn't. Later, I discovered that if the command didn't work, you were already patched. Not only that, the only way to distribute the hack was for someone on our internal network to visit a dodgy website.

Lee suggested that I install DD-WRT. A quick search of DD-WRT's online database suggested that my router wasn't supported.

Also, there had been a firmware update since the hack was reported, and I'd conscientiously installed it. An Internet search didn't provide any hint of any other problems. The collective wisdom dictated that restoring factory settings might solve the problem, and it was about the only thing I could do in any case.

Fast forward another 45 minutes. The router was reset, and the network was set up again. By the time I was done messing around, Peakhour had my traffic clocked at 470GB. But I'd gotten rid of the problem (or so I thought). The next morning, before I left for the weekend, I checked: the total traffic was at around 500GB. Maybe I'd defeated the hackers.

That night, I heard from Donna. She'd been monitoring traffic, which was now over 3TB. And, just to make sure we had no doubt, devices were dropping off the network again.

The factory reset had not worked.

When I got home, I put the Airport Express back in place. And, in the following four days, a whole 12GB of traffic was recorded. Of course, wifi coverage upstairs was terrible. Discontent filled the air.

I examined the router logs of the R6400 and discovered that it had been contacting an NTP server just about as fast as it could. Evidently, my router was being used to DDOS someone (sorry, whoever you are). This, as far as I can tell, has not been reported anywhere. I don't have the skills to analyze the hack properly. And, to be frank, I just wanted my router back, which I still wasn't ready to give up on.

After some searching, I discovered that the DD-WRT database isn't very good, and a firmware update was available for my router model. I downloaded it, read the instructions, and followed them. Half an hour later, I had my router back on line and was monitoring traffic: silence. When my computer was idle, the router logged almost no traffic. I kept a close eye for another 30 minutes before deciding that the router was off the botnet. I could set up my home network again.

DD-WRT is not the friendliest bit of software, but I managed to fumble my way through to get everything up and running. Except for the 5GHz radio, which remained stubbornly off. I went back to the DD-WRT stock of firmware and discovered that I could update to a new version. Unfortunately, this time I did not read the instructions as carefully...

And then I had a brick. Admittedly, it is a brick that is no longer part of a botnet, but it is also not very useful either. After more searching, I discovered that I could, apparently, fix the problem by connecting to the router through the JTAG port on the router's motherboard. By this time, though, I would have just as soon stabbed myself in the eyeball with a fork. It would save time and hurt less.

So the Airport Extreme is back in position, the R6400 is in the garage with all the other bricks, and the attic is a (nearly) wifi-free zone again. Next time I'll just run cable.

I admit that I'm annoyed at myself, DD-WRT, and Netgear. I could have been more careful and not ended up with a brick. DD-WRT could have a simpler upgrade procedure. And Netgear could provide a secure router. I also discovered during this tribulation that I am not the only one who has experienced similar problems. Although there seems to be very little on the Internet, I discovered that other people in our neighborhood had had a similar experience. They, too, had been unable to remove their router from the botnet by using factory resets and manufacturer-provided firmware. They ended up replacing their routers.

Now, two experiences don't provide us with any statistics to rely on. But if my experience is common, then maybe manufacturers need to start producing a more extensive range of tools to recover hacked routers.

[jccamus]

Router assimilated into the Borg, sends 3TB in 24 hours

reader comments 0

"Well, fuck."

Harsh language was appropriate under the circumstances. My router had just been hacked.

Setting up a reliable home network has always been a challenge for me. I live in a cramped three-story house and I don't like running cables. So my router's position is determined by the fiber modem. In a corner on the bottom floor. Not long after we moved in, I realized that our old Airport Extreme was not delivering much signal to the attic, where two game-obsessed occupants fought for bandwidth.

I tried all sorts of things. I extended the network. I used ethernet-over-powerline connectors to deliver network access. I made a mystic circle and danced naked under the full moon. We lost neighbors, but we didn't gain signal.

Eventually, I gave in to the inevitable. After some research, I purchased a router that, I was told, would probably deliver useable signal to the outer reaches of the solar system. And it worked. The Netgear R6400 left only one place in the house with little-to-no reception. But, crucially, my wife and son were happy gamers upstairs, <Netflix flixxed, and Youtube tubed. Life was sweet.

Then, sometime in January, I came home to find my boy Adrian with his face in a book. Adrian reads a lot, but there is a time and place for everything, and this was gaming time and gaming place. "How's it going, Adrian?"

"Oh, good. I gave up gaming. I kept getting kicked. Even downstairs."

I attributed that to a busy server somewhere. My connection seemed good, and no one else was complaining. A few days later, my daughter Jennifer was home from school sick. She sent me a message saying that her laptop couldn't connect to the network. I talked her through a bit of trouble shooting, and, after restarting the router, all seemed to be right again.

I was troubled, though. Adrian had basically given up on gaming, but Netflix worked, and no one else seemed to be having problems.

I looked at the router settings, and they seemed OK. The router showed no interference from competing networks, but the amount of traffic it logged was suspiciously high. Or was it? I'd never tracked my household traffic before, so I couldn't be sure that what I was looking at wasn't the normal combined Youtube and Netflix usage of five people plus regular visitors.

In fact, interpreting the data use was more difficult than it should have been. My computer was confused about how numbers should be displayed. Applications that pay proper attention to the system settings use a point as the decimal place and a comma for separating thousands, millions, etc. Applications that only pay attention to my location use a comma for a decimal point and dot to separate thousands and millions. (This discrepancy can probably be attributed to me being a New Zealander living in the Netherlands.) So either the router had logged terabytes of traffic in the last period, or it had logged almost nothing.

I knew I would have to investigate. But I travel a lot for work, so finding time was difficult.

Suddenly, connecting to the network in the attic was impossible again. I couldn't figure out why. Then I noticed that my phone was randomly connecting and disconnecting from the network. A few days later, I got a message from T-Mobile saying that I'd used all my mobile data for the month. For the remainder of the lunar cycle, I would be reduced to data delivered by drunken sloths. This had happened before, but I'd been traveling a lot then, and I had been careful when traveling ever since—the sloths had caused fellow passengers to complain. In any case, I knew it was time to pull finger and do somethingTM.

Events intervened, and I was forced to delay doing anything useful. But everyone in the house was getting increasingly frustrated with the network. Then, on my way home from work one Friday, Donna told me that absolutely nothing in the house could connect to the network. And now she couldn't do her work. Deadlines were being crossed, and it wasn't her that was going to be dead. I got the message.

I arrived home that Friday night to find a house full of disconnected family members. Then, bizarrely, upon my arrival, everything connected. I ran a speed test from my computer and Donna's phone at the same time. On average, we obtained 150 percent of our maximum-rated upload and download speed. I declared there to be no problem right now. We decided to watch a show on Netflix while I kept an eye on networking performance.

To do this, I installed Peakhour. It found the router and started displaying traffic. It didn't look like much. Netflix started streaming, which caused a small bump in traffic. But traffic swiftly flattened out to background value. As I watched an old Star Trek episode and the network traffic, I contacted the Orbiting HQ for advice on how to figure out if my router (or anything else) had been hacked.

"When the police arrest your for distributing child porn" was the helpful response.

In the meantime, the total amount of data that I'd transmitted crept up, and Netflix choked on a particularly painful Wesley Crusher moment. That's when the first useful suggestion came from the collective Ars brain: a stranger had probably managed to connect to our wifi.

I know our neighbors, and I didn't think that was likely. But a huge number of devices were connected to the router, so I couldn't be sure. We turned off everything that could be turned off and slept everything that could be slept. That left a couple of unknown devices, which I kicked off the network.

Nothing changed. In the first half hour or so that I'd been monitoring, I'd transmitted 25GB of data. By the time everything else had been disconnected from the router and I'd checked that the TV software was up to date, I'd logged 188GB of data (up and down combined).

Meanwhile, Eric, our managing editor, had dug up an article from December disclosing a vulnerability in my router. The command that was supposed to kill the problem... didn't. Later, I discovered that if the command didn't work, you were already patched. Not only that, the only way to distribute the hack was for someone on our internal network to visit a dodgy website.

Lee suggested that I install DD-WRT. A quick search of DD-WRT's online database suggested that my router wasn't supported.

Also, there had been a firmware update since the hack was reported, and I'd conscientiously installed it. An Internet search didn't provide any hint of any other problems. The collective wisdom dictated that restoring factory settings might solve the problem, and it was about the only thing I could do in any case.

Fast forward another 45 minutes. The router was reset, and the network was set up again. By the time I was done messing around, Peakhour had my traffic clocked at 470GB. But I'd gotten rid of the problem (or so I thought). The next morning, before I left for the weekend, I checked: the total traffic was at around 500GB. Maybe I'd defeated the hackers.

That night, I heard from Donna. She'd been monitoring traffic, which was now over 3TB. And, just to make sure we had no doubt, devices were dropping off the network again.

The factory reset had not worked.

When I got home, I put the Airport Express back in place. And, in the following four days, a whole 12GB of traffic was recorded. Of course, wifi coverage upstairs was terrible. Discontent filled the air.

I examined the router logs of the R6400 and discovered that it had been contacting an NTP server just about as fast as it could. Evidently, my router was being used to DDOS someone (sorry, whoever you are). This, as far as I can tell, has not been reported anywhere. I don't have the skills to analyze the hack properly. And, to be frank, I just wanted my router back, which I still wasn't ready to give up on.

After some searching, I discovered that the DD-WRT database isn't very good, and a firmware update was available for my router model. I downloaded it, read the instructions, and followed them. Half an hour later, I had my router back on line and was monitoring traffic: silence. When my computer was idle, the router logged almost no traffic. I kept a close eye for another 30 minutes before deciding that the router was off the botnet. I could set up my home network again.

DD-WRT is not the friendliest bit of software, but I managed to fumble my way through to get everything up and running. Except for the 5GHz radio, which remained stubbornly off. I went back to the DD-WRT stock of firmware and discovered that I could update to a new version. Unfortunately, this time I did not read the instructions as carefully...

And then I had a brick. Admittedly, it is a brick that is no longer part of a botnet, but it is also not very useful either. After more searching, I discovered that I could, apparently, fix the problem by connecting to the router through the JTAG port on the router's motherboard. By this time, though, I would have just as soon stabbed myself in the eyeball with a fork. It would save time and hurt less.

So the Airport Extreme is back in position, the R6400 is in the garage with all the other bricks, and the attic is a (nearly) wifi-free zone again. Next time I'll just run cable.

I admit that I'm annoyed at myself, DD-WRT, and Netgear. I could have been more careful and not ended up with a brick. DD-WRT could have a simpler upgrade procedure. And Netgear could provide a secure router. I also discovered during this tribulation that I am not the only one who has experienced similar problems. Although there seems to be very little on the Internet, I discovered that other people in our neighborhood had had a similar experience. They, too, had been unable to remove their router from the botnet by using factory resets and manufacturer-provided firmware. They ended up replacing their routers.

Now, two experiences don't provide us with any statistics to rely on. But if my experience is common, then maybe manufacturers need to start producing a more extensive range of tools to recover hacked routers.

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