As you lovely people may have noticed, this is not a Harry Potter fanfiction. I am aware that you want me to write a fifth in my series involving Amy Potter, but I frankly have writers block in that department. Patience, my friends, it will come. In the meantime, here is what I have been entertaining myself with. Because I, like many others, have fallen prey to the charms of Loki Laufeyson (and Tom Hiddleston).

So read on and enjoy, and of course, don't forget to review! There is plenty more to come.

- Elle.

Prologue.

I could almost feel the darkness around me, stroking my bare arms and calling towards me. I didn't want to go to this darkness, it wasn't his darkness, and it wasn't the good darkness. This was true darkness, cold darkness. And I'll admit for the first time – I was scared.

I've come a long way from the girl I was bred to be, supposed to be, trained to be all my life, but I didn't regret it. I was a human being – I was more than a human being, better. But my enemies will never tell my story, as you know, history was written by the winners. So I will tell you my story, the truth of my lie, my life.

Because in all you have – all you can trust – is yourself.

My name is Felicity Crowe and I am officially a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and have been for several years. Considering I am only twenty-four, might I add that my status has been awarded to me against my wishes. My mother was quite high up in S.H.I.E.L.D. rankings, and while on duty in some country or other she fell in love with a man. That is what I told myself for many years, because honestly, I have no idea whether or not she loved my father, the mystery man that he is. One thing led to another, however, and I ended up happening. As she was such a valued employee, she bartered with the higher ups – higher up than Director Fury – to keep me. They agreed, on the grounds that I was trained as an agent. Not exactly the life I imagined she wanted for me, but the life I was given.

I say imagined because guess what! My life continues to get better as she was shot and fatally injured on duty… when I was three. Just like any good, clichéd heroine, I have no parents. But that's not where my story finishes.

So at the worldly age of three years old (and two weeks, a day), I was left entirely to the wonderful care of the top-secret group S.H.I.E.L.D., whom I must admit weren't exactly conductive to a normal upbringing. While other children were learning their ABC's, I was being taught to move stealthily. While other kids learnt timetables, I learnt self-defence. While other kids got to go to 'morning tea' and play tag, and hide and seek, I learnt to shoot a gun. On top of the ABC's, timetables, social manipulation and forgery. At the age of twelve (twelve, seriously S.H.I.E.L.D.?) I went on my first mission. And by the time I was seventeen I'd killed someone.

Yes I am a badass. But at what cost did my life come? You have parents, a home, people who care about you. My entire life has been dictated for me since I was born. I can totally kick a bully's ass, but I don't have any friends to stand up for. I have a bed, and a few pieces of clothing and necessities that I could call my own – if I wanted such bland items. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't give me a life; they drained it into their organisation, for their own purposes. And so here I am today, sitting on my beige blanket, flicking idly through a book. This is where my story begins.