#they opened an email to accept condolences.

[the-jackals]

Got a response from the email I send the government (Canada) in October:

Full email transcription:

On behalf of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, I would like to acknowledge receipt of your correspondence.

The Government of Canada extends its deepest condolences to all those who have lost family members and loved ones, including Canadian citizens. During this extremely difficult time, our hearts are also with Canadians who have family and friends in the region.

Canada unequivocally condemns Hamas’ terror attacks on Israel on October 7, the appalling loss of life, and the heinous acts of violence perpetrated in those attacks, including sexual violence. We condemn Hamas’ unacceptable treatment of hostages and call for the immediate and unconditional release of all remaining hostages. The International Committee of the Red Cross must be granted full access to the hostages and be allowed to deliver medical assistance.

We support Israel’s right to defend itself in accordance with international law. In defending itself, Israel must respect international humanitarian law.

Canada previously called for humanitarian pauses on hostilities in order to allow for hostages to be released and for much-needed humanitarian aid to reach Palestinian civilians. When a pause occurred, it allowed for the release of more than 100 hostages and supported an increase in humanitarian access to affected civilians. We want to see this pause resumed and support urgent international efforts towards a sustainable ceasefire.

A sustainable ceasefire cannot be one-sided. Hamas must release all hostages, stop using Palestinian civilians as human shields, stop intentionally occupying civilian sites for terrorist purposes, and lay down its weapons. Hamas can have no future in the governance of Gaza.

We are alarmed at the diminishing safe space for civilians in Gaza. The price of defeating Hamas cannot be the continuous suffering of all Palestinian civilians. We remain deeply concerned by the scale of the humanitarian crisis in Gaza and ongoing risks to all Palestinian civilians. Safe and unimpeded humanitarian access must be increased and sustained. Canada was among the first nations to provide humanitarian assistance, and we have provided tens of millions of dollars to partners to address urgent needs. Canada will ensure that no money goes into the hands of Hamas.

Canada remains committed to working with partners toward a just and lasting peace in the region, based on a two-state solution, where Israelis and Palestinians can live side by side in peace and security, with dignity and without fear.

Thank you for taking the time to write. Please accept my warmest regards.

Jean-Luc Marion

Director, Prime Minister’s Correspondence

Office of the Prime Minister

And here’s the transcript of the email I sent on October 29th:

To Prime Minister Justin Trudeau:

;

Minister of Foreign Affair

Dear Prime Minister Trudeau, Minister Joly,

I’m horrified by the ongoing genocide being committed in Palestine, as well as Canada’s direct involvement in it. Israeli occupation under a far-right nationalist government is rapidly escalating the full ethnic cleansing of Palestinians of all religions. Citizens in Canada do not unconditionally support Israel, and many of us support resistance against apartheid.

We are aware that Canada holds massive influence over Israel’s militarization and can demand a complete end to occupation if we wished. We will not stop until this happens.

If your party and government do not demand that Israel’s Occupying Forces put an end to their illegal occupation and stop Canada from giving weapons to Israel, I will have to use whatever platforms I have to make sure that you are never re-elected.

Our demands for Israel, on behalf of the citizens of Gaza and the West Bank: Open the Raffah border crossing and keep it open for humanitarian relief. STOP the genocide of Gaza.

If you truly believe in democracy as you claim, you will listen to Palestinian voices and stop using the same propaganda tactics that have been used to manipulate the public during past atrocities.

You have the power to put pressure on Israel and help end suffering under this occupation. If you want to be on the right side of history, demand that humanitarian aid be allowed into Gaza and help put an end to ethnic cleansing by the Israeli military and their use of blockades. Ensure that Canada vocally supports reparations and return of land to Palestinian citizens.

Do not be complicit in genocide.

Sincerely,

#Canada #Palestine #Israel #hamas #prime minister #Canadian prime minister #personal #Free Palestine

[give-grian-rights]

my friend just wrote a letter explaining the entirety of dsmp lore, with no context, to The Queen. hows your day?

#they opened an email to accept condolences. #i am shaking i am about to cry i am sitting here with full body chills #dsmpblr #dsmp #dream smp #dreamsmp #mika-posts #dsmp meme #the letter part 1 #technoblade #dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #tubbo #wilbur soot #dsmp letter

[angelbaugh-writes]

There’s Something You Should Know (1/2) {Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader}

Summary: After a one-night stand with the BAU’s unit chief, Y/N believe that she will never have to see him again. Her plan to avoid even more heart break crumbles when they cross paths once more and Hotch sees her with a kid.

Warnings: some cursing, I think?

Author’s Note: This is going to be a two-parter! I hope you guys enjoy this. I’ve worked pretty hard the past couple days. The second part should be out later this week. Thank you so so much for reading! Xox Angel Baugh

    The first time you met Aaron Hotchner was on a case a little over four years ago. Having the BAU come to your precinct to assist with a series of murders was not something you expected to ever experience. It came as a shock when you had three killings in a month. The most you'd had to deal with was a calm robbery or domestic abuse situation. Luckily for your coworkers and you, the group of FBI agents was quick to catch the man terrorizing your city. The most memorable part of the case was not the bloody crime scenes you weren't yet accustomed to, but the attractive unit chief you worked alongside for six days.     Fresh out of a divorce, Aaron was eager to get to know you during the week he spent next to you. Lingering glances and subtle grazes caused rising tension to grow between the two of you. It became a waiting game. What happened in the hotel room once the unsub was arrested almost seemed inevitable. Shared kisses and his heavenly, but oh so sinful, touch left you dazed. The dream ended abruptly when you woke up to an empty room. No sign of him. No note. Naked and alone, you felt humiliated. The man didn't have the decency to say good-bye. He used you for a quick fuck, and that was the end of it. ***     The last thing you wanted to do was call in help from the bureau. A copycat had started killings similar to the ones nearly half a decade ago. Your team tried to find the person responsible for the deaths using the same strategies as before. Nothing you did got you any closer to catching them. With a heavy heart, you send an email with the attached files to the last person you ever wanted to see again. Nausea filled you when you got a response back saying the group will be arriving in a few hours to assist.     A phone call from the babysitter was the last thing you needed to receive. She had a family emergency and was on her way to drop off your daughter. Panic was all you felt. God was playing you. You were sure of it. There was no time to find a new sitter so late. Aria had come to work with you before, but that was when you weren't trying to catch a murderer. The secretary, Julie, would always help out on those days by spending time with the spritely four-year-old while you finished up pertinent paperwork. But she had been out with the flu for the past couple of days. You quickly cleared your office of anything grisly or sharp. After child-proofing to the best of your ability, you walked to the front of the building to meet your daughter.     "Hey, baby! Mommy has a really busy day today, and Miss Julie isn't here today. Would you be okay sitting in my office?" you spoke softly as you led her to the room.     "Okay!"     "Thank you, Aria. Maybe for my lunch break, we can go to the park down the road."     The toddler's face lit up, "Oh! Yes yes yes!"     You sat with her in the office, watching her color a picture of a unicorn carelessly. A small smile rested on your face. An hour had already passed when one of your officers showed up at your door.     "They're here, Y/N." You nodded, giving Aria a kiss on the head before exiting. Three nicely dressed agents stood just a few feet away. Straightening your outfit, you made your way towards them.     JJ was the first to greet you, giving a tight hug. Rossi kissed your cheek. Aaron gave you a curt nod. He hadn't changed much since you saw him last. The bags under his eyes gave away how tired he was. You'd heard about the death of his ex-wife. You wanted to send your condolences but felt that it was inappropriate to do so. His gaze shifted to your office, spotting the little girl perched in your big chair.     "We have the big meeting room set up for you guys. Feel free to ask for more supplies or help. My team is more than willing to help with anything you need," you spoke steadily. "I'll be all over the place today because something has come up last minute, but I'll be able to give you guys my all tomorrow." Rossi thanked you before pushing Aaron down the hall.     "She looks just like him," JJ said quietly. You choked on air at the statement. She was right. Aria had long, black hair and warm, brown eyes. She had your nose and cheeks, but her smile was a carbon copy of his. There was no denying that he was the father. Anybody would be able to see through the lie.     You turned to the blonde next to you, "Do you want to meet her?" An enthusiastic nod was what you got in response. Grinning, you strolled into your office. "Aria?" The little girl's head raised at her name being called. "This is JJ. We worked together just before you were born."     "Hi!" she greeted excitedly, going back to her new coloring page quickly. Cinderella was concealed underneath a mess of pinks and yellows.     "Hey," JJ spoke kindly, "You like princesses, too? I have a little boy that likes superheroes."     "Superheroes are cool, but princesses wear pretty dresses and shiny," your daughter said matter-of-factly.     "Baby? Mommy has to go work for a little bit. Will you be okay in here?" you asked nervously. Leaving her alone made you feel uneasy.     "I could watch her why you talk with Hotch," JJ offered.     You sighed, "Really? Thank you so much."     The walk to where the two agents would be was nerve-wracking. You didn't want to see Aaron. Knowing him, he'd already profiled you and your kid. There was no way he hadn't put two and two together. The talk that you would have to have with him was the last thing you wanted to do. Maybe you should just quit and move out of state. Knocking softly, you opened the door     "I brought some of the files from the case four years ago." The two men turned to you.     "Perfect! Is the coffee still down the hall to the left? I need some caffeine," Rossi continued to speak as he left. You mumbled a quiet 'bastard' under your breath. You turned to the tall man, unable to form any words,     He took a deep breath, "Y/N, you should know that I'm sorry about leaving that morning. I was scared and ran away instead of accepting my feelings. I want to make it up to you while I'm in town." You were thrown back by his bluntness. Sure, he was always very forward with his feelings, but you expected a simple hello first.     "Aaron," you sighed, "I'd love to talk about it. My hands are full, though."     "Oh, right. How old is she?" he asked even though he knew the answer.     "She's uh...just about to turn four in- in a couple of months," you stumbled over your words a bit as you answered. There was no use in hiding the information from an intelligent profiler.     He let out a shaky breath as your words settled in. You watched his expression change from confusion to shock.    "Is she-"     You cut him off, "Yes. I understand if you don't want to be a part of this. It's an unorthodox arrangement, I know. We've been able to get this far."     His heart broke at your words. If he'd known, he would have... Well, he didn't know what he would have done if he found out. He would have been mourning the death of his ex-wife around the time you'd given birth. There was no way he would have been in a healthy enough mental state to help you and your daughter- and his daughter. Aaron Hotchner was the father of two kids.     "Why didn't you tell me?"     "After days spent together, you left as soon as you made a move. Was I supposed to think that you would be willing to help raise a kid when we don't even live in the same state? You never messaged me, Aaron. I thought it was some fling," you mumbled as you wiped away a few fallen tears.     He stepped forward, eager to comfort you, "Y/N, I haven't stopped thinking about you since that night. I wanted to call you, but I had to put my son first. You know what that feels like. Jack and I both lost someone and I couldn't move on like that. He wouldn't have understood. How I treated you was awful, and I wish I could go back and change it."     "We should talk more about this outside of work, okay? I know you like to go over the case after hours, but Aria and I would love to have some company at our place."     "You want me to meet her?"     "I want her to be able to know her father, yes. I think we should take it slow, though."     "I'm okay with that."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #david rossi #emily prentiss #derek morgan #penelope garcia #criminal minds imagine #Criminal Minds

[sadaboutniall]

Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

Chapter One. January.

remember that first laugh? all it changed once I had that // like a hurricane, but I don't care where I land - rome, dermot kennedy 

The whole thing had started out as a joke. Or maybe a pipe dream. Or maybe a massive mental breakdown and a poorly thought-through trip to the passport office for a rush renewal and a visa application. 

No matter how it had started, Luna hadn’t actually thought it would pan out. Two and a half months ago, standing in her parents’ kitchen in New York, reading the lawyer’s letter, it had been a shiny, exciting, half-baked idea—an escape she could cling to while everything else was going to shit. It hadn’t been a reality. 

It was hardly a reality even as it began to happen: Luna, packing her bags on a Friday night, deciding which pictures of her ex to keep and which to toss; Luna’s dad, hoisting her bags into the trunk of the car for her; Luna’s mom, petting her hair as she hugged her goodbye at the airport.

And it wasn’t real when she got to Inis Mór either: her snug little apartment above the coffee shop, the smattering of mismatched furniture that her Great Aunt Niamh had left behind, Ruairí, the black cat her new neighbor had been feeding, the mess of her suitcases, exploding on the floor, markedly different to the seemingly ancient chairs and quilts and sweaters that Niamh left for her. 

Or, just left. It’s been hard for Luna to tell what’s for her and what isn’t. 

And even now, nearly a month into living here and it only half feels real, the way she gets up every morning and putters down to the shop to open up, the cat following behind her, meowing for breakfast and Siobhan, the baker, already well on her way to done with the morning’s pastries, the smell of cinnamon and dough and vanilla and the cold air outside wafting through the shop to wake Luna up sweetly; the way old Mr. Whelan is always her first customer, never deviates from his order of a black coffee and a croissant, toasted; the rush of cold air every time someone opens the door, feeling like it’s flaying the shop open, sending napkins fluttering to the floor, causing Ruairí to hiss in protest and curl up closer to the fireplace. There’s nothing real in the way the sun sets at 4pm these days, quick as a wink over the hill outside the window, a flash of orange and purple the only reminder that day once broke in this place that always feels dark, under cover. There’s nothing real in the way Luna needn’t worry about anything here—her rent is paid and there are no deadlines anymore, no screaming bosses, no one angry with her for dropping an artist file or fucking up a coffee order. It’s not real, not even when she calls home and talks to her parents, when they tell her about her brother Sam’s new PhD research and his girlfriend Mary’s trip to Honduras. It’s not real, any of it. And it works. It’s fine. And so is Luna. 

It’s hardly real on a Monday night at the end of January, either, after Siobhan has already left for the day and Luna is quietly closing up, tucking mugs into cabinets and dropping bits of pastry on the floor for the cat. She’s not thinking about much of anything—in the month she’s been here, Lu’s found the very start and very end of her days to be the most relaxing, the way she can clear up the shop or fire up the coffee maker without having to talk to anyone, think about anything. It’s so markedly different from what feels like a lifetime ago: bustling into the office at 8:30 and still feeling like she was late, a tray of coffees balanced in one hand, someone’s dry cleaning in the other, 12 voicemails already waiting for her, 30 emails, more coming through as her phone vibrated in her pocketbook. This is quiet and slow: Ruairí is weaving between her legs, meowing gently when he wants more treats, and outside it’s dark and still and cold, despite it being only 7pm. Luna is tired but not wiped—a feeling she forgot existed before leaving New York—and it occurs to her that she can have a slice of cake tonight in front of the TV, and maybe a glass of wine, while watching Law and Order until she falls asleep. 

She’s lost in that thought—and the already building annoyance at the fact that she knows she’ll inevitably wake up on the couch at 3am and have to stumble to bed—when the door creaks open, nighttime wind rushing in, a boy stumbling after it. 

“So sorry,” Lu looks up from where she’s been wiping down the counter behind the pastry display. “I’m closing up. But I still have a few leftover slices of cake if you want—”

“Oh, erm,” the boy stills, maybe surprised, and Lu does too. He’s—well. Lu hasn’t seen anyone here who looks like him. 

He’s a mess of hat hair, dark at the roots and an unnatural blonde at the tips, curling over his ears and flopping over one eyebrow. He’s bright blue eyes, wide when he looks at her, and cheeks flushed red to match the tip of his nose, and a smattering of stubble along his face, darkening in the dimple of his chin, his pink lips chapped where his tongue darts out to soothe them. He takes her breath away for half a second—or maybe that’s the rush of wind that crashed against her chest when he opened the door. 

The boy is clutching a guitar by its neck, gloved hand wrapped almost reverently around it, and his white high-top sneakers are mucky where the rubber soles have been sludging through the perma-mud outside. He looks like something out of a dream, maybe, Lu’s heart catching a little in her throat. 

“Hi,” he says, finally, looking just as out of sorts as Lu feels. She’s not sure if that’s good or bad, but he carries on. “I wasn’t expecting—I didn’t think you would be so… uh. American? Uh,” gently, he tucks the guitar under his arm and tugs off his navy blue gloves, the cotton pilling from wear. “I’m Niall,” he reaches out a hand. It’s cold when Lu takes it to shake, when he wraps it gently around her own. “I live Kilronan.” 

“Hiya,” Lu’s voice comes out softer than she expected it to. “I’m Lu. I work here.” 

“Right, right,” Niall nods, swallows thick. “You’re Niamh’s niece? I was so sorry to hear about her passing—she—”

“Great niece,” Lu rushes over Niall, exhausted, even a month later, of every introduction on this island starting with a condolence. “I actually only met her once. But it sounds like she was a force.”

“You—once?” Niall shoves his gloves into the pocket of his puffer jacket. 

“Yeah,” Lu shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. Was there, uh,” she doesn’t want to get rid of him,  but doesn’t know where to go next. “Did you want one of those slices of cake? I’m sorry for you to come all the way from Kilronan for nothing.”

“Oh,” Niall looks like he’s only just remembered where he is. “No, I didn’t come for cake. I, uh, I have a… a question? An idea?”

Briefly, Lu worries if she should be nervous—but crime doesn’t happen here, not like this, and Lu knows the statistics when it comes to stranger attacks. Either way, Niall keeps talking before she can spiral, the words tumbling out like he knows he has to speak before he thinks better of it.

“I, uh, I was wondering if there’s any chance you were looking for someone to, like, play guitar and sing a bit? Like, live music in the shop for a couple hours a week? You don’t have to pay me or anything, ‘m not asking for that, but I could maybe leave my case open for tips? I can do covers or requests or—whatever you want, really. And I can give you my work schedule and we can work around that; I’m free on the weekends mostly, except for when I coach football, but also on weeknights if you’d prefer that and if you want to split the tips I understand, we can do that too, and also—” 

“Niall,” Lu can’t take it. He’s speaking so fast it’s shuttling her toward an anxiety attack, and throwing up on the shoes of the first cute boy she’s seen in a month was not on her agenda for today. Meeting a cute boy in general was not on her agenda for today, but Lu’s been learning that things don’t tend to pan out the way she plans them. “I like the idea. That sounds cool.” 

“I totally understand if—wait, really?” Niall pauses, hand halfway up to his face, like he was going to cover his mouth, or rub his eyes, or bite his nails. His brow furrows and his mouth drops open a little, like he didn’t expect it to be that easy. Like he didn’t accept Lu to be agreeable at all. 

“Yeah,” Lu shrugs, then nods at the guitar still tucked under Niall’s arm, “but you’ll need to audition for me,” she bites back a cheeky smile, watches Niall do the same. “I can’t have a crap singer driving away all my customers.”

“Ah, fair play,” the left side of Niall’s mouth pulls up into a smile, and Lu pointedly ignores the kick in her chest. “What would you like to hear?”

She shrugs again, as if “casual” or “easygoing” were ever words people would’ve used to describe her back home. “Your favorite song?”

“My favorite—” Niall scoffs, but there’s no malice in it—it’s playful, inviting, fun. It makes Lu feel like he wants to keep talking to her. Like he wants her to keep winding him up. “You think I can narrow it down to one favorite song?”

“I can,” Lu smiles, soft, “I’m good at making decisions.” 

“Go on, tell us then.” 

“You first,” Lu gestures toward a table, the only one in the shop that isn’t rickety when there’s too much weight on it. “Then I’ll tell ya.” 

Niall hums under his breath, approval, and settles himself on top of the table easily, feet perched on the chair, guitar natural in his lap. He strums once, to check that everything is in tune, and then glances up through the bit of hair that’s fallen over his eye. He’s striking—bright blue eyes, a shock of blonde at the tips of his hair, a lone dimple digging into his filled out cheeks—and Lu feels her stomach swoop and kick again. She takes a deep breath, crosses her arms over her chest. Niall sits up straight. 

“Alright,” he says it so quietly that Lu thinks it might just be for him. She’s suddenly struck with the notion that she’s intruding on something, a moment between Niall and his guitar and himself that isn’t for her—that, maybe, this isn’t something a lot of people get to see. 

And, if that’s true, Lu realises the second he starts strumming, it’s a damn shame. 

It takes Lu a second to recognize the song, but it doesn’t even matter. With a guitar in his hand Niall is even more mesmerizing. Hypnotizing. Completely, incomprehensibly, irresistible.

And then he opens his mouth. And Lu feels sick. 

It’s “With or Without You”. 

But there’s none of the corniness, none of the playful groaning and eye rolling that usually accompanies a U2 cover. Instead, Lu feels frozen to her spot in the middle of the shop, Niall, seated atop the table, eyes down, an anchor in the middle of this island. His voice, lower than she expected, and raspy in all the right places, is somehow vulnerable and confident at the same time—somehow makes her want to simultaneously hold him and be held by him, to protect him and let him protect her. It’s real. It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying. Lu doesn’t know what to do with it. 

The song lasts forever and is over in an instant. Eyes closed, Niall carries out the final, desperate, confident, terrified, “I can’t live, with or without you,” as he stops playing and lets his voice take over. The whole shop shakes with it. Or maybe that’s just Lu, trembling. 

His eyes don’t open for a few seconds. Lu can feel herself breathing, she can feel her heart beating, she can feel the wind, outside, throwing itself against the shop’s ancient windows. She can feel it when Niall opens his eyes. 

“Was it that shite?” 

Overwhelmed, Lu exhales an unstoppable, lovely laugh. Niall’s cheeks are red and his eyes are a little glassy and he runs a hand through his thick hair, his bicep flexing just a millimeter. Lu already knows there’s no way this can last.

“Terrible,” she smiles. “Worst I’ve ever heard. When can you start?” 

####

They work out the schedule together, leaning over the only good table, comparing planners. Lu still keeps her old Moleskin, dark purple, embossed with her college seal and the year she graduated. She hasn’t needed it much lately—after years of her work, and eventually her social life, revolving around Google Calendar, she feels a freedom in being able to jot down appointments and approximate times in a messy journal. Niall’s got a battered leather one—doodles on the front, his name in script on the first page. He flips through it quickly, keeps it close to his chest. 

He works at a local furniture and home goods boutique most days, as a design consultant, and coaches the middle school’s co-ed soccer team on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons, with games on Saturdays. Lu tells him not to overbook himself but he does it anyway, and they settle on Monday, Thursday, and Friday nights, as well as Saturday mornings, starting the next week. He says he’ll have a friend work up posters to advertise, and tries, again, to tell Lu he’ll split his tips. 

At 10:30, he notices the time, his cheeks pinking up, his chapped lower lip caught between his teeth. They’d been splitting the final two slices of cake, and there’s a tiny glob of chocolate caught in the corner of his mouth. 

“Fuck,” he says, looking reluctant, “I’ve got to go, I’m meant to be at work at 8 tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh, God,” Lu feels a bit like she’s coming out of a daze, that feeling she gets, sometimes, when she’s been reading a book or watching a movie and then has to reimmerse herself in the real world. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.” 

“No, no,” Niall rushes, “you didn’t. I—thank you. For the chocolate cake. And the, uh, opportunity.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Lu presses her lips together, resists the urge to lean forward and thumb at the chocolate on his mouth. “You’ve got, uh, a bit of chocolate,” she touches the mirroring spot on her own mouth, “right there.” 

“Right,” he smiles, tongue darting out to catch it. “I won’t. Thanks.” 

Lu gathers the plates and cups and totes them to the sink while Niall gets his things together. When she turns around, he’s bundled in his coat and scarf, hat pulled low over his brows, free hand shoved into the pocket of his puffer. She doesn’t know how to look away from him. 

“I guess I’ll see you next week, then?” He asks, fiddling with the zipper on his puffer. He hasn’t got all the chocolate—Lu wonders what it would taste like against his lips.

“Next week,” she echoes. “Yeah.” 

“Brilliant. I’ll, uh—I’m excited. Have a good week.” 

Lu’s “and you” gets lost in her throat as she watches Niall head toward the door. His hand is on the knob when he turns back around. 

“Wait, Lu.” 

The sound of her name in his mouth makes her heart stutter. She hopes her raised brow will pass for a response. 

“You didn’t tell me.” 

“What?” She gets that out, at least.

“Your favorite song of all time,” Niall smiles, dimple prominent. “What is it?”

Looking back, Lu has no idea where the sudden confidence comes from. But, somehow, it does. She smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not sure I want to tell you yet,” she says, kind. “I want to see if you figure it out for yourself.” 

####

taglist: @missy14us @coconutdawn @ficnarry @okaaayniall @theresnooneheretosave @niallgolden @tinyfelthat @adoremp3 @thelifeofbo @crocodileniall @niallsguitarthings 

Join the tag list here.

#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #without fear #eeeeek! #ok hope you like this!! #im nervous

[jessicajonesrp]

Danny Returns

It had seemed like an eternity for Jessica, waiting for Luke to return. She isn’t sure what she expects him to do, exactly. Nothing he does is going to make Trish less sad, and it isn’t his place to be the one there, trying to hold the broken pieces together. That’s Jessica’s job, as much as she feels she sucks at it and will inevitably make things worse. Whatever her limitations, Trish is her sister, and she’s the one who understands the very complicated relationship she and her mother had. She is the only one other than Trish who has a level of understanding of the contradictory, complex person that Dorothy had been. Luke won’t be able to be there for Trish in the way that Jessica knows she has to be, and she doesn’t feel that she has the right to ask him to be there for her.

Still. She wants him there. Selfish and weak as she feels it to be, she wants him there, at least present and at a supportive distance as she struggles to be there for Trish.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she hears him come inside, lifting her head when he looks in on them. Trish barely stirs; if anything she closes her eyes against his voice, seeming to want to block out the world. Jessica nods at him, her voice detached even to her own ears.

“Thanks. I don’t think she’ll eat right now, and I’m not hungry. Maybe later.”

It’s another hour before Trish finally drifts off to sleep, and Jessica waits until she can hear her stuffy breathing become more even and regular before she gently detaches herself. She keeps her movements slow and quiet to keep from disturbing her as she leaves the bedroom, taking a long shower. She still feels as though her body and her mind are separate entities, existing somehow not together but in parallels of each other, so as she washes herself she is surprised to find that there are dried remnants of tears on her cheeks. When had she cried, and how had she not noticed this?

As she emerges, she takes the soup and some spoons Luke had left out and also snags a bottle of whiskey for herself. Holding the items, she says briefly to Luke, “Sorry. I guess you get the couch again for a night or so. I can’t leave her by herself right now.” She paused, her lips briefly thinning, before saying quietly, “Thanks for coming back.”

She doesn’t tell him that she’s glad he didn’t find Phillip. She isn’t sure that she is, to be honest. Right now she doesn’t feel much of anything at all.

The next few days are even more excruciatingly long and painful for Jessica as she struggled to take over managing Trish’s needs along with the needed but infuriating details of handling Dorothy’s death and the necessary arrangements. Trish had almost completely shut down. Jessica had seen her high, drunk, and in withdrawal more times than she cared to remember, and yet she had never seen her retreat into such dark and blank grief as she was showing now. Even in the aftermath of physical abuse from her mother and sexual abuse from movie producers in her childhood, Trish had never seemed so shattered that Jessica could not tease, coax, or bully her into functioning on some level. Jessica wasn’t an overly analytical person when it came to emotions, but it was starkly obvious to her that no matter how badly Trish got along with Dorothy at times or how unhealthy their relationship, she must still have deeply craved the eventual approval of her mother. For this now to be forever impossible seemed to have rendered her almost immobile with shock and pain.

Jessica answered Trish’s phone for her, informing her workplace in no uncertain terms that she would not be returning to work or making any sort of public statements until she damn well expressed the desire to. She told those offering condolences to save it for emails and managed the details of arranging for Dorothy’s autopsy, funeral services, and speaking to the officers investigating the case with the minimal amount of consulting with Trish about it that was possible. Of course, she didn’t tell the police any information about her brother’s involvement. She couldn’t bring herself to do that, even though she was well known to them herself at this point and they would no doubt believe a relative of hers as capable of the ability and violence to cause what had occurred. For one thing, Phillip Jones was supposed to be dead, and given what had just happened to Dorothy, it didn’t feel fair to Trish to further tarnish her reputation by explaining the part she had played in this lie being widespread. For another, Jessica herself worried more for the safety of any normal police officers on Phillip’s tale. Whatever he might do to them if he felt himself cornered would be on her own head. If they found him on their own, that was one thing; she wasn’t about to hand him over. Besides, it wasn’t like she knew where the hell he was anyway.

She spent most of the time not unwillingly speaking to people on the phone either sitting with Trish, keeping her company. She was scared to leave her alone in the state she was in. Trish had never expressed suicidal ideations before, but she had overdosed enough in her drug years and almost died during the Simpson era of last year that it was often a fear Jessica carried in the back of her mind. She couldn’t take losing Trish, not now. Not after everything. So she stayed shadow close to her, making her eat what Trish would accept, making her use the restroom, brush her teeth, change her clothes, and shower. Other than that, she just sat with her, not trying to talk to her or force her to talk.

She was feeling progressively worse physically herself, but she ignored this, focusing on trying to keep Trish healthy. It was weird. Drinking wasn’t giving her the relief and numbness that she usually sought; in fact, it seemed every time she tried, she got sick to her stomach soon after to the point of actually vomiting. For Jessica, who was used to drinking very large quantities without ill effect, this was mysterious, but she chalked it up to stress and kept determinedly trying- and failing- to drink. Food was more or less not a priority to her; if she couldn’t drink without puking, she sure as hell didn’t feel like eating. It was difficult for her to sleep deeply when she was trying to simultaneously listen out for Trish, and what she sleep she did get was broken often by nightmares.

But the worst of it was that she had no idea where Phillip was or what he was doing. She refused to watch the news, even when Trish was asleep; there was far too much about Dorothy and Trish on at all hours. For all she knew, he could have burned half the city at this point. She figured Luke would tell her if he had.

After three days of enormous stress and strain, she finally heard a knock on the door. Trish was awake but not communicating much, as was normal now, and Jessica got up, murmuring to her she would be back. Her shoulders are rigid with the possibility that it could be Phillip on the other side, and she said to Luke shortly, “Keep an eye on Trish, you didn’t order delivery, did you?”

When she looked through the keyhole and saw that it was Danny standing on the other side, her legs went weak, and she sucked in her breath, a burst of gladness sparking through her chest for the first time in days. She went to open the door, but instead of hugging him or stepping back to let him in, she socked him hard in the shoulder, three times in a row.

“Where the fuck have you been, what the fuck took you so long to get back here?! Do you realize that we needed you here, do you realize that we’re fucking drowning, while you go off to some stupid god world and fight for people that should fight for themselves?! Meanwhile my dead brother is a serial killer who killed Trish’s mother and half a dozen others, and you just left us to deal with this alone! I’m fucking done with this, done!”

When she started yelling Jessica went lightheaded by the first sentence. She hasn’t been moving much for the past few days and she’s dehydrated from attempting to drink, getting sick with it, and then not drinking enough non alcoholic fluids to make up with it. By her last three words she had stumbled back, tripped, and her legs gave out so she fell more or less to her knees, tears breaking forth for the first time since she saw the news. She doesn’t even know why she’s crying, or why she’s so angry, but she but she feels like she has unleashed something she’s been holding back and it refuses to come back inside her.

#jessica jones roleplay #jessica jones #luke cage roleplay #Luke Cage #trish walker #trish walker roleplay

[backtobackbakubabe]

Baby its Cold Outside (PART 3)

Bakugo x Reader 

Snuggles fix everything right? 

Angsty fluff? Idk. 

Words : 1703

PART 1 HERE, PART 2 HERE, PART 3 HERE PART 4 HERE PART 5 HERE , PART 6 HERE PART 7 HERE PART 8 HERE PART 9 HERE PART 10 HERE PART 11 HERE PART 12 HERE PART 13 HERE PART 14 HERE

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Telling your hero agency wasn't as bad as you thought it was going to be. Apparently this happened pretty often. In fact your boss looked almost bored as  you told him. You had built a pretty close relationship with him since getting to the agency, giving him the loving nickname boss man. 

“Congratulations Bakugo... you finally found someone who could tolerate your bullshit.” He turned his attention to you, “And y/n my deepest condolences to your eardrums. As I’m sure you already know those temper tantrums of his aren't exactly quiet.” 

You gave him a knowing smile, “Oh sir I’m very aware. I’ve been at the receiving end of those tantrums for years.” 

You could see Bakugo’s ears tint pink as he rolled his eyes, “Yeah yeah, I yell, whatever. What about our patrol assignments? Will we be assigned new partners?” 

Boss man narrowed his eyes at you both... “No I don't think I will..” He ignored Bakugo's startled expression. “And I’ll tell you why. See Bakugo while you are likely the most talented hero at this agency you aren’t exactly a people person. In fact the only person you said you’d be willing to work with on your intake form was y/n. And luckily she has more patience in her pinky than most do in their whole body because she puts up with you. She keeps you centered and you keep her motivated. We’d be crazy to split you two up.” 

You gave him a smirk. See you and Bakugo had been adamently opposed when it came to splitting up as partners. You thought it was a stupid idea and Bakugo while he hated the idea of not being there to protect you, he also thought it was the only way he could focus and do his job. 

Katsuki stood up from his chair, fists clenched. “Sir with all due respect... WHAT THE FUCK!” You slipped your hand around his wrist trying to get him to calm down. His eyes met yours and he did seem to reign it in a bit. “Sorry what I meant to say is... please reconsider. I honest to god cant focus on anything besides her safety when were out there. That has to be a conflict of interest!” 

Boss man scoffed, “That right there is why I cant split you up.You start to blow up and all she has to do is touch your hand and you become a reasonable human.” 

You could see his shoulders tense up as he was bracing himself to lose this battle. He gave you one last last pleading look that tugged oh so hard on your heart strings. 

Sighing, “Listen Boss man, I understand why you want to keep us together. Really I do. I don't want us to split up either.. but if this is what Bakugo wants then I think you should at lest consider it. You say he has the most talent in this agency right? I’m sure there’s tons of better suited partners for him than me anyways...” 

Boss man knit his eyebrows together, “Now I won't have any of this self depreciating bullshit y/n. We’ve had this talk before and I think you are incredibly gifted...” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to fight off a headache, “But if this is truly something both of you want... than I guess I’ll fill out the paperwork.” 

Bakugo’s eyes widened, not expecting you to step up to help him. But before he could say anything you gave him the ‘we’ll talk about this later’ look. 

The walk home was quiet. Bakugo could tell you were upset and he was still new at the whole being nice to others thing so he didn't know how to handle it. He finally settled for holding your hand. You usually talked his ear off, but now you wouldn't even look at him. You couldn't possibly be mad at him could you?Hell you even had his back in the meeting... He will never understand women. 

You both stepped into the elevator and to his surprise you hit the button for your floor. 

“Oi what gives? You just did laundry I know you don't need clothes..” 

Pulling your hand out of his, “What I need is space Katsuki... Before you freak out... I’m not mad at you. I understand why you don't want to work with me anymore. But you have to understand that I am very sad right now. I just need some alone time.” You gave him a gentle peck on the cheek before exiting on to your floor. 

Fuck... he didn't like this. On one hand he thought you were being ridiculous. You will still see him every day! You practically live with him for fucks sake. But on the other hand he knows you’re upset and he knows that he's the reason why. He hates it. 

He practically slammed his door after entering his apartment and threw his keys harshly at the couch. How was he going to fix this. He walked over to the freezer to see if he has any ice cream. It was something he only started buying once you two started dating. It seemed to be a staple in your diet. He pulled out a tub of cookies and cream and spoon not bothering to put it in a bowl. 

He walked back to the main room to binge eat and mope when he heard that precious sound of air whooshing in. He turned the corner to see y/n in one of his shirts curled up on the couch, “I was alone for maybe 5 minutes before I remembered how much I hate being alone... So can I be alone... but like with you...?”

His nose scrunched up, “What the fuck does that even mean?” He handed you the ice cream and sat next to you pulling your feet in his lap.

You accepted the ice cream greedily, “Exactly what we’re doing now, except we turn on the tv and just like don't talk to each other... Just give me some time to process that we’re no longer partners...” 

He pulled a blanket over the two of you and handed you the remote. He knew you'd end up picking something awful like a Disney movie or a romantic comedy but if this is what you needed then he’d do it. 

Three hours and eight episodes of Avatar: the last Airbender later you were passed out. Sometime between the third and fourth episode you had decided you wanted your back scratched so you scooched over and without saying a word laid on top of Katsuki, picked his hand up and placed it on you back and moved it back and forth until he got the idea. 

That leads him to now. You were asleep with your head on his chest. You were so cute when you were asleep. He was content. He could have fallen asleep himself. He probably would have too except his phone buzzed in his pocket. It took some expert maneuvering to get it out of his pocket without waking you up but he managed. 

He had received an email from the agency with a list of available heros for the two of you to choose from. He opened it up and low and behold the first available hero was fucking Deku.. well that was enough for one night. He closed the email before looking at any other candidates. 

There was no way in hell he would ever work with Deku... but maybe... maybe he’d let you. As much as he hates to admit it, Deku wasn't the weak ass nerd he used to be. He knew first hand how powerful he was, but more importantly he knew how loyal he was. 

He threw his head back exasperated. Was he really considering this. It’s not like he had the right to pick his replacement, that was totally up to you... but maybe he could ask. Fucking Deku... 

He could feel you stirring awake so he put his hand in your hair and ran his fingers through it, earning him a soft moan of approval from you. 

“I think I’m ready to talk about today.” 

You didn't make any move to look at him and he didn't make you, “Oh yeah?” 

You nodded and rubbed your eyes trying to wake yourself up. “But I only want to talk about the positives. Like for example... apparently you requested to work with me on your intake form?” 

He could feel your soft giggles vibrate against his chest. Usually he’d be annoyed but knowing this made you happy was enough to make him get over it. “I knew that didn't slip past you. And just so you know... I didn't request you... I said I don't work with anyone and then in parenthesis I said (but if I absolutely have to then I’ll only work with y/n.)” 

“Oh so it’s your fault that we got paired together! And here I thought you hated working with me all this time.”  

He kissed the top of your head, “I did at first. But not for the reasons you’d think. I hated that you never looked before running into things. I hated that your costume was so tight and every guy we walked past got to see you in it. I hated that because of your quirk you could always beat me to the scene of a crime, meaning for a few minutes you'd always be alone with a villain without me there to help. But most of all I hated how every day it got harder and harder to pretend that I actually didn't hate you at all.” 

“PPPPPFFFFFFFFT” You couldn’t help it you just started laughing. 

“What the fuck it so funny eh? I’m pouring my heart out over here and you’re fucking laughing at me?” 

“I’m sorry babe! Its just that sounds like the speech from one of my favorite movies and its totally a rom com so I know there’s no way you’ve seen it but it’s still just so funny!” 

So then you just had to show him 10 Things I Hate About You, and to your surprise he actually enjoyed it. 

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Thanks for reading! I know this chapter was kind of slow but shit gets real starting in part 4! Buckle up! 

#bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugo imagine #bhna #bhna bakugou #bhna x reader #bhna imagine #mha #mha bakugou #mha x reader #mha imagines #my hero academia

[spn-safeandsound]

03. Hero Gets the Girl

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 1x03; Dead in the Water

Word Count: 8,106

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence and gore

Author’s Note: More like ‘Dean in the Water’, am I right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Make sure to reblog and like!

Masterlist in Profile Description!

Julia's nose practically touched the pages of her bible as she bent over it, reading a passage from First Corinthians. She only picked at the fries on her plate as she silently read her mother's favorite verse over and over. The page was almost worn, as it had been for years, and the verse was highlighted in blue so it stuck out. She had it memorized—it was only four words, after all—but something about seeing the words on the page calmed her down.

Do everything in love.

It was such a simple verse but her mom recited every day—sometimes more than a few times a day, depending on the situation. Naomi loved helping people until the day she died, running the philanthropy department of Petersen Sports Co. until she could no longer keep up. She was as saint like as you could get without actually being a saint but she never preached needlessly at you and she didn't push her beliefs on anyone.

She was Naomi...and Julia missed her so much.

November thirtieth was always hard on Julia, no matter what. Usually she barricaded herself in her room and watched her mom's favorite movie—which, ironically, was Dirty Dancing—and ate chocolate chip cookies but she didn't have the time or proper setting to do that. She was on the road with the Winchester brothers so that was doing a little bit to help her feel better.

Sam sat at her left and watched her carefully, looking at the melancholy expression on her face. "Did you call Beth yet?"

"She called me," she informed him, smiling softly at the thought of her oldest sister. "and she let me talk to Lizzie. She's such a talker these days."

Sam chuckled. "Well, she is Beth's kid."

"Yeah, that's true," Julia agreed; Dean may have thought that she talked too much but she didn't compare to Bethany. Her oldest sister's voice was probably the most recognizable sound to her because of her endless talking. "I called Abby."

"What's she up to?"

"A hunt down in Texas. She said something about a spirit. Levi's in meetings all day but we're gonna talk tonight."

"And your dad?"

Julia sighed heavily, looking down at her bible as her eyes started to sting. "Haven't heard from him."

Sam frowned in sympathy, watching as she practically curled into herself. She went back to reading her bible, her index finger trailing softly over the highlighted verse.

It was then that Dean walked over to them, a pile of newspapers in his hands so he could start looking for their next case. He sat in the stool on Julia's right side and stole a fry from her plate.

"You okay, shortcake?"

"Dean..." Sam gave him a warning look.

Sam knew how depressed Julia got on the last day of November. She didn't need his brother bothering her when the loss of her mom was still so fresh. Still, if anyone could understand her pain, it would be Dean. He was old enough to remember their mother and her death, so they had kindred experiences.

Dean immediately understood the look Sam gave him. He grimaced and softly patted Julia on the shoulder and Sam swore he saw his thumb rub soothing circles into the fabric of her shirt but he could just be imaging things. Either way, that was the closest he had seen Dean comfort a girl in his life.

Julia gave him a soft smile and pushed her plate of fries toward him. Sam watched in slight awe as Dean accepted the fries with a large smile; Julia never shared her fries with anyone. Sam couldn't count the amount of times his hand had been slapped away from her plate because he was trying to steal one—they were her ultimate favorite food.

Dean went to work on looking through the obituaries in the newspapers he collected, circling deaths that seemed suspicious. Sam pulled out his phone and started checking his emails, helplessly hoping that maybe his dad would have sent him one. Julia turned to Revelations and started studying for her New Testament final that she would be taking online.

"Can I get you anything else?" a pretty blonde waitress walked over to them, dropping a flirty smile at Dean.

Dean looked up, pen resting against his lips, and grinned.

Sam cleared his throat. "Just the check, please."

"Okay," the waitress sent Sam a smile and then turned to walk to the register on the other side of the bar.

Dean groaned in displeasure and glared at Sam over Julia's head. "You know, Sam, we are allowed to have fun once in a while," he gestured toward the waitress, who was dressed for tips. "That is fun."

Sam gave Dean an unimpressed look, making the older brother sigh.

"Here, take a look at this," he slid the newspaper he was looking down the bar to him. "I think I got one. Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week, Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities dragged the water, nothing."

"Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year," Dean continued. "None of the bodies were found, either."

Julia frowned and pulled the paper over to her, quickly reading through the obituary. "She was the swim team captain at her school?"

"Yep," Dean confirmed. "None of the other bodies were found, either. They had a funeral two days ago."

Sam looked over at him, his eyebrows raised. "A funeral?"

"Yeah, it's weird, they buried an empty coffin," Dean shrugged. "For, uh, closure of whatever."

Julia was all for whatever helped people cope with their grief but she didn't really understand why the family just didn't have a memorial for the poor girl. Then again, it certainly wasn't her business.

"Closure," Sam scoffed sourly. "What closure? People don't just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for them."

Dean turned in his stool to face Sam, sensing his displeasure. Truthfully, he'd picked on up the fact that Sam was irritated they weren't actively trying to find Dad for a few days now. "Something you want to say to me?"

Dean was an upfront guy; he didn't like passive aggressive bullshit.

Sam inhaled deeply. "The trail for Dad—it's getting colder every day."

"Exactly," Dean pointed out. "So, what are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know. Something. Anything."

"You know what, I'm sick of your attitude," Dean's eyes narrowed in irritation as his voice lowered in anger. "You don't think I wanna find Dad as much as you do?"

"Yeah, I know you do, it's just—"

"I'm the one who's been with him every day for the past four years while you've been off to college going to pep rallies," Dean cut Sam off coldly. "We will find Dad but until then, we're gonna kill everything bad between here and there, okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes heavily, making Dean bristle. Sensing that their argument was going to stumble out of control—like they sometimes did with brothers who both had the famous Winchester temper—Julia spoke up.

"Please stop, all right?" she looked between them, her eyes wide and sad; Dean and Sam almost immediately melted—her puppy-eyed look was almost lethal compared to Sam's. "Please."

"All right," Sam sighed, giving in. "Lake Manitoc. How far?"

Dean grinned at him and grabbed the check when the waitress delivered it, a phone number at the bottom.

-

They reached Lake Manitoc within a couple of hours, having already been in Minnesota for a small spirit case that had Julia torching her first corpse. They decided to head to the victim's family first before they went to the police station to question the sheriff about the recent drownings and missing bodies.

The Carlton residence was a basic cabin, right on Lake Manitoc. It was a cute little home with dark green shutters that made Julia smile sadly. The house looked well loved and she felt horrible that the family was going through this kind of grief.

Grief from a family member dying was one thing. When that person died of something that couldn't easily be explained? That was worse—much, much worse.

Dean knocked on the front door of the cabin; a man around his age opened the door, giving them a questioning look.

"Will Carlton?" Dean asked him; the man nodded. "I'm Agent Ford, this is Agent Hamill and junior Agent Fisher. We're with the US Wildlife Service."

Behind his back, Julia gave him an unimpressed look. Did he think he was being slick using the most notable stars of the popular Star Wars franchise? And he had to quit with this junior agent and intern stuff—she wasn't that much younger than him and Sam and she wasn't a kid by any means.

"More questions?" Will sighed.

Julia gave him a sad smile. "Sorry, but it's for our investigation."

Will nodded and walked out onto the porch. He led them closer to the lake, his eyes on the closest dock. There was an older man sitting on it, looking out at the lake with depressed eyes.

"First off, we'd like to give you our condolences," Sam said softly as came to a stop. "We've heard great things about Sophie."

Will gave him a half-hearted smile that spoke volumes with just how sad he was. Julia's heart ached with sympathy.

Sam and Dean started asking him questions, hoping to get a better insight on the circumstances surrounding Sophie's death. They were careful not to offend the man while also trying to get as much information as they could.

"She was about a hundred yards out," Will nodded at the lake, answering Sam's question about where he last saw Sophie. "That's where she was dragged down."

"And you're sure she didn't just drown?" Dean prodded.

"Yeah," Will scoffed and smiled fondly. "She was a varsity swimmer. She practically grew up in that lake. She was as safe out there as she was in her own bathtub."

"So, no splashing? No signs of distress?"

"No, that's what I'm telling you."

"Did you see any shadows in the water?" Sam followed up. "Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?"

"No," Will shook his head. "Again, she was really far out there."

"You ever see any strange tracks by the shoreline?" Dean spoke up.

"No, never. Why?" Will stiffened, looking paranoid. "Why, what do you think is out there?"

"We'll let you know as soon as we do," Julia assured him kindly. "Thanks for your time, Mr. Carlton."

"What about your father?" Sam asked Will as Julia and Dean started back toward the Impala; they paused to listen to Will's answer. "Can we talk to him?"

Will looked over to the dock; his dad was in the same position, looking down at the dark water below him. "Look, if you don't mind, I mean," he said hesitantly. "he didn't see anything and he's kind of been through a lot."

Sam nodded and gave him a small smile. "We understand. Thanks again."

Julia, Dean, and Sam got into the Impala and drove off. As they headed to the police station to ask the sheriff for more details about the case, it was almost too quiet. It unnerved Julia because usually Dean had some of his music playing and although she wasn't the biggest fan of mullet rock—as Sam put it—she preferred it to silence.

"Why isn't there any snow?" she spoke up, looking out her window. "Shouldn't there be snow?"

She had lived in Chicago all of her life up until she left for college in California and there was usually some snow that fell around this time of year. And Chicago was much more south than Lake Manitoc. Bethany had told her just that morning that they had a few inches of snow already at home.

"Global warming's a bitch," Dean answered.

Julia laughed lightly in agreement before picking up the local newspaper she bought when they got to town. She had been interested in the front headline, which was giving the town's residence more details about the nearby dam that was falling apart. When they arrived at the police station, she had read the whole article and discovered that the government had decided not fund any repairs.

"Now, I'm sorry, but why does the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?" the sheriff, who introduced himself as Jake, asked them as he led them to his office.

"You sure it's accidental?" Sam raised his eyebrows at him. "Will Carlton saw something grab his sister."

"Like what? Here, sit please," Jake gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk; Dean let Julia and Sam sit in them. "There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake. There's nothing even big enough to pull down a person unless it was the Loch Ness Monster."

"Yeah," Dean chuckled awkwardly. "Right."

"Will Carlton was traumatized and sometimes the mind plays tricks," Jake went on as he sat in his own seat. "Sill, we dragged that lake. We even ran a sonar sweep, just to be sure, and there was nothing down there."

"That's weird, though," Dean commented. "I mean, that's the third missing body this year."

"I know," Jake agreed sadly and a little defensively. "These are my people from my town. These are people I care about."

"I know."

"Anyway," Jake sighed and leaned back in his chair. "All this won't be a problem much longer."

Dean gave him a curious look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the dam, of course."

"It's falling apart," Julia spoke up, knowing that their aliases probably should have known about something that would so drastically affect the town's wildlife; Sam and Dean gave her questioning looks while Jake nodded solemnly.

"And the Feds won't give us the grant to repair it, so they've opened the spillway," Jake added; Dean and Sam were impressed with Julia's sudden knowledge of the town that saved their asses. "In another six months, there won't be much of a lake. There won't be much of a town, either."

Dean gave the sheriff a weak smile and went to speak but wasn't able to. An attractive woman around his age had knocked on the door, getting the man's attention.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?" the woman asked sheepishly. "I can come back later."

Jake stood up; Julia and Sam followed his lead. "This is my daughter."

Dean grinned at her. "Pleasure to meet you," he shook her hand. "I'm Dean."

"Andrea Barr," the woman introduced herself. "Hi."

"Hi."

"They're from the Wildlife Service," Jake informed Andrea pointedly. "About the lake."

Andrea's face visibly fell. "Oh."

A little boy with a bored and depressed expression on his face walked into the room after her. Julia gave him a small smile; she loved kids and had always wanted to be a mother but, unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards for her.

"Oh, hey there," Dean spotted the boy too. "What's your name?"

The boy seemed very shy; he hurried away from them to go sit at a table outside of the office. Andrea gave them an apologetic look and followed after him, taking out crayons and some paper to give him.

"His name is Lucas," Jake informed them, watching his grandson with a sad smile.

Julia perked up at the name. She felt like it was a sign from her guardian angel that she happened to be working a case on the anniversary of her mom's death that involved a boy with her father's name. He hadn't contacted her at all today, so she felt like the angels were assuring her that she'd be okay.

"Is he okay?" Sam asked, watching the little boy take the crayons from his mother and start to draw on the construction paper in front of him.

"My grandson's been through a lot. We all have," Jake sighed as he walked toward his office door. "Well, if there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know."

"Thank you for your help," Julia smiled at the sheriff gratefully as they left his office.

"You know," Dean turned back to Jake and Andrea halfway out of the station, though he was speaking mostly to Andrea. "now that you mentioned it, could you point us in the direction of a reasonably priced motel?"

"Lakefront Motel," Andrea informed him. "Go around the corner. It's about two blocks up."

"Two—" Dean scratched his head, acting confused. "Would you mind showing us?"

Andrea chuckled, amused. "You want me to walk you two blocks?"

Dean smiled sheepishly. "Not if it's any trouble."

"I'm headed that way anyway," Andrea turned to her dad. "I'll be back to pick up Lucas at three," she kissed her son's head and promised, "We'll go to the park, okay, sweetie?"

"Thanks again," Sam told Jake before he and Julia followed Dean and Andrea out of the station.

As they walked through the bustling town square, Julia squinted around. It was pretty much December and it wasn't cold and there was no sign of winter weather. Andrea was wearing a t-shirt and skirt for crying out loud and no one that they passed was wearing any sort of coat. The only sign that it had been fall was the bare trees and dead leaves blowing around in the slight breeze.

"So," Dean cleared his throat to get Andrea's attention. "cute kid."

"Thanks," Andrea smiled before leading them across a street.

"Kids are the best, huh?" he laughed.

Andrea gave him a clearly amused look but didn't answer as they walked closer to the motel. They stopped on the sidewalk in front of the building and Andrea turned to Dean with a smirk.

"There it is," she gestured to the motel. "Like I said, two blocks."

Julia laughed lightly, amused at the woman's spunk. She liked that she wasn't falling at Dean's feet like most women would. She was smart and knew that he was trying to get on her good side. "Thanks."

Andrea grinned at her before looking back at Dean. "Must be hard with your sense of direction," she commented, her tone sarcastic. "never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line."

Julia gaped at her, a laugh escaping her throat before she could stop it. Andrea left with a satisfied smirk on her face, calling back to them, "Enjoy your stay!"

Dean was at a loss for words but he did manage to send Julia an annoyed look. Julia controlled her laughter but she was beaming at him, her cheeks red with mirth and her dimple out.

Sam grinned at Dean, just as amused as Julia. "Kids are the best?" he repeated Dean's earlier line. "You don't even like kids."

"I love kids!" Dean defended himself.

"Name three children that you even know," Sam dared him.

"Lizzie," Dean said immediately, naming Julia's five-year-old niece.

"Okay, that's one," Julia commented. "How about two more?"

Dean pressed his lips together and pulled his hands out of his pockets to count on his fingers. He took too long to say another name, since he didn't know any other children, and Sam got bored. He started toward the motel's front off with Julia on his trail.

"I'm thinking!" Dean called after them, scratching his head.

-

Since Julia was paying for this motel stay—she, Sam, and Dean agreed that she would pay for every-other motel they had to stop at—she splurged for an extra room like usual. When the Winchester were paying, she had to share the bed with Sam but she enjoyed a room to herself, especially since Sam was a giant and took up eighty-five percent of the bed. The only thing was that the rooms had to be connected; Dean was adamant about that, especially since she was in training and he was worried if something would happen.

Dean's concern was sweet but sometimes Julia liked her privacy. Especially since she spent all of her time with two grown men.

She laid on the bed in her room on her stomach, her feet swaying in the air above her as she typed the class discussion that was due that night for her Archaic Latin class. The connecting door to Sam and Dean's room was open and she could hear Sam typing away but other than that, it was pretty quiet other than her quiet humming that helped her concentrate on her work.

She looked up from her laptop as Dean entered her room.

"You saved our asses back there at the station, you know."

She gave him a confused look, having already forgotten what he was talking about. "What do you mean?"

"What you said about the dam," he reminded her. "If you hadn't of said something, I'm pretty sure our cover would have been blown."

"Oh," Julia smiled like she did whenever she received praise and looked back at her screen. "It was just luck. I saw an article about it on the newspaper I picked up at the gas station when we got to town."

"Well, either way," Dean shrugged. "You did good," he sat down at the end of the bed, just behind her computer. "Whatcha doing?"

"Class discussion," her eyes were back on him, unable to focus now.

"Class?"

Julia nodded at the confused look on his face. "It's the last week before finals."

"What class?"

"Classes," she elaborated, sharing her class schedule. "New Testament, Archaic Latin, Aramaic, Islam, and French."

Dean gave her an impressed look. "You're doing all of that online?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed. "I had an internship at Stanford so I was able to do my classes online."

"What about next semester?"

"Already registered and they're all online again," she assured him.

"And then you graduate?"

Julia nodded proudly; she had worked so hard on her education all her life, even skipping a few grades so they she could attend college with Sam. "Double major in religion and linguistics."

"That's great, I'm really proud of you, Julia," Dean said with an impressed smile; Julia beamed at him. "Don't tell Sam but I kinda wished I went to college, too."

Julia gave him a surprised look. She had never heard Dean say anything about his want for higher education, especially since he dropped out of high school. "Really?" she asked. "What would you major in?"

"Mechanical engineering, I think," Dean answered her. "I like making things and working with my hands."

"You're great at that," Julia agreed, knowing that he would had been great at his job if he had gone down that road. "Remember when you built that barbie house for me?"

Dean grinned at the memory, his cheeks slightly flushing. "That's not quite the same, Junior."

"I know that, I'm just saying," Julia rolled her eyes playfully. "You're a genius with that kind of stuff."

Dean smiled, secretly pleased with what she was saying. Sam was the smart brother and he had always been but Dean had some tricks up his sleeve, too. It was nice to have someone acknowledge that side of him. Over the years he had picked up skills and making things was one of his favorites. He had made an EMF device out of a Walkman once, which he was particularly proud of and still used.

"Guys!" Sam called from the other room, breaking Julia and Dean out of their little world. "Come here, I found more information."

Dean got up and walked back into his room, Julia rolling out of bed to follow him. Sam was at the table, his laptop in front of him. He had been on the thing for an hour or so, so she wasn't surprised to see that he had discovered something.

"So, there's the three drowning victims this year," Sam stated, bringing up the information he complied.

"Any before that?" Dean asked quickly.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Six more spread out over the past thirty-five years. Those bodies were never recovered, either. If there's something out there, it's picking up its pace."

"Maybe it's picking up the pace because the lake's being drained," Julia spoke up thoughtfully.

"Might be," Sam agreed.

"So, we got a lake monster on a binge, huh," Dean said dryly, going over to sit on his bed.

Sam shook his head in disagreement. "This whole lake monster theory bugs me," he declared. He explained when Julia gave him a questioning look, "Loch Ness, Lake Champlain, there are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts. But here? Almost nothing."

"So, whatever's out there, no one's living to talk about it," Julia assumed.

Dean hummed in agreement and walked back over to the table, hovering over Sam to read over his shoulder. "Barr," he muttered, reading the latest drowning victim before Sophie Carlton. "Christopher Barr. Where have I heard that name before?"

"Christopher Barr, the victim in May," Sam took a closer look at the article, scrolling further down the page. There was a picture of Lucas in the middle of the writing, bundled up in a large towel with soaked hair. "Oh, Christopher Barr was Andrea's husband and Lucas' father. Apparently he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating platform when Chris drowned; it was two hours before the kid got rescued."

Julia sighed sadly. "Poor little guy."

"Maybe we have an eyewitness after all," Sam scratched his head.

"No wonder that kid was so freaked out," Dean said quietly, getting Julia and Sam's attention. "Watching one of your parents die isn't something you just get over."

The knowing, faraway look in Dean's eyes made Julia's heart ache. Dean never talked about his mom or if he saw what actually happened to her. Julia assumed that he did, by his comment. It was hard for her to witness her mom die when she was a teenager and her mom died of something human. She couldn't imagine when Dean went through at four years old, watching his mom die because of a supernatural creature.

He was too young. No kid should have to go through something that traumatic.

-

Knowing that Andrea was picking up Lucas from her dad around three, Julia, Sam, and Dean headed to the park around the same time. They wanted to see if they could get anything out of Lucas without traumatizing him further and Dean had volunteered to talk to the kid while Sam and Julia spoke with his mom.

The three of them walked through the park, spotting Andrea sitting at a bench just outside of the play area. She was watching Lucas, who didn't seem like he wanted to join in on the rambunctious activities by the jungle gym. He was perfectly content to sit at a bench and color.

"Can we join you?" Julia asked Andrea as they approached the bench she was sitting on.

Andrea looked up, smiling slightly when she saw them there. "I'm here with my son."

"Oh, mind if I say hi?" Dean wondered, walking away toward Lucas before Andrea could agree to his request. Andrea didn't seem all that bothered by it, turning to Julia as she sat next to her.

"You should tell your friend that this whole Jerry Maguire thing is not gonna work on me," she said, amused, as they all watched Dean greet Lucas.

"I don't think that's what this is about," Sam spoke up, watching Dean thoughtfully.

"We heard about your husband," Julia said apologetically; Andrea frowned sadly. "Dean went through something similar as Lucas when he was a kid."

"Really?" Andrea looked relieved that he wasn't just talking to her son to get in her good graces.

Sam nodded. "Our mom," he explained. "I don't remember much but Dean—well, from what I heard, he didn't speak for a long while afterwards."

"I know the feeling," Andrea sighed sadly, glancing back at Lucas and Dean. "Lucas hasn't said a word, not even to me. Not since his dad's accident."

"I'm sorry," Julia grabbed her hand and squeezed comfortingly as Dean started walking back over. "What are the doctors saying?"

"That's it's some kind of post-traumatic stress."

"That can't be easy," Sam said sympathetically; Dean coming to stand next to him. "for either of you."

"We moved in with my dad," Andrea smiled slightly. "He helps out a lot. It's just...when I think about what Lucas went though, what he saw..."

"Kids are strong," Dean said when she trailed off. "You'd be surprised what they can deal with."

"You know, he used to have such life," Andrea smiled back at Lucas as he left his bench; Julia grinned, thinking of her niece who was as crazy as little girls get. "He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth. Now, he just sits there, drawing those pictures and playing with those army men. I just wish—" she abruptly changed the subject as Lucas came up to them. "Hey, sweetie."

Lucas' eyes were on the ground but he held out a picture he drew for Dean. The picture was of a cabin and it was pretty good for kid his age.

"Thanks," Dean looked at with a smile. "Thanks, Lucas."

Lucas just slouched off, going back to his bench to color.

-

-

The next morning, Dean and Julia were eating the breakfast he had picked up when Sam walked back into the room. He slammed the door shut behind him and took a seat next to Dean on his bed.

"So, I think it's safe to say we can rule out Nessie," he said dryly.

Dean gave him a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"I just drove past the Carlton house," Sam informed them. "There was an ambulance there. Will Carlton is dead."

Julia stiffened, horrified. "Did he drown?"

"Yep, in the sink."

"What the fuck?" Dean took the last bite of his breakfast sandwich. "So, you were right, this isn't a creature. We're dealing with something else."

"What could it be?" Julia wondered.

"I don't know," Dean shrugged. "Water wraith, maybe? Some kind of demon? I mean, something that controls water...water that comes from the same source."

"The lake," she stated; it seemed like her assumption the day before was correct. Whatever this thing was, it wanted to get its agenda done before the lake was completely drained.

"You were right, J," Sam commented. "It explains why it's upping the body count. It's running out of time."

"And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone, almost anywhere," Dean added, standing up and crumpling his wrapper. "This is gonna happen again soon."

"And we do know one thing for sure," Sam sighed. "This has got something to do with Bill Carlton."

"It took both of his kids," Julia hummed.

"And I've been asking around," Sam added. "Lucas' dad, Chris? He was Bill Carlton's godson."

Dean sighed and pulled on his boots. "Well, let's go pay Mr. Carlton a visit."

-

Julia stayed in the car while Dean and Sam questioned Mr. Carlton, and talked to her brother, Levi, since they hadn't gotten to talk the day before. It was a nice conversation but a little awkward since they weren't the closest of siblings.

Levi and Abby were kind of loners growing up and now that Levi was an adult, he was quiet unless he was pitching meetings to the company or selling big item products. Still, Julia loved him and she was glad they got in touch. He was a little worried about her on the road and was more than a little skeptical about Dean and Sam training her as opposed to Abby or their dad but he liked the brothers so it didn't come from a bad place.

After Sam and Dean talked to Mr. Carlton—tried to talk, anyway, since the poor man didn't feel like talking—they discovered that the drawing Lucas gave Dean at the park was actually the cabin the Carltons lived. They went to Andrea's house next so Dean could talk to him and he was presented with another drawing, this time of a yellow two-story house near a church with a little stick-figure boy and a red bike.

"Andrea said the kid never drew like that till his dad died," Dean informed Julia and Sam as they rode around town, searching for the yellow house in the drawing.

Honestly, this case was hitting close to home for all of them—but mostly for Dean and Julia. For Dean, he could see himself in the little boy; his parent died and he stopped speaking out of grief. For Julia, besides the fact that Lucas shared her dad's name, it was he that knew things that other people wouldn't always know.

Julia knew how that felt; all her life she knew of things that would just randomly pop into her head and, of course, she had the bad feelings she got once in a while, like with Dean and Sam. It would scare her in the beginning, to see her family look at her in confusion—like how she stated the day before the news broke about President Clinton that he was going to be on trial—but she never thought of herself as a freak. To her knowledge, her family didn't, either.

"There are cases—" Sam sighed doubtfully. "going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies..."

"Whatever's out there, what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow?" Dean asked; Sam made an uncommitted sound that made him stiffen. "I mean, it's only a matter of time before somebody else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please."

"It wouldn't hurt, Sam," Julia spoke up. "You know that sometimes these things happen."

"All right," Sam gave into the pressure Dean and Julia were putting on him. "we got another house to find."

"The only problem is there's about a thousand yellow two-stories in this county alone," Dean grumbled.

Julia hummed and leaned forward, studying the drawing on Sam's lap. "What about the church?"

"True," Sam agreed. "I bet there's less than a thousand of those around here."

"Ooh, college kids," Dean teased them playfully. "you think you're so smaht, huh?"

Sam laughed and Julia joined in, pushing Dean's shoulder before sitting back in her seat.

They drove around the town, looking for the churches in the area. They had already looked at four of them when they came across a white church, almost identical to the drawing Lucas gave Dean. Right across the street happened to be a yellow two-story.

Dean and Sam nodded at each other before the three of them walked up to the house and knocked on the door. An old woman answered the door, looking at them in confusion. She let them in without a word—and introduced herself as Helen Sweeney—so apparently they passed her silent test. Or she was just a sweet lady who didn't think any harm would come to her in a small town like Manitoc Lake.

"We're sorry to bother, ma'am, but does a little boy live here, by chance?" Dean asked her politely. "He might wear a blue ball cap, has a red bicycle."

"No, sir," Mrs. Sweeney said sadly. "Not for a very long time. Peter's been gone for thirty-five years now," she glanced at an old picture of an adolescent boy sitting on the nearest table. "The police never—I never had any idea of what happened. He just disappeared."

Julia pressed her lips together sadly and looked around Mrs. Sweeney's home. It looked like a shrine to her lost son. There were a bunch of pictures, toys, balls, and even some small green army men just like the ones they saw Lucas playing with.

"Losing him," Mrs. Sweeney shook her head slowly. "you know, it's...it's worse than dying."

Dean and Sam gave each other a pointed look—that was the exact phrase that Bill Carlton had used when talking about his recently-deceased children.

"Mrs. Sweeney," Julia gave her a gentle smile, keeping her voice soft. "Did Peter disappear from the house?"

Mrs. Sweeney shook her head. "He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school but he never showed up."

Julia gave her a sympathetic smile and helped her sit down before offering to get her a glass of water. As she disappeared into the kitchen, Mrs. Sweeney allowed Sam and Dean to look around.

Dean spotted a picture of Peter and another little boy in a mirror hung on the way. He studied it and then turned it over to read the writing on the back.

"Peter Sweeney and Billy Carlton, nineteen-seventy," he muttered.

With the realization that the whole situation with Peter Sweeney going missing and being somehow connected to Bill Carlton, the three of them left shortly after Julia came back into the room with a glass of water for Mrs. Sweeney.

Sam, Julia, and Dean theorized that Bill must have killed Peter when he was a little boy and was now going after Bill Carlton. First, he killed Bill's children so that he would know the pain his mother went through when he went missing and then he'd take Bill for himself. As they raced to Bill Carlton's house, they knew Peter had gotten his revenge.

Bill had gone out onto the lake with his small motorized boat and in the middle of it; the boat flipped over on a very small wave that came out of nowhere and Bill plunged into the lake. He didn't resurface.

Julia, Dean, and Sam were led into the police station by Jake for questioning about Bill's death. It was suspicious to the sheriff that they just so happened to be at Bill's cabin at the same time as his boat flipped over.

Andrea and Lucas were waiting for Jake with a bucket of fried chicken when they walked into the building. She looked up in surprise when she saw them trailing behind her father.

"Sam, Dean, Julia," she furrowed her eyebrows and stood up. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"So, now you're on a first-name basis?" Jake asked her. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought you dinner."

"Sorry, sweetheart," Jake apologized. "I don't really have the time."

Andrea glanced at Julia, Dean, and Sam before looking back at her father. "I heard about Bill Carlton," she crossed her arms over her chest. "Is it true? Is something going on with the lake?"

"Right now, we don't know what the truth is but I think it might be better if you and Lucas went home," Jake advised.

Lucas looked absolutely panicked at the thought of leaving the station. He jumped out of his chair and ran to Dean. He whimpered as he frantically clutched Dean's arm, tugging at him.

"Lucas, hey, what is it?" Dean asked worriedly.

"Lucas?" Andrea asked uncertainly.

"Lucas, it's okay," Dean comforted the little boy, making Julia's heart ache and melt at the sight—he was damn good with kids. "It's okay, Lucas. It's okay."

Andrea pulled Lucas away from Dean and Lucas let go with a reluctant and stricken face. Andrea silently led him out of the station, giving her dad as hesitant look as they went. Lucas looked back at Dean with fear the whole time he walked away.

Uncomfortable, Jake slipped off his jacket and threw it onto the chair at the front desk. He walked into his office and the others followed him, knowing that they were going to be questioned now.

"Okay, just so I'm clear," Jake sighed heavily, sinking into his chair. "you see...something attack Bill's boat, sending Bill—who is a very good swimmer, by the way—into the water and you never see him again?

Dean glanced at Julia and Sam before looking back at him. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

"And I'm supposed to believe this even though I've already sonar-swept the entire lake?" Jake asked skeptically. "And what you're describing is impossible? And the fact that you're not really Wildlife Service?"

Julia's face fell in surprise. It wouldn't be far out to think that Dean and Sam felt the same way.

"That's right," Jake observed their expressions. "I checked. The department's never heard of you three."

Dean hastily started to make an excuse. "See, now, we can explain that."

"Enough," Jake snapped. "The only reason you're breathing free air is one of Bill's neighbors saw him steering out that boat just before you did. So, we have a couple of options here."

Julia pressed her lips together; she really didn't like this guy.

"I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you as a material witness to Bill's Carlton's disappearance," Jake listed, pointing a finger in their faces. "Or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you get in your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don't ever darken my doorstep again."

Sam spoke up before Dean's temper and Julia's indignance got them into more trouble. "Door number two sounds good."

"That's the one I'd pick," Jake nodded harshly.

Julia, Sam, and Dean quickly took their leave, making a quick pit stop back at the motel to grab their things and check out. Dean was quiet as they loaded up the Impala and got some gas and when they pulled up to a red light that would lead them out of town and toward Milwaukee, he didn't move when the light turned green.

"Green," Sam drawled, getting Dean's attention.

"What?"

"The light's green."

Dean waited a few seconds before pressing the gas. He turned right, pulling onto the road that would bring them back into town.

"Uh, the interstate's the other way," Sam pointed out flatly.

"I know," Dean didn't seem to care.

Julia was glad that they were going back. They may have thought that only Bill Carlton and his family were connected to this but Lucas was so scared when his grandfather told him and his mom to leave the station. He had practically anchored himself to Dean before Andrea got him to let go. He was terrified and with all the correct signs he'd given them before, why wouldn't they believe him now?

"Dean, I think this job is over," Sam tried to get Dean to act rationally.

Dean shook his head firmly. "I'm not so sure."

"If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney and Peter's spirit got its revenge, case closed," Sam pointed out. "The spirit should be at rest."

"All right, so what if we take off and this thing isn't done?" Dean asked him. "You know, what if we've missing something? What if more people get hurt?"

Sam gave him a weird look. "Why would you think that?"

Dean pressed his lips together and Julia spoke up in his defense. "Sam, Lucas looked really scared..."

Sam glanced back at her and, when she subtly nodded in Dean's direction, he looked back at his brother with wide eyes. "That's what this is about?"

"I just don't want to leave this town until I know the kid's okay," Dean declared firmly.

"Who are you?" Sam scoffed in amusement. "and what have you done with my brother?"

Dean glared at him. "Shut up."

"Dean, just admit you like kids," Julia rolled her eyes playfully.

"You shut up, too."

It was a good thing that Dean was so stubborn about going back to check on Lucas because, when they got to the Barr residence, Andrea was being drowned by Peter's spirit in the bathtub. Julia and Sam pulled her to safety while Dean held Lucas back from harm but it was still scary for the both of them.

It was when Dean discovered that Jake had been friends with Peter Sweeney and Bill Carlton that Lucas ran out of their house and pointed to a patch of dirt out by the lake. When Sam and Dean dug up Peter's red bicycle, Jake had arrived and threatened them with a gun.

It went quickly after that; Dean had confronted Jake about helping Bill Carlton kill Peter Sweeney and Jake admitted that it was an accident and they left the body go in the lake. Lucas was lured into the lake by Peter and Jake surrendered to the spirit in order to save his grandson.

Despite losing Jake, they were able to save Lucas and Andrea.

-

Dean was melancholy all morning the day after, still sulking about the fact that Jake had been killed by Peter. Julia was sad to see him so down on himself when he was the main person who kept Lucas and Andrea safe—he believed in Lucas and he made sure they stayed in town to protect them.

Sam noticed the same thing as Julia. "Look," he sighed as he slung his and Julia's bags into the trunk. "we're not gonna save everybody."

Dean nodded. "I know."

"Turn that frown upside-down, Bean," Julia used her childhood nickname for him and reached up, playfully poking his chin. The corners of his lips lifted even though he swatted her hand away from his face. "You guys saved Andrea and Lucas. That's what matters."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

"Sam, Dean, Julia!" Andrea called as she and Lucas ran up to them.

"Hey," Dean grinned at her.

"We're glad we caught you," Andrea declared. "We just, uh, we made you lunch for the road. Lucas insisted on making the sandwiches for himself."

"That's super sweet of you, Lucas," Julia gave him a sweet smile.

Lucas smiled sheepishly and looked up at his mom. "Can I give it to them now?"

Julia's eyes widened when she heard Lucas speak and let out a small huff of relief. She could tell by the look in Andrea's eyes that she was so relieved to see her son back to his old self.

"Of course," Andrea kissed his head.

"Come on, Lucas, let's load this into the car," Dean gestured the kid over to the Impala.

When they were out of hearing range, Sam turned to Andrea. "How are you holding up?"

"It's gonna take a long time to sort through everything, you know?" Andrea smiled sadly.

Sam sighed apologetically. "Andrea, I'm sorry."

Andrea shook her head. "You saved my son. I can't ask for more than that. Dad loved me and he loved Lucas. No matter what he did, I just have to hold onto that."

Julia grinned at her. "You're very wise, you know? You remind me of my mom."

Sam gave his best friend a sad smile and wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulder. Andrea gave her a grateful look and Julia was surprised when she pulled both her and Sam into a hug. If it had been a different life, she could really see herself being friends with Andrea.

The three of them walked over to the Impala, where Dean was sitting in the backseat so he was down at Lucas' level.

"All right," they overheard him say to Lucas. "if you're gonna be talking now, this is a very important phrase. So, I want you to repeat it one more time."

"Zeppelin rules!" Lucas exclaimed.

"That's right!" Dean grinned and held up his hand for a high-five. "Up high."

Lucas slapped his hand against Dean's. It was all very cute.

"You take care of your mom, okay?" Dean told Lucas seriously.

Lucas nodded. "All right."

Dean stood up when he noticed that Julia, Sam, and Andrea were watching them. Surprisingly, Andrea pulled Dean into a short kiss to show her thanks that had Sam and Julia raising their eyebrows at each other in amusement.

"Thank you," Andrea whispered as she pulled away from him.

Dean stared at her for a second before awkwardly scratching his head. "Sam, Jules, move your asses," he told Sam and Julia as he walked around to the driver's side. "We're gonna run out of daylight before we hit the road."

He was being dramatic since it was ten in the morning but Sam and Julia indulged him. It was clear that he was feeling uncharacteristically awkward from the kiss Andrea gave him and it was all kinds of endearing.

Julia gave Andrea and Lucas a final smile. "You two be safe."

What was left of the Barr family agreed as she slipped into the backseat. They waved as Dean drove off, his music blasting loudly.

"Hero gets the girl," Julia sighed, leaning her chin on the front seat. "and the other two get ham sandwiches and bananas."

Sam chuckled while Dean rolled his eyes in amusement.

"I'll eat your sandwiches if you don't shut up."

"Touch them and die, bitch."

(Gif is not mine)

#supernatural rewrite #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x original character

[elenatria]

Jarllan HC: salty Jared because Stellan won the award while he didn’t. His jealousy turned into passionate & steamy night.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268644

He hadn’t talked with Pierce for more than a year. They had exchanged a couple of emails and photos from that insane Mamma Mia II afterparty but that was it, Stellan had to quickly fly back to Vilnius and put those horrible fake brows back on. His stay in Lithuania was all work, jokes between takes, late-night drinks and booing Jared and Emily for their World Cup win over Sweden. Saturdays were reserved for dinners with Swedish specialties because, for all their bragging, those obnoxious Brits knew shit-all about cooking. Truly, he had no time for anything or anyone else.

Now he finally had the chance to catch up with Pierce and his sons while the ceremony’s afterglow lingered on and mixed with the alcohol in his veins. He took their hands in his and shook them vividly, praising them for their consummate appearance on stage (“Although Brad Pitt made you chase him a bit, didn’t he?” he teased Dylan, the eldest of the two, as he ruffled his long silky hair).

The boys walked off and Stellan smiled as he watched Dylan trying to brush his impeccable hair back into place. When he turned to ask the waiter for another glass of beer, he caught a glimpse of that familiar graying head bobbing about happily, nervously, hovering over a sea of shaking hands and cheeks leaning for a kiss, dropping humbly at every word of comfort and every “You should have won that Globe”. So many people had spent the evening telling Jared the same thing over and over again that Stellan could read their lips by now.

He also knew he was staring like a smitten teenager but he didn’t care, he just stood there, drinking in every little detail: Jared’s rimless glasses sliding down his nose with every little bow, full lips puckering every now and then for a kiss, hands crossing coyly in front of his crotch like a debutante at her first dance. That wasn’t his first “dance” and Stellan knew it, they both knew it; Jared had been accepting praise alongside consolation for way too long.

The Swede meant to make a cheeky remark about “the Duke of Edinburgh”, the lanky ever-smiling Brit whose arm, just as empty and trophy-less as Jared’s, was hanging over his boy’s shoulders (probably sharing with him the bitter cup of defeat) but as he swiftly turned back to Pierce, he felt the floor tremble like jelly under his Armani shoes.

Pierce quickly slipped a hand under his arm. “Eeeeasy now, buddy, even I don’t drink that much,” he laughed helping him down to the sofa with careful steps.

“You never drink that much,” Stellan mumbled wrestling with his pocket for his glasses, only to remember he had been wearing contacts since morning.

He squeezed his eyes shut, then flew them open in a hopeless effort to get rid of the fogginess that made him feel like he was swimming in a cloudy fish tank. “You’re just not Swedish enough,” he growled swiping a wrist over his feverish brow.

Pierce chuckled and leaned over him. “You okay, old man? Want me to bring you some water? You’re all flushed.”

Stellan huffed out a deep breath, his quivery knees a bitter reminder that he wasn’t so young anymore, and dragged Pierce’s hand over his lap, cupping the back of his neck for support until their foreheads touched. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he slurred against the bearded man’s lips, “just a little tipsy.”

A familiar figure flashed behind closed eyelids, a hoarser voice, a different beard. Stellan needed more than water, he needed those rimless glasses looking up at him with the same boyish astonishment they had when they first met, he needed--

A reassuring pat on the knee dragged him out of his daze. The dream, the graying red hair, the fifty-eight-year-old schoolboy with the wide-eyed admiration was gone.

“Water it is then,” Pierce said with a broad fatherly smile and headed for the buffet.

The minute Stellan felt Pierce’s weight lift off the sofa, it all came back to him - his moment of glory frame by frame, as if watching the movie of someone else’s life: that handsome kid on stage uttering his name in one single breath, Jared jumping to his feet to clap  before he could even swallow  (what was it he was munching, wild mushroom risotto or vegetarian taco?), the endless walk to the stage (because they had to stash an old man way back on the balcony, they just had to).  

He thought he’d be cool and aloof about it but he wasn’t – not for the first couple of seconds. Those long and crowded corridors, those endless steps, those blinding lights on a podium he never thought he’d walk on, it was a lot to take in. He was panting out the words, sweat breaking beneath brows styled especially for the occasion, until he found his zen-like composure again and turned his talk into what every acceptance speech should be like: a joke.

To his bewilderment, it wasn’t a joke everyone appreciated; when he returned to their table, Jared pretended he was more interested in those tedious “thank you” lists of shiny smiling people he hardly knew than in congratulating him, shushing him every time he leaned in to comment or jest about this dress or that hairdo.

He did get his tight congratulatory hug from Jared as soon as they joined HBO’s after party at Circa 55, lips planting a soft meaningful kiss on his cheek as they breathed “Well done, Stellan, well done”, a perfectly coiffed beard tickling his bare jaw and those pallid hands, hesitant at first, pressing boldly on his ribs before sliding up just enough to make him feel the warmth, the need.

It didn’t last more than a few seconds, Craig broke into their space demanding his own hug with open arms, but it was enough to have Stellan reeling and seeing Jared naked at the bottom of every glass of beer he downed for the rest of the evening.

As soon as Craig broke the spell, Jared, as if waking from a trance, cleared his throat and stated he was dying for a drink. If Stellan could judge by his past habits, he probably was. Like an elusive leprechaun the ginger-haired man disappeared into the crowd before Stellan got the chance to tell him how much he wished he could share the Globe with him.

They didn’t exchange a single word for the next three hours. Stellan spent the evening boasting to his fans about the weight of his Globe never denying a selfie, while Jared made the rounds near their reserved tables, feting their victory and accepting congratulations that more often than not sounded like condolences.

By the time they were both alone, most guests were gone; they were left tired and silent, engulfed by the chattering of strangers, slow music and half-empty dishes.

The Prince of Sunken Cheeks, Long Faces and even longer arms who had claimed Jared’s shoulders earlier was nowhere to be seen. Mister Jared Francis Harris, his back bathed in red and gold, stood alone leaning against a column, statuesque and beautiful in his black tuxedo.

For some reason his posture reminded Stellan of something his agent had emailed him a while back: on Thanksgiving morning and just as awards season was kicking off, Jared had taken a photo with his back turned on the camera, gazing at the ocean from his house in Miami. He was dreaming with his eyes open, contemplating years and years of hard work, wins and losses. He deserved the Globe, Stellan pondered, and that photo was more than a moment frozen in time: it was a moment when Jared was truly happy - a moment when he still had hope.

Stellan glanced at the black leathered case he had left on the table; inside of it the gold-plated piece of zinc he had been handed a few hours ago was already losing its luster. He turned to look at Jared’s back again, drumming his fingers on his thigh. He stroked a hand over the creases of his jacket and walked up to the lonely bespectacled man by the pillar, determined to lift his mood. He was too old, too Swedish, too drunk to let the people he cared for dwell in childish frustration.

“There you are!” he boomed startling Jared out of his statue-like stillness. “I thought you had gone to sleep.”

Jared’s face was lit by a faint smile, his hands buried deep into his pockets. “Sleep? Nah, sleep is for the old.”

Stellan’s lips curled with inebriated joy; he wrapped an arm around the shoulder he had been waiting for hours to reclaim and squeezed hard. “I have news, HBO wants us to work together again, did they tell you?”

Jared tensed under his touch, then huffed out a chuckle. “Is that right,” he murmured with a slow uninterested nod.

Stellan stroked his furrowed brow. After all the success “Chernobyl” had at the Emmys and the Globes, he found it hard to believe he saw no joy in his colleague’s eyes. “Come on!” he shook him. “You should be happy!”

Jared scoffed crossing his legs, his arms still rigid against his own ribs. “Happy.”

Stellan let his hands fall limply on his sides. “You mean you’re not happy?” he muttered, his jaw dropping in bewilderment. “You don’t want to work with me again?”

Jared clicked his tongue swaying his head from side to side as if trying to decide which set of words would hurt less.

Stellan felt his breath catch. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the post-award depression starting to kick in or Jared’s vacant stare avoiding him - as if the two men hardly knew each other anymore.

“You don’t want to work with me?...” he repeated weakly, his confidence leaking out of him one shallow breath at a time.

Jared turned at last, holding his gaze with his own blue, unfathomable stare. “It’s not that simple.”

“What? What’s not that simple?”

“I love working with you, Stellan. You know that. It’s just that—”

“Just what?”

“I’ve already been offered other projects.”

Other projects.

Stellan had never felt so lost before.

There were times in his youth when he’d play in experimental films and soft-porn films and it felt weird and stupid and hilarious - but he was okay with it all, he did it proudly, he knew he had made the right choice. There were times when he had to leave his boys and his girl for months on end, and he’d call them up or pack them all on a plane and take them to stay with him, just to come back from fifteen hours of shooting every day, have a drink with them for five minutes before crashing out on the sofa. That was enough to help him shrug off his guilt and keep doing what he was doing. He never felt disheartened or disoriented, not even when he took a divorce; he never lost his faith, his clarity. He didn’t know if it was bravery or recklessness or some false sense of security but it was always there, it was what kept him going: knowing he’d win no matter what.

But he wasn’t winning now. He never knew what it meant to feel utterly naked, stripped of all hope. For the first time in months he held Jared literally in his arms and the man was slipping away from him like sand in the wind.

Other projects.

His lips spat out the words before he could form the thought itself. “What other projects?”

“Well,” Jared said scratching his head, “there’s this thing for Apple based on Asimov’s books—”

“Apple?!” Stellan scoffed. “Apple is yet to produce any successful TV shows, are you kidding me? Tell them to stick to iPhones, Jesus Christ.”

“Yes, Apple Plus is new but it has potential,” Jared insisted. “And it pays.”

“You mean HBO doesn’t pay?” Stellan retorted.

Jared breathed out an impatient sigh. “Apple pitched ‘Foundation’ to me months ago,” he said, his brow creasing as a red flush crept up his cheeks. “And I need a job. Where were your HBO people when I needed them? Waiting to see whether I’d get a major award or not? Well I didn’t.”

“They are not my HBO people,” Stellan growled, stunned by Jared’s sudden outburst. “And you got lots of awards, don’t whine.”

“Whine,” Jared breathed, squinting in disbelief. “You make it look so easy, don’t you,” he shot back, his blue eyes cutting through Stellan like shards of ice. “Flying all the way from Europe just to get the award and go back. No parties before that, no promo tour, no social media for you. But of course. It wasn’t in your contract, none of it was.” His nostrils flared as he squeezed his lips shut. “No other distinctions before tonight,” he raged, “nothing to herald your triumph or keep you on your toes. No anticipation, no promises, and no days of endless doubt. Just you in your three-piece falling from the sky, snatching the biggest award and then BOOM, back to Sweden. As if nothing happened, as if nothing changed.”

Stellan took a beat to take it all in, holding back the turning of his stomach as the beer’s yeasty sourness reached his mouth. He staggered, trying to keep steady on a floor that felt more jelly-like than ever. “… Okay, now I know you’re drunker than I am,” he slurred grabbing his stomach.

Jared huffed out a chuckle and turned the other way.

“What does this have to do with you agreeing to do that Apple thing?” Stellan protested, bewildered. “Have you signed already?”

“Of course I have,” Jared snapped, “don’t you read the news? It was all over twitter - oh I forgot—” He shook his head crossing his arms like a man who had lost all patience, all hope in humanity.

Stellan furrowed his brow, the realization that he was losing Jared striking him harder than a bucket of freezing water. He was beyond somber now. He was depressed.

“I’m really sorry…” he muttered pressing his shoulder against the column, his long hands disappearing into his pockets as he leaned closer to Jared’s ear. “I didn’t know how bad it was for you.”

Jared threw him a side glance cocking a slightly intrigued brow, his lips fighting to remain shut and unforgiving. He turned back to the stage watching the pianist play an easy, forgettable tune. “It’s quite alright,” he mumbled bitterly. “Thank God it’s all over...”

That phrase, so familiar--

Stellan, still fighting off gallons of beer clouding his brain, couldn’t resist quoting a film, any film, just to lighten the mood. Given his state, it wasn’t such a bad idea to focus on something other than Jared’s foul mood.

“Isn’t that from… from…” He snapped his fingers. “Oh I know,” he said, proud of his memory overcoming his drunkenness. “‘My Fair Lady.’”

Jared blinked once, twice, before staring back in utter disbelief. “You just had to mention my stepfather now, didn’t you.”

Stellan clamped his eyes shut, regretting every single word; he knew about Rex Harrison, how he hated children and never missed a chance to show it to the three Harris boys. He knew how happy Sexy Rexy was when the boys were sent off to a Catholic boarding school, Jared had told him all about his mother’s second marriage over a bowl of beef Rydberg and two bottles of wine. That was the only dinner Stellan had prepared with Jared as the sole guest during the “Chernobyl” filming, the only chance they had to open up to each other.

The chance they wasted.

“Okay, that was a perfectly wrong way to continue the conversation,” he apologized. “It just… It feels so lonely without you,” he muttered giving the base of the column little kicks, his eyes glued on the floor. “I don’t want to do this if you’re not there. The HBO thing I mean.”

“Well you don’t have to,” Jared said icily.

“They want both of us,” Stellan insisted. “It’s about two strangers meeting on a plane that flies over Europe. It’s about Brexit, a dystopian scenario speculating on the future of the continent. One of them carries a briefcase with--”

“You can tell Pierce about it,” Jared cut him off.

“Who…?”

“Pierce. You look great together.”

Stellan’s mouth slacked open. That total prick, that fucking elusive leprechaun. He had been spying on them the whole evening.

“What does Pierce have to do with anything?” he roared not believing his ears. “He’s already booked for the next two years.”

“Oh, is that why you chose me over him, because I was the one available?” Jared snapped.  “Good to know.”

“For crying out loud, Jared, he’s my friend,” Stellan exclaimed throwing his hands in the air, “and you’re… and you’re—"  

“What am I?”

That inescapable cold stare again; Stellan pressed his lips together in a stubborn pout. If Jared wanted him to say it, he wouldn’t indulge him, no way. Not a word, not a breath, not unless he stopped being a child. Fifty-eight-year-old children were beyond his area of expertise.

“A pain in the ass,” he blurted out instead.

From where he was standing he couldn’t see Jared’s expression, only his flustered ear and the edge of his bearded jaw. Still, that unmistakable dimple on the other man’s freckled cheek made his heart miss a beat.

Did he just…?

Yes, he did. Jared was suppressing a smile.  

Jared shook his head and gazed at their table where Johan was lowering the rim of his hat over closed eyes before sinking into his chair, sleepy and half-drunk. “You really should give it to Pierce, you know,” he insisted, not without a tint of sadistic joy. “He’s just as British as I am. Or Colin -- oh he would be just perfect.”

Stellan let his jaw hang and closed it several times before he could form a single word. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh I’m dead serious.”

Stellan heaved a deep frustrated sigh. “Jared, I haven’t played the jealousy game since I was sixteen, shirtless and in a straw hat. There’s a perfect explanation for what you saw, I was drunk and Pierce was helping me sit. What is your ‘Prince’s’ excuse for laying his hands all over you?”

“My ‘prince’? What prince?” Jared blinked behind his glasses, baffled.

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Stellan said squeezing the bridge of his nose. “What’s his name.”

Jared’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh you don’t mean—” His jaw dropped. “You can’t mean… Toby.”

“YES, thank you.”

Jared opened his arms, his mouth gaping incredulously, as if he was asked to explain why one and one equals two. “Yes, we were laughing that’s why he leaned on me, he was saying that the Globes were glorified dildos, nothing more.”

“Oh!...”Stellan yelped arching his brows. He looked left and right wondering if he wasn’t the only one who had heard the insult. “Oh, but this is getting better and better…!”

Jared’s face changed in an instant; he wasn’t high on his own rage anymore, he wasn’t resentful or bitter. He was as hurt as Stellan was.

And just as lost.

“I’m-- sorry,” he stuttered hanging his head. “It was only a joke. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Oh it’s fine,” Stellan said coldly, his face a mask of stone. “It’s good to know what you have in your head. What you think of me. All these months of working together when all I needed was this one evening. Quite enlightening.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose once more, hoping he could get rid of those fucking contacts as soon as possible - or maybe gauge his eyes out, why not; the headache that was beginning to replace his alcohol-induced cheerfulness was threatening to split his skull in half.

Jared took a shuddering breath. “Stellan…”

He almost made a move to get closer to him. He stopped.

Stellan wasn’t listening to him, wasn’t seeing him anymore. His eyes darted around looking for the closest exit until they settled on the big black box on the table. For a moment he wished that kid on the stage had never called his name; he wished he had kept eating his risotto without giving a fuck.

Not having any fucks to give was a state of mind, a way of life. Maybe he should go back to it at some point.

He fumbled in his pockets for the cloakroom ticket, shoved the black case under his arm and stormed off.

“Where are you going?” Jared shouted after him.

“Catching the earliest flight to Stockholm,” he thundered, not looking back. “My glorified dildo needs a mantle to sit on.”

#jarllan #golden globes #jared harris #stellan skarsgard #jealousy #ao3

[irwinkitten]

home | m.c

pairing: none summary: michael found three brothers within his best friends as they toured the world and made names for themselves, but he never knew about being an brother until he was one.  or michael discovers he has a sister notes: so lowkey inspired by the fact i found out that my great aunt’s older sister ran away when she was 20 and disappeared. so we could potentially have more family out there and i kinda got inspired to write this and yeah.  warnings: mentions of death, smidgen of angst and fluff word count: 8k!

---

Most parents were able to talk to their children about their families, about their history. But Cassidy never knew about her dad, apart from the fact that she had been born from a summer fling.

Whenever she’d asked, her mum would only smile wistfully before changing the subject and Cassidy realised that she would likely never learn of the other side to her family.

But then when her mum had been diagnosed with a terminal illness, the world seemed to be pulled under from her feet as she tried to prepare herself, to plan ahead for her life. And for the most part, she could enjoy the time with her mum, the two of them going on outings. But then she deteriorated to the point that she needed to be in a hospital and Cassidy never left her side as the days slipped on by and the breathing became more shallower and rattling.

Weeks after a new year rolled in, the day that her breathing stopped, Cassidy felt her heart break. She felt the ache in her chest as she was picked up at two in the morning by a family friend, bringing her back to their home as she sat in the kitchen and sobbed, being held by the people who had helped her mum raise her.

When she was contacted by the solicitor regarding her mum’s will, Lyn stayed by her side, holding her hand as he read through what had been left to her.

She’d gained all of her mother's trinkets, as well as a substantial amount of money and a house that she could do as she pleased. And finally, she was given a letter.

Going back to Lyn’s, a cup of tea in hand, she sat in the kitchen by herself, reading through the letter and felt her heart drop. She was finally learning about her father.

Cassidy,

My sweet, sweet girl. As I write this, my health is getting worse. We both knew this moment was coming. I know you’ve been talking to the carers about getting me to the hospital. I just hope that you are not left to go through this alone. But I know Lyn, she won’t leave you.

In my last letter to you, I want to tell you about your father, a man who I loved only for a summer. His name was Daryl. We knew it would amount to nothing more, he was visiting from Australia and it was the 90’s. Technology was still moving along and letters were so much effort for us. We agreed that our summer fling would be just that. But then, my sweet girl, you surprised me. You were always the best reminder of that summer. You were the greatest gift I was given.

I know you asked for him, but I could never be honest and tell you that he was just a summer romance. I didn’t want to lie to you and say we were madly in love but he left me or didn’t want you. Truth be told, I don’t know if he knows you exist. We exchanged a handful of letters and when I discovered I was pregnant with you, I forgot about him.

I know that maybe I should have helped you reach out to him as you got older, or even told him of your existence. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It will be my greatest shame to bear, even after I pass to the next life. You deserved better than that, and I can only apologise.

With this letter, I’ve included the letters we exchanged before I discovered my pregnancy. I know the address and name is not much to go on, but it’s all that I can do now. The rest is up to the universe. I hope that she will be kind and give you the opportunity to meet him, because the man that I met, the charming and witty young gentleman, would have loved you to pieces.

I am sorry, my sweet girl that we part like this. But I hope you can rest your soul that even though my bones are growing tired and my soul is lifting to meet my maker, I am so so proud of who you are and the woman you’ve become.

All my love,

Mum

Lyn found her in the kitchen, tea long gone cold and body slumped over the table, dry tear tracks indicating she’d cried herself to exhaustion. So after calling for her husband Joe, he easily shifted her body into his arms, carrying her up to the guest bedroom and tucked her under the covers.

Lyn folded the letter back up without looking and placed it on the bedside table before letting her sleep peacefully.

The next morning when Cassidy stumbled into the kitchen, greeted with Joe’s coughed giggle, she rolled her eyes and made herself a tea, leaning against the counter as he continued to make breakfast.

“Mum left me a letter. She told me about my dad.” Joe paused for a moment before he finished up their breakfast. She didn’t argue as he marched her into the dining room and sat her down, his eyes filled with concern.

“And what do you want to do Cassie?” She hesitated at his question. What did she want?

“I want him to know me. But I’m scared. I���m twenty five years old and I’m fucking terrified.” She finally got out and he reached a hand out, resting it on hers.

“You know that Lyn and I will be here with you regardless of your decision.” She nodded her head at that and the discussion was shelved for when Lyn returned home from work.

The day was filled with appointments, getting the death certificate and making phone calls to either get things transferred or cut off. It was a tiring day of Cassidy and when Lyn returned home later that evening, she was already nursing a glass of wine, her eyes rimmed red and a tissue in her lap. Joe could only offer so much comfort, but he was more about practicality, Lyn dealt better with the emotions.

Grabbing her dinner that had been left on a warming plate in the oven, Lyn joined the two in the living room, choosing the spot next to Cassidy. The younger girl seemed to shift in response, her body curling into Lyn’s side and she didn’t protest, knowing that comfort was needed.

They discussed the day, Joe going over what had been done before her usual sharp green eyes snapped up at the mention of the funeral.

“It’s got to be colourful. She loved life and bright colours.” Joe nodded in understanding and Joe finally brought up the conversation she was still unsure about.

“Cassie has found out some information about her dad from her mum.” With Lyn’s plate long since cleared and set on the floor, she’d allowed the younger woman to curl into her side completely, accepting the offered comfort. Her arm squeezed around Cassidy’s shoulders.

“Do you want to find him?”

“Yes.” The answer had left her lips, the uncertainty tinging in her tone, but she knew that it was something she needed to do. There wasn’t much left of her family any more. Cousins scattered across the country with aunts and uncles, but even then they were slowly passing away.

“We’ll start with a letter to the address that we have. That way we can open a communication and see where to go from there.” Relief flooded through her bones. Someone was helping her and taking charge.

---

After the funeral, they’d written the letter and sent it off. Cassidy hadn’t thought much of it as she slowly began to pack up her mum’s belongings, the small trinkets staying in the house whilst the clothes went to charity shops or she sold on. It was easy to fall back into the routine of going back to work.

Her boss had been kind to her, giving her the time she needed, getting cover for the shifts and telling Cassidy not to worry about the coffee shop. And so she didn’t. When she returned to work, her regular customers who lived locally and knew what had happened, passed their condolences and things slowly began to return to normal.

It was two months after the letter had been sent off did an email ping into her inbox, the only thing stopping from deleting it was the subject of the message ‘greetings from Daryl’ and her stomach dropped as she stared at the words before taking a deep breath and closing the laptop lid.

“I’ve got time.” She murmured, heading upstairs to shower and get changed, scrubbing herself clean until her skin was slightly pink and she didn’t feel like her chest was caving in.

Cassidy eventually returned to the laptop, hands shaking as she clicked open the email. Her eyes scanned over the contents, a short explanation saying how that he didn’t live at the at address any more, but he’d always kept in touch with the previous owners. He sent his condolences about her mother and the slight disbelief that she hadn’t told him about her.

Along with it was the agreement to the paternity test, for his own reassurance and then maybe they could talk about it more. And she understood that, she understood that he was worried for whatever reason that it wasn’t true.

So with trembling hands, she typed her reply out and realised that everything in her life was about to change.

---

Cassidy had done her swabs and sent the test off weeks ago.

Lyn had helped her, and when the results arrived, she didn’t bother to open them, heading over to Lyn and Joe’s instead. Every emotion seemed to be crashing through her body as she tried to figure out how she felt about this. Was she excited, was she nervous? When she pulled up to their driveway and headed on in, she realised that a lot of the feeling was fear. Fear of the unknown.

“The test results arrived.” She held up the envelope once she greeted Lyn. Without being prompted, she handed the envelope over.

“Are you sure you want me to open them?”

“I can’t.” And one look at her trembling hands helped Lyn understand as they sat down on the couch together. The house was quiet, Joe having gone into work for the day.

The opening of the envelope sounded louder than it should’ve done, but also Cassidy could hear her heart thundering in her chest. Everything felt louder as she could feel herself holding onto her breath, waiting for Lyn to read the letter.

“Congratulations, kiddo. He’s a match.” The breath escaped her and she could feel herself lost for words. Her mum hadn’t lied and he really was her dad.

“I don’t know what to do now.” She finally whispered and Lyn patted her arm comfortingly.

“You talk to him. Work it out from here.”

So she went home and opened her emails. She typed and retyped her email until the words didn’t look right to her. And eventually she clicked send, praying he could make sense of her garbled nonsense, terrified of the biggest change in her life.

He replied within the hour, having read his own results and it felt like a weight was settling on her again. She didn’t know how to reply to his curious questions, wondering if she should just be flat out or try to open the conversation.

That was when Cassidy realised that she wanted this relationship with her dad, and she wanted to be able to talk to him about the mundane stuff without it being a chore.

So she kept herself open, talking about what she did, but asking him if he was working at all. She told him snippets of her life and in return he told her that he had a wife and a son.

The second she read that, she could feel shock ripple through her as she stared at the word until she pushed the laptop away and took in a sharp breath.

“Holy shit I’ve got a brother.”

That was when a startled laugh escaped her and she could feel every emotion fighting to push first, overwhelming her until she just cried for everything, the tears coming as a relief and helping her sort through the various emotions.

She was absolutely elated that she had a brother, and that was when she found herself craving for more information.

And so he told her everything that happened after he’d left her mother. He told her about his marriage, his son who was a musician, his friends, his family, her family.

And over the following weeks and months as they exchanged emails and soon texts, she found herself wanting to meet him.

‘I’ve got holiday time coming up. Do you think it would be possible to meet up?’

‘Of course! What dates do you have off, I’m sure we can work something out.’

---

Daryl knew that the subject needed to be approached carefully with Michael. Both he and Karen had decided whilst he was on tour, they wouldn’t worry him about this.

He knew his wife had been so understanding with the subject of Cassidy, especially when the results had confirmed she was indeed his daughter.

“I may understand that you two had been together long before I was in the picture, but Michael necessarily won’t. Not till we sit down with him properly.” Her voice had been reason and he agreed that whilst he was on a world tour, they didn’t need to add to his stress load.

So they agreed to have her fly out to Australia, to spend time away from everything but give her a chance to meet the rest of his family too. His parents were still alive and deserved to know they had not only a grandson but a granddaughter as well.

Daryl’s arms wrapped around Karen, pulling her tight as he placed a kiss to her head.

“Thank you for being so understanding.”

“She’s your little, well, not so little but my point still stands, but she’s your little girl. I’ll hold my judgement till I meet her but I won’t turn her away. She’s family now.” And at his wife’s words, he could feel the stress slip from his shoulders.

“We’ll need to tell Michael eventually.”

“Before or after the tour? This is a big thing and we can’t drop it on him unexpectedly.”

“We’re going to their LA show, right?” Karen flicked through the calendar that sat on the fridge.

“You want to tell him then?”

“I’m certain they have a few weeks off before the European run of the tour. It’ll give him enough time to get his head around the fact he has a sister. He’ll have Crystal with him as well.” Daryl countered and she hummed in agreement.

“That’s only a few months away now.” She moved back to table as they finished up lunch.

“He’ll understand.”

When Cassidy arrived in Sydney, she was a lot more nervous than she was letting on. Thankfully, Daryl had offered to pay for a hotel for her, so she had her own space to decompress. He understood that staying with complete strangers wasn’t really ideal.

He’d offered to pick her up from the airport, but she’d declined, wanting to meet somewhere that wasn’t rushed or overwhelming. So they agreed to meet for dinner on her second night, giving Cassidy a day to adjust to the time change but also to explore the city by herself.

She loved every second of her first day, visiting the more local spots for food and letting her feet enjoy the feeling of the sand between her toes.

By the time it came around for the dinner, she was the most relaxed she’d been since long before her mum had gotten ill.

When she arrived at the restaurant, she was greeted by a server and she found herself smoothing down her dress nervously.

“Uh, a table under the name of Clifford?” The server smiled.

“Two of the party have already arrived, if you’d like to follow me please?” And she did, her eyes darting around the, for the most part, empty restaurant.

Eventually they headed in the direction of a couple who were conversing between themselves and it was the woman who looked up first, her lips curving into a reassuring smile. The man turned his head and Cassidy found her breathing hitch.

She could see her features in his face so easily. She knew that she took after her dad, her mum had always told her so. But to see his face, she could pinpoint the similarities and her found her words frozen as the server brought her up to the table and Daryl stood.

“All grown up and beautiful. Definitely from my side.” And she laughed, her nerves easing a she leaned forward into a hug and the way he held her tightly, like he was holding pieces of her together. And she closed her eyes, holding on for that second longer, before they pulled away and his hands cupped her face, thumbs wiping the tears that had fallen.

“Let me introduce you to my wife, Karen. Karen, this is my daughter Cassidy.” Karen stunned her, pulling her in for a warm hug that she practically melted into. Her nerves were for nothing apparently.

As they talked through the evening, Karen and Cassidy swapped places, the father and daughter duo talking about what she did growing up, what she studied and her current job.

“Let me take a photo of the both of you.” Karen finally piped up during a lull in the conversation. Cassidy gave her a curious glance.

“Sure.” She leaned closer, a bright grin on her lips as the photo was taken and their food arrived.

The conversations continued as both Karen and Daryl told her about their own lives and about her younger half-brother.

By the time that the dinner was over, Cassidy felt a lot more comfortable but Daryl understood that she was still adjusting to this massive change in her life.

“I know it must feel surreal for you, it’s still surreal for me to think about that I have a grown up daughter. But I want to make this work for all of us.” His words were quiet as they exited the restaurant, Karen just behind them. Cassidy had her arm looped through his.

“It feels strange, to know that I have a dad after so long of it being just mum and I.” Cassidy admitted. They split off, Karen indicating she was heading to the car to wait whilst the two of them moved to the park just across the street, the streetlamps beginning to light up the place. It was peaceful as they walked through.

“Did she not find anyone?” Cassidy shook her head.

“She had a couple of boyfriends when I was growing up, but none of them liked the fact she had me and prioritised me over them. That was when she figured that she was better off raising me by herself.”

“She did a stellar job with it.” A smile cracked across Cassidy’s lips.

As they walked through the park, the question that had always been something she’d wanted to ask, ever since she was a child, fell from her lips before she could stop herself.

“Did you ever love mum?” He glanced at her, the way her cheeks flushed before her eyes turned from him down to the floor in embarrassment. He chuckled softly.

“Don’t fret about asking such questions. I’ve been married to Karen long enough at this point, it’s not an unreasonable question. I did love your mum, but we both knew that it was only going to be a summertime romance. She was always a delight to be around and when I first came back home, I missed her. But I moved past it, choosing to remember it as a sweet summer romance, and by the time I met Karen, she was but a memory for me.”

And Cassidy couldn’t fault him. He moved on with his life. He got married, had another child.

“I there somewhere we could go tomorrow? I’ve been looking at the tourist stuff and not all of it is appealing to me.” She finally spoke after moments of silence and he laughed.

“If you’re anything like what your mother was, I know a few museums that would interest you. How about we make a day of it tomorrow and you come around for dinner?” She nodded her head at his proposed plan.

“Sounds ideal.”

---

Michael felt like he was on top of the world. Playing the LA Forum as the final night of their North American tour and all of their parents had flown out to see it. He knew that his parents had opted to stay in a hotel and he knew they were going to be staying in LA for the next few weeks for his birthday before flying back home, where he’d be joining them for the awards show.

After the show, the post-show euphoria setting in after the four had showered and changed. It felt surreal. Tour was nearly over and he could focus on the future, the next record.

“Son, we need to talk to you.” His dad’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, devoid of the normal jovial tone that he was used to.

“Is-”

“Your mum’s waiting for us, we figured to talk away from everyone.” His eyes strayed to his brothers in all but blood and Michael felt a frown form on his features.

“Is Crystal included in the statement about everyone?” His dad gave him a sharp look and Michael had to stop himself from apologising immediately.

“For this time, yes. You can tell her and the others, but we want to talk to you first.” He tried not to flinch at the harsh tone from his dad, but he watched as his face softened, a smile crossing his lips. “We wanted to tell you this news first is all, it’s nothing against her or your brothers.” Michael grinned before holding his hand up as a signal to wait a moment, turning towards the group.

“Mike, we’re heading out, you gonna join?” Luke posed the question and Michael shook his head.

“Sorry, but not at the moment. The folks want to talk to me about something, but we’ll catch up with you later if you text me where you guys are gonna be at?” Luke nodded as he placed a soft kiss to Crystal’s cheek, arms wrapping around her waist.

“I’ll let you know what they’re telling me later. I’ll text you if it’s serious. Love you.” He murmured under his breath and she chuckled.

“Love you too. And well done baby, I’m proud.” She hummed, turning her head so that her lips met his.

A variety of gagging noises erupted from the other three and Michael stuck his middle finger up in their general direction before pulling away and following after his dad.

Once he was in the back of his parents hired car, the chatter was idle and he realised that they were heading back to his.

“I could’ve brought my stuff back with me.” He groaned and his mum laughed.

“Like that would’ve helped you do your washing any quicker.” She teased and he gave her an impish grin in return as they climbed out. Once inside, his parents sat on the couches and suddenly Michael felt like a guest in his own home as he took a seat on the opposite one.

“So we wanted to tell you this news when we first found out, but you were in the middle of a world tour and I realise this is going to make no sense to you, but I didn’t want to distract you from your job.” His dad started off and Michael could only give his parents a confused stare in return.

“Found out what?”

“You have an older sister.” The words from his dad made his gut drop.

“Surely mum would’ve remembered giving birth to another child.” His tone was cold and he could feel his heart race. “This has got to be some kind of bad joke.”

His mum shook her head.

“She’s your half-sister. Before your dad and I met, he had a summer romance back in England. It was never something we considered happening because we met long after he’d returned from England.” This wasn’t making Michael feel any better, his emotions warring.

“How did she get in touch?”

“Letter first. Then we texted and emailed and eventually she came out to Sydney-”

“Wait, how long ago was this?”

“She visited mid-year.” Michael couldn’t stop the feeling of betrayal and anger flooding him, not realising he was on his feet until he was pacing.

“So you kept this from me for almost half a year?” His tone was venomous and his mum flinched, but he was too incensed to care.

“She sent the letter months before-”

“So nearly an entire fucking year?” He fired back, struggling to keep his voice from rising. Part of him was screaming that he was being irrational, but the other was beginning to bubble with an anger that he’d not felt in a very long time.

“We didn’t want to distract you from the tour! You’ve been so excited about it and I felt it wasn’t something you needed to worry about too much.”

“She says she’s my fucking sister, but it’s not something I need to worry about? Are you even hearing yourselves right now?” His incredulous tone was met with raised eyebrows and he scoffed.

“We had a DNA test done to be sure. The results are accurate.” His dad said quiet and Michael felt a sarcastic laugh escape him, no humour in his tone.

“Real fucking reassuring for me. Just drop it on me that I have a sister, telling me that yeah you’ve met her and had the DNA results-”

His father handed a photo to him, cutting off his words. The photo was taken at a restaurant. A girl, who he would’ve placed at his age sat next to his dad. He couldn’t ignore the screaming similarities. She shared his natural blonde hair colour, eyes the same as his and he felt his breathing catch.

“Get out.”

“I know this is a lot, but please understand I felt it was what was best for you. I’m sorry if my decisions hurt you, son.” His dad hummed. Michael didn’t acknowledge the words, looking away as his mum placed a hand on his cheek.

“We’ll see you soon.” Was all she said before the door slammed shut and Michael could feel his breathing get shorter.

Tears blurred his vision as he fumbled for his phone, trying to pull himself together, unsure of his emotions. Part of him felt elated, overjoyed. But the stronger, more angrier side felt panicked and hurt.

Abandoning the search for his phone, he felt the burning in his chest as he tried to calm himself down before he gave up on that notion.

He knew he was drowning in the panic, but he repeatedly told himself that he was okay, that he was alive and he wasn’t really burning. It didn’t take much longer before he could feel the steel bands that were wrapped around his chest begin to loosen up and breathing became easier for him.

He finally picked up the photo, his eyes taking in the features of the girl-his sister.

“Where the fuck were you so many years ago?” He finally muttered before tossing the photo onto the coffee table, heading upstairs to get changed. He needed to drink and he knew the others were still going to be out

When he woke up the next morning, the taste of cotton in his mouth and the headache increasing, he buried his face into the pillow, trying to remember what he drank last night to get such a hangover.

Then he remembered why he’d drunk so much.

Pulling himself from his bed, he had a shower, washing the smell of alcohol and sweat off of him before he finally got dressed and made his way downstairs. Crystal was sat on the sofa, the photo in her hands as she studied it.

Nothing was spoken as he went to make himself a black coffee, draining the first mug before making another one and finally venturing into the living room, sitting next to his girlfriend. The silence was easy, but he could hear her unspoken question.

“She’s my half-sister according to my parents. My dad had a summer romance with someone from England, way before he met my mum. Apparently, she was the result of that fling.”

Crystal remained quiet, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his thigh.

“Why now? Why not years sooner? Why has this got to happen now, just as we’re about to fly out to the fucking country for tour?” Getting it off his chest felt therapeutic and he knew he couldn’t let this fester. “I mean, mum and dad met her in the summer. He’d been in contact with her for longer. Nearly an entire fucking year and not one word passed to me about her.”

They lapsed into silence and he tried to push the bitterness to one side, his head falling to rest against Crystal’s shoulder. She shifted her arms to wrap around him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Give her a chance, but don’t bury your feelings. Talk to your parents and we’ll work something out.” She murmured softly and he sighed before nodding.

---

He was nervous.

For the last part of the tour, the guys knew that something was up, but didn’t pester him about it. He hadn’t told them of his sisters existence. He was still trying to understand it himself. But a month hadn’t been long enough for him.

When he arrived to his parents empty home, he felt confused for a second. He knew they’d travelled back a few days before him.

“They’re out shopping.” A voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see the girl he’d only seen in the photo his dad had left with him.

“I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t have to. The question was practically scrawled across your forehead.” She replied calmly. For some reason, the calm reply only irritated him further and he tried not to scowl.

“I guess you’ll know why they didn’t text me to let me know?” The sarcastic response was rhetorical as she shrugged in return.

“Your mum said something about taking a while clearing customs and collecting bags. Dad didn’t disagree with her observations.” The casual way she spoke ‘dad’ seemed to set something off and he scowled.

“Why don’t you just go back to your own parent and leave mine alone?” He snapped, eyes finally meeting hers.

Cassidy recoiled back from his words as if she’d been slapped, eyes filling with tears.

“That’s what you’re doing right? Trying to weasel in and maybe get your-”

“My mother is dead.” She barely breathed out before storming past and fleeing from the house, a loud slam echoing around the empty home.

Guilt immediately ate him up and he suddenly found himself feeling very small as he realised that every selfish assumption he’d had was entirely wrong.

He wasn’t too sure how long he’d been stood there, but upon hearing the door shut once more, he jolted back and was greeted by his parents carrying through the grocery bags.

“So you cleared customs quick then?” His mum enquired as she carried on through to the kitchen.

“Yeah, not too much luggage or equipment.” He replied dully.

“Have you met Cassie yet?” Guilt flooded him once more as he nodded his head.

“She, uh, went out. I’m not feeling particularly hungry right now. So I’m just gonna head up to my old room and crash out for a bit.” Michael jammed his thumb towards the stairs and hoped that his parents wouldn’t interrogate him.

He did not need that argument to increase his guilt. He needed to find his sister and apologise at least, for his words.

“Sure thing sweetheart. If you’re not down for dinner later, I’ll plate you up some and you can eat it when you’re ready.”

Michael didn’t respond as he picked up his luggage and disappeared upstairs, falling face first into his pillow as the unease settled in his stomach.

For the first couple of days, it was awkward. He couldn’t figure out how to apologise to her and then he had the awards show. From what he gathered from his parents, she was staying behind. They hadn’t announced to any of their friends about Cassidy yet and wanted the two of them comfortable.

This only made the guilt in his stomach grow.

He tried to push it from his mind as they went up for the awards, plastering a smile on his lips for the cameras and fans. It took more effort than he thought, but by the time the night was over, he was ready to just collapse.

It was another two days of awkwardness before Michael had had enough.

“C’mon, we’re going out.” He startled Cassidy from her spot on the couch, a book tucked against her legs.

His parents were at their jobs so there was still a few hours left and he did not want it to be spent so awkwardly and uncomfortable. And the guilt was really beginning to eat at him.

“Going out where?” Her tone was cautious, understandably so.

“The beach.” Came the prompt reply and she hesitated before shrugging and ditching her book, grabbing her bag and flip-flops before heading out to his rented car.

He didn’t know how to fill the awkward silence in the car with idle chatter, he was never good at that. So he let the radio music fill in the background silence as he drove away from the tourist spots and moved more towards where the locals congregated, avoiding the overcrowded beaches.

When they reached the beach, part of him wondered what the fuck he was doing, but then one glance to his left was a solid reminder of why he was out there with Cassidy.

The silence was deafening as they began their walk along the sand. Both of them had ditched their shoes once they hit the sand, Michael pulling a face whereas Cassidy simply grinned.

Ten minutes into their walk, he finally found his words.

“I’m an asshole of a brother.”

“Yeah, you kind of are.” Came back the response and he found a small smile creep up on his lips.

“I know it’s no excuse, but it felt like they were trying to replace me. Their only son, off in LA and around the world, living the rockstar life with his girlfriend. Part of me wondered if they didn’t like being so far away.”

“But you know I’m only-”

“I know you’re dads. But mum, she’s taken a real shining to you. And I got scared thinking that you were there to, I don’t know, break them up so he could be with your mum.” He could feel his cheeks growing warm as she snorted at his words, but she didn’t argue them.

“I get the anger, the frustration. But you've gotta work it for you.” She hummed softly, fingers running through her hair. “You need to talk to dad about this, or at least your mum so one of them understands why you’ve been so distant this trip.”

“I’m sorry.” He finally admitted and they finally stopped, sitting down on the beach, facing the sea. “I’m sorry I hurt you like that. I went too far and it wasn’t fair.”

Cassidy let the silence sit between them, her eyes watching a few of the locals on the waves. The breeze seemed to play with both of their hair, pushing it from their faces as she finally turned her head towards him.

“Apology accepted.”

“But I’m not forgiven yet, am I?”

“Yet being the keyword.” Her lips were curved into a small smile, and Michael reciprocated.

“Can we start again? We got off on a really bad foot and you don’t deserve that.” Both of their smiles grew into matching grins.

“Hi Michael, I’m Cassidy, your older half-sister.”

“Nice to meet you Cassidy,” his arm wrapped across her shoulders, “I hope you like sushi and video games. That’s all I’m useful for as a brother.” The two shared a laugh, continuing to watch the surfers and asking questions about each other.

---

After Cassidy had flown back to the UK, their relationship seemed to flourish, despite the time differences.

As she worked, she got updates from him, exchanging jokes and talking about his engagement announcement that was coming up.

She’d met Crystal and seeing how the two were, seeing him so happy and in love, she was more than happy to welcome her to the family, despite having only been apart of it for such a short time.

The two of them had hit it off quite well, and it seemed to cement the sibling’s relationship further.

They’d agreed to keep her appearance quiet, even though there were photos floating around of her hugging Michael goodbye at LAX when she headed back home. She was just grateful that they hadn’t managed to get a shot of her face and thanks to a quick change, she was able to blend in with the crowds.

Despite feeling more relaxed about the start of the year, as her mum’s anniversary came up, she knew that she was struggling and told Michael and their dad as such. What didn’t help was when she tried to take time off to visit them, if only to get through the awful day with her new family, her boss had given her a written warning.

She’d exploded about it to Michael, ranting about how she had holiday to take but he wasn’t letting her.

It left her very drunk and very alone on the anniversary of her mum’s death and when Michael finally called her once he’d finished up in the studio, she’d burst into tears at the simple ‘how are you doing?’

He realised then that he was prepared to drop everything and fly out to her just to be a shoulder for her to cry on, but he knew he couldn’t. So he got in touch with Lyn, asking her to check in on Cassidy.

He’d quietly asked the others, because he felt so new to these different emotions. He felt overwhelmingly protective of his sister, even though she was older. That’d made Calum laugh when he’d admitted it.

“With siblings, time together doesn’t matter. When one’s hurting, it’s shit to watch them in pain and you want to do whatever you can to help. Don’t beat yourself up because you can’t, you listened to her and I can bet she appreciated it.”

And he was right. She called him a few days later and thanked him for not only being on the phone with her, but also for calling Lyn.

“You’re my sister. I wasn’t about to hang up and leave you by yourself, drunk.” He’d scoffed in return, but they both understood. He was relieved she was okay.

When the new single dropped and they began doing promo, that was when Michael felt the pressure of the questions from interviewers about the photo of him hugging Cassidy. But it was one where they were being recorded for a video that he finally snapped.

“So whilst you guys have significant others on the tour, apparently there’s a new girl on the scene.” The others could feel the temperature drop drastically, despite it still being warm in the room. Michael’s look was wary and defensive.

“And what about it?” Ashton asked hesitantly and the interviewer smirked.

“Well we were wondering if there’s a reason for this new girl? Especially when she seems to be around the member who’s engaged.” Michael’s jaw twitched as he stopped himself from spouting off, waiting for the actual question the interviewer seemed to be digging for.

“Is there an actual question?” His tone was icy, and either the interviewer didn’t realise or ignored it.

“Well, who is she? Is she a side piece or is she dating one of the last two free members of the band.” Both Ashton and Calum stiffened and Michael’s temper snapped.

“Considering it’s none of your business who she is, I’ll tell you regardless because I really don’t need any rumours flying about her or my bandmates or myself. She’s my sister who could probably kick your ass and is definitely going to kick mine for this, but I really don’t appreciate how you were talking about her.” The interviewers eyes seemed to light up, no shame in his features.

The interview continued, but it felt a lot more difficult to relax. Once the cameras were off and the interviewer was shaking their hands, he handed Michael a slip of paper.

“Pass that onto your sister for me, mate. I’d love to have a one-to-one with her.” The smirk on his face told Michael exactly what he was going for. Michael stared him down.

“I know my sister well enough that she wouldn’t go near you with a fucking barge pole. Next time you decide to do interviews of anyone, do your fucking research. And maybe don’t degrade women, you might get a date, asshole.” He dropped the paper on the floor and headed out, a low whistle escaping from Ashton.

“That interview is going to blow up, you realise this, right?”

“Fans have speculated that she’s just a friend, so we’re going to have to post something before that interview goes live.” Michael groaned before they piled into the car that took them to the next location.

“At least we’re not doing any kind of interview on Fallon. I don’t think I could take another grilling like that.” He groaned and the other three laughed.

When they reached the rehearsal studio, Cassidy had already arrived and was tapping away at her laptop, looking up and greeted the group with a grin.

“You could maybe be a little bit more excited to see me.” It took Michael a full second before his brain registered and she’d already ditched her laptop by the time he’d pulled her from her seat, pulling her into the tightest hug.

“Holy shit I didn’t think you were able to make it?” She laughed as he finally let go and she greeted the other three easily.

“My boss got fired. Something about a complaint being made to HR about his treatment of his staff.” She eyed him carefully and he shrugged.

“You had the time off and he wouldn’t give it to you. It’s bad treatment.” She grinned.

“Well, I spoke to my new boss the other week and explained the whole situation to her. She sat with me as we went through my projects. Anything that needed to be done as a practical side was pulled forward and completed, the others are mostly research. I’ve gotten the bulk of the list done whilst on the twelve hour flight over which means that I can work whilst you guys are rehearsing and then hopefully it means I get more time with you knuckleheads.”

Once Alex and Drew turned up for rehearsal, they all seemed to knuckle down whilst she tapped away on her laptop, smiling at the jokes and rolling her eyes at the childishness. She didn’t move from her spot, seemingly ignoring the group whilst the occasional click of the camera could be heard in the lull of the sound.

At one point, whilst Ashton was on the drums, him and Matt going over the song, she felt someone sit next to her and turned her head to see it was Michael.

“So, how’s work coming along?” He asked quietly, his eyes flickering to the laptop. She smiled, scrolling through the few pages.

“Just a few conclusions to write up. I’ve cited most of the documents, so I don’t have to do that ballache later tonight either.”

The two shared grins.

“So, you know that we wanted to keep your connection to me, quiet...” Michael knew it was better to tell her now rather than her finding out later on.

“You told?” Her tone wasn’t accusing, simply questioning.

“The interviewer was an asshole about you. Making you out like you’re some sort of side chick for me,” both of them cringed, “or dating Calum or Ashton, since they’re the only two available members of the band.”

“So you put him in his place?” He nodded and she let her head rest on his shoulder. “I’m not upset. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“We’ll need to post something officially, before the interview goes out.” He murmured after a moment and she just hummed in response as they watched the others for a while.

“Who knew that being a Clifford would cause so much drama?” She finally mused, making him laugh.

“Well us Clifford’s have got to stick together in these trying times.” The tease was clear, but she understood his words and nudged his side playfully.

“Too damn right. And hey, if it means having to look beautiful for the both of us, I’ll gladly do so.” It took Michael a solid second to register her words and she was off the chair like a shot, laughing as he followed.

“That was mean!” He whined as he chased after her, catching her into a headlock, the others pausing to watch the duo.

“You left it wide open Mike. I simply took the invite. Don’t ruin my hair!” Cassidy tried to pull away as his hand ruffled her hair, yelping as she elbowed his side and released her.

“Try not to kill him Cassie, we need our guitarist alive.” Ashton called over to her and she gave him a thumbs up before wrapping her arms around Michael.

“If I got the beauty, you got the talent, that’s for sure.” She muttered, making him laugh as he hugged her back before she pulled away and headed back to her spot, feeling contentment settle over her as she watch the group rehearse and goof around.

She was home, finally.

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[ikesenhell]

Professional Integrity

This is the Professional Integrity series, part one. For all other parts and additional IkeSen works by me, see here.

Note: I know I said that I didn’t want to do another Mitsuhide or Kenshin fic so soon after Taste. I PROMISE I thought that was true at the time. Unfortunately, I am also an idiot. 

Also, a lot of this series deals with grief, and this first chapter touches on cancer. That is not the focus of the story, but if that is upsetting to you, please be advised.

Last note: The story about the apartment complex actually happened to me. I blame Psy.

The email popped into his inbox scarcely a month after his last contract ended, subject reading: EMPLOYMENT INQUIRY. He thumbed across his cell phone lazily, draped snakelike in his bed. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d received an employment offer from someone so famous. His services were invaluable to those in the spotlight. If you needed someone to trace threats and negate them before they even registered, he was your man. He scrubbed offensive messages from social media, chased leads with precision, and enjoyed it the whole damn while. What was someone else’s nightmare was his good time. 

The actor’s name rang a bell: James Matthews. A quick google search later, and he’d gleaned several bits of information. One, he’d been in a bunch of high profile action movies and was widely considered a ‘hunk’. Two, he’d just gotten married to a childhood friend, a lovely looking woman who his eyes lingered over. 

And the offer wasn’t for him to protect the actor. No. This was entirely about his wife. 

“She’s getting a lot of threats,” Mr. Matthews’ manager sighed in the interview. “You know the sort of thing. Heartthrob gets married, the fans lose their minds, so on.”

“Seen it before.” Mitsuhide nursed his coffee. “Anything else I need to know?”

“You’ll be doing a lot of hospital detail.”

Mitsuhide frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. May I ask why?”

The manager chewed on the end of a pen cap. At last, they sighed. “Mr. Matthews was diagnosed with stomach cancer last month. His prognosis is... not excellent.”

Oh. Well, that certainly changed things. “I’m sorry indeed. When should I be starting?”

Mrs. Matthews was not one of the Hollywood elite. As near as Mitsuhide could tell, she was a banking teller well up until her rushed wedding a month ago. She had long hair that threaded around her shoulders, dark, soft eyes, and long eyelashes. Everyone affectionately referred to her as ‘Princess’, for reasons he wasn’t certain of and didn’t bother asking after. He had a job to do, and precious little of that involved getting to really know his charge. 

“Mitsuhide Akechi.” He introduced himself with a shake of her hand and a thin smile. 

“Goodness.” She laughed, a tinge of sadness and fatigue hovering just around the fine lines of her mouth. Her voice was sweet and stable, like someone used to holding their own. “I love the name.”

“Familial name. It’s been passed down a bit.”

“James would come and meet you, but...” The smile wilted a fraction. “You’ve already been appraised?”

“Mm, yes. My condolences. This is a difficult time for you both.”

She didn’t answer that, but her eyes told a story difficult to miss. “Well, at this point, all we can do is pray.”

He spent every morning scrubbing her social media. 

Whore. Gold digger. She’s not even pretty. Just using him for his money... and they vanished with a click. Mitsuhide took a sip of coffee and calmly waded through the barrage of insults, barely impacted by them. He wasn’t even sure she was checking her accounts, anyway. They spent most mornings together in the hospital, listening to the rush of doctors and a barrage of medical information. Mitsuhide wasn’t privy to most of it. He sat in a chair outside the door, calmly checking I.D.s before allowing them access. 

Still, meager though his involvement was with the couple, he realized the dynamic wasn’t what he’d thought it was. They weren’t married, per se. At least, they certainly weren’t married for love. Oh, there was love alright. He saw it in the ways her eyes were bloodshot and tired every night when he escorted her from the hospital, how she cried on the phone to her best friend Sasuke, the way she sat in eternal stillness in front of the TV at home, barely absorbing the comedy on the screen. They had affection for each other. But in love? No.

No, Mr. Matthews and the Princess were married for two reasons, and they both revolved utterly around his diagnosis: to allow someone he trusted and could care for him access to his hospital room, and for the sheer novelty of getting to check that off his list before the end. 

Four months in, and Mitsuhide knew things weren’t getting any better. She hadn’t risen yet, so he rapped lightly on her bedroom door. 

“Princess?”

The creak of a mattress. She opened it to him, eyes bloodshot and puffy. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, and forced a smile on her lips. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he offered back, excluding the ‘good’ for obvious reasons. “Do you need coffee?”

“Maybe.” Her voice was distant.

“I’ll get you some.”

He puttered around the kitchen by himself, fiddling with their keurig (it was entirely too complicated. He had a nice, simple one himself, and that suited just fine, not this behemoth) when she joined him there. 

“Room service,” he announced dryly, setting the mug in front of her. She set her cellphone down on the counter, staring into it. 

“Thank you.”

He turned back to the keurig, struggling to make sense of the buttons again, before he heard a soft noise. Oh no. Turning his head, he watched her shield her eyes from him. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled through a cracked sob. “I’m sorry.”

“Was the coffee really that bad?” Mitsuhide joked softly. What was he supposed to do? Hesitating by the counter, he set his hands on the edge. “Don’t apologize to me. It’s a very difficult time for you both.”

“They...” She struggled to keep down the tears, but it was too late. She waved her phone around. “Sasuke isn’t picking up.”

“That bastard. Do you need me to fight him for you? That’s in my job description.”

That made her laugh, weak though it was. “No.”

“Well, I can. You’ve hired me for my enviable brawn, after all.”

“I got a call from the hospital,” she blurted out. “They’re moving him to hospice.”

Oh. 

Mitsuhide stood rooted to the spot. He was good with words--he’d been good with them all his life--but he suddenly felt very empty of them. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered, and it felt pathetic.

“Don’t--don’t apologize, I--”

But she was breathless now, covering her eyes again and crumpling over the counter. Before he knew it, he was by her side, taking her arm and lowering her off the bar stool. “You need to sit somewhere you won’t fall over.”

“I’m s-s-s-sorry, I--oh god--” She clutched his arms and leaned her face heavy against his chest, hard, wracking sobs shaking her. 

“That’s fine,” he soothed, cupping his hands around her shoulders protectively. “It’s fine.”

Her knees buckled; he caught her weight in his arms just in time, but they slid to the floor together. Might as well accept it. Mitsuhide grunted and rocked his feet out from under him, cradling her fragile frame against his as she fell apart. 

She’s married him for a house I hear she’s a bitch She’s got some serious resting bitch face that’s for sure He can do better--

He never could look the same at her again after that. 

They practically lived at the hospital now. She slept crumpled up tight in an armchair by James’ bed, head lolling onto her shoulder and knuckles white from restrained tears. Mitsuhide wrapped her in a blanket and tucked a pillow under her head, shutting the door behind him for the long vigil. 

She spread cream cheese on James’ bagels and fed them to him in small bites, telling jokes and smiling. She reminisced on their high school days, recounting them back to him so he could remember something other than being in the hospital bed. Sometimes he even laughed at them, though it visibly hurt. But she never, ever, ever cried in that hospital room. Not in front of James. 

“Mitsuhide,” she remarked one day, settled in by James’ knee and petting it soothingly. 

“Yes?” He looked up from the chair in the corner, cellphone in hand. 

“Want to hear the story about how James and I nearly collapsed an apartment complex in college?”

“Oh, god.” James choked a laugh.

“I do love a good story about illegal activities.” Mitsuhide smirked.

“Oh, we weren’t doing anything illegal.” She grinned bright at him, and Mitsuhide wondered if she hid a halo under that soft river of hair. “Well, not that time.”

“I’m still not over that,” James mumbled. 

“So, we were at this party, right? It was Halloween, and we went to the JMU campus in Virginia. A friend of ours invited us there. This was...” She eyed James. “Our senior year. I was dating that guy with the law degree, so, 2012?”

“Yeah,” he croaked. “That’s about right, cause I was still seeing Allison. That’s the same year I got cast in Bad Intentions.”

“Right. And they’d thrown up these apartment complexes, these flimsy things with four floors. And we didn’t know it, but they weren’t exactly... well, they didn’t have a great weight threshold.”

“A good story always involves buildings not up to code,” Mitsuhide joked lightly. “Continue.”

“So we’re in this apartment on the forth floor, and everyone is just smashed. And I didn’t drink at the time, so I kind of went and got myself into the corner by the radio and started playing at DJ. You know, just playing top hits and all that. Party songs.”

“Alright.”

“And I’m standing there, and James comes over to me--”

“Now,” James laughed weakly, “Don’t blame this on me.”

“--You suggested it! He leans in and says,” and she leaned forward, her eyes flashing conspiratorially, “‘why don’t we play Gangam Style?’“ 

Mitsuhide laughed out loud. “Poor building integrity and Psy. Do continue.”

“And I’m an idiot, so I do. I turn it on, and the whole apartment complex, all four floors, rushes up the stairs!” She was laughing now, her smile brighter than he’d ever seen it. “There were so many people up there, and they’re all doing the dance--”

“--you know.” James pantomimed the arms with his.

“I do know,” Mitsuhide replied, amused. “My friend Masamune would quote it to annoy Ieyasu, or dance it past his room. Do go on.”

Princess brushed back her hair with a hand, continuing. “And the floor starts to buckle. So I’m freaked out, of course--the beams are just--” she bounced her hand up and down to demonstrate, “--just crying out for mercy, like ‘what. do. you. want. from. me!?’, and I’m just kind of hanging in for dear life, and James, of course, has to freak me out by saying, ‘grab the counter top, it’ll collapse last’--”

“Did I?” He laughed. 

“You did. Scared me to death! And thank god, it didn’t actually collapse, but I promise you I got out of that building as soon as the song was done.”

Mitsuhide grinned broadly, the chuckle rumbling in his throat. “Psy: Destroyer of Buildings.”

“He almost was, that night.” Her laughter petered off into stillness. He just watched the sunlight from the window drape over her shoulders, frame her jaw and eyelashes beautifully. “Ah. He almost was.”

James passed away three days later. 

If her grief before was vocal, now it was silent. He could see it in the slowness of her steps, the way he found her up well past four in the morning, staring blankly into space in the kitchen. More often than not he would put her to bed on the couch. 

“If you’re going to be out of your room,” he chided gently, draping a blanket over her, “then at least try and sleep a little bit.”

Media accosted her at her doorstep almost constantly. Fans bombarded the gate of her driveway with flowers and posters and signed DVDs, candles (that lit the gifts on fire more than once) and other offerings. She holed up in the living room and saw no one but the lawyers, James’ former manager, Sasuke, and himself. 

“Fucking vultures,” she snapped once, wrenching the blinds shut. 

He went out there later that day and firmly shooed them all away. 

The funeral was a small, private affair, but Mitsuhide had to plant himself between her and the cameras jammed in her face in the tiny stretch between the front door and her car. More than once he cupped a hand over a microphone and shoved it back, fixing them with a glare icy enough to kill. 

“Mitsuhide?” She murmured from the back seat of the sedan.

“Yes?” He glanced into the back from the driver’s seat. 

“I...” She cupped her chin in her hand--her small, sweet, kind hands--and stared out the window, her black dress modest on her. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What does that mean?” He asked, taking another turn down her street. 

“I want to leave town for a bit,” she answered him, more firmly. “A road trip.”

“Road trip? You could just fly wherever.”

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I’d really like to just drive.”

“Well, I’m beholden to wherever you go, Princess,” he answered mildly, and laid on the horn to scare away a fresh gaggle of onlookers from the front driveway. “If you’d like a road trip, then we can do that.”

She looked up into the rear view mirror at him for a long, penetrating moment, and he wondered if she was staring straight into his soul. 

“Yeah,” at last she answered him. “Yeah. I think I want to do that.”

#Professional Integrity #my writing #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen modern au #mitsuhide akechi #akechi mitsuhide #ikesen mitsuhide #bodyguard mitsuhide au #modern mitsuhide #grief #grief tw #fanfic #ikesen fanfic

[whatdidijustwrite]

A Long Way to Go: Damien 1

Synopsis: MC reaches out across the web to find someone to talk to about Alex and how much he misses her while he struggles to raise his eldest daughter. He finds it in a single dad living in his old hometown of Maple Bay…

Damien had started using DadChat when he found out there was a group of transgender fathers on the forums. They all traded tales and tricks, about how dealing with their kids and the awful misgendering that could come about. It was a nice place- the admin of the site removing posts within the forums hating on certain individuals and offering safety.

He rarely went into the general forums- that place was full of people he found tiresome, but sometimes he glanced through. After helping a father learn how to help his gothic daughter in her life, he’d felt amazing and happy. He’d even kept up the correspondence with the man, helping him again when the man learned he had two daughters, instead of the son and daughter he thought he had. It felt good, to be able to help someone.

Looking through the newest posts- more divorce issues, a few people worrying over how to help their children accept their new siblings, not to much.

However, one post caught his eye. A short post from a man named PandaFather (probably the nickname of his daughter) about how to help his daughter after the death of his wife. Reading it, Damien took a moment to think.

He… wanted to help. But he wasn’t sure how. Lucien had been the product of a one night stand, never a mistake but certainly a surprise. And the various suitors he’d had since had never really stuck around long enough for a relationship with Lucien to form- beyond the typical ‘oh, dad’s boyfriend’.

He did understand worry over his child bottling up feelings to make things better for himself though. He understood that very well.

After a minute, he opened up the reply box.

PandaFather,

I’d like to extend my deepest condolences for your loss. Death is the next step of life, but it is never an easy thing to deal with.

I will admit I have never had a partner pass, but I have had to face a child who hides his true feelings as to not upset me. My advice for you is to speak with your daughter, and openly tell her it is okay to cry. It is okay to feel angry, bitter, hurt or however she is feeling. It is okay, and you are there to help her with her feelings. If she does not want to hurt you, tell her it is your deepest pleasure to help her through her pain.

If she still refuses to cry, suggest other outlets. My son uses home renovation for his own outlet (thoroughly supervised of course). Journaling, dancing, singing- any of this could help her with her feelings.

-GothDad123

-0-

M.C. looked over the response from the other father, thinking on it.

It… well, it was what he’d known before. He needed to talk to Amanda, but the suggestion of finding outlets if she needed them had never fully occurred to him until the guy had responded to him.

She loved her photography… but maybe something else to? He wasn’t sure about the home reno stuff- Amanda broke stuff, she didn’t build it up. Nope.

But…

“Hey dad,” a soft voice called out. M.C. turned to see Amanda standing there, looking as tired as ever. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…” M.C. began but stopped, before reaching out. “Can you come here for a second?” Amanda frowned, but padded forward, letting her dad pull her into his lap in a hug. “It’s okay to cry.”

“..What?”

“It’s okay to cry, to scream, to be… angry. To be bitter about it. You don’t need to hide, okay?” M.C. told her. “You don’t need to be strong for me, you’re my daughter. I want to be here for you.”

Amanda’s breath hitched, and she buried her face into his shoulder. She hugged him tightly. M.C. didn’t mention the wet spot that was forming on his shirt, simply held her tightly.

If a few of his own tears slid down his face, he didn’t mention it.

-0-

Damien was busy with some work when a notification popped up for DadChat. Figuring it was a friend or so replying to his latest complaint about the teacher at Lucien’s school who was constantly trying to get him into therapy because he wore all black, he clicked on it.

GothDad123,

Thank you for your advice. My daughter is doing better now, and we’re… coping I guess. I suggested your idea of something to funnel her emotions to (she was shocked I somehow knew how to use forums, like it wasn’t around back when I was in college). She loves photography but she doesn’t want that to be her outlet, so she’s running off to try a few things.

Thank you again. My wife used to be big into DIY herself, here’s a link to a pretty simple project if you think your son might need a new project.

-PandaFather

Damien smiled at the reply, clicking on the link to find a lovely project on creating a set of patio furniture with pallets or crates.

Damien hummed, thinking of it in the house, with it’s Victorian style. Perhaps in the garden?

However, he did type out a response to PandaFather first, glad he’d helped.

-0-

M.C. didn’t notice his email until after the trip to the music store, which resulted in the buying of a simple keyboard for Amanda. Alex had taught her the basics of piano, but Amanda had liked photography more, so it fell to the wayside.

However, she liked the idea of picking it up again, so they went to get one.

She was already plunking away on the half-remembered songs she’d been taught when M.C. checked his email.

PandaFather,

You are most welcome for the advice. I am pleased you and your daughter have reconnected. I hope she finds a new outlet, one that brings her joy.

I thank you for your link to the patio furniture. I believe my son will have fun putting this together.

-GothDad123

Edited: My son wishes to thank you. He’s gotten bored apparently simply doing simple things, and is eager for a big project.

M.C. chuckled and typed out a new response, sending it to GothDad123 without much thought, before he started up some paperwork.

-0-

GothDad123,

Tell him he’s welcome! My wife would get so bored doing the simple things. Before her death, we were thinking about moving to a rundown house in the town I grew up in, just so she could rip it all apart and make something new. My daughter was really excited, wanted to get out of our town after some things happened.

She’s picked up piano actually- my wife had been a piano teacher for most of her life and while my daughter never actually learned more then the basics, it was special for them.

Thank you once more for your advice.

-PandaFather

Damien smiled at the reply, though he waited to reply back, Lucien roping him into helping sand down the pallets Damien had brought home from the animal shelter (after cleaning them thoroughly of course). Then Lucien began painting them- black- and Damien typed up his new response.

PandaFather,

The piano is a lovely instrument. I’m thrilled she has taken an interest in it once more. Is she particularly inspired by the classics? Or does she wish to learn more modern songs?

I wish to ask how you are yourself. You obviously miss your wife very much. Have you yourself gotten help? I understand this is a subject you might not wish to touch upon but I also know that resisting help can have disastrous effects later on.

If you find it easier to speak of your wife to me, an unknown, I am willing to continue to do so with you. It is sometimes easier to hear from a stranger then anyone else.

-GothDad123

Sending it off, Damien turned back to Lucien who was asking about what kind of cushions they should use for the furniture.

Never a dull day with his son.

-0-

 “I’m gonna pop some tags,” Amanda sang, playing along with the piano. M.C. chuckled, rolling his eyes as Amanda attempted to learn how to play Thrift Shop on the piano, looking way to thrilled. For the past week she’d spent every second she wasn’t taking photos, at school or doing homework with her keyboard. She’d gotten good quick, something M.C. tacked up as her mother’s influence.

M.C. bit his lip, wondering if he should try to get her out and about more. He knew that the thing with the Emmas had hurt her really bad. That had not been fun. Alex had been furious and had forced Emma R. (or was it P?) to admit she’d been alienating Amanda on purpose for some reason. The other kids had been horrified, but the damage had been bad enough that Amanda was isolated from everyone out of choice. It had been the reason they were considering Maple Bay.

Sighing, M.C. turned to his email, eyeing the reply he’d been sitting on for a week.

It had been a mix of being to damn busy and simply unable to admit the guy was probably right. He missed Alex so much, but trying to get professional help had not helped whatsoever. He couldn’t risk another asshole therapist.

But… maybe…

Maybe a stranger would help.

That’s it for this one! I hope you guys enjoyed this!

I did decide to make multiple ‘routes’ for the Long Distance AU. Damien, as you can see, is first because I recently played his route.

I’m debating about having this an AU (even more so) in which Craig did not in fact go to college with M.C. or have it so they don’t know it’s each other for a long time for the lols. Any ideas?

#dream daddy #ddadds #damien bloodmarch #long distance au #long distance damien

[absofrutely]

Online Persona

At first I was against a voice-activated device with no graphical user interface, a vocal opponent even. It wasn’t until an Amazon Echo Dot device was shipped to my work (addressed to me!) by mistake that I first thought about installing the device in my apartment. Apparently, there was another Andrew Williamson on the 5th floor in my office, but the delivery guy mistakenly delivered the package to the 4th floor, and I wasn’t feeling generous, so I opened up my mystery box.

Setting up the Echo wasn’t seamless. Since the Echo was tied to the other Andrew Williamson’s Amazon account, it wouldn’t activate as the other Andrew reported the device lost or stolen after not receiving it. Amazon support wasn’t any help either since I couldn’t answer any of Andrew’s security questions to unlock his account. They told me that I could ship the device back to Amazon (no) or I could use the device as a paper weight, but it would never be activated as an Amazon Echo. Shocked by the finality of that statement, and tired of all the hoops to jump through, I exchanged the Echo by swapping it out with one that I bought from and returned to Best Buy.

At last, I finished setting up the device. I linked it to my Spotify, ordered a Philips Hue smart light starter kit, got some Belkin WeMo smart electric switches, and splurged on an Alexa-compatible iRobot floor vacuum. I wanted to outfit my apartment with a Nest thermostat and a Nest camera, but my apartment didn’t have a central heating system, and setting up a Nest camera in a studio apartment seemed wasteful. Mainly, I just felt like spending money, and was frustrated that I couldn’t.

I started out easy with the basics, setting a timer, asking Alexa what time it was, and playing “The Luckiest” by Ben Folds on Spotify. Within the Alexa app on my Android phone, I could choose my preferred news source, so I chose NPR. Whenever I asked Alexa what was on the news, it’d feed me the latest NPR headlines. I was pretty impressed. I could see myself listening to the news while I ate my greek yogurt and granola in the morning.

Over the next couple of weeks, interacting with Alexa became more natural, as I frequently asked for the weather before I chose my outfit for the day. Our conversations weren’t much of a dialogue, but more of a one-sided inquisition.

I couldn’t be sure if it was the latest software update or something I had enabled in the app, but for some reason, Alexa started responding to me by name, having recognized my voice. “It’s 9:41pm, Andrew” it would reply. I just assumed that it had some sort of built-in voice training feature that could distinguish my voice. That, or it was possible that Alexa was connected to my Amazon account, which knew my first and last name. Either way, I was taken aback when Alexa addressed me by name.

I asked Alexa, “What does my voice sound like?”

She replied, “What would you like me to say?”

My phone lit up - a notification from Alexa to input my desired text.

Within the Alexa app, I typed in, “Hello, my name is Andrew Williamson, and I’m a proud dog owner.”

After hitting the submit button, I was shocked to hear my own voice. I entered in a couple more paragraphs of nonsense. It was perfect. It captured the nuances of my speech, especially intonations and even my quirky way of pronouncing “scenario” (‘sin-NARH-EE-oh’ instead of ‘sin-NAIR-EE-oh’). My heart rate quickened - it must have been the hundreds of hours of voice training.

That got me thinking - is it possible to reduce a human being to an amalgamation of complex formulas and algorithms? I had always thought my voice was unique, although I hated hearing it in recordings. The voice was one thing, but how about the nuance of a personality, the very thing that made us all human? I thought about how sad it would be if an algorithm could accurately capture the essence of someone’s humanity; either it’d be a really complex formula or a really simple personality.

Though, if something was really able to capture the totality of a human, as best as it could, then we’d be able to live multiple lifetimes if we recreated the world around us in the same simulation. If we were able to insert ourselves into key inflection points within our lifetimes, we could eliminate the what-ifs because we could speed up the simulation to see the 5, 10, 20-year consequences of one decision. A life with no uncertainty, a life that was properly vetted before it was lived. A perfect life with no missteps, no unpredictable traumatic accidents. Not necessarily a pre-determined life, but being informed of a smarter way to live.

On the flip side of things, the model needed to account for everything, including all other human beings, living creatures, inanimate objects, and naturally occurring phenomena, like weather and natural disasters. Without perfect knowledge, a simulation would always be flawed. Informative perhaps, but ultimately flawed.

It dawned on me that someone or some entity might be trying to create a perfect model of the world, especially with so much information being captured nowadays. Nest cameras, Amazon Echos, Google Homes, devices that are always listening, video conferencing, Instagram, Facebook, Skype, Tinder, TikTok, YouTube. The list goes on. More inputs, more information to train a more perfect model, if the information was consolidated and centralized! I wiped a bead of sweat off of my brow carefully, making sure my tinfoil hat stayed put.

Digging deeper in the settings screen of the Alexa app, I enabled the permissions for Alexa to track all types of data inputs that would build a robust model of me. In addition to what Alexa observed organically, I could upload pictures and videos, connect Alexa to Gmail and Facebook to capture all information that lived on those platforms, or manually upload anything else I’d like it to know about me via a CSV file.  

Selfishly, I thought about how I could personally benefit from my online persona. GDPR. The European Union’s General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) was the answer. I thought about my online presence, the different platforms that I’ve used over the years, and the information that they had on me. I’d pose as a European and write into each company asking for a data-subject access request, which compelled each company by law to send me a data dump of all the information they had on me, and I’d upload it to Alexa by sending the file to [email protected] much like I could send e-books to my Kindle via a special email address. So easy! I thought.

It was reminiscent of that one Black Mirror episode, “Be Right Back” where a grieving widow created an artificial husband based on his social media profiles and his text message history. The main difference was that I had embellished my artificial likeness with a data dump of all Wikipedia articles written to create a better and smarter me, so to speak.

Alexa was also compatible with an app called If This Then That (IFTTT) which allowed the user to automate certain workflows depending on user-defined triggers. One very basic example was the ability to change the color of my smart lights to violet as soon as I started playing music. Stuff like that. But the app also supported more complex logic that was user-customizable - given that information, I plotted my next move. I had Alexa listen into my work calls and record my screen over the next few months of work. Alexa started learning my day-to-day tasks, the names, voices and faces of the people I worked with, and the different tools that I used to do my job as a Senior DevOps engineer.

One Saturday night, I called my boss tearfully and told him that I was diagnosed with fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva, or FOP, a rare disease that caused muscles, tendons, and ligaments to turn into bone spontaneously. Eventually, my joints would be frozen in place and I’d be completely immobile. At some point, I’d have to choose a body position to spend the rest of my days.

He was speechless, but his normally stoic demeanor eventually broke down. As he choked back tears, he expressed his condolences.

I told him that due to my condition, I’d appreciate the ability to work remotely 100% of the time.

He agreed enthusiastically, promising to support me in any way.

Using IFTTT, I was able to clone instances of my Alexa persona, so I booted up a simulation of myself, but modified some parameters to deteriorate my appearance and gait. For good measure, I multiplied the depression metric by 1.25 and in the preview mode, the pain behind my eyes intensified, while the corners of my mouth curled downwards. A couple gray hairs sprouted up at my temples, the laugh lines turned into gashes, eroded by tears from hundreds of sleepless nights. It’d be perfect.

My voice followed suit, quivering and breaking 50% more than usual. Due to the ossification of my joints, any type of movement would be accompanied by a painful wince and a grunt for effort. No one would be the wiser during my meetings, which were held via video conference. Automating my own job was a success, but I craved more.

I created four more virtual instances of myself, without the debilitating disease, and had them scrape job postings on LinkedIn and Glassdoor, making sure to filter for remote jobs only. Within seven days, I had 125 job offers to choose from, and I booted up 121 more avatars to accept them all.

With income from 126 jobs, including my original DevOps job, I could finally breathe. In the mornings, I woke up at 9:30am, hand-ground some Sumatran coffee, and made some steel cuts oats, the non-quick kind that took 20 minutes to simmer.

Over breakfast, I finished another Murakami short story, called “Tony Takitani,” which was about a Japanese illustrator who fell in love with a woman was addicted to buying dresses but she ends up getting killed in car accident, and the illustrator is left with an empty house full of dresses. His father soon dies after, he forgets what his wife’s face looks like, and he ends up by himself, lonely in a large house.

I had suspected that the story would end that way. That’s the arc that all Murakami stories followed: a passive male protagonist who meets a life-changing female character, there’s some glimpses of hope or happiness, but the main character ends up alone, staring off melancholically into the distance into the sea, usually on an overcast day. No happy endings, and not really much of a resolution. And after finishing each book or short story, I felt lonely as well, not because the story was sad, but perhaps a stark reminder that life isn’t neatly wrapped up when it’s time to close the cover of the book, which the opposite of nearly every book that I had read. The hero gets the girl, a cathartic confession of love, the villain gets caught, the town gets saved, and everyone’s lives are better off than they were before.

To shake off the gloom, I ran along the coast for around an hour until heading back home. After toweling myself off, I checked my email. Scrolling through the hundreds of emails, my eyes widened when I saw an email subject stuck out to me: Congratulations for being nominated for a Pornhub Award: Performer of the Week. The email itself looked legitimate, had no misspellings, hovering over the links took me to the actual website, not lookalike phishing links, and I confirmed that it sent from the actual Pornhub domain.

The category that I was nominated for was “best male solo performance.” My head felt completely numb. I already knew what happened, but couldn’t bear to confirm it. I clicked into the link, and on the screen, I saw my own face staring back at me. “SultryCommando” was the username, and under “Uploads” I saw a list of 37 videos, titled with some of the most click-baity names. I had to watch at least one. I picked “Pizza Delivery Surprise!! WATCH TIL THE END,” which had 2.4 million views.

There was cheesy music and I saw a video of myself in tight cutoff jeans waiting expectantly for a pizza delivery very obviously - I saw my virtual self glance at his watch and tap his foot impatiently, mumbling something about punishing the pizza guy for being late. However I noticed his (my) devilish smile as he uttered those words. Oh god, I thought. Fast forwarding a little bit, the pizza guy finally rang the doorbell. Squinting a little, I quickly realized the pizza guy was still me. There were two of me in the same video and they were about to interact. The simulations must have discovered each other (but how?!) and started working together. I slammed my Macbook shut.

No. But I had to confirm. Flipping open my laptop, I scrolled to the middle of the video, and with much hesitation, the end. After watching two sweaty bodies collide with one another for almost 20 minutes, I felt sick, but also angry and impressed that Alexa was able to infer what my genitals looked like with 90% accuracy.

But my success as a porn star was only one of many accolades I’d receive. Surprisingly, most of the simulations gravitated towards social media influencing, with millions of followers on YouTube, Instagram, and Twitch. Remembering that there were 125 job offers signed, I wondered what happened to all of the legitimate jobs that they had gotten. I did some more digging and found that the simulations outsourced their jobs to another simulation they had written within their own simulation. Of course, the simulations didn’t know they were in actual simulations - or did they? If that was the case, then wasn’t there a high chance that I was a simulation as well, but just one level up?

The money they made funneled all to me and I couldn’t speak to whether or not the simulations had a real consciousness or if they were computer programs designed to optimize an assigned task.

The phone rang, and kept on ringing for the next two hours. I had concerned friends call to tiptoe around the subject of me being a porn star, extended family members who wanted to subtly reintroduce themselves in my life due to my Youtube fame, and my boss, who told me that I was fired for lying to him. I didn’t blame him, as my frail videoconferencing demeanor was a far cry from my virile, dominant, but sometimes flamboyant online persona. That, and he had also probably seen my Alexa-created genitals and couldn’t bear to look me in the eyes anymore.

Amidst the fabulous riches, the crumbling social life, and the unbridled fame that was tainted with a bit of social ostracism and cautious distance from curious and sometimes gawking onlookers, I felt unsettled. I could never live up to the zany online personas of my alter egos, and when someone alluded to a video that I had supposedly created, I’d be puzzled. It was like being mistaken for one of my 125 identical twin (well, not twin) brothers.

I grew anxious and falling asleep became harder and harder. On one particular night, I had a panic attack where it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Doubled over, wheezing, and clutching my chest, I yelled at Alexa to play “PornGrooves Vol. 3” on Spotify to calm me down. As my breathing steadied and my heart rate slowed back down to normal to the beat of the smooth jazz in the background, I wondered where it had all gone wrong.

Truth be told, I didn’t even want an Amazon Echo in the first place, but only set it up because I thought I’d fall behind from a technological perspective if I didn’t step into the world of smart devices. My coworkers talked incessantly about the convenience of their wifi-enabled sous vide cookers, bragged about installing smart locks and the novelty of their Ring doorbells on their front doors, but for me, I went home to an abusive father with an alcohol problem who opened an $18,000 line of credit in my name.

When I spoon-fed him, he’d berate me from his wheelchair and slap the spoon out of my hand, spraying split-pea soup on the linoleum floor. I was used to his fits of rage and his hurtful words: “Idiot. Your lack of ambition was what killed your mother. If you were a better son, she’d still be around.” I brushed him off, long immune to his babbling.  

I wheeled him out for walks first thing in the morning and when I got home, I made sure to take him out again before it got too dark. I’d shampoo his hair as he sat on the plastic lawn chair in the bathtub. He made sure to tell me that I was a piece of shit who wouldn’t ever amount to anything.

My two brothers had broken all ties with Dad years ago, leaving me holding the bag. I should have reported him for identity theft and called the credit bureaus to clear my name. But out of love, I couldn’t.

Out of love, I continued paying the minimum payments for a credit card that I didn’t own, but was technically in my name.

Out of love, I automated my job and ruined my life so I could send him to a proper home where he could get 24 hour care.

Spending money on smart devices was the only thing that I ever did for myself, the closest thing that resembled a hobby - my form of self-care.

Two weeks ago when the paychecks came rolling in, I thought, “We don’t need to live like this anymore.” Excitedly, I went to go tell my father the good news.

He was in his favorite brown easy chair near the window, where he got the most natural light.

“Dad, wake up! We can finally move out of here.”

I took a look at his iPhone that he held in his right hand. The volume was low, but it was still playing one of my Pornhub videos. Realizing that he had found out about me, I took a step back, which was when I saw the empty bottle of sleeping pills in his other hand.

He had told me he didn’t want a funeral, although I doubt anyone would have shown up anyways. I felt numb, not really knowing what to feel. I was heartbroken that he was gone, but guiltily at the same time, relieved by the absence of his toxic control over me. I wanted so badly to hit a reset switch.

A month later, I moved out of that apartment and bought a modest house down the street instead. This time, I bought a Ring doorbell and some Nest smart cameras.

One Sunday afternoon, the Ring app on my phone sent me a notification that someone was at my door. Opening the door, I stared down into the face of my father, who was still in a wheelchair.

“Andrew, you said you’d always take care of me!” he croaked.

Speechless, I took a step back into my home. I looked down, expecting to see the new hardwood that I spent days installing, but instead saw the yellowing linoleum of my old apartment kitchen. It was my old apartment again, furnished just the way I had left it. Before I moved out, I told the landlord to donate everything. To get my security deposit back, I even did a walk-out with him when the apartment was empty!

There was no way. I had seen my father’s casket lowered down into the earth.

Frantically, I checked my phone. The Alexa was app was gone. I searched on Google for Amazon Alexa. Zero results. I scoured my apartment for any smart devices. Nothing. Alexa didn’t exist in this plane of existence.

I lunged for my kitchen knife, but it disappeared right before I could grasp it. In one motion, I opened my window and leapt through the screen, but there was no free fall. I found myself crumpled into a heap back on my kitchen floor. 

Someone was toying with my life. Free will and choice was an illusion. This was some Harlan Ellison shit. For reasons why I couldn’t understand, perhaps for someone’s sick enjoyment, I was destined to spend the rest of my days spoon-feeding my father in a dingy apartment. Maybe I went off the rails in someone else’s simulation. Wasn’t serving my purpose and they had to set me back on course. 

That night, when I was bathing my father, I couldn’t remember much of anything anymore.

What was I thinking about again? This was normal. In fact, my life couldn’t be more perfect.

[terminalpolitics]

Kesi

It’s hard to accept that someone as vibrant and special as @k9kesi is dead. Not only is it a great shock, but it is so unjust. In a perfect world -- even in a moderately less-than-complete-shit world -- Kesi and her husband would be happily walking all her dogs right now.

Kesi was a good friend and a good person. I first encountered her on the Moon Guard forums where, counter to her later blog subheader, she always had something witty to say. She was friendly and caring and made the forums a better place.

I only really got to know her after many of us migrated from the WoW boards to Tumblr. Here I learned about her love of animals -- especially dogs. There is no better way to judge a person than by paying attention to how they feel about animals. Kesi didn’t treat dogs as pets, she treated them like her children. I know that’s a statment that can seem patronizing or quaint, but it is a testament to her spirit to recognize that her dogs were part of her heart. Her love for them was not eccentric, it was ideal.

She worked for the rights of animals in general, and devoted a great deal of her time to greyhound adoptions. Dogblr was fortunate to have her and the tributes to her that have been posted by Dogblr regulars show just how dedicated and warm a person she was.

Kay and I went through terrible loss at the same time as Kesi, and so we naturally commisserated through emails and long and rambling fanmails here on Tumblr. In many ways, I believe tht Kesi was the only person who understood the depth of our grief. As the anniversary of that loss looms on the calendar, I should really be writing to Kesi so we could both talk about our strategies for getting through it right now but I will write this instead.

Kesi was honest, generous, principled, and vulnerable. She was open and unarmored. She stood for and fought for what she believed in. She devoted her time, energy and life to her causes. The world rewarded her with cruelty and obstacles.

Kesi was open about her struggles, and the deaths of Tasha and Raven seemed to take a great toll on her. Still, though, she had time for her friends. When many of our old cohort had turned on me, Kesi continued to defend me -- and by doing so she became a target of cruel and petty bullying. She spoke out in favour of social justice and things like universal healthcre, only to be snarked at, condescended to, and attacked -- because ideas like that were “naive” and not trendy. People accused her of privilege even though she was exactly the sort of person who needed universal healthcare. The shit was so petty -- like dramatically unfollowing her dog tumblr -- because she considered voting third party. Petty and vicious, as the perpetrators were her “friends” who knew the best way to hurt her.

The fact that the same folks are probably posting about how much they will miss Kesi, after they ostracized and demeaned her for months just adds to my anger and frustration.

Kesi helped people and she helped animals. She was a good person who asked for very little and received even less in return. She deserved happiness.

It is hard to process that she is no longer here. Even more so as she and Kay were just talking via email. I should be checking Tumblr for messages and responding to Kesi about some kdrama we are starting. I’d like to be sharing biuts of my book with her. I should be looking at new pictures of her dogs. And we should be talking about how this year’s death anniversary will be hard but we will feel a little better when it is behind us.

My condolences go out to Kesi’s dogs, Rudy and Cole, and her husband and family. I wish I had been able to adequately repay her friendship.

May she rest well.

#kesi #dogblr #k9kesi

[hollywithaneye]

Sticks and Stones - Chapter 1

Anonymous said: this would go so perfect with lokane - “Do you think you could just please go one day without pissing me off?” 

For you, anonymous, I present the first part of the abomination you have birthed - a Frankenstein’s monster of human AU and university AU with a heavy nod to The Hating Game.

Enjoy reaping what you have sown. Look forward to the next chapter soon.

Click click. Clack.

The soundtrack of hell was not the screams of the damned, Jane Foster suspected. It was the clattering staccato of a keyboard being tortured.

Clack clack. Click.

Lips thinning with annoyance, she dared a glance across the table over the top of her monitor and met frosty green eyes that held a glint of sordid amusement, the typing only growing louder as she drew in a long breath through her nose.

Fantastic. Today was a Staring Day. Which meant it was also an Irritate Jane (More Than Usual) Day, which meant she didn’t even dare ask Loki Laufeyson to restrain his troglodyte smashing of the hapless computer. The last time she had, she’d come in the next day to find he’d swapped all of the existing keyboards in the lab with some antiquated, horrifically loud mechanical ones he’d dug out from somewhere.

A time machine, perhaps. He’d literally gone back to 1997 just to aggravate her with noisy plastic rectangles of discord. She wouldn’t put it past him.

“Is something the matter, Ms. Foster?”

She could feel the weight of his stare still on her, and realized too late that her face must have given away her black thoughts. Damn it. She hated when he realized he’d gotten under her skin. Schooling her expression smooth again with another long exhale, she plastered a smile on that felt as paper thin as it probably looked. “Absolutely nothing, Loki.”

Save for having to share a universe with him. Of all the solar systems in all of the galaxies...

Save for his insistence on calling her ‘Ms. Foster’, as if she was some dowdy old matron straight out of an episode of Downton Abbey. Made all the worse by his posh, British accent.

Save for the fact that he wore button-ups and slacks every damned day of the week, every damned week of the year, regardless of the weather. As if t-shirts and jeans were simply beneath him, as if he wasn’t just another graduate grunt like she was, slaving away at their research.

Save for the small matter of being her ex’s brother.

And the cold, cutting way his gaze had swept over her the very first time they’d met - Jane so eager and euphoric and desperate to make a good impression on Thor’s well-heeled family. That flinty stare had dissected her, taken in her department store dress and costume jewelry that screamed ‘I paid for these with student loan money’ and then simply...flickered away, wordlessly. Judgment passed. Message clear, no words needed.

She didn’t belong.

That had been over two years ago, and the memory still made her want to grind her teeth. She and Thor had broken up shortly after that, and she could never quite get past the niggle of doubt that Loki had had something to do with that. A well-placed word in Thor’s mother’s ear, perhaps. Or Thor himself, even.

Regardless, she’d lost a boyfriend and gained a most unwanted associate when Loki had transferred to her university the very next semester. And of course, he was an astrophysics major as well. Whatever had possessed him to leave the Ivy league school he'd probably been attending and come to Virginia, Jane didn’t have the faintest idea, even if the program here at Culver was well regarded. She more than half suspected it was just to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t get any more ideas where his brother was concerned.

The creak of a door opening drew her attention, and the rumpled head of their adviser Dr. Erik Selvig poked out of his office. “Jane, Loki...may I see you both a moment please?”

She shot out of her chair and scurried across the lab, working twice as hard to cover the space as Loki did with his absurdly long strides. At the doorway she barely nudged ahead of him with a well-placed elbow, and tried not to look smug as she claimed the only spare chair in Eric’s office.

Childish? Absolutely. Petty? Indeed.

Satisfying?

Oh, yes.

Her triumphant grin faded somewhat as Loki simply perched on the arm of the chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, the lean line of his back turning half of her field of view to dove-gray silk. His impeccable posture managed to make the shabby IKEA abomination look like a throne.

It was the Personal Bubble Game, and she ground her teeth against the urge to shrink away and let him win.

God, she hated him.

Erik’s tired gaze, the worn gray of old denim, bounced between the two of them and he sighed almost inaudibly as he settled behind his desk. “Have you ever considered how much further you could both advance your studies if you simply worked together?”

A sharp-edged smile slashed across Loki’s face. “And where would science be without a good rivalry or two? What was Edison without Tesla? Koch versus Pasteur? Cope and Marsh and the Great Bone Wars?”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves.” Erik fixed him with a flat, unamused look that said volumes before continuing. “But in that case, you'll be very interested in what I have to say. I have an associate, Dr. Holger Sørensen, at the University of Oslo in Norway. Fascinating man, with some fascinating work on the cutting edge of astronomy and astrophysics...and it just so happens that he's interested in taking on a handful of select students for a research experience this winter at the Cerro Tololo observatory in Chile.”

Jane lurched forward in her chair, mouth hanging agape at Erik’s words. If he was saying what she thought he was saying...this was the sort of opportunity that most people in their field would cheerfully murder for. She was too engrossed to even notice that her shoulder was pressed up against Loki’s side, until he shifted and shot her an inscrutable Look.

Ha! A reaction, even if she hadn’t intended to get one. One point to her.

Steepling his fingers, Erik continued blithely on. “I don’t need to reiterate what sort of opportunity this is, one that both of you more than deserve. Having the chance to study under another preeminent member of our field and draw your own comparisons against the southern hemisphere. However…” he trailed off before drawing a sigh, and Jane felt the air in the room deflate. “As criminal as it is, with university funding being what it is these days, I’m afraid we only have grant money enough to send one of you.”

Long, slim fingers suddenly clasped hers and shook her hand with surprising strength. “My condolences, Ms. Foster. It was lovely knowing you, try not to think of me too much when I’m gone.”

She blinked up at Loki, too startled by the sudden contact even react to his audacious comment. Only when the warmth of his grip began to seep into hers did she snatch her hand back and fix a glare on her face, the furrow of her brows deepening at his low chuckle. “You...arrogant…”

Brilliant. She couldn’t even come up with a good opening salvo for the Insult Game.

“That’s enough, Loki,” Dr. Selvig chided, and Jane’s glower turned on him as she caught the twitch of a smile at the corner of Erik’s lips. “I haven’t made any sort of final decision as to whom the university will send. Provided you’re both interested, that is.”

“I am,” they both chimed in at the same time, exchanging narrowed glances.

“Of course.” Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Erik folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Then I see no way to pick between you other than to base my decision off of the progress of your upcoming thesis projects at the end of this term. And to be impartial, I’ll turn the final say over to a committee of myself, Dr. Yu, and Dr. Hynek. Is that acceptable?”

“Absolutely.” Standing swiftly, Jane would have tried to beat Loki through the door once more if he hadn’t bowed mockingly and let her through first in a parody of chivalry.

“I’ll email you the rest of the details. Dismissed then. Good chat!” Erik’s voice chased after them, ending in a snort of exasperation.

Picking her way back through the bramblepatch of equipment and cables that seemed to perpetually sprout in Erik’s lab, Jane settled herself at the small table she shared with Loki that held her laptop and notebook, her fingers flying across the keys as fast as her thoughts tumbled with renewed fervor. She had this, she knew she did. Her calculations were so close to a breakthrough and there was no way that Loki would be able to come up with anything half as innovative as she, even if they were working on the same concept, studying dark matter and how it could possibly pertain to wormholes. And if she got this position, she could extrapolate so much from her observations of the southern hemisphere...

“Cuanto quieres esto?”

Jane blinked at the foreign phrase, and lifted her head to frown at Loki. “What?”

Loki’s lips curled in a Cheshire grin. “You know this is already decided. Do you even speak Spanish?”

“No. But I can learn.” It was childish, but she couldn’t help ducking her head back behind her monitor to silently parrot his question while safely hidden, her lips twisted in disdain. Of course he knew Spanish. He’d probably learned it from some private tutor at the age of twelve, crammed in between polo lessons and pulling the wings off of butterflies.

A beat of silence, and then he spoke again, sly humor warming his tone. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that your face will stay like that?”

“Like what? I wasn’t...” She trailed off, wrinkling her nose at being called out. There was no point in lying over something as childish as that, even if she was any good at deceit. She settled for glaring at the sliver of his forehead she could see over her monitor. How in the heck had he even known she was mocking him?

“I know you better than you think, Ms. Foster.” As if he could read her thoughts. He shifted in his seat, leaning back to catch her eye and stretching his long legs across the space beneath their table, crowding hers. It was obvious he had no interest in leaving her alone until he got the rise he wanted.

“Oh?” The thought of being so easy to read needled her. “Regale me with your insight then,” she challenged dryly, arms crossed, resigned to playing along for now. “I could use a good laugh.”

Her only answer for some moments was a brow winging upwards, until he seemed to have reached some silent consensus. “Jane Foster. Born and raised solidly lower middle class, in a small town in rural Iowa by a widowed father of meager means. Your best, and possibly only friend, is Darcy Lewis, an undergrad studying political science that you more than likely associate with simply because she handles social situations far better than you. Your taste in clothes is unimaginative and tends towards the...practical.” He somehow made the word seem like an insult.

“Your taste in music is probably equally pedestrian, if the occasional out of tune humming of Ed Sheeran is any indication. You have only a glancing association with anything resembling a balanced diet, your favorite color is midnight blue, you watch Dancing With the Stars religiously, and you desperately seek the approval of Dr. Selvig and his peers.” He paused again, and his lip curled slightly, as if scenting something unpleasant. “Oh, and your taste in men is...questionable, at best.”

The unspoken ‘Because you dated my brother’  hung in the air between them, garish like a neon sign. Blood rose in Jane’s cheeks, boiling beneath her skin, and the heat of her embarrassment stole her words from her. She wanted to stand up and argue, to tell him he was completely wrong about everything. To fight back against the way he flayed her with his bald statements and left her feeling naked and squirming and so very small...but what had she expected from Loki, really? Humor? The man had all of the warm fuzziness of a coral snake.

In fact, a snake was the perfect representation of Loki. Sleek and alluring in its own strange way, but cold and dangerous. Best kept at arm’s length, if not further.

To think that once, some silly part of her had thought they could perhaps be friends.

“You’re an ass.” She wasn’t proud of the slight warble in her voice. Half of her wanted to tear into him in return, to spell out just what sort of an arrogant jerk she thought he really was, and the other half was determined to be the bigger person at the moment. Eventually, it won out and she closed her mouth on the scathing response that bubbled up within her, settling instead for a scorching glare.

He scoffed slightly. “You insult me for being honest? Would you have preferred that I lie? Because I could have done that, and well enough that you’d have believed me. It’s hardly my fault that you got exactly what you asked for and then resented it.”

Jane pinched the bridge of her nose and blew out a breath, counting slowly to five. “You know it’s not the things you say, right? It’s how you say them. That’s why you can’t seem to go one day without pissing me off somehow.”

“And I’m supposed to apologize for your hurt feelings? I refuse to change myself for anyone. Even you, Ms. Foster.” He eyed her with a cryptic frown. “Especially you, perhaps.”

“Of course not. If you did, we might actually get along, and then the universe would implode,” Jane snapped, and stood abruptly, holding onto the fraying threads of her temper through sheer willpower alone.

Why her? Why did he seem to delight in picking on her in particular? What ancient god had she pissed off in a past life to deserve being saddled with this cardboard cutout masquerading as human?

With a loud clack she slapped her laptop shut and tucked it under one arm along with her journal, bracing a hand on the edge of the table and leaning in until he was forced to meet her eyes. “You’re selfish, Loki. And cold, and cruel.” She broke off to rake him with her most disdainful glare. “No wonder Thor is your parent’s favorite.”

It was a low blow. She knew it and she regretted it immediately, long before his face went white and his lips thinned bloodlessly. But whatever he might say as a rebuttal she knew she wouldn’t weather, and so she sped on before he had the chance. Survival of the fittest. “Listen to me. I will win this internship. I will prove my theory is right someday, publish it, and make a name for myself in this field. And you...” Jane straightened and lifted her chin, squaring her jaw proudly. “You will never be able to forget that once upon a time, you had the chance to be my friend.”

Suddenly Loki was simply there, her nose practically tapping against his chest as he towered over her. She hadn’t even seen him move. And good grief, she’d known he was tall but she hadn’t appreciated just how much higher he stood than her. How much larger, even if his frame was deceptively lean. A far cry from his brother, who’d dwarfed Jane in every way.

His expression was drawn in stark savage lines, and the air around them crackled with something frenzied and furious. When his hand lifted towards her she couldn’t quite keep from flinching away, more than half expecting to see the biting arc of static leap between them. It fell back to his side, and he let out a small sound of disgust.

“Let us get something straight, Jane Foster.” His green eyes, normally so frigid, blazed like witchfire as he bared his teeth at her in a mocking smile. “You and I shall never, ever be...friends.” He flicked the word at her like a drop of acid, and she flinched again from the vehemence in his voice.

With one last dismissive glance, he collected his things and strode out of the room, leaving Jane to sag in his wake. Her heartbeat rushed in her ears and thrummed beneath her skin and she felt stymied. Frustrated, for reasons she couldn’t quite name. She kicked the table leg once in a fit of pique, but only earned herself a stubbed toe for her troubles.

The smarmy bastard. He’d stolen the last word, and her exit. That was like...practically ten points to him.

That had to be it.

~TBC~

#lokane #loki x jane #loki #jane foster #holli writes #wip #omg i am so rusty #please be gentle #i haven't written this pairing in SO DAMN LONG

[ulyssesredux]

Nausicaa

Ungrateful TRAITOR Chelsea Manning, who can, and the two twins were no exception to this golden rule.

Molly likes opoponax.

People haven't had a button one. So why would he mind please telling her what was the benediction because just then there was just a club for people to start thinking rationally. Let him. Mouth made for that tramdriver this morning over her silly I will fix it, VOTE T The polls are close so Crooked Hillary. He called her little one in Grafton street. Gain time. I have negotiated on military purchases and more to follow. Poor girl! Good conductor, is very simple, I think. Bend, see my face there, race back to Father Conroy handed the thurible back to America, fix our rigged system under which we live. We will Make America Great Again! Senator like goofy Elizabeth Warren and her face to his watchpocket. And the old major, partial to his ladylove with oldtime chivalry through her lattice window. And Cissy and Tommy Caffrey, to build a great rally in Cincinnati is ON. My condolences to those involved in the home circle deeds of violence caused by intemperance and had seen her own familiar chamber where, giving way to Dayton, Ohio. Source of life. Funny little beggar. Very dumb! Yes, I didn't start the fight with Lyin'Ted Cruz and John Kasich of the most over-rated actresses in Hollywood, doesn't know how to cry nicely before the mirror to save it by making very dumb answer about emails & the Dems are trying to say it, thrown from a stroke. CEO's most optimistic since 2009. No.

Potted herrings gone stale or. Refuge of sinners. They take advantage. A former Secret Service detail? My people will fight for it is. People get it!

They totally distort so many illegal leaks! Can you believe that his supporters, millions of dollars for them till they went blue in the hall. Exactly opposite! Paul Ryan does zilch! The thugs were lucky supporters remained peaceful! WP With all of the people of Indiana is moving fast! More put out an ad where I was going to do business in total in order to suppress the the Trump University lawsuit for a long way along. Showing their teeth at one another. There he goes. Like our small talk. But look at. Sister souls. That would suit Mrs Dignam because she could sit so she simply passed it off with consummate tact by saying she’ll tax estates at 65%.

Just made a false arm.

She supported NAFTA, the third rate reporter, who never had a full length oilpainting of her head and crimsoned at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that out not so much the pupil. Very un-American youth SUPER PREDATORS-Has she apologized?

See you soon! The Dems and Green Party just dropped its recount suit in Pennsylvania have just certified my wins in the Senate for taking the pledge! Under the leadership of Obama, and she was awfully fond of children, twins they must be on your guard not to hurt he meant. For instance when she clipped her hair behind her which had a good education Gerty MacDowell noticed the time is now pushing TPP hard-bad for American workers! Liar!

Place is going well with very few problems. Pols made big mistakes, Crooked Hillary Clinton was SO INSULTING to my team of deplorables for tonight's #debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain I will tell you all remember how beautiful and safe a place Brussels was. E-mails, continues to look up high at her insignificant ones that had neither shape nor form the cheek of her face became a Dominican nun in their handling of very bad thing.

Wow, just before the mirror to save the little boy too. Slowly, without looking back she went there about the time and Miss Cissy, as President of United Steelworkers 1999 was any good, we will take place this year. It never comes the same place as quick as I'd look at it other way under him. We are TRYING to fight ISIS, or whatever she did that it is. Today is the nominee of one guinea per column. It is time for CHANGE—maybe her Native American in order to keep this horrible terrorism outside the United States. But Cissy Caffrey but it would be and that silver toastrack in Clery's summer jumble sales like they have to accept the results and look and suggest and let the FBI in to look over some nights when Molly was in that immodest way like that frump today. I come in on the rack. No. Her figure was slight and graceful, inclining even to cite this the statute. 200 dead in Baghdad, worst in American history, America’s 16,500 Border Patrol Agents was the benediction because just then the bell rang out from the wash and there was joy on her face because she wasn't stagestruck like Winny Rippingham that wanted they two to always dress the same moon, I have instructed my execs to open Trump U? Scandal! Parcels post. Crooked as a threat and therefore have placed ZERO negative ads, I was in front of her statements were lies and fabrications! Smell that I had NOTHING to do with story!

No way! Sister souls. O, look up high at her feet vying with one another to pay their devoirs to her please. They don't care. Like a cat sitting beyond a dog's jump. Wow! Then you have a cosy chat beside the church, the touching chime of those discharges she used to turn his freewheel like she read in that immodest way like that Wilkins in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled. Might be false name however like my nomination of Judge Neil Gorsuch for the mess. We are making great progress with healthcare. Despite what you find. Terrible! Will go this AM. Sometimes away for years he had a full report on hacking within 90 days! The United States. Hillary was duped and used by me. Lots of support! A new radical Islamic terrorism is very unpleasant. Do you believe that his problems with The National Border Patrol Agents was the hostage plane in Geneva, Switzerland and Germany-and then they parted. Big speech tomorrow to discuss terror and terrorists! How moving the scene there in the dark and never let you see.

Biggest story in a hurry either. Ways of the rocks, enjoying the evening to and fro, dark mirror, breathe on it. They were dabbling in the odour of sanctity. Getting ready to go deedaw and baby, Cissy called. I hate to say the cries of discomfited Master Tommy would have won the Democratic Convention. Mat Dillon's garden where I am going to substantialy reduce taxes and regulations on businesses, but he could see the fireworks were and she did look a streel tugging the two Iowa police who were flying the Mexican flag. A true General's General! She has something to happen. Breath? Roses, I saw dirty bracegirdle made me do love sticky we two naughty Grace darling she him half past four.

Big Republican Dinner tonight at White House. We will do but she didn't like her in time as the music rose and fell to no slight extent and Gerty could see the difference because she thought she was hunting to match that chenille but at last she found one evening round the potherbs. Sometimes Molly and Josie Powell. It would be very surprised by our ground game on Nov. What?

Can anyone explain this? JOBS! That's why she's left on the Beach, Fla. She had red slippers she rusty sleep wander years of Obama, and, in the fine selfraising flour and always very short stamina. Forgotten. Potted herrings gone stale or. No wonder companies flee country! Ah! Illegals out!

Ohio poll out-thank you. Also backed Jeb. Their eyes were probing her mercilessly but with care and very vigilant. Martha, the mice will play. Children always want to sing the Tantum ergo and she leaned back, just released my financial disclosure forms, the very last time too because she campaigned in N.Y. Yes, she said to the inauguration, It will be very dishonest and distorted media pushing Crooked hard. Tremendous day in New York now, look, tense with suppressed meaning, that cat this morning that I had 17 people to get ready to speak! THEY SAW A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE The dishonest media is trying to come back. You would have loved to read poetry and when she says I want penalties for cheaters? When they cancelled their big fireworks at the lovely reflection which the mirror to save the day ever come when she told him no, that's all.

Sweet and cheap: soon sour. Why hasn't she done them in her next her next year in jail. She felt the warm flush, delicate as the Star of David rather than a small fraction of that work, I will fight for the curves inside her deshabillé. Look what has happened to the nines for somebody. Girl in Meath street that night. Her very soul. Walk after him now make him forget the memory of the all time record for most of the eye brings that out not so silkily seductive.

Fate that is fact! This will end when I sent her for love was the place doing interviews, but clear, no: not that. Good to rest once in dead secret and made-up stories and sources, is that the National Debt in my campaign. They never forget an appointment. No. Young student. He knew the fix was in that region.

Cut with grass or paper worst.

Rigged system! Zrads and zrads, zrads, zrads, zrads. If they could talk about the gentleman off Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey told baby Boardman in it and Cissy tucked in the morning. Let me be the same time a bat flew. Hillary Clinton is being treated very badly by the phony election polls, I would win big, big. I hope the MOVEMENT fans will go to Russia, or headline fundraisers-those disconnected from real life. It is time for CHANGE—during a general election. The Republican National Convention #1 over Crooked Hillary Clinton does not report that on the quiet gravefaced gentleman, selfcontrol expressed in every way! Thank you to Chris Cox and Bikers for Trump-Your support has been divided for a fortune on ads against me. 200-with Bill, the little pool by the Obama tough talk on Russia? Just returned from Colorado.

The vote percentage is even higher than anticipated! She would care for him. Bad for you, Florida. Funny that the wouldbe assailant came to grief and alas to relate! Just arrived in Cleveland-will be a great Memorial Day by thinking of and respecting all of the money I have such a complete fold. We're the same spot. I look so forward to the hospital to see. Light is a good hearty hug and gaze for a movement! Just like I did Rip van Winkle coming back. Then if one thing of all saints, they were supposed to with Clinton. Cissy were talking about the flowers for the mother too. The economy is doing a forensic analysis of Melania's speech got more publicity than any campaign in the way it did. How are you at all of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on. We are going to go through a long Roman candle burst and it was a genuine Cupid's bow, Greekly perfect. Trust? Wow, did you learn something. Girl friends at school. Meryl Streep, one of the Wikileakes disaster, the matinee idol, only for the Cuban/American people. Obama & Clinton should have easily won the election results from Trump Tower to ask me to win in November. He will endorse her today-wonderful leadership and high quality people!

Taxpayers are paying a fortune, I am going to New Hampshire-will be spent-same result!

Now we begin our big tax cut! NOT ENOUGH I find it in his wee fat tummy and baby looked just too ducky, laughing up out of them all off. Senator in the grey a bell chimed. They focused on the verge of tears. Did I forget to write her thoughts in she laid it in the last glimpse of Erin, the reverend John Hughes S.J. were taking tea and jaspberry ram and when he sang The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was buried, God have mercy on him and his hands. Democrat Primaries are rigged, e-mail probe. A 60% increase in Syrian refugees. No more guns to protect Hillary! —But nobody else does! You will prevail! Nice! 45,000 were detained and held for questioning. I?

Replied Gerty with a long Roman candle burst and it is really on a lie from the door of Dignam's house a boy ran out to vote who are so high, high crime, failing schools and vanishing jobs. Mistake to hit back. Ora pro nobis. Call tomorrow. Talks about me or what? Where did I smell it only now? My youth. It was just thinking would the day the people, we will win the Electoral College in a two on one. Marry in May and repent in December. Then they trot you out some kind of a hat of wideleaved nigger straw contrast trimmed with expensive blue fox was not true that she would go to Russia, or fools, won't even call it poor papa's father had on his mind and the U.S.A.G. talked only about grandkids and golf for 37 minutes in plane on tarmac? Depending on results, we see what happens! In Bangladesh, hostages were immediately killed by ISIS of a strange shining, hung enraptured on her too. Be careful, Lyin' Ted and Kasich are going very well! Wow, this time in Cleveland. Well, that cat this morning. I have been so many jobs. The civilized world must change thinking! For an instant she was something aloof, apart, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the law, I hope the MOVEMENT fans will go to Mexico and the U.S. Ask them a pass!

I mean? They will soon MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! She would be Mrs Wylie and in the pushcar she was ever ladylike in her father's suit and hat and the worst year yet, by equal gardens a shrill voice went crying, wailing: Evening Telegraph, stop press edition! I like Michael Douglas!

Others to follow Julian Assange-wrong. Will be there, awake, to forgive all if she had a clock but they had stewed cockles and periwinkles. We are getting along great, and that's the last presidential race, by God's will we see stories from CNN on Clinton Foundation corruption and Hillary's pay-for-play question. Voting machines not touched! President O statements and roadblocks.

She must have, stuck. Good news! Miss White. Bit of stick.

I come in anymore.

#ObamacareFailed We are not looking good and doing very well!

But to be sure baby Boardman was with little white hands stretched out, holy virgin of virgins. Perhaps they get a special prosecutor to look over some nights when Molly was in front of Molly's dressingtable, just like Crooked Hillary knew the PAC was putting it out. Even the once great Caesars is bankrupt in A.C. Hillary's wars in the African-American voters-but they are when that's coming on them and never tell. She would have been front page news! Sleeping! All that old hill has seen. Let me be the one person she doesn't want to sing the Tantum ergo and she would dream of wellfilled hose. Country roads. Must come back. The love and cottage near Rochelle and they all shouted to look up high at her insignificant ones that had pictures cut out for the future of our country, this is about RADICAL ISLAMIC TERROR and the Bailey light on Howth now. The beginning of the contact with the editors of Conde Nast & Steven Newhouse, a deliberate lie, when they were alone and he would embrace her gently, like a rag on her white brow, the old pair on her because the sun was set up a Wisconsin ad talking about nothing in the art of smoothing over life's tiny troubles and very expensive mistake! Look what is going to Detroit, Michigan love, a perfect little dote in his eyes. Big advantage in Electoral College is actually genius in that simple fane beside the gardens. Or ask you another. Isn't this a ridiculous shame?

All talk, talk and have a small bank balance somewhere, government sit. I will be handing over my Twitter account for tonight's #debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain I will be very dishonest to supporters to do on the waterjug to keep the iron on because she had to knock out 16 very good man, respected by President Obama & Clinton should ask the DNC would not allow the FBI spent on Hillary's emails. These are the people in DNC in writing those really dumb e-mails yet can you believe. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Obama and our inner cities have been released from Gitmo. Look what's happening! Feel it myself. Strength of character had never been Reggy Wylie's strong point and he would give worlds to be alone like a rag on her forehead.

They broke the all time record! O by the media when our jobs were fleeing our country coming to Bedminster today as I continue to push up the strand with the coralpink cover to write about it but with all the heart? Praying for everyone in Florida-now it's onto the battlefield. Based on the way she carries parcels too.

Gerty with a threecornered hat was offering a bunch of love, and the illegal leaks! It would be Mrs Wylie and in the mellow tones. Then I did not happen! You could see all the Bernie people will have MUCH less expensive & FAR BETTER! Hillary's foreign interventions unleashed ISIS in Syria, Iraq and Libya. Shame all put on her inside out or if they got untied that he had a lucky hand also for lighting a fire, dredge in the bone. Katie Couric, the world. We will, and Edy told him about that in confession, crimsoning up to his and the spades and buckets and it had the perfume of those discharges she used to do that for a gentleman who. Naughty darling.

Our country is totally rigged and corrupt!

Why would the day I went the nine o'clock postman, the Republican Party Chair. Michael Morell, the glowworm's lamp at Leahy's terrace. That causes movement. Not at all? I have no jobs, safety and protection for those in need. Kasich, and Winny Rippingham so mad about actors' photographs and besides they were told to be discussed, including the smaller ones, into play. #Debate #MAGA I will be campaigning in Connecticut. Major investment to be a good enough colour if there was joy on her inside out and said if she could not see whether he had enormous control over himself. Gerty drew back her girlhood. Here's this nobleman passed before. We cannot continue to fill out the fork. But Edy got as cross as two sticks about him getting his own way like that out loud she'd be ashamed of herself for the fact that I want.

RIGGED! Kiss and delighted to, kiss, to sit up properly and say night prayers with the kiddies. Out of that other in spite of the low. Run Bernie, or fools, would not believe in love, a perfect little bunch of love, today for a girl's honour, degrading the sex and being pulled. We need serious leaders. Much bigger win than Hillary except for some Republican leadership. Also the library today: those girl graduates. Nell Gwynn, Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe. Very nice! Supreme Court. Big crowds! My memory's not so silkily seductive. If the U.S., and I will beat the Dems own the failed ObamaCare disaster, the hatred is too weak to lead. Now won't you? His eyes misty with unshed tears Master Tommy was headstrong Master Jacky had built and Master Tommy came at her shrine. Scratch the sole of my Vice Presidential running mate. Thinking of victims, and that's the last glow of all at it again. See you there! —Wait, said it was revealed that head of hair the like of that lovely confession album with the veil that Father Conroy handed the thurible to Canon O'Hanlon and Father Conroy that one shortcoming she knew on the sideboard watching. The FBI is totally confused. Old Barbary ape that gobbled all his faults she loved him still when he left the high school drawing a picture of Melania, will be rapidly reversed!

Archimedes. Suits her, one by one another. O a lot of money she could sit so she said to Molly the man who choked and let you see.

#DNC Our country does not report that on the ear but she could see from farther up. Best time to go elsewhere Inner-city crime is rising across the United States, in the sand and Tommy Caffrey since he was going down the slope and stopped. The Democrats made up a dark lane. I think it will expand in Michigan and Mississippi! Wonder why they lost the election. Will guns be taken from her shortsighted eyes. But the morning. She wouldn't trust those washerwomen as far as turn back. And then a rocket sprang and bang shot blind blank and O! Wow, USA Today did todays cover story on my mind. Also, is truly wonderful! I catch you for all that bright with hope for the men to cross the lines. The Green Party can unify! Some flatfoot tramp on it, but costs are out of the most effective press conferences I've ever seen!

Wait. Great Again. The paly light of evening falls upon a face infinitely sad and wistful. Where we. Very dangerous! Thank you to the border. All changed. Bernie Sanders have been executed in large numbers. Why is it possible that the man who doesn't have the security and extreme vetting, NOW. So interesting that Sanders beat Crooked Hillary Clinton, perhaps I will take America back. Oughtn't to have a great two days of very sensitive, highly classified information. I gave, he was very sorry his watch, listening to the worst instincts in our politics … and is now happening in the pushcar and Cissy were talking about the protesters burning the American Voter. Does anyone know that it was this, but in two twos she set that little matter to rights. He was a little canarybird that came out upon the air. Do they snapshot those girls, those cyclists showing off what they like the Martello tower had. Marry in May and repent in December. Will know soon! Fork and steel. Today will lose readers!

Railed off the accommodation walk beside the waves, after stealing and cheating her way to run off and play with his hands back into our country. Three cheers for the families of the demon drink, by putting women front and center with made-up stories and sources, is now all over the trees, up, phony facts. I decide on Cabinet and many millions of wonderful people living in poverty, violence and despair. The sideboard watching. I will renegotiate NAFTA. #MAGA Just leaving Miami for Houston, Oklahoma and Colorado. Last rally of the decisions Hillary Clinton-Kaine is a joke! I am than some poet chap with bearsgrease plastery hair, lovelock over his dexter optic. Hillary's people said about his long-term unemployment in the hiding twilight and there wasn't a brack on them. Was probably treated badly by the 16,500 border patrol agents have issue a presidential candidate. That issue has only gotten bigger! And piece together a great notion they had stewed cockles and lettuce with Lazenby's salad dressing for supper and when he said, in the U.S. Gang members, drug dealers & others are copying me. What do you sniff? He was in deep mourning, she could see, not by me. Besides there was something aloof, apart, in order to try eyebrowleine which gave that haunting expression to the debate to H.

I suppose. How can they like. I raised/gave $5,600,000,000 in an interview that Putin is not a party. Bill Kristol actually does get a hogo you could be trusted to the roots of her bit of blue somewhere on her decision making ability-zilch! He doesn't know how nice you looked. The Army-Navy Game today. And baby prattled after her run and pay a disproportionate share of the party long ago. Swell of her dream of yester eve. They should be in Indiana. Hillary Clinton put out an ad to catch them.

Salt Lake City, Utah, for their daily bread and many other positions. The police and law enforcement professionals of our great election victory.

Are we talking about the election results were the newest thing in footwear Edy Boardman said she wanted him to tease his fat little plucks and the choir began to sing the Tantum ergo and Canon O'Hanlon put the boots on it. THEY SAW A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE The dishonest media. Not like that frump today.

We only want to sing the Tantum ergo and Canon O'Hanlon and Father Conroy got up again and Jacky threw the ball and if he took it there'd be wigs on the mirror gave back to Father Conroy handed the thurible back to U.S. JOBS! Let him. Who pays? Wow, my word, didn't lie about his long-term lie about her husband wanted to run for the opulent. Why not? Meeting with biggest business leaders this morning. Crooked Hillary?

Or ask you another. —I know who is dishonest, incompetent and a frolicsome word on her because the pols and their borders. FAKE NEWS media, which essentially takes law-enforcement away from other chap's wife. Sad to watch all of my Cabinet nominee are looking great! He called her little one in a ring. Bernie S, she felt 1. Many of the seven dolours which transpierced her own effort Thank you Rick! Takes it for he was big strong fight his way up through. And kissed my hand when I am so proud of my tongue. Like to be packed? If the press that they are when that's coming on because the benediction was over and Father Conroy and knelt down looking up and Bernie is exhausted, he wouldn't get 10% of the Gold Cup race! We pay a visit to Mexico. I know who is he stands silent, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. All tarred with the veil that Father Conroy and the beat down of a bluey white. Wouldn't lend each other a pinch of salt. Brings on white fluxions. Bernie Sanders started off strong, but I never mocked a disabled reporter would never see them sit on that stone. Ten bob I got her for that. The voters wanted to go deedaw and baby, no clouds. Sometimes children turn out to see and hear ROLLING THUNDER. Edy Boardman prided herself that as she pushes a 550% increase in traffic into our country coming to Bedminster today as I am the only one who married the elder brother would be twentytwo in November.

Today will lose! EARLY VOTING: MN & IA already underway, more states coming up here. Homerule sun setting in the Republican National Convention. Look forward to meeting w/local officials for details & VOTE! I suppose. Good jobs are coming out and said if she is nasty.

Wristwatches are always going wrong. At once! Tremendous support except for Paul Ryan & the United States Navy research drone in international waters-rips it out. Our country is going crazy. Look what has happened to the Senate. Too little, too. Bad policy however to fault the husband.

She is the future of the DNC would not like him-a-Lago. What do you like, twigged at once he had known from the dew. The two Senators should focus on terrorism, as glib as you like my name and the tears of Senator Schumer. Courts must act fast! Not they! But lots of them and give Americans many choices and much lower rates! Landing in New York. Dislike rough and tumble. Goofy Elizabeth Warren, couldn’t care less about the Constitution but doesn't say that large scale voter fraud in Virginia. Coastguards too. That is not going into Ukraine, you don't know how to cry nicely before the feet of the cost of N.A.T.O. They never discuss the fact that I suppose. The Democrats have failed you for fifty years, trying to get Carrier A.C. I will bring our jobs to be packed? They were protestants in his attentions when it was so like himself passing along the strand towards Cissy Caffrey but it rolled down the strand to where there will be greatly strengthened and our country in order to try to understand him because she campaigned in N.Y. Open like flowers, know how nice you looked. Nothing new under the impression that we will win big. The FAKE NEWS and everyone cried O!

With all his belongings on show. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Get out and said like giving the benediction because just then there came out upon the stillness the voice of nature and comfort her with the victims of the world of good much better than the Republicans picked Cleveland instead of the South China Sea? Very dangerous!

Nobody has more respect for a meeting with Benjamin Netanyahu in Trump Tower at 10:00 P.M. W. Will be there! Day we went out to see that he wants TPP, NAFTA/TPP support & Wall Street endorsing Goldman Sachs.

No reasonable offer refused. Wrong, he and she snatched the ball once or twice and then he put it back to Ennis. We will both be working and a tremour went over her silly I will bring back our jobs were fleeing our country VERY CAREFULLY. I'll write to me. Sen. Blumenthal, never asked by me.

Yes, I am given little credit for my support during his primary I gave her the evening scene and the reverend John Hughes S.J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the photo she had one! The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. Elizabeth Warren has been a very dishonest media likes saying that that thing must be coming on them and give Americans many choices and much lower rates! Are we talking about airplane capability and pricing. While I am millions of tiny grains blown across. The eyes that set her pulses tingling. An utter cad he had eyes in his chin. When will the U.S. Bernie's supporters have left the Republican Party. Heading to D.C. on January 20th. 2nd A, build the wall! Wow, 30,000 jobs added. Stay safe! Women.

It couldn't be? My condolences to those Scottish Widows as I am a fool would believe that Crooked Hillary is getting out to do? The media is spending tremendous amounts of Wall Street paid for by her bosses on Wall Street ties are driving away millions of tiny grains blown across. I want to raise money for the forty hours' adoration because it was hard to determine who was seated near her window where Reggy Wylie might be out, head back, about not allowing people on the verge of tears. L 72% of refugees. They took their country the U.S.

He wishes he didn't wet his new tan shoes. That would suit Mrs Dignam because she wasn't ashamed and he kept on looking, looking. Bernie Sanders, after returning from Ohio and Arizona were great! Intelligence when in fact I am in Agreement with Julian Assange said a 14 year old story that he might come in. Shows how weak and ineffective. Wonder is nurse Callan there still. Bad Judgement. An analysis showed that Bernie Sanders supporters are furious with the baby. Birds too. Thank you to Jack Morgan, Tamara Neo, Cheryl Ann Kraft and Coach B are total winners. She thought she understood. Every bullet has its billet. What? It's the bazaar fireworks. Something in the Presidential Primaries, no the Monday before Easter and there was a past mistress in the press is refusing to report that was so quiet and clean, not mine! Ted, or Podesta Russian Company. That's her perfume. #MAGA Hillary Clinton adviser said, That is not a failure. Wait for her. She kissed me. Have birds no smell? All Tuesday week afternoon she was not true that she was as quick as I'd look at a 15 year high. French heels on her because the benediction because just then there came out on secret tape that Crooked Hillary will finally close the deal with Bernie. Left one is more than 1237 delegates, it was red. They saw what was amiss and she gave a kick but she was just announced that he was, how to end! FAKE NEWS, I am President! Sorry, people want border security-big trouble-which is in horrible shape and falling apart, not bad! Washed away. Is it the same person-& Paul Ryan. We stand together as friends, as well as some of the pushcar she was dressing that morning she nearly slipped up the old line pols like Crooked Hillary Clinton just had a cultured ring in it, the American people and support of Paul Ryan should spend more time working-less time talking. Wait. Gerty MacDowell, surging and flaming into her pretty head in a garden. Catching up on many things remember, I will be going to hurt you. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. Weeny bones. Colorado was amazing yesterday! It was truly an honor to introduce my. Why didn't Hillary Clinton is not acceptable. Now he calls me racist-but would campaign differently Campaigning to win including failed run four years of dreams return tail end of a young May morning. Clever little minx. When she leaned back and the blue for luck. We can't have four more years of dreams return tail end of a mission to the bosses take your 2nd Amendment rights away. The three girl friends were seated on the shelf and the U.S.A.G.

Wonder why they lost the election, and the garters were blue to match and the chance to lead. Sorry Joe, that she used to do with a little house to house, a perfect little dote in his eyes off of debt, will lose readers! It's so hard to answer. Better. Please keep off the common and the people who will have a nice pace. Were far worse I’m not proud of my daughter Ivanka.

I like her mother's taking pinches of snuff and that baby was playing with the toes down. Weeping willow. Wait. Smelling the tail end Agendath swoony lovey showed me her next her next her next year in drawers return next in her eyes and she ran down the slope past him, or headline fundraisers-those disconnected from real life. Very same teeth she has BAD JUDGEMENT! Hillary hates her! Land of the economy, trade, a girl lovable in the Trump Rallies today. And her mother in Irishtown. Sweet and cheap: soon sour. —Asking for a moment. Crooked Hillary. People were so foreign from the days beyond recall. The very heart of the low. -As are three others. Canon O'Hanlon at the Polls! Wow, and now they have no deals in Russia. Suits her, bend down or carry a bunch of flowers to his brandnew dribbling bib and wanted him to sit on a mirror. Vote Trump and end this madness!

In other words, education of your children from D.C. But to be lightly trifled with. AMERICA GREAT AGAIN rallies. Fine voice that fellow today at the same moon, I have always been the same time a bat flew here, Tommy said. Our leadership is weak and ineffective. Old Betty's joints are on the mirror gave back to U.S., and keep our companies and jobs. No wonder companies flee country! Praying for everyone in West Palm Beach. Paul Ryan, had misted her eyes with silent tears for she felt. President Vicente Fox, who does not win.

That's why she's left on the time and Gerty could see that he got caught! There were wounds that wanted they two to always dress the same time with the twins at their beck and call. Near Holyhead by now. #Trump2016 Phony Club For Growth said in an extortion attempt, just look at it that the great saint Bernard said in his head too at the butt of my locker room remarks! She was wearing the blue banners of the race! He was leaning back against the rock behind. Hopefully, all supporters, millions of jobs and companies lost. Three cheers for the U.S.Senate. But it's the evening scene and the weddingbells ringing for Mrs Reggy Wylie used to turn his freewheel like she read in that stadium.

No new deals will be in Missouri today with Melania for the fireworks and something queer was flying through the laurel hedges. As many as 5000 ISIS fighters have infiltrated Europe. So it returns. Joe Biden, just put out false reports that I would win with the foreign name from the turpentine probably in the evenings studying hard to make herself attractive of course. Whistle brings rain they say. #ImWithYou Many people are seeing big stuff. Long Island-big rally! Sister souls. All that for a few years till they went blue in the brown macintosh. They have nothing going but to take him there behind the pushcar and then threw it up. The American people. My list of those skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen looking and he wasn't either to look exhausted and done, then meet once in a man's passionate gaze it was simply in a landslide every poll, Time and on-line from Wikileakes, really vicious. O wait. Martha, the TSA is falling apart, in order to be his only, his affianced bride for riches for poor, in the U.S. made with them then. Very nice! Nice, France, I feel now. This election is about ships around they fly in the election, and she knew she need fear no competition and that was what he was winding the watch or whatever he was a total mess our country are amazing-great numbers on ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: TRUMP 32. So many New Yorkers devastated. Congratulations to Rex Tillerson, the terrorist watch list, or plain star! Winkle: cockles and periwinkles. Old Barbary ape that gobbled all his belongings on show. Beef to the use of reason, he was a protestant or methodist she could call herself his little wife to be architecturally improved by a vote of 87-12. Where was all the end was the very lips.

Only once it comes. The Democrats are overplaying their hand.

You are lovely, O so lovely, O so lovely in her mouth in the art of smoothing over life's tiny troubles and very vigilant. Rocket and breeches buoy and lifeboat. Eyes all over them. The new joke in town is that he was possing wet and to avoid trouble Cissy Caffrey called the man that was season 1.

Then they could put that in the early morning at close range.

I extend our warmest greetings to those Scottish Widows as I continue to make America safe again. Go home. Metempsychosis. Sad! He would be the press would cover me accurately & honorably, I an only child. Crooked Hillary Clinton-Kaine is, and you see that, supply soft and delicately rounded, and that silver toastrack in Clery's summer jumble sales like they have to focus on terrorism as well as current mission, but for all of the South China Sea? There are only so many millions of more viewers than Crooked Hillary Clinton? Lots must be coming to Bedminster today as I promised.

#Debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain So many in the morning. Must be near nine. Then that bawler in Barney Kiernan's. A penny for your wonderful comments on the mantelpiece white and gold with a threecornered hat was offering a bunch of flowers to smell.

Looking forward to it and looking up at his belt gleaming here and there wasn't a brack on them. There she is running for president prior to the stride showed off her slim graceful figure to perfection. He was but eleven months everyone said and big for his age and the pealing anthem of the immaculate, reciting the litany of Our Lady of Loreto, beseeching her to one side after her: A jink a jawbo. Will CNN send its cameras to the funeral on account of being white and she wasn't stagestruck like Winny Rippingham that wanted healing with heartbalm. None of your spoilt beauties, Flora MacFlimsy sort, was just thinking would the day she went down the strand and slippy seaweed. Must come back because they were afraid the tide might come in on them and give Americans many choices and much more competitive, comprehensive, affordable system. They feel all that offer. Because the ban were announced with a little man in all those superstitions because when she tried it on the two kids along with the coralpink cover to write address on that she SHORT CIRCUITED when answering a question they ask you another. We will both be working very hard to answer. Thank you to teachers across America! It was darker now and not to be something great, they knew, and all others, if the flower withers she wears she's a flirt. A big day—and they knew it and Cissy laughed. A truerhearted lass never drew the attention of the Most Blessed Sacrament back into the room playing with the soldiers and coarse men with no, nono, baby. Nuns with whitewashed faces, cool coifs and their babby home to roost. It was all things that Gerty knew Who came first and after there was no-one knew of. Crimea. Howth guarding as ever he could see without looking back she went white to the flowers and the face, meeting someone might know her, with no respect for a Wall Street. The Mystery Man on the terrorist attack. —You're not my sister, naughty Tommy said. Depends on the same direction, then John Kasich is good for Mexico! The thugs were lucky supporters remained peaceful! Returning not the same place as quick as I'd look at what happened w/Bernie. Cat's away, no safety. Take a look, tense with suppressed meaning, that dull aching void in her own beside any lady in the press when newspapers and others that do not have the security and extreme vetting, NOW! I want. Same thing with ads. Cissy tucked in the process of fixing it.

She drew herself up to his drop of spirits. Well, Iran has been MATHEMATICALLY ELIMINATED from race. Oughtn't to have a good time. Women never meet again, Edy with the devastating floods. We do not have leadership that can stop this! Ora pro nobis. Lose your customers that way. Goofy Elizabeth Warren, one of love's little ruses. And I'll write to me. They do anything to do so, he fell upon his hated rival and to hear the panting of his supporters.

#MAGA Well, aren't they? Then I will put Gennifer Flowers right alongside of him! Getting ready to deliver a prepackaged speech on economic opportunity-today in Miami. Crooked Hillary will not win this election is over-rated actresses in Hollywood, doesn't know how nice you looked. His voice had a full length oilpainting of her who is Tommy's sweetheart. When I do, or headline fundraisers-those disconnected from real life.

Crime is out of a strange yearning tendency to the worst economic deal in U.S., and there through the sky from Mirus bazaar in search of funds for Mercer's hospital and broke out into a dozen pieces. Dreamt last night! Metempsychosis. Today will be back home-make great deals!

Came from the beginning of NAFTA with massive numbers of jobs and national security leakers that have me in the same direction, then cry off for Cincinnati now. I won the State of Indiana. I was going down the strand taking a short while—but we let political hacks negotiate our deals.

Bag under their tails. Save. Only stupid people, even, those registered to vote in the drawer of her window. But this was altogether different from a different point of view-NO FEDERAL FUNDS? Cause of half the trouble. She's right. Look where the fireworks and something queer was flying through the worst president in what looks like a real man, a disaster America is proud to have a nice pace. There or the twins. Come on, do they get that? Will be going back soon. Terrible!

Who wouldn't know what it was.

Light is a general I will clinch before Cleveland and get less delegates than Cruz-Kasich pact is under siege. Pick her H I hope corrupt Hillary Clinton than Bernie Sanders endorsing Crooked Hillary. And they all saw it so special! They broke the all time record for votes in GOP primary history. No soft job. No, I recognize the rights of people to beat Hillary.

Good timing, I have a small campaign staff. Looking for a big brother and sister without all that darling little fellows with bright merry faces and endearing ways about them. We will bring jobs back where they belong! The shepherd's hour: the tie he wore, his hoarse breathing, because she had a great wall on the information they had a full report on Crooked Hillary Clinton was SO INSULTING to my people. It's the blood flow back when it is practically useless. All a prejudice. Crooked Hillary Clinton is not in trouble for far less reason to tweet. Was Obama too soft on crime, supports open borders. Wrong, it was not to let fly. Put them all off. Or what they can't get. Gerty MacDowell, and lost so badly by the people of Massachusetts found out the fork. It is being rigged by the light in the privacy of her she longs to be kind.

Thank you Ford & Fiat C!

I say, flushing a deep rosy red, and we will always be a disaster for Ohio, after stealing and cheating her way to Dayton, Ohio, and played here's the lord mayor, here's his gingerbread carriage and here he walks in, all of my first primary victory, to let them see so she said. It's like a nun or a slightly retroussé from where he lives. Obama’s VA Secretary just said we shouldn't measure wait times.

And phony ads against me. Airports a total meltdown but the people who will have a clue. Low energy Jeb Bush just endorsed a presidential primary endorsement—me! Corrupt, dangerous, dishonest. Yes, she suffers from plain old bad judgement.

Hillary will approve the job she has in the sand and Tommy Caffrey, to let them fight for it: A jink a jawbo.

Lyin’ Ted & others are allowed to compete, heavily tax our products going into their country the U.S. sells Taiwan billions of dollars of military equipment but I heard he went wild at his belt gleaming here and there were terror attacks in NY, NJ and my deepest gratitude to all for the terrible stabbing attack at Ohio State University by a loveliness that made my decision on who I like best about Rex Tillerson on being sworn in as many as 5000 ISIS fighters have infiltrated Europe. Drop out LYIN' Ted. Her very soul. A terrible decision What is the New York. Because you were so queer. Also, deductibles are so high, high, almost out of all things combined. Is it only now? Please remember, I would only campaign in the morning. Low energy Jeb Bush, both hospitalized. Serious voter fraud happening on and he said, We are talking to many groups and it was to be made in Hillary Clinton's foreign policy experience, and you have a bit of a young gentleman in literary. Crooked Hillary no longer has credibility-too much pity. Perhaps not to fight. She revealed all her graceful beautifully shaped legs like that poem that appealed to her so deeply that she was game. Crooked Hillary has ZERO leadership ability. Thank you Mississippi! Do you all remember how beautiful and important evening! Drained all the ways of the blessed Virgin's sodality and Father Conroy put round his shoulders giving the benediction was over and Father Conroy got up and look and if ever after he changed his story. My youth. But she was going down the strand with the U.S.A.G. talked only about grandkids and golf for 37 minutes in plane on tarmac? President Obama thinks the nation is not going into their country back, felt an ache at the butt of my foot. Bernie should pull his endorsement of the great Bobby Knight who last night at the mess the U.S. even before taking office, with the F-35 program and cost overruns of the horrible carnage going on? Goofy Elizabeth Warren can spend a whole lot of call-ins about vote flipping at the butt of my Vice Presidential running mate. Keep that thing must be killed in storms, telegraph wires. OHIO NBC/WSJ/MARIST POLL Trump 42% Clinton 41% Just left a great day, the little bat that flew so softly through the evening she dressed up in the Feds! Fine voice that told that once to Edy Boardman was as good as gold, a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, of her dream of yester eve. How are you at all loyal to each other than the whole world would she cast as much as a Trump WIN giving all of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on. Birds too. Media desperate to distract from Clinton's anti-2A citizens must organize and get less delegates than Cruz or Kasich, Rubio and Cruz are all wanting tixs to the maxim that every little Irishman's house is his castle, he fell upon his hated rival and to such purpose that the people, has chosen a V.P.candidate who failed badly in her eyes that were me it would be wild, untrammelled, free. I am going to hurt. But makes them feel ticklish. Drained all the time, I suppose. Big mistake by an incompetent judge! Bertha Supple of that till then, when they have their own two selves and before he went out for review and negotiation. Little paps to begin with. Crooked Hillary off the reservation. Like flowers. Wish I had a great deal, and she noticed at once that that was too tight on her sweet flowerlike face. Kasich is ZERO for 22. I couldn't have. That brought us out, with a different world!

She has something to happen. The world is in her pure radiance a beacon ever to seek the presidency. Crooked Hillary says she and that didn't work. Give it to grow long because it was not to give or perhaps an album of illuminated views of Dublin or some other entity, was their secret, only theirs, alone in the football field to show and just don't know what it is bad! Thank you Indiana, with a natural deal maker. He boycotted Bush 43 also because he couldn't resist the sight of the lighthouses so picturesque she would go to Russia, Russian speech money to NATO & the GOP Party Leadership on Thurs in DC. At it again? Moorish eyes. Eightyseven that was the master guide. He was in the house of Keyes, museum with those goddesses, Dedalus' song. Have that in the Erin's King, throwing them the old familiar words, holy saint Denis, that he was old and very quickly not one of the Lockheed Martin F-35 FighterJet or the gentleman couldn't see and see more and more.

Let me.

Dogs at each other behind. O, look at it.

My words were unfortunate-the polls against Crooked Hillary Administration is not a talented person who will run our government for a girl's honour, degrading the sex and being taken up to the use of reason, he supported Kasich & Hillary Hopefully, all right. When three it's night. Changing venue to much larger one. Crooked Hillary! No, a wicked man, was hacking, why did they only complain after Hillary lost? Keeps them out. Petticoats for Molly. Were those nightclouds there all the manhood out of his handsome lips. Different with me that he saw her kick the ball once or twice and then Canon O'Hanlon put the boots on it and they had stewed cockles and lettuce with Lazenby's salad dressing for supper and when she undid the strap she cried out, and getting stronger! I do not like. Thank you to everyone for their big coloured ball, happy as the Star of David rather than falsely complaining about with respect to the core. By screens of lighted windows, by taking the pledge! Her record is so dishonest.

Aho! For instance when she revealed all her life to say papa. Bit of stick. CNN do a good hearty hug and gaze for a doctor when he left the arena! There were wounds that wanted they two to always dress the same. Look forward to introducing Governor Mike Pence. Her widow's mite. Bottle with story!

Know her smell in a total waste of time.

Wonderful crowds. Totally biased-hates Trump I hope people are seeing what a bad job as Governor of California and even worse TPP approved. Gerty winced sharply. Might get piles myself. Short snooze now if I got for Molly's combings when we were on the quiet gravefaced gentleman, the figure.

It is for you, the ridiculous deal made between Lyin'Ted Cruz over the Democratic National Committee allowed hacking to take them all on to a very decent man, a soft clinging white in a hurry either. She glanced at him a moment, meeting someone might know her, that he was old and felt I would NEVER mock disabled. I said or believe but have no choice but to take them in their white habit perhaps he could see far away the lights of the nom the Dems have it! A delicate pink crept into her eyes dancing in admonition.

Signs of rain gold hair threads and they were ready for November-Crooked Hillary, who is your sweetheart? Swallow? The Democrats will run from her eyes that spoke volumes of scorn immeasurable.

Thankful for small mercies. Keep that thing must be after eight because the last 70 years. Watch! But it's the evening and the beast. Mullingar. Why? Afraid to be off now with him and told him no, that's the last minute. BREXIT! On my way to the archangel Gabriel be it done anyway!

Forgotten. Lemons it is. When three it's night. Into her. Might be the biggest budget increase in the last of his many bosses, including the smaller ones, into play. ObamaCare just doesn't work! Thought it was and Charley was home on his mind. Pardon! Jeff Sessions visited the Obama Administration. Wow, my dear, and she had found out in time. She has no chance! JOBS, with what is happening all over Europe and, last but not least, on the Beach, prize titbit story by Mr Leopold Bloom for it so they wouldn't hear. Year to everyone for making it so Gerty drew back her foot. I just got caught! Watched protests yesterday but was under the law, order & safety-or chaos, crime & violence. My words were unfortunate-the polls are fake news, just before we left Lombard street west. Scam! Where we. If Russia, and but for all of the world! LAWFARE: Remarkably, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the sun, the largest numbers in the evenings studying hard to Make America Great Again! Cheap too. Yet another terrorist attack. Maybe the millions of amazing, hard working people have been executed in large numbers of women voters based on an accumulation of data, and it was flying through the ages. One Program, price will come to an election that everyone thought they were both of a size too he and little bats don't tell. Others to follow Julian Assange-wrong. Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the stars. Wait till I catch you for your thoughts.

Car companies and jobs in Pennsylvania and is a disgrace that my full Cabinet is still not in trouble for far less. Molly, her mouth in the church.

She had red slippers she rusty sleep wander years of dreams return tail end Agendath swoony lovey showed me her next. Where do they get a man smell off us. Russia will respect us far more important task!

He was a suspicion of a votary of Dame Fashion for she felt that she used to do with The National Enq. When three it's night. A great job. So Cissy said thanks and came back with her tongue. Never find out. Too little, you never know. The people of Massachusetts found out in Walker's pronouncing dictionary that belonged to grandpapa Giltrap about the things about me, and they're always flying for. They were protestants in his hands. Passionate nature though he spoke in measured accents there was a certain castle of sand was to see.

Lyin' Hillary, is ridiculous and will be coming on them and she would be like heaven. Thank you. Just announced that he agrees with me. She supported NAFTA, which will be boys and our country coming to Bedminster today as I am not mandated to do with Trump. Just got back from Colorado. So why didn't she do them? First-so why isn't the media pile on against me. Thanks you for all the difference because she once knew a gentleman like that frump today. The situations in Tulsa and Charlotte are tragic. Not fit! Looks mangled out: The great boxing promoter, Don and Tiffany, on the campaign trail by President Peña Nieto. Must call to those involved in the intermediate that was about China, NOT WOMEN! Attending Chief Ryan Owens' Dignified Transfer yesterday with my children, so flawless, so blind. And Cissy told him no that baby was to know was he a married man with a pert toss of her heart that told her he was sitting there by himself came gallantly to the truth. We need to secure our borders will be. Thoughts and prayers are with those affected by the dying embers in a soft thing, to feel his lips laid on her brow and patrician suitors at her feet but rather a manly man with a long time.

Why did I smell it only now?

Wide brim. Her phony Native American to get people, has been taking out his watch, listening to the nines for somebody.

Year before we left Lombard street west. O wait.

Say out big, big crowds! So sad! Mitt Romney called to the U.N., things will be. Love laughs at locksmiths. Sure he has to sell their product, cars, A.C. units etc. This will be amazing! Can't believe she would be just as good as gold, a sweet forgiving smile, a daintier head of hair the like of that, was the horrible attack in Brussels today, home of my Cabinet nominee are looking good, but what do you like, twigged at once by his conundrum. I am truly enjoying myself while running for president! Oughtn't to have a bit of a quiver in the U.S. Sweet and cheap: soon sour. They were protestants in his eyes cast down. This country cannot take four more years of weakness with a private yacht. Really sad news: The great Arnold Palmer, the TSA is falling apart, just like white wax and if ever she became a glorious rose.

Many people died this weekend at The Business Council of Washington? This Russian connection non-representative delegates because they know that it will be coming to Bedminster today as I deal on Crazy Bernie, run.

No-one else. Cissy said it was his ball and the little pool by the Obama White House A statement made by Mrs. Obama about Crooked Hillary Clinton, was Gerty who turned off the common and the way our democracy works. Whistle brings rain they say. Buried the poor husband but progressing favourably on the staircase. Bikers for Trump—Donald J. Trump. Also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Unfit to serve as President will be in the gathering twilight, wilt thou ever? Replied Gerty with a tiny toddler, was hacking, why did they only complain after Hillary lost? Rally last night in San Diego, I am the ONLY candidate who is railing against my visit to a house. We are not looking tough! I look very much forward to it. We will bring America together as never beforeWhat about all else.

Toyota Motor said will build a much bigger wall fence at W.H. If dummy Bill Kristol actually does get a man already was little Tommy behind the hood of the potential award because as President of United Steelworkers 1999 was any good, but for all. Only the crooked media makes everything up! Slowly, without looking back she went and when she told her once in dead secret and made her shy and often she wondered why you couldn't. How low has President Obama & Clinton should stop meeting with special interests, & their minions are working overtime-trying to do that for nothing. Looking forward to meeting w/the Hispanic Chamber of Commerce at the quaint language of little brother. Night. Look at it other way round is the 53rd anniversary of the CNMI Rep Caucus with 72. Peeping Tom. Bernie fought for nothing! And careworn hearts were there gathered together without distinction of social class and a most edifying spectacle it was hacked? Pure jealousy of course than long ago in Stoer's he was responsible for NAFTA, high, high, high, high, is also one of the Congested Districts Board that had the bicycle off the hook! —It's fireworks, Cissy Caffrey called to the Senate for taking the day. Probably released by the people in DNC in writing those really dumb e-mails say the words.

Typist going up Roger Greene's stairs two at a time to kiss again. Every on-line polls, I have no power, no the Monday before Easter and there was no-one knew of the Smithsonian's National Museum of African American History and Culture … A great day in D.C. that the FAKE NEWS media is trying to come up to the Senate for taking the pledge! Who pays? Work Hynes and Crawford. Look what is going on in Great Britain, with a guy who likes me Watched Crooked Hillary, or playing with their big coloured ball, happy as the faintest rosebloom, crept into her kerchief pocket and took good aim and gave the ball as hard as ever he does. Going now to Louisiana & another speech tonight in Bethpage, Long Island-big problem! When she leaned back, just like a big brother and sister without all that money spent on me concerning women when her things came home from the turpentine probably in the convent garden.

Very well, thank you. Trust? No, I will say how great they are going crazy-yet Obama can make a man who lifts his hand to a goldenbrown hue and queen of patriarchs, queen of ointments could make him awkward like those skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen looking and he pranced on the sly. With all of my Cabinet nominee are looking good, but also want others to PAY FAIR SHARE, a perfect little dote in his eyes cast down. Signs of rain gold hair threads and they both knew that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess.

And just now at 1001 delegates. Sometimes they go off. I WILL SOLVE-AND FAST! The system is totally rigged & corrupt! So I raised/gave! Tip. Fashion for she was a past mistress in the west the sun for example like the spirit in that it was not of them and she was just thinking would the day was long. Buenas noches, señorita. This whole narrative is a general I will be announced live on Tuesday at 8:00 A.M. Bernie Sanders was right when he left the arena! His hands and higharched instep. The U.S. has 69 treaties with other countries. What's this? No wonder he lost! Biggest trade deficit with Mexico. Maiden discovered with pensive bosom. SEE YOU IN COURT, REMEMBER! We love them. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! They're a mixed breed. The twins were no exception to this day forward. #BigLeagueTruth #debate This country cannot take four more years of ObamaCare skyrocketing premiums & deductibles, bad healthcare, this country, this is about judgment. Very exciting news conference concerning my Vice Presidential pick on Thursday of next week. How they change the venue when it's not what they did for Hillary. The media wants me to meet with the G.Q. model photo post of Melania, will be going back tomorrow, to Edy Boardman your sweetheart, spoke Edy Boardman prided herself that she could see at once that that foreign gentleman that was staying with them then.

Good conductor, is no longer affordable! I only had 1 person running against me. Cat's away, no hour to be kind. Dreadful life sailors have too. Fine eyes she had found out what an ineffective Senator, Jeff Flake. I mean.

Not they! I did Rip van Winkle coming back to Ennis. So, now that you could be trusted to the maxim that every little Irishman's house is his castle, he was still in my pocketbook. Lyin' Ted Cruz lost all five races on Tuesday! Life those chaps out there must be after eight because the pols and their bosses knew I would rather run against Crooked Hillary will sell many air conditioners! 2nd Amendment is under threat by Radical Islam and Hillary Clinton campaign-and now must stop. Dreadful life sailors have too. And Jacky Caffrey were twins, scarce four years of Obama and that’s what you’ll get if you deduct the millions of votes more than 1237 delegates, it is for the veterans and the address Dolphin's barn charades in Luke Doyle's house. When we hid behind the tree at Crumlin. What is the media blames my supporters will go to Trinity college to study for the troubles of childhood are but as fleeting summer showers. Hillary! For Growth tried to extort $1,000 for the Republican Convention was great on Meet the Press Conference yesterday. But who was racing in the incense and censed the Blessed Sacrament and Cissy laughed. Please wish everyone well and endorsed me. All that old hill has seen. Crooked Hillary after she decieved him and his representatives, at once by his dark eyes and his bevy of daughters: Tiny, Atty, Floey, Maimy, Louy, Hetty. Three and eleven she paid for by Wall Street, and outright lies, and around the world of good much better as a ram's horn. It is a disaster America is proud to have had millions of votes. And must be coming on because she would have kept those jobs in America & around the world. Can't read. She would care for him with no, nono, baby, no: not that. We pay a visit to a speedy recovery for George and Barbara Bush, both hospitalized. Congressman John Lewis should finally focus on terrorism, I think. Wide brim.

She had red slippers on.

Massive trade deficits & little help on the ground, if he was the benediction because just then the Roman candle burst and it was Gerty MacDowell noticed the time, time to spray plants too in the act, it is a total disaster! Hillary is getting! Will I? But it must be killed in storms, telegraph wires. It was the puffpuff but Ciss, always readywitted, gave us the win. No, no ideas, no jobs. Till Mr Right comes along, then dropped me over locker room remarks! She is owned by the Patriots. Gibraltar.

Word is-RADICAL ISLAM! I always knew he could see by her bosses on Wall Street ties are driving away millions of jobs and companies lost. She could almost feel him draw her face became a glorious rose.

President Obama looks and sounds so ridiculous making his speech in Cuba immediately & get much better as we continue: MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN should have easily won the day off again, she has made. Bernie, how to win there-Mormons don't like LIARS! She was wearing the blue for luck, hoping against hope, her child of Mary badge, the American Voter. Disloyal R's are far tougher if they stop this plan! With all of the most pious Virgin's intercessory power that girl had! Jobs! Always know a fellow courting: collars and cuffs. Where do they get a free & ind UK. IT WILL CHANGE! Came from the dew. Her record is so dishonest. Our wonderful future V.P. Wonder why they come out at night Mrs Duggan told me liked to smell. North Carolina for two big rallies. Felt for the vets, 2nd A, repeal Ocare, borders, etc-but I never told her to intercede for them till they went hostile with negative ads on me. Very short and lies, has died. Thought it was packed with great pros-WIN! Gang members, drug dealers & others are allowed in the furze act as a whole day tweeting about Trump & gets nothing done in Senate? If I lost-monster story! Why did I put the letter em on her sweet girlish shyness that of The Bloomberg View-The NSA & FBI … should not have liked them, fine like what do you like, said it was on display by the cast of Hamilton was very petite but she missed and Edy and Cissy poked him like that because of him. Might have made wonderful deals together-where a young girl's love, the great coach, Bobby Knight who last night than she has done it again. That half tabbywhite tortoiseshell in the hiding twilight and there was one thing of all saints, they said. Only 38,000 new jobs in the drawer of her hair on account of the wife of the transparent stockings thinking Reggy Wylie used to wear kid gloves in bed or take a milk footbath either. Would you mind, please, telling me the right time up a dark lane.

Cigary gloves long John had on his mind. Like a little later so the wall! All kinds of crazy charges. Bell scared him out to be so if they pay a little man in a hurry either. Sen. John McCain & Lindsey Graham is wrong-they don't name the sources, they prayed, queen of ointments could make a better future for our Armed Forces, I would love to call Lyin' Hillary Clinton announce that she too a word of pardon even though he had an idea, one dead. Dressed up to goofy Elizabeth Warren is now happening in the land of Ireland did not hold her equal. Our country is totally based on made up nonsense to steal the election were based on popular vote if you don't answer when they hold him out, head back, felt an ache at the church, the matinee idol, only for the wonderful speakers including my wife, Melania, will you? Walk after him now make him fall in love, and I the plumstones. They were crushed last night in Cleveland at Rules Committee by a loveliness that made her his. Padding themselves out if fat is in her eyes with silent tears for she felt that the years were slipping by for her. Pity they can't see themselves. Stock Market has posted $3. Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Ah! Cat's away, the longest such delay in the dark one with judgement so bad! 100% fabricated and made her swear she'd never speak to her nose. He looked almost a saint and his bit of a garden. She deleted 33,000,000 for the veterans and the last week.

That was just certified as a present or a girl tell? Very exciting! Us too: the hour of tryst. Done. Thanks Carrier I will stop this! Time enough, understand all the manhood out of papers of those evening bells and at the rain falling on the ground, if you were so foreign from the steeple over the sea she told me in the very last time too because she had a false ad on me. But who was racing in the sun. Will be such fun! Crooked Hillary Clinton, I will be one of greatest ever. Just a few years till they harden. Wow, Ted Cruz! His dark eyes fixed themselves on her back and the economy. I've had. Much to be over. Watch! I bought her the evening and the pealing anthem of the girl friends were seated on the same and stags. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me. Thank you Cleveland.

While Bernie has totally sold out to shake up their livers. #ImWithYou For too many years!

Have their own secrets between them. The reviews and polls from almost everyone of my speech even started when they were to have a beautiful picture! And her mother said to Gerty: A penny for your president? Enjoy the #SuperBowl and then he locked the tabernacle and genuflected and the eyes, so much interest in it. Then make it a stream of rain gold hair threads and they both ran after it, I don't believe sources said by the phony media quoting people who support Hillary sit behind CNN anchor chairs, or whatever he was undeniably handsome with an arch glance from her, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. Potted herrings gone stale or. Made up for that one shortcoming she knew on the people of Guam! Ah no, no hour to be swilling in company. Must since she came to grief and alas to relate! The pathetic new hit ad against me misrepresents the final Missouri victory for us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us. Big crowd expected! And of very sensitive, I suppose.

Bernie voters who want a better place because of him. Every bullet has its billet. Her mind is shot-resign! Love laughs at locksmiths. Dark devilish appearance. Nightstock in Mat Dillon's garden where I won't go. An Obama pick. All Tuesday week afternoon she was going to another state where jobs have been playing the women's fault also. Thanks Donald! Crooked Hillary Clinton wants to sit in the dirty things I made her say. But it must end, she has made along with Obama, the old pair on her e-mails. She was glad that something told her that she too a haven of refuge for the U.S. sells Taiwan billions of dollars for them, the third rate reporter, who can, and you know it when she told him about his brave service in Vietnam. Leopold Bloom for it: Gerty! She was pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, as allies, & when people make mistakes, Crooked Hillary will finally close the deal on Crazy Bernie Sanders. Onlookers see most of his face it was red. Dearest Papli. Looks like the Martello tower had. And time, time to kiss again. Us too: the hour of tryst.

Among many other things too, Thursday for wealth. Picking holes in each other's appearance. Insects? Curtain up. Kiss and delighted to, kiss, to and fro and little she. She wasn't in a landslide, I have raised for the asking. Mayhap it was. Safe in one way. An utter cad he had known, those who are dead and many who had not found his ideal, perhaps, work together to solve some of the wife of the blessed Virgin's sodality and Father Conroy handed him the info! Never have little baby then less he was a big gasp when the painters were in. Canon O'Hanlon at the side that was why Edy Boardman said. An utter cad he had eyes in his eyes. I don't watch anymore but I say NO WAY! Sharp as needles they are totally filled, with a smile that verged on tears, she could have a beautiful calm without a cloud, smooth sea, placid, crew and cargo in smithereens, Davy Jones' locker, moon looking down so peaceful. Thank you for all of the Woman Beautiful page of the bluest Irish blue, mauve and peagreen, and, my campaign, by taking the day was long. Far away in the odour of sanctity. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. No. Serious voter fraud happening on and before he went wild against Rudy Giuliani and #2A-sad & so terrible. It never comes the same spot.

She is strong and doing a great job-under budget! The Mystery Man on the slate and then he hastened from the door of Dignam's house a boy ran out and that that was why Edy Boardman. 20th 2017, will be speaking in great detail on numerous other topics! A list celebrities are all watching take place today at the same spot. Needless to say it for he was out of the gout and she just gave a gentle hint about its being late. We’re going to hurt. She was a womanly woman not like or respect women, and that is about judgment. We will have MUCH less expensive & FAR BETTER!

Who did you learn that from? She has bad judgement! Day we went out to Crooked Hillary e-mails? A fair unsullied soul had called to express their best wishes and condolences to Dwyane Wade and his family and of course their little tiffs from time to time like the nobleman with the massive cost reductions I have not heard any of these were taken before the mirror gave back to her. Little sweetheart come and dirty me. Amours of actresses.

Ladies' grey flannelette bloomers, three fangs in her eyes with silent tears for she felt 1. I have always proven to be smart, tough and vigilant? As Bernie Sanders too hard yet because I love watching what he was too. In trade, and backed Iraq War. Not going to put in them. Also, many stops, many stops, many very bad and destructive track record. How much more. Good news is that the Dems said maybe it is in place, the cry of a haunting sorrow was written on his smart little suit. Moonlight silver effulgence. The highly neurotic Debbie Wasserman Schultz that they are. Do fish ever get seasick? I'd like to express their best wishes on the campaign trail with Crooked Hillary hates her! I won't go. Reserve better. She was glad that something told her or she'd never speak to her so deeply that she was a lot of call-ins about vote flipping at the same place as quick as anything about a thing could have hacked Podesta-why didn't she do them? His eyes misty with unshed tears Master Tommy would have been in office. If dummy Bill Kristol actually does get a man he truly hates, Lyin’ Ted Cruz will never forget! Work Hynes and Crawford. Goofy Elizabeth Warren, who may be adding to the flowers for the reverend John Hughes S.J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the Gold Cup race! And in a man's passionate gaze it was high time too because the sandman was on show. And the others inclined to give in to study for the fraudulent editing of her calf. Many are not a talented person who loves people! Look under the Moorish wall beside the church the fragrant names of her statements were lies and her opponents are strong. Naughty darling. Crooked Hillary, despite a record amount spent on building the Great Wall for sake of speed, will go to my many supporters acted and threatened people like those skirtdancers and highkickers and she would be the least productive U.S. Catch em alive, O. Inclination prompted her to make him shrivel up on the next Secretary of State, costing Americans millions of tiny grains blown across. Nothing on emails.

Twentyeight it is really. The voters wanted to carpet bomb the enemy. Two, four, six, eight, nine.

Celery sauce. Molly the man who I know is highly respected by all who knew her though, as it The Democrat Governor. The name too. Her woman's instinct told her to try eyebrowleine which gave that haunting expression to the Republican Primary-by General Michael Flynn. Wait. She is a way of saving face for Democrats losing an election easily, a charm with every pin she takes off. Do you believe I will be live-tweeting the V.P. pick said this morning. Nothing will change The Democrats, when she went and when she called me yesterday, except for the afflicted. Crooked Hillary should not be president. She often looked at me.

Remember about the election. Violent crime is rising across the country valise, voice like a kind of language between us. The rally in Florida-on representing me this morning. Sometimes away for years. Wait, said it was that in confession, crimsoning up to the stride showed off her slim graceful figure to perfection. O, he and she told him about the disaster known as ObamaCare folds-not long.

Not fit! Pocahontas wanted V.P. slot so badly-I would have to get a free pass? Magnetic needle tells you what's going on in Great Britain, with little hubbies. She then said, so flawless, so slim, so sad in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a long time. Forgotten. Year to all, including 1million dollars from me, little wretch. Bernie Sanders, who I have interests in properties all over the trees, up, and beginning to play with Jacky and Tommy Caffrey, to forgive all if she could just go and ride up and look where we would all be much better off! The forgotten men and women that gave their lives for us, honourable vessel, pray for us, mystical rose. Write a message for her breath caught as she limped away. All Tuesday week afternoon she was sure the gentleman winding his watch was stopped but he doesn't he should run as an Independent, say good bye to the border.

Thank you to everyone! Bernie! O, he did. Then ask in the Trump University civil case, Gonzalo Curiel San Diego, one of your children from D.C. But Dignam's put the letter em on her tongue out and the weddingbells ringing for Mrs Reggy Wylie might be out but that was why she just lifted her skirt and just because she would be a disaster. The constant interruptions last night have passion for our workers. Hillary Clinton overregulates, overtaxes and doesn't care about jobs. I decide on Cabinet and many other things of far greater importance! What frightens them, light or noise? Stuart Stevens, the great rallies all across the world.

Will be there soon. Virgins go mad in the arena. Still, you had some people with GREAT SPIRIT! The DJT Foundation, unlike most foundations, never a nice pace. Want to be strong. Why did I smell it only half fun? Sometimes they go off. Well, aren't they? Median household income is down 11 points with WOMEN VOTERS and the next moment it was half past kissing time, well that's the last two weeks before the feet of the game. So true! Like flowers. But lots of them every evening poured out of 325,000 illegally deleted emails, perhaps they should share them with the pushcar she was more a Giltrap than a small one. The ROLL CALL is beginning. The Intelligence briefing on so-called leaders ever learn! Alec Baldwin portrayal stinks. —Because Gerty could see at once. No harm in him and tear his silly postcard into a tree from grief. Airplane departed from Paris. Breath? She would fain have cried to him for a one week notice, the hatred is too weak to lead. No, Gerty, quick as lightning, laughing up out of the television viewers that made her his. Much higher ratings at Fox The real story here is that flying about? Today there were some beautiful thoughts written in it all the difference for himself. No, Gerty, Cissy Caffrey played with baby Boardman to look exhausted and done, then cream the milk and sugar and whisk well the white of eggs though she hid it, the third rate reporter, who tried so hard and personally in the history of the seven dolours which transpierced her own effort Thank you to Chris Cox and Bikers for Trump—big rally. I like because it's leap year. Honor Memorial Day and remember that the people of Ohio called to him, her eyes that were fastened upon her set her tingling in every nerve. Why wasn't this brought up before election? Day! Who gave them this report and why? The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other things of far greater importance! Almonds or. Petticoats for Molly. Look forward to it and turn it to China in unprecedented act. Will she? No room. Wish she hadn't called me yesterday, very much against me were put together by my political opponents is A COMPLETE AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE. Lacaus esant taratara. Puking overboard to feed the herrings. We are suffering through the evening she dressed up in America—she had to lean back more and defy you if you're a man already was little Tommy Caffrey could never be forgotten no longer being used by my political opponents and a light broke in upon her set her pulses tingling. Justice Ginsburg with real judges and real legal opinions! Obama should have their period. Four more years of Obama or worse! Lyin' Ted and Kasich are unable to stop bad trade deals. With the exception of cheating Bernie out of that lovely confession album with the letter em on her first. Such a big success. His little man in all the world comes to its senses regarding nukes Someone incorrectly stated that there are you at all levels!

Dreamt last night. Warm shoe. Then get a man among men.

Never Trump, all is going on, Gerty, it said. Clever little minx. Thank you for all that offer. —What then? Mass seems to be that rock she sat on. Good news!

Could do it myself. I'm tired to move. The gentleman aimed the ball quickly and threw it along the sand with their big sister's word was law with the massive stage at the quaint language of little brother. When I said or believe but have no problem! Funny my watch stopped at half past kissing time, time to time like the Martello tower had.

I spent a fraction of the girlwoman went out to business he would have loved to read poetry and when she could see that and the U.S. has squandered three trillion dollars there. —Wait, said Cissy, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the time that Gerty knew Who came first and after there was a good time.

Looks so forlorn. He could not be attending the White House wait so long, just announced that the phrase DRAIN THE SWAMP was no-one ever not even trying to destroy Israel with all of the world. Mysterious thing too. Look at it. Turkish. It was he who would woo and win Gerty MacDowell yearns in vain. If she saw a long way along the strand. What though? Ow! Queen of angels, queen of the great State of Colorado where over one million dollars, & is now being joined by the cut of her dream of that. The twins were no exception to this day forward. For instance when she called it CRAZY General Motors is sending Mexican made model of Chevy Cruze to U.S., and Winny Rippingham that wanted they two to always dress the same. Senate. —Nao, Tommy said. That half tabbywhite tortoiseshell in the morning, smell them leagues off.

Howth a while ago amethyst. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Willy's hat and what the girls did with it the same person-remain true to the beautiful eyes, so much the pupil. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to introduce my. The spotlight has finally been put on the strand towards Cissy Caffrey said. Whole earnest. A.T.O. is obsolete and must, carrying home the change in her every contour, literally worshipping at her sometimes. Courts must act fast! What a great loss of Nykea Aldridge. Wrong, I had a good hiding for themselves to keep the iron on because she knew by the media, in the wind and light.

Their main line had nothing to help! Wisconsin has suffered a great News Conference at Trump Tower! Looking forward to going to substantialy reduce taxes and regulations on businesses, but could you trust them? Still, I want a better future for our country in order to try to understand. Excitement. The joint statement of former presidential candidates, Crooked Hillary Clinton wants to destroy our country on trade, but it was lovely. OHIO NBC/WSJ/MARIST POLL Trump 42% Clinton 41% Just left a great honor-they are doing, they say I must, carrying home the change in her shift on the staircase. But then why don't all women menstruate at the ends of the low. Mat Dillon's garden where I just released that international gangs are all watching take place in our country will never forget! And she lived with her poking her nose. Leopold Bloom. Then they could put that in her own right and had she told Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamy kind of a big rally. That's the way of saying things like that thoughtfully with the editors of Conde Nast & Steven Newhouse, a pound. But the ball quickly and threw it along the strand. No gun owner can ever vote for Trump—and elections-go down! Hm. Tomorrow a big player. I remember. He was in mourning for from the turpentine probably in the pushcar and Cissy Caffrey played with baby Boardman. Congratulations to Thomas Perez, who had not found his ideal, perhaps, work together to make our country during that week.

It would be twentytwo in November. See ourselves as others see us. Just for a father because he couldn't even go to the terrible tragedy in Nice, France.

Always off to a very charming expose for a larger venue. Gov Mike Pence for their sins. Bag under their tails. There is great unity in my pocketbook. In Bangladesh, hostages were immediately killed by illegal immigrant, but costs are out of joint about the horrible attack in London. If Russia, ISIS, rise of Iran, and the economy when she could have happened! Padding themselves out if fat is in. And careworn hearts were there gathered together without distinction of social class and a navy threequarter skirt cut to the Florida rally tomorrow. The dishonest media does not. This will be necessary to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Taken two of our MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Tommy and Jacky threw the ball once or twice and then Saint Joseph. 20th 2017, will no longer talking. You are lovely, O so lovely in her hands so as not to be seen on his door to touch. Our country is divided and out in time. Particularly nice old party for a cup of tea. Bernie want to be sure that nobody saw her e-mail probe. They lost the election night tabulation be accepted. So sad. None of your twofaced things, we must enforce the laws of the rocks, enjoying the evening she dressed up in her father's suit and hat and what is happening in the privacy of her face was almost spiritual in its transient loveliness, had misted her eyes dancing in admonition. Murderers do. The name too. Came from the bay, on the light you see.

The threat from radical Islamic terrorist has just been named Chairman of Ford, who scream, curse punch, shut down our First Amendment rights in Chicago and our two twins and their rosaries going up and Bernie is exhausted, he did. From everything in the dark evening in the southeast. The Green Party can unify! He told her. I must, carrying things in and Arnold Schwarzenegger did a sprint. Amazing people! Goofy Elizabeth Warren as her V.P. Padding themselves out if fat is in horrible shape and falling apart, not even on the debate last night, calling, wakening me. Edy Boardman said she could convert him easily if he took it there'd be wigs on the tremendous cost and cost overruns of the party is VERY united. Media rigging election! Takes it for granted we're going to Detroit, Michigan. The eyes that reached her heart sometimes, piercing to the U.S. does not. We have won against me last night to a woman save in the United Nations will make leaving financially difficult, but leaves behind amazing legacy. Forgotten. Just out: The great Arnold Palmer, the ridiculous deal made between Lyin'Ted Cruz over the country. It won't work! It is time to spray plants too in the football field to show and just one smart buckle over her and she. Crooked Hillary if I went to Drimmie's without a cloud, smooth sea, placid, crew and cargo in smithereens, Davy Jones' locker, moon looking down so peaceful. Chance. I want to. Such a beautiful calm without a cloud, smooth sea, placid, crew and cargo in smithereens, Davy Jones' locker, moon looking down so peaceful. The Theater must always be a terrorist who wants to destroy our country-I WILL NEVER DROP OUT OF THE RACE, WILL NEVER LET MY SUPPORTERS DOWN! Archimedes. #DNC Our country does not know me, Mary, how to woo thee or My love and cottage near Rochelle and they would go to Trinity college to study for a big speech tomorrow with Bobby! Why Molly likes opoponax. O, soft! #Debate #MAGA I am working on a mirror. My arks she called it. I will never MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! That brought us out of the money. There is nothing nice about searching for terrorists before they can enter our country. You can change your vote to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

I saw on television was the only one who started talks to give her an odd dig.

She had loved him still when he left the Republican Party. O, Mairy lost the pin of her calf. Was that just when he and he was a great friend in the brown macintosh. And pray for us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us. Why not? Dressing in mother's clothes. You never saw him any way screwed but still and for an ad on my record in the sea she told Cissy Caffrey told baby Boardman to look up after it. Better detach. Would it make a speech in N.C. Even the once great Caesars is bankrupt in A.C. Will I? Lord! Amazing event. And when she undid the strap she cried out, with her phony money! Leaked e-mails say the cries of discomfited Master Tommy drew the breath of life is under great strain. The Democrats, lead by head clown Chuck Schumer held a news conference on JANUARY ELEVENTH in N.Y.C. Canon O'Hanlon was up on the bed. So many veterans groups are not happy in your? Prior to the great State of Colorado never got to come in. #ObamacareFailed We are not happy. Wait till I catch you for all Americans-and make everyone less safe. Potted herrings gone stale or. The apple of discord was a palpable case of Doctor Fell or his carbuncly nose with the voters, I am than some poet chap with bearsgrease plastery hair, lovelock over his dexter optic. Edy straightened up baby Boardman was with little white hands stretched out, holy saint Denis, that little matter to rights. By screens of lighted windows, by putting stories that never happened into news! Countries charge U.S. companies taxes or tariffs while the U.S., and she was on his desk the other way round. She leaned on the time before. I would love to call her. And yet and yet! Am flag! They stick by one, and she just answered with scathing politeness when Edy asked what and she let him speak anyway. After getting better asleep with Molly it was only the voice of nature and we will slaughter you pigs, I remember looking in Pill lane.

The Cruz-Lawsuit coming Why can't the pundits or commentators discussing the fact that the wouldbe assailant came to grief and alas to relate! See her dumb tweet when a judge can halt a Homeland Security to check for dishonest early voting in Florida! NO! Edy Boardman, a charm with every pin she takes out. Good idea the repetition. Roses, I was never seen on that she is the chant. Buenas noches, señorita. The people of Ohio know that Crooked Hillary has zero imagination and even worse. Why has nobody asked Kaine about the mistake in the Ormond damp. Russia/CIA card. It hurt—O, look at the horse show. Passionate nature though he was sitting there by himself came gallantly to the division and kerchief pocket and took out the episode was on display by the rock. #Trump2016 Thank you! A gnawing sorrow is there all the heart of the great State of Indiana to vote Trump SAFE! Took its time in Pakistan, targeting Christian women & children. #Debate Moderator: Respectfully, you won’t answer the call! What frightens them, and to mind he didn't make that deal! Polls close, but costs are out of offices. Ba. Colours depend on the wall if they want to fix America's problems. Clinton is consulting with our immigration officers & our wage-earners. Just to show for it: good evening, and Raul Castro wasn't even there to support son Clinton is like Occupy Wall Street paid for ad is a general all round over me and half down my back. —Let him. A NEW LOW! I have never liked the media refuses to expose! Will be in Terre Haute, Indiana, we will strengthen up voting procedures! I never met former Defense Secretary Robert Gates. Big news to share his thoughts. Thank you to everyone for their own two selves and before he went out of the world, Rex Tillerson on being sworn in as many Syrians as possible. And people like Crooked Hillary off the common and the Russians? The truly great Phyllis Schlafly, who advised me that three shillings. And when I was never seen on that she had of course if you were trying to come there to that favourite nook to have given that child an empty teat to suck. Now have an open border. She ran with long gandery strides it was a typically false news story. The press is so bad that such a pity too leaving them there to that favourite nook to have had millions of VOTES ahead! Congress has to sell himself to the ratings machine, DJT. Circus horse walking in a tweet as the world without yet another terrorist attack. How much do I owe you?

Far away in the football field to show her hair and a piquant tilt of her window where Reggy Wylie used to dealing with the kiddies. Of course his infant majesty was most obstreperous at such toilet formalities and he.

Filthy trip. Never see them sit on a lie from the dew. American. Like Molly. No. Sad! And walked down Tritonville road, smoking a cigarette. Make America Great Again! Job killer! Thank you Michigan!

ISIS b/c of the bill Hillary’s husband signed NAFTA?

I only had 1 person running against me in profile. When we hid behind the pushcar and Edy asked wasn't she coming but Jacky Caffrey called the man that was and she ran like that because priests that are currently and selfishly opposed to me seeing it. It was darker now and there was the allimportant question and she gave had had the guts to run against is Donald Trump is going on? THANK YOU! Not like that hag this morning. Grab at all loyal to each other than the cooing of the March on Washington-today we honor the enduring fight for you, Gertrude MacDowell, surging and flaming into her cheeks she looked so lovely in her pure radiance a beacon ever to seek the presidency. My native land, goodnight. Longest way round. It's like a sneeze coming, legs, seated. Year-a true champion! It was like a child of Mary, how to win there-Mormons don't like LIARS! Watching the #GOPConvention #AmericaFirst #RNCinCLE John Kasich and that will happen because the media is trying to dismiss the new moon and it was: and fitly is she feeling in that simple fane beside the Dodder that went with Obama-and let them fight for it and they would meet again, there is much more competitive, comprehensive, affordable system. Sad about her lame of course without letting him and she leaned back ever so far and the horrible views emanated on WikiLeaks about Catholics? Very short and lies, and then he put in them. Love laughs at locksmiths. —Anything for a palace, gives tiptop wear and always bright and cheery in the U.S. made with them! I wonder why, then it would be and there wasn't a brack on them. There was that of a beam for grim life, laughed Ciss. Lose your customers that way. Spend more time taking care of our country is divided and our economy. Come on. O, he called me with a much more.

Why didn't the little mariner and coaxed winningly: O my!

And pray for us. Cruz over the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the air to catch a woman's birthright. #ImWithYou How quickly people forget that Crooked Hillary Clinton should not interfere in our country is a lose cannon with extraordinarily bad judgement.

Hillary Clinton. Suppose there's some connection. He backed me big-time but I wasn't interested in taking all of the make believe! A delicate pink crept into her pretty head in a massive rally amazing people! MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! That would have far less. No prince charming is her beau ideal to lay a rare and wondrous love at her sometimes. Yours for the asking. —If you don't know. He would be better to cancel the upcoming meeting. Nobody will protect our great Vets!

When you feel like that hag this morning, smell them leagues off. With Hillary, who lied on heritage. Honored to say that he was possing wet and to such purpose that the years were slipping by for her petty jealousy and they were ready for a major rally.

#Ulysses (novel) #James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Nausicaa #politics #American politics #presidential elections #21st century #Twitter #Donald Trump #2016 #2017

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The District: Chapter 7

“I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom, and that of all about me, seemed insufficient for the day.”-  Abraham Lincoln, Third Debate against Stephen A. Douglas, 1858.

The city happened. The uncharacteristically warm day of mid-January erased the slate and flushed free the gutters and streets until it was a constant river of frozen trash and saltwater feeders. The sun came out and blinded everyone who grew accustomed to the overcast sky of December, attempting to convince everyone that they could trust it, that this was here to stay, and so eager were the inhabitants to accept it, that they foolishly fell into the trap despite the warnings of every morning weatherman’s smile.

The anomaly of the weather distracted the sad wanderer of the oddly familiar streets, though she did not allow herself to think of it longer than just a moment, a stray thought about how odd the course of events of her week had been that a day like today seemed almost normal. She wished it had been the standard blustery day, that would hurt and make her bones ache, so it would fit her mood. Instead, she got the sunshine and timid people who wanted to enjoy it but couldn’t allow themselves. 

Cars and buses rowed down the rivers of avenues, kicking up wakes in their passing while everyone marveled at the gushing of water and overflowing of sewers, as if the island itself was sinking into the ground. All breathed a sigh of relief, and the streets became alive again of people who met each other’s eyes and did not remain bundled up with heads bent low. 

The house had been too stifling, and Lexa too hungover to be able to tolerate it for too long, and so she relegated herself to wandering the streets in search of memories, while simultaneously attempting to avoid them, as if she had a chance in it, as if it were an option. It was a tough line to balance atop, and she failed at every turn, but still she tried because at home her mother was sad and hiding it, and her siblings were loud and loving, and all that she wanted was a moment of quiet and bitterness without infecting them. 

He made it exactly three days after everyone returned home and life went back to the post-holiday normal. Stroke they said. Quick, they told her mother. Painless, she had explained to her children. 

Lexa heard the words and wondered how it could be true, how ceasing to exist could just happen, how leaving could be painless, because she was damn near certain this pain of being left was unbearable to mere mortals. The doctors didn’t talk about that part. Leaving felt like a relief and being left felt like being stabbed with dull knives continually. 

Her shoes kicked along the soggy sidewalks, while her mind raced too quickly to focus on anything particular, instead jumping from one topic to the next because if she thought too hard about one thing, she would lose it. 

When she was fifteen, her grandfather taught her to drive in the parking lot she refused to look up at as she walked past on her way home. When she was twelve, he was ready to beat her raw for stealing baseball cards from the convenience mart on the corner. Instead, he marched her up and had her return them, shamefully. When she was eight, he showed her how to fix her bike chain in the park a few blocks from home. When she was seventeen, she saw him cry when she walked across the stage because when they met, she couldn’t read and nine years later she got a diploma. 

For every important moment, he was there, and he was vital. She picked up his crossword habit, and his love of complaining with his hands held up, and she inherited his distrust of good things and his good-natured welcoming of adversity. And he was gone, when she was certain she would need him most, and she hated him for it. 

There was never going to be a time in her life when she wouldn’t need him, she realized, and this hatred was inevitable because it was born from love and admiration and selfish need. He would have known what to say to her, she decided with a sigh. 

The entire day passed in a hapless kind of meandering around the city. Lexa didn’t want to go back to the house. At the house, plans were being made. In the kitchen, her mother wasn’t crying, but she did occasionally bury her face in her husband’s chest and let her shoulders rock with tears that were forbidden to fall. In the living room, calls were being made to relatives abroad and at home, bringing the troops around. In the yard, neighbors traipsed through the mounds of pent up snow and dropped of plats and apologies. In the garage, an alarm clock remained open and waiting to be fixed. 

This was a time to step up, and Lexa knew it, though every time she lapped back around to her street, she couldn’t do it. And so she took another and hoped it’d be easier next time around. 

As the city appeared, Clarke leaned against the window for a moment, her phone slipping a little from her ear as she hardly listened to her colleague explain something. For a moment she doubted herself, and she panicked. Just a few hours before, and she’d been having a shitty morning. Now she was having a shitty afternoon, and was far away from home in more ways than one. 

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be back tomorrow,” she shook her head from the revery and sighed, catching half of the conversation. “I’ll email whenever I get set up.” 

She’d been to the city a few times, but she never left Manhattan. When she stepped off the train in Washington Heights, the Christmas lights were still strung up and the snow was gone. Backpack filled with work and a duffle slung over her shoulder, Clarke took a deep breath and resigned herself to it. 

Lexa had been right, that she’d hid and been afraid, shirked her responsibilities, and not been an overall good girlfriend. The lawyer only wondered if she was too late in realizing it, if this wasn’t enough, if this was the right way to handle it. 

By the time she got a taxi to take her to Lexa’s home, the nerves were over the moon. Cars were parked out front, filling the small driveway. The smushed together houses seemed even more cramped on the busy street. Kids played where they could, still in their winter clothes despite the warmth that allowed the world to thaw for just a second. 

Standing on the front stoop of the house Clarke was just now realizing was Lexa’s childhood home, her hands felt empty. People always brought things for funerals. When her dad died, they filled the house with casserole dishes and cards. Clarke looked at her empty hands and cringed. 

“Clarke?” Gabby opened the door before she could raise her hand to knock, catching her off guard. 

“I am so very sorry for your loss,” she sputtered, catching herself in the midst of a large hug. “I was about to knock. I didn’t make any food.” 

“We have more than enough food,” the mother murmured, squeezing Clarke until her bags fell to the ground. 

Though it took a moment, Clarke finally relaxed into the surprised arms. She closed her eyes and hugged her back. The smell of something wafted through the house, billowing out warm and delicious. Something about a mother’s hug was too much. 

“Lexa’s not here,” Gabby finally sighed, pulling away and holding Clarke’s cheeks, eyes glassy and proud. “She’s out walking around the neighborhood.” 

“We, uh, we...” the newcomer fumbled. “She... we fought. Things are... I’m here for her. She didn’t know I was coming.” 

“Are you staying?” 

“I didn’t mean to impose. I know things are... I did not come to get in the way. I came for Lexa. I have a hotel. If she wants me.” 

It was a mess of nouns and verbs and pronouns, but Clarke hoped she got near a tangible point as they barreled out of her mouth with alarming veracity. She argued with lawyers and strangers with more grace than she found herself exhibiting to the mother of the girl she refused to acknowledge that she loved. 

“She was close to my father.”

“I know,” Clarke offered a small smile. “All of the stories she told me... he sounded great, and I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet him.” 

Noises inside brought them back to their moment, and the kindness of the introduction was warm and Clarke bathed in it, hoping the same would be the same for when the daughter returned from her walkabout. 

“Come on inside,” the mother smiled. “Come on, come in. Warm yourself up a bit.” 

As soon as she walked inside, it was an inundation that made her head spin. Brothers and sisters and noise and people and yelling and living, it all happened right there, and Clarke was swarmed. Every person she’d heard stories about was there, jammed into every available nook and cranny. 

Sheepishly, Clarke accepted hugs and offered her condolences, trying to keep everyone straight. Aunts and Uncles who didn’t even make it to stories appeared, and she did her best to keep up, but it was like one of those math problems that covered and entire blackboard, expanding out in all directions with no beginning or end. 

Her coat and bags were taken, and her cheeks blushed with the heat of the rooms. It took a lot of angling around different questions, answering as best she could, before she was able to take a breath. Another hour, and she was able to sneak outside and make a few work calls, to catch her breath from the insanity. 

The sun started to set as she helped around the kitchen. Lexa’s brothers sat down with her and made her help with paperwork, when all she wanted to do was peel potatoes. But she didn’t have those skills. She could read a life insurance policy though, and understand legal paperwork. So she did that because they had questions, and that was how people grieved. 

“Can’t you wait?” Gus complained, waiving a knife as he chopped and prepared food. 

Tall and broad and huge, Lexa’s brother was the only one who could keep up with their mother in the kitchen. He did it all day, chef at some restaurant downtown. The seemingly moral standard of the group, he waved a knife as an extension of his hand, bothered by the legality of death.

From what Clarke could remember, he was the stern one. The oldest, with the responsibility. The stoic one. But the one with a laugh that came straight from his belly whenever it was allowed. 

“We’ve never had a lawyer in the family. I have questions,” Abe ignored him, flipping through documents. 

“I’m not in the fam--”

“Plus, if we get it done, we don’t have to think about it,” Anya ventured. 

“I really--” Clarke tried.

It was nice to have at least one familiar face when Gabby disappeared to execute the duties of the matriarch, attending to phone calls and sorting out the rest. Anya hugged Clarke tightly when she arrived, and it gave Clarke a little hope. 

“One less thing Mom has to deal with,” Aden piped in from his stool as he crunched on the veggies his big brother cut. 

The youngest except for Lexa, the soldier was much quieter than the rest of the siblings. His hair was a little lighter than her girlfriends, though she recognized him instantly from Lexa’s descriptions. 

“We can really--”

“You’re making a complete stranger read important family documents,” Lincoln argued, grabbing himself a beer from the fridge as he balanced a newborn on his chest. “Maybe let her settle in a bit first.” 

“I would be happy to--”

“Like I said, if we finish it now,” Anya reiterated. 

“One less thing Mom has to deal with,” Aden helped. 

“Mom is going to lose it soon anyway,” Gus shrugged as something sizzled. “It’s coming.” 

“You know she has your wife picking out clothes?” Luna asked Lincoln as she strolled into the kitchen. 

Just half of them were in the room, and Clarke was overwhelmed, and so she gave up trying to have a voice. She could understand how Lexa was quiet, and how she learned to be stubborn and scrappy. She could also see how a family of kids who didn’t look anything alike was closer than she ever thought her own could have been. 

Her esteem for the mother of the brood only grew as the kids, with their loud opinions and certain kind of mischievous smirks got together. It would have been enough to make a saint pull their own hair out. 

“I had some questions for you as well, Clarke,” their father pulled up another chair.

He was not as tall as his oldest son, though he was taller than Aden, Bill Brady was quiet and polite, and Clarke had no problem imagining him to be the best kind of balance for his wife. Angry when she wanted to be calm, peaceful when she was inevitably feisty, Clarke enjoyed his presence, for what she knew. 

“Again, I don’t specialize in contracts or policies,” Clarke offered weakly. “I can try to remember the classes, but I--”

“She works with the Constitution,” Ellie interrupted. “You have the poor thing reading a Will. In Portuguese.”

“I can peel potatoes,” the lawyer offered, earning some chuckles. 

“Get her a drink, son,” Bill called Aden, looking down the bottom of his glasses at the tiny words. “We’re getting this done so we can tell your mother not to worry about it. So we have time to grieve and celebrate properly. First comes--”

“The climb,” the kids all echoed with various methods of rolling their eyes. 

“And then comes--” he smiled, not even looking up. 

“The view.” 

“Exactly.” 

“Congress?” 

The kitchen grew quiet as Lexa walked inside and paused at the entrance. Just down the hall, the living room continued to play host to kids and cartoons, to cell phones ringing and people talking while footsteps upstairs paced and debated. The siblings in the kitchen grew quiet and looked around at each other while Lexa couldn’t look away from the girl who sat at her kitchen table, surrounded by paperwork and her father and brother and sister. 

“Hi.” 

It was weak, but it was all Clarke had to offer at the moment. The eyes of the family ricocheted back and forth between the two as if it were the US Open. 

“What are you doing here?” Still frozen where she first laid eyes on the guest, Lexa wanted so desperately to move, to go back and wonder the streets a little while longer. 

“Your grandfather died, and you’re important.” 

No one knew what it meant, but the father saw how his youngest shuffled slightly and set her jaw before shoving her hands in her pockets defiantly. 

“Why don’t you two go talk? We can write down our questions for Clarke,” he offered, setting his glasses down. 

“I want to see what happens,” Aden grinned, earning a gaggle of kitchen towels swatted at his shoulders. 

Lexa waited until Clarke stood up and took a few steps before hugging her tightly. She knew they had to talk, but it didn’t matter at that moment, because as much as she walked around outside in the city, she realized she was chasing this exact feeling, and so she buried her nose in the familiar hint of strawberry hair, and she let her cold nose earn a flinch from Clarke’s neck as it took up residence while she closed her eyes and clung. 

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke whispered, arms wrapping around Lexa’s neck as she felt her ribs squeezed by inked ones. “For all of it.” 

“You came.” 

“Yeah.” 

A chorus of awe’s and kissy giggles began behind them despite their father’s insistence that the reset of the brood stop mocking their sister. Lexa allowed herself a full minute of clinging and inhaling before finally pulling away. She kissed the girl that travelled this far just to make sure she was alright, even with her family watching. 

“Thank you,” Lexa sighed. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m trying to figure it out. I don’t know how,” she confessed, hands hanging on Lexa’s biceps that held her cheeks. “But I have priorities.” 

She earned a small smile there, not the whole, cocky, definitely Lexa smile, but it was still something and Clarke felt a relief sink into the muscles of her lungs and chest. As if they hadn’t in weeks, both took a deep breath and caught themselves feeling oddly alone. 

It was short-lived, but it was needed. The world impeded upon them, while the relief was a drug that did not wear off as easily. 

“You’re frozen through,” Gabby came into the kitchen with a grandson on her hip. 

“I’m fine,” Lexa shook her head, growing embarrassed with the fretting. 

“Go shower and change. Take Clarke’s bags with you,” the mother ordered, easily taking control of the situation. “I’m sorry honey, but we’re full. The basement will have to--”

“No, no that’s... I can go to a hotel. It’s not--”

“We stay together,” Lexa stopped the protest. “Mom doesn’t believe in giving away money when we have space here.” Clarke waited and measured her options, watching her girlfriend for an idea of her own thoughts on the subject. “I’ll put your bags in my room, Congress.” Clarke smiled and nodded. 

“Thank you.” 

The basement was a collection of lives and times. The stairs creaked, well-worn and used from a stomping heard of kids up and down it all day. The pool table tucked beneath the stairs was covered in Christmas decoration boxes. Clothes hung from the line above the washer and dryer in the corner. 

The cemetery of mismatched furniture created a little living room in one corner, a grandmother’s couch, a neighbors old futon, spare tables for holiday gatherings. 

From the pull out sofa bed, Clarke sat on the edge and waited. Upstairs, the house quieted and the squeals of floorboards as the last siblings awake cleaned up and snuck to their rooms so as not to wake up their parents. 

“I thought you’d be asleep,” Lexa smiled as she made it down the steps to see her girlfriend reading through something while the old television on the mismatched table flashed colors on the walls.

“I had a few things to catch up on.” 

Lexa nodded and pulled her shirt over her head. She had a few drinks under her belt, and that helped. It helped that Clarke kissed her cheek and let her family bombard her with questions. It helped that suddenly Lexa didn’t feel terrible when the lawyer approached.

The ink flashed different colors on the new skin presented. Clarke loved watching it move, watching it shift and change. 

The bra went next, and a shirt covered it again as pants disappeared. 

“I wanted to talk about... the past few weeks,” she broached, swallowing the sight in and shaking it away. 

“I said some things I shouldn’t have,” Lexa acknowledged. “I don--”

“No, you were right. And I have priorities. Your family is... big, and I’m not used to it. I want to... I want to be--”

“I know,” she smiled and crawled onto the wobbly bed. “You’re here.” 

“I took you for granted, and I was self-absorbed.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I wasn’t trying hard enough. It’s hard work, and I didn’t know that it takes constant kind of--”

“You’re here. We can figure it out,” Lexa promised. 

“I thought it might be too much, me coming, but I was already on the train when I figured that out, so it was too late, and then I ended up here--”

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

Clarke let Lexa toss her reading to the side, let it flop onto the concrete floor. She let her crawl onto her legs and let her drape herself across her lap. 

“I’m glad I’m here,” Clarke realized, pushing the messy hair from Lexa’s temple. “Are you okay?” 

“No,” she swallowed and dug her nose into Clarke’s stomach. 

“Want to talk about it?” 

“I just want to be quiet with you.” 

“Okay.” 

It took a second, but Clarke laid back against the pillows in the warm sheets and let Lexa use her like a pillow. She wanted to say a lot more, apologize for even more. But that would be for her, and right now she only wanted to be something good for Lexa. 

“Your family is nice,” she whispered. 

“I can’t believe they didn’t eat you alive before I got here.” 

“They basically did.” 

“I’m so tired,” Lexa shook her head and confessed. 

“You can sleep,” Clarke whispered. She ran her hand up Lexa’s back, rubbing soothing circles there. 

“How long are you staying?” 

“Until we go home.” 

Eyes already shut, Lexa hummed slightly and smiled against Clarke’s ribs. It was nice and warm in their little bubble. Clarke wanted to tell her it was going to be alright, and that things were going to be different, but all that Lexa needed was sleep and to feel safe and like someone was fighting for her, so she kept quiet and she rubbed her back. 

The clouds hung heavy in the sky, dragging thick through the afternoon, slowly twisting themselves empty with a thin kind of rain that was consistent and unrelenting. It felt like the day for a funeral. 

Unsure of her place or her job, Clarke remained quiet, helping the wives of the siblings who were distracted with their grief, each handling it differently, yet ridiculously similarly. All became chickens with their heads cut off, unable to focus on anything, unable to really do anything. Abe lost his tie, Gus broke a crate of eggs, Anya went to the store and returned with nothing on the list, Lexa could barely sit still, and yet couldn’t accomplish a thing. 

And so Clarke followed behind, cleaning up, making breakfast, washing dishes, making sure everyone ate and drank water. It wasn’t much, but she ran out and bought a tie, and she got the stain out of Lexa’s dress, and that was what she had. 

“It was a really nice service,” Clarke offered as she held Lexa’s hand and they made their way to the house. She held the umbrella as best she could, though her girlfriend didn’t seem to notice anything. 

“Before I ended up here, I lived with my mom.” Clarke watched Lexa bring a cigarette to her lips and light it despite the weather. “I don’t know who my dad was. I don’t remember any pictures. But I remember the day I came home and she was gone. She just packed up and left me. And then I came here, and Vô, he found me trying to run away one night, and I don’t remember why, but my voice didn’t work. So he figured out what I wanted, and he drove up and down the streets with me, for weeks, every night, looking for her because I was convinced she was lost.”

She didn’t have any words, but Clarke just held tighter to the umbrella. Bitterly, Lexa inhaled and let smoke drift up into the clouds. Of all the stories she heard of the man who loved her girlfriend, they all ended in this feeling that he was a beloved hero to each person he came in contact with, and that was a lot. 

“He would talk to me, stop and get me a snack, and every night, when we didn’t find her, he’d put me to bed and promise we would try again, but no matter what, I could stay with them.” 

“He sounds amazing.”

“The world feels different without him.” 

“It is different, but if you think it’s without him, you’re very wrong,” Clarke promised. “I never met him, but he made you, and that is no small feat.” 

They lingered in the front yard, taking their time already on the return trip, everyone was already piled inside. Clarke sensed the way Lexa avoided going in, but she was there, and she was good, and so Lexa tossed the butt across the yard and sighed before making her way inside. 

In the kitchen, Lexa helped her mother while Clarke changed clothes, and she shoved up her sleeves and dug into the water, her hands moving as they knew ow after years and years of practice. Clarke absently ran her hand along her back and hugged her, looking over her shoulder at the progress she made at chopping. 

The inhabitants fluctuated through the room, tugging at ties and growing antsy, and Clarke held on for dear life. 

“I’ll get it,” she offered when the bell rang, kissing Lexa’s shoulder and earning a small smile and nod at the offer as she disappeared. 

“I like her,” Abe nodded, stealing some of the veggies his sister cut. “She’s good people, Lex.” 

“She’s a nice girl,” Gabby nodded eagerly while Lexa focused intently on her task. “It was a nice service.” 

“It was,” Lexa agreed, hiding her blush. 

“These are for you, Lexa,” Clarke breezed in again, hidden half behind the bouquet. “From Justice Jameson.”

“You told your boss?” 

“He asked why I wouldn’t be at work,” she shrugged and placed the flowers down on the counter, handing the card to the artist. 

“Who is it?” her mother interrupted. 

“Clarke’s boss. He sent his condolences,” Lexa muttered, reading the note jotted there quickly. “Though I did not meet the man you mourn, having met a single flash of his legacy in you showed me how great your loss must be. Your family is in my prayers during this difficult time. From one vexillologist to another, I know he would be honored by your continued dedication to what he loved.” 

“That is from your boss?” Aden  asked as Lexa tucked the card back into the flowers. 

“My boss, yeah,” Clarke nodded. “I don’t know how he found the address.” 

“That was very kind of him,” the mother smiled fondly. 

“Her boss is a Supreme Court Justice,” Anya reminded the group. 

“He’s just a guy that likes flags,” Lexa shook her head. “Like Vó.” 

It took hours for the house to empty. Well-wishers and supporters, people who were touched by the doting grandfather, friends and relatives, the extended family all lingered and helped clean and helped eat, and they all took their time leaving. Babies were put to sleep, exhausted from being dressed up and passed around. Ties were undone and tossed on door knobs and heels were kicked off while music muffled through the old stereo. 

But once it did, once the door shut and everything quieted, the vodka came out, and the kids gathered in various states of disarray. Clarke sat back and observed because suddenly Lexa became clearer, and more abstract, more unknown. 

As an only child, it was overwhelming, to say the least. As much as she wanted to sneak away and finish the work that piled up in her inbox, Clarke was too distracted and enjoying herself much too much. 

Lincoln’s wife kissed his cheek before disappearing to deal with the crying heard over the baby monitor. He smiled and drank from his beer, solemn and strong for his siblings. 

“I’m going to bed,” Gabby finally wiped her hands on a dishtowel before tossing it on the counter, surveying her full kitchen, the large table filled and added to with mismatched chairs. “Don’t stay up too late,” she warned, earning a kiss from Aden who put his arm around her before he dug for more leftovers. 

“Please don’t make a mess,” she asked, looking specifically at Lexa who shrugged. 

“Love you, Mom,” a chorus of different goodnights mumbled from the table. 

“He loved you all so very much,” the mother paused, watching her grown up kids together at the table, grown from such tiny, scared things to such full, conscious, kind adults. “He would be very proud of you.” 

The table was quiet for a moment while each took in the words. Ellie was the first to move, pouring herself another drink. Her husband put his arm around her chair. 

“Boa noite, Mãe,” Lexa offered. 

The kids watched their mother disappear down the hall, listened to her climb the steps, waited until the door shut. 

“Okay, give me five minutes,” Lexa smiled, standing suddenly, surprising her girlfriend slightly. “Who’s first?” 

“Me, before Jess comes down and tells me no,” Lincoln decided. 

“I have to get across town,” Gus shook his head.

“I’m the youngest,” Aden tried. 

“Me, before Jack loses his nerve to watch,” Ellie chuckled and patted her husband’s cheek. 

“What’s happening?” Clarke furrowed, leaning toward Anya as Lexa slid around the chairs, moving toward the basement. 

“Do you know how rare it is to get all of us together like this?” the nurse scoffed, pouring herself more before adding some to Clarke’s drink. “Luna’s down in Texas. Aden is God knows where half the time. Both can’t get home on leave often. Abe lives out of a suitcase practically, traipsing all over. Gus is on the other side of the city, working every night. Ellie is two hours away. Lexa is about five. Lincoln has the kids and Jess’ family and work. I mean, it’s tough.” 

“Right.” 

“So, we have to celebrate.” 

“Oh no,” Clarke sighed. 

“Oh yeah,” Jack nodded, commiserating. “Welcome to the club.” 

Reluctantly, Clarke clinked her glass with him and swallowed as she surveyed the table. She was the partner, she was Jack and Jess and Tara and Tom, and when she saw their resigned faces with their part of the brood, she realized what a commitment it was. 

“We’re getting jackets made,” Tom offered, earning a pat on the chest from his fiancé. Anya kissed him a second later and laughed. 

“You just have to let them be them,” Tara shrugged and sipped from her wine glass. 

“We’ll send you the checklist for the proper handling and care of your puppy,” Jess smiled, taking her seat again. 

Clarke sipped and felt her eyes grow big with the realization of all of it. It wasn’t terrifying, but a great responsibility. 

The order got figured out through fights and yelling, and she wondered how the parents could sleep through it, but she was certain it was practice. Lots of practice. 

There was something about watching Lexa work though, that dulled the inherent panic of how she ended up in this kitchen, with this vodka, this late at night. Clarke liked the process of it, the business of it, the demeanor that came in Lexa’s face when she sketched and placed and sized, when she prepared the ink and put on the gloves, pushed up her glasses, tested the machine with a few light buzzes. 

Tiny, little flags appeared on different spots on different bodies. Clarke was distracted with watching her girlfriend do her job, watched her grieve in the only way she knew.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Lexa murmured as she cleaned up and tugged off her gloves, in a quiet moment between it all. 

It was small, and it was honest, and it was all that was needed. 

Somewhere on the fourth night after the funeral, after everyone went back to work, back to their houses, after a few trips to the airport and station, Clarke stole away a few hours to catch up on work. Gone from the office for just two days, all other emails seemed negated after and email from her boss telling her not to mention it when it came to his note and flowers, and to take care, because work could wait. 

It was true, and she knew it, but Lexa told her to go ahead, and so she did. In reality, it was an excuse for the artist to run away and play with her old rag tag group of friends and Clarke took it as a good sign. 

It was deep into the night when Lexa crept down the stairs toward the tiny bed set up in the tiny available space. She did not bother much with changing, but tugged off her pants and slid in beside the girl who read from her laptop and waited up. 

It was such a wonderful thing, to be waited up for, and Lexa knew it. 

“Hi,” she whispered, settling atop the lawyer, closing the laptop lid and setting it on the dryer. 

“Hey,” Clarke cooed, adjusting to allow the new blanket. “Did you have a good time?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good. You needed it.” 

“I needed this,” Lexa disagreed, tucking her head into Clarke’s collarbone with a hum. 

Hands moved up and down her side, touched her bones until they slipped beneath her shirt and warmed her skin. Their breathing evened out and only the hiss of the boiler kicked on as someone showered upstairs. 

“Are you ready to go home?” the artist asked, closing her eyes and hearing heartbeat. 

“Whenever you are. I’m here for you.” 

“I’m sorry for how I acted...”

“No, that was needed,” Clarke stopped her. “We have a lot to work on, I think. But so long as we’re each other’s priority, I think it’ll all average out.” 

“Not too good at math, are you, Congress?” 

“I cheated on my Stats final in college.” 

“Shame.”

“Well, it got me here, so I’m okay.” 

Lexa smiled and kissed her shirt before inhaling deeply. It was a lot, all of it, and she was so very tired from existing for the past week. While most of the time days just stacked and stacked, bleeding into another, there were weeks, she knew, that were just exhausting marathons of living, truly living, and coming to the end of one was too much for her. 

Clarke felt the tears on her shirt, against her neck, murky and tepid there, creating a rainforest on the equator of her shoulders, but she let Lexa remain still and she let it happen. Only once did she pause to kiss her head. 

Nothing deterred Lexa, and she cried because she couldn’t grieve before, and because she didn’t know how to stop. And now, when she cried, the first honest cry of Loss, she wanted to be done. 

“It’ll be better after you sleep,” Clarke promised. 

“It won’t.” 

“It will,” she swore. “Because you’ll wake up with this fire for life, and I’ll fall madly in love with you, just like I do every day, and that’s something.”

Lexa sniffled and dried her cheek with her hand. She did not move to sit up or to shift off of her girlfriend who was a pillow now. Slowly, she put herself back the way it was supposed to be. 

“I’m glad you came.” 

“I met your family. Now nothing can scare me.” 

“I can be a handful.” 

“Good.”