#yes but! i wouldn’t change a thing also i was 23 and i spent a month driving across the country and seeing my favorite band on tour <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[dnprenaissance]

i’ve finally got a nice chunk of savings again <3 it only took me *checks calendar* eight months

[bagopucks]

T. Zegras - Disheveled Duckling

✄————————————

Trevor Zegras x Reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 4.2k

Warning(s): Insecurities, and a tiny tiff

—————————————

“Whose decision was it to make Zegras the cover of NHL 23?”

“Tried and failed to make the new face of the league Trevor Zegras.”

“What an absolute joke.”

“Too flashy. Not enough skill.”

“Good thing the Ducks hired another useless player. I was afraid they might actually make the playoffs.”

“Wonder if he has to hold onto sh** when the wind blows”

“His girlfriend need a man’s man?”

“Holy shit!” I slammed the door to the house I’d slowly grown to love. Trevor and Jamie’s.

Jamie’s head shot up from the couch, startled and frightened by both my abrupt arrival and my anger.

“You good?” I heard him chuckle. No doubt nervous. I took my shoes off, locked the door, and turned to look at my boyfriend’s best friend. Silence filled the air around us. Jamie’s nervous smile immediately disappeared.

“It’s impossible.” My shirt was dripping with water, as were my hands. “And you didn’t even come outside to help!”

“Trevor’s car is really that unclean-able?”

“It’s yours! It’s your Jamie! What are you driving through?” His cheeks turned red. Trevor was out for a hockey game, but when I informed him that my work place was trying to schedule a late night meeting, and we hadn’t known how long Jamie was going to be at the doctors office, Trevor said he’d simply take an Uber. I felt bad when Jamie came home five minutes after Trevor had left. So I decided to go out and wash their cars for them. It was a nice day anyway, a little outdoor time hadn’t hurt.

“I don’t know?” I had managed to get Trevor’s car practically spotless before I had waxed it. But Jamie’s was something else. It had tiny asphalt pieces all over. Which was usual on a car, but I couldn’t scrape them away without chipping paint, and they wouldn’t just wipe away either.

The sun had begun setting mere minutes ago. I had given up on Jamie’s car. I was tired, I’d missed more of the hockey game than I wanted to, and now I was simply angry.

“You’re lucky I have a moral compass that says I shouldn’t hit injured people.” I grumbled as I left the living room, walking through the house to find mine and Trevor’s bedroom. I needed a change of clothes. Something comfortable.

I had been getting notifications for a while on my NHL app. I had only stopped to look at a few, but from what I’d seen, the Ducks were losing. Another reason to be stressed. Another reason to worry about my boyfriend.

I met Trevor when he played for the USA hockey team. We just happened to be in the same town and in the same pastry shop the night it happened. He was trying to order a bear claw, and I had let out a rather exaggerated sigh over the fact that it was the last one. We shared it over two cups of iced coffee.

After that, we became friends and remained so for a long time. The year he got drafted into the NHL, it seemed he’d been on enough of an adrenaline rush to ask me out. I said yes. He pursued his dreams while I pursued my own. Our paths of life ran parallel, but close enough to hold hands along our walks.

I’d been around long enough to see Trevor make records in USA hockey, get drafted, play in the AHL, and eventually join the league permanently. I’d also seen the rise and fall of his mentality as those years went by as well.

I couldn’t pinpoint when it truly started, but I would certainly say when the media began pushing to make him the new face of the league. That was when Trevor began to feel the anxiety.

To everybody else, he loved it. To everybody else, he ate up every second of attention he got. He loved the videos online, the commercials, the sponsorships and free stuff. And part of that was true. Trevor did love all of those things.

But people put so much pressure on you when they expect you to be the poster child of anything. It can change people. Hell, Sidney Crosby’s first year in the NHL was spent screaming at any ref he could over a call he didn’t like. Getting misconducts and penalties he ought not to. Good men can fall long ways under immense pressure. But when the spotlight is on you, all people want is to see you fall and fail. People want to see the hero bend and bend and eventually break.

Trevor loved the attention, but he despised the hate. He didn’t like opening his sports news apps to find articles on himself, and not having the impulse control to not read them. He hated posting something on Instagram, and going back to check a comment from a friend, only to find hate surrounding it. He hated hearing people he looked up to all his life’s putting him down left and right. He hated being misunderstood, but not given the platform to express his grievances. He had no right to discuss his feelings. Nobody would listen.

Perhaps that had been what made him feel like he couldn’t come to me. What made him pull away when I could tell he was tense and disappointed. It took me forever to really understand why he would come home looking so defeated. Looking like a parent who should have expected better from their kid. It took me forever to realize how much Trevor hated himself.

I blamed it on the publicity over and over again. They built him up so much, just to tear him back down. And I knew with each loss, there was a new article. A new post. A new video. A new comment.

My hopes were whisked away when I opened the NHL app to see the score. 5-1. Not a good look for the Ducks. Then of course, upon further inspection, opening the live summary of the game, I realized Trevor had his own ten minute misconduct.

I was never happy that he fought. That he got in people’s faces and picked fights with guys who could have pinned him down to the ice in one shove. But I understood somewhat. Trevor was just trying to look out for himself. Trying in his own short tempered way to be heard in a league that would not listen to him. But we both found through time that nobody was on his side other than his team and few friends.

“Jamie!” I tossed my phone down onto the bed as I grabbed a spare shirt and a pair of shorts. I quickly changed, the lack of response leading me to assume Jamie was ignoring me. I rolled my eyes as I walked back down the hall, stopping once I was in the living area and over the couch.

Not ignoring, somehow asleep. I worried sometimes about him and his pain medication. He was responsible with it, but I still worried. I gently nudged him. Easy to wake, per usual. And he couldn’t have been out that long.

I nudged Jamie again, watching his eyes flutter open. I gestured for him to move, and he quickly cleared a space for me on the edge of the couch. I sat and took the tv remote, turning the screen on.

“Have you had the game on at all?”

“No.. it’s been.. kinda- stressing me out.” I nodded.

“Trevor got into another fight.” Jamie wasn’t surprised. But he knew as well as I did that Trevor was struggling. On his own little broken sailboat, refusing help because he didn’t want anybody else to be caught up in his storm.

“It should be over by now.” Jamie shifted and sat up, leaning against the arm rest of the couch.

I found the channel and flipped it on. Sure enough, Jamie had been correct. I crossed one of my legs over the other, eyeing up the tv in search of my boyfriend. When I couldn’t find him, I assumed they had kicked him out of the entire arena for the last ten minutes of the game. Banished to the locker room.

I used to love games that took place in the middle of the day. Trevor would come home and we’d have dinner together. Then we’d curl up in bed and whisper for hours until we fell asleep. Now, games in the middle of the day meant there was extra time to avoid aggravating Trevor.

We sat in silence until the goal horn sounded, frustrated Ducks players exiting the ice. It was a waiting game now. One Jamie and I were happy to do together, so neither had to worry about Trevor alone.

“He’ll probably be fine.” Jamie broke the silence with a statement we both knew to be false.

“He hasn’t been fine.” I knew that in my mind, but my heart broke at the first confession of the fact. Trevor had been a wreck of emotions and I hadn’t been able to fix even one of his problems.

And he hid it all so well underneath that big smile. And all those jokes.

Jamie and I returned to silence not long after, but when we caught the headlights through the window, he had been the first to get up to leave.

“You should handle this one.. right?” I gave a nod in approval to his suggestion.

“I’ve got him.”

Jamie retreated to his room after that. Always only one call away if Trevor or I ever needed him. I was supposed to be one call away for Trevor too. Why didn’t he ever dial my number?

I waited for what felt like hours for Trevor to come inside. He never did. So I decided to see what was going on. I unlocked and opened the front door, surprised by the sight of Getzlaf’s car in the driveway. I could just barely make out the silhouette of two figures, one pointing at the other in a manner that looked tense.

I leaned in the doorway, and waited patiently before I was spotted. Getzlaf gestured, and Trevor climbed out of the car. He grabbed his gear from the back, and I heard his voice shout something to his old captain before making his way up the short drive to the door. I wasn’t sure what to say, so instead I stood there, staring at Trevor as his eyes met mine. He looked like he was waiting for something.

“Can I come in?” I was surprised by Trevor’s tone. Playful and lighthearted. I looked skeptical, but I nodded and stepped aside nonetheless.

“I was thinking we could do dinner? I miss that. Maybe- we could try.. like steaks? I know Jamie just got a pack the other day.” Trevor’s always been talkative, but this time it feels off. There was a sound in his voice I didn’t know how to place.

“Trevor I can’t cook steaks.”

“Let me do it.” I stared at him as he shut the door. He hated cooking.

“Come on! It’ll be fun! Let me take care of you.” I shrugged. What’s the worst that could happen?

Trevor insisted I sit at the table while he did his thing. I was hesitant, but I allowed him space nonetheless. Trevor tried to talk about the game a bit, but the bitter laugh that occasionally fell from his lips, and the sad sound in his voice usually caused him to stop before he got into any good details. He often stopped his own comments with something like, “guess it doesn’t matter anyway.” And the repetition of the phrase made me feel like it was a media interview. Like he was repeating and repeating just to get me to go away and stop asking questions. I hadn’t asked any in the first place. That’s what he was hesitant about.

“And the misconduct?” I hoped to look disinterested. Like it didn’t bother me, so I looked down at my phone. Trevor never turned to look at me.

“It was bullshit.” I glanced up at him. His shoulders rose slightly.

“What was it on?”

“You didn’t watch?” Trevor turned to look at me, and I don’t know why, but this time he seemed upset. I had missed games of his before… but this was the first in a long time.

“I was a little busy.” I smiled at him, hopeful to keep the clean car a secret until he could see it in the morning.

“No that’s cool..” he shrugged it off and turned back to the stove. It was definitely not cool, not to him, but he wanted to move on. So we moved on.

I listened to Trevor occasionally mumble under his breath about whatever he was making, the sweet smell of cooked meat filling the kitchen along with the sound of the sizzle of two steaks on the pan. I was certain I hadn’t missed out on Trevor learning how to cook.

Once they were finished, my boyfriend beckoned me over, and I was quick to join his side. He cut a piece and I waited for it to cool off before biting the tender piece of meat off the knife he held. At first it was perfect. Then it was oddly sweet. I made a face. Trevor noticed.

“What’s wrong with it?”

My eyes searched the various items and ingredients strewn across the counter. When I noticed it, I giggled.

“Trevor,” I nodded my head toward the container I used for sugar. I never labeled it because I knew what it was, and the boys didn’t use the big box of sugar I had set aside for baking.

“That’s sugar.” His face fell for a split second. Then he started to laugh. I thought about joining him before it all just felt off. Trevor’s eyes quickly adopted a glazed over look, his smile falling into a frown as the laughter ceased and an overwhelming look of grief overcame his features.

Trevor shook his head before turning the stovetop off. I reached for him while he reached for his keys in his pocket.

“Where do you wanna eat?”

“Baby no. We’ll fix this.”

“I don’t want to. Where do you want to eat?”

“Trevor.”

“I said I don’t want to!”

We didn’t get into fights much. We didn’t like to, but I couldn’t keep disregarding his feelings for his comfort. Something had to give.

“I love you, but you’re gonna sit your ass down and talk to me Trevor.”

“Fuck this.” He shook his head, tossing his keys onto the counter and turning to walk away.

“Trevor!” I snapped and followed him. “I am so sick of seeing you so- so sad! You have to talk to me!”

“I don’t!”

“Then who are you going to talk to? Huh?” Because I knew he was horrible at opening up.

“I don’t know! Nobody fucking listens!” I followed him all the way into our room, pushing the door shut behind myself.

“I’m listening!” I was desperate. “Trevor, I’m right. Here.” He turned to look at me. His anger eased into a blank stare, and it seemed my offer brought everything crashing down at once.

We stared each other down. Both waiting for the other to give up or make some kind of move.

“I’m so tired.” Trevor’s voice quivered, his lips pulling into a frown I hated to see. His eyes fell to the floor.

“Everybody’s so…” he drew in a breath. “Too much- it’s all too much.” Trevor sat down on the side of our bed, his head fell into his hands. “They hate me.”

There was a little kid in there. Devastated. Heartbroken that his heroes wanted him gone. That kids parents didn’t deem him a good role model. That he was ruining his own track record by trying to stay afloat. Trying to survive when nobody respected him. When refs pushed him around and legends dragged his name through the mud. Trevor just wanted to live his dream. He had fun before all the publicity. He didn’t need it, but it was forced on him.

“Nobody hates you.” I slowly made my way over, raking my hands through his hair. Trevor lifted his head to look at me, his brow furrowed and his cheeks red.

“Everybody does! I don’t want to be the guy everybody hates!” Trevor raised his voice, but I couldn’t be bothered to be upset. This was only the tip of the iceberg.

“They liked me..” his voice dropped to a mere whisper. My brow furrowed as I rested my hands on his cheeks, prepared to wipe tears as they began to fall.

“Huh?” I met his volume, Trevor closed his eyes tightly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“They liked me.. and I ruined it.” Sure, he hadn’t been perfect, but even the aggressive egotistical asshole players had fans. This wasn’t Trevor’s doing. This was the media realizing they failed and then deciding to spin his story. To make him a villain.

“It’s all my fault.” His words were interrupted by a broken gasp, I guided his head to lean against my stomach, pushing a sigh past my lips as I tried not to get too emotional.

“Trevor, this is not your fault.” I ran one hand through his hair while the other held his head.

“I just can’t- fuck!” His voice was muffled in my shirt. “I don’t want this.” I glanced down at him again, my hands travelled to his jaw to move his head from my body.

Trevor’s eyes met my own. So sad. So lost. So broken.

“I don’t want hockey if it comes with all this shit.” He tried to bury his head back against my body, but I held his jaw tightly.

“Trevor.” I carefully moved forward, resting my legs on the bed on either side of his own. I sat on his thighs and pulled Trevor in for a tight hug. His hands gripped the sides of my shirt.

“You just have to be patient. They’re gonna test you.” I whispered against his ear as his head buried in the crook of my neck.

“They test me every day.” I sighed. I didn’t know how to help. “I mess everything up.. they don’t want me. They want somebody who can actually get shit done. They want somebody bigger and faster.. and stronger. They want what I’m not.”

I rubbed at his back with one of my hands.

“Trevor, nobody gives a shit about your weight.” I had never heard a single thing on it before. Sure, maybe his mom made a comment or two about how skinny he was, but it was more so commentary when she was trying to feed him. It never had anything to do with his job.

“Yes they do.” He was insistent. I knew this was a projection. Him trying to find a reason to blame himself for something he couldn’t help. Not everybody gained muscle easily. It wasn’t a bad thing. But to him it was. To him, it was embarrassing.

“I think you look great already. If you get too big, then you can’t lay on top of me any more.”

“That’s not the point.” My joke crash landed. It only seemed to frustrate Trevor more. “People just.. they say shit.” I rested one of my hands on Trevor’s forearm while I worked the other through his hair.

“Like what?”

“That I can’t keep up.. that I’m too scrawny. I need to ‘build up.’ But I can’t! I try and I can’t! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” He sounded desperate. Desperate for answers I didn’t have.

“It’s genetics Trev. It’s not something you can help.” I knew he tried a million different things. Nothing ever worked. And I knew how hopeless he could get when he’d go to take a peek in the bathroom mirror, and see absolutely no progress. Trevor never had an issue with his body until people started saying things about it.

He’d always wanted to get bigger, but he was patient before. He was willing to really take his time. Now one comment could leave him in the gym for more hours on end than he ought to be in there for. One chirp left him laid down next to me in bed with a shirt on and a pair of pants, curled in on himself like it would somehow make him and his insecurities any less noticeable.

“Or maybe I just shouldn’t be playing hockey. Maybe I’m just not cut out for it.” His sadness had shifted into acceptance. Like he was ready to give up.

“They drafted you Trevor. People talked about you forever. People were elated to have you in the league.”

“Yeah. Were.“

“They still are.” I sighed. “So you have an attitude? They’ll get over it. You know how many people have said they love you? They love your personality, and your talent? You’re a new version of the game. A new type of style everybody is going to know you for.” I moved my hand from Trevor’s hair. I gently traced his jawline with my fingers, holding my breath at the sight of my disheveled duckling.

“What if it never gets better?” Trevor had thought about this more than I realized. I shook my head.

“It will. There’ll be some new hotshot they’ll idolize and attack. Some new player who takes a downward spiral that they decide to torture. This won’t be you forever.. you just have to stay strong while it happens. Okay?”

“I just wanted to play hockey..” exhaustion was evident in his tone. I allowed Trevor to rest his head on my shoulder again, his breaths were heavy from trying to hold back the tears that hadn’t fallen.

“It’ll all work itself out, Trev.” My voice lowered to a whisper. “They did the same thing to Jack.. they did the same thing to Crosby. You just have to handle it better.. that’s all. You know I love you, I just think they get under your skin too easy.”

“I know.” Trevor sighed.

“You have to remember to calm down sometimes. Nobody’s ever going to listen if all you do is yell and fight.”

“That’s what Getz said.” I had been curious, but at no point did I consider asking what Getzlaf had said to Trevor. It hadn’t been my place. But I was happy Trevor told me nonetheless. It was reassuring to know somebody else was telling him the same things.

“You need a stress ball out there or something.” I joked softly, running my hand through Trevor’s hair one last time before I rested my hands on his shoulders, pushing him back so I could see him.

Trevor mustered a sad smile at my words.

“Maybe you just need to chew on your glove like Jack.” I added, trying to go two for two. It seemed that comment earned a giggle from him.

“Or reach out and talk to him.” My tone took up a more serious sound. Trevor pursed his lips and nodded. “You guys don’t talk as much as you should. He probably gets jealous of Jamie.”

I went three for three the second I noticed Trevor’s smile widen, his eyes squinting as well when he laughed.

Silence enveloped our own little world. I tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. Trevor seemed to finally relax.

“We’re gonna be okay,” I whispered as I gently placed my hands on his chest. Trevor picked up the cue to lay back as I propped myself up over him.

“And I love you.” I added softly, pressing a kiss to his collar. “And Jamie loves you,” Trevor smiled again. “And your mom, and your siblings, and your dad. And all of your friends all scattered about.” I climbed off of Trevor and slipped off the bed. He looked confused before sitting up to look at me, eventually standing as well.

“You don’t have to be perfect.” He stepped closer, resting his hands on my sides as my own slipped beneath his shirt to hold his hips. “Nobody needs you to become a body builder.” I continued. Trevor nodded slowly. “And nobody needs you to lose that attitude.” I wrapped my arms around his body beneath his shirt, gently scratching his back. His weakness. He loved back scratches. “Just keep being the Trevor I know and love. Just be yourself, okay? Everything comes after that.”

And everything did come after that. I didn’t want Trevor to lose himself or his confidence because of others.

After I got him settled, Trevor and I had cleaned the mess in the kitchen and I took him out for a quick dinner. We ate on some curbside, talking and laughing over nonsense. When we did get home, I had checked up on Jamie, prepared to ask if he was hungry before I found he’d been asleep. After that, I slipped back into our room and got settled in bed with him, flipping through streaming services until we found something to fall asleep to.

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[jrow]

May Prompt (22)

Day 21 here. Start from the beginning here. Day 23 here.

Night

The night has always been his saviour.

No matter how bad things are, he’s always known he’ll survive if he makes it to the night.

As a child, the night provided refuge from the people he didn’t understand and expectations he could never meet.

By university he knew the language of the masses, but also knew they would never understand his. The nights alone—away from the judgment and ridicule of his peers—were the main reason he survived.

As an adult, nights are where he’s done his best thinking, the dark and quiet acting as a catalyst for creative thinking and snowballing of ideas. Most people lose their grasp of reality at night, with anxiety and self doubt taking over. It’s the opposite for him—the answers, the truth, often become clear when the rest of the world is asleep.

When he was on the run, the nights kept him sane. It was only under dark skies that he allowed himself to think of home. To think of John. To imagine fairytales of what might await his return. He always knew they were just fantasies, but they kept him going.

These past few days, night has served as his North Star, his goal. God, he loves Rosie, but …. well, after dealing with the chaos that is a toddler, it’s nice to love her when she’s quieting and sleeping like an angel.

This evening has been … a challenge. There is a ten step process for bedtime. Each step is absolutely essential—as he learned the hard way that time he tried to skip step six, walking the dirty clothes the hamper. Tonight, Rosie fought every step of the routine and it took nearly an hour and a half.

He understands why. It was a day of “big feelings” for the both of them. The three of them, actually. Because John is home.

John was discharged in the late afternoon and Rosie had been a ball of excited nervous energy since then. Lots of jumping. Lots of falling. Lots of smiles. Lots of tears. Lots of everything.

Lots.

He had insisted on doing bedtime. It was better for him everyone. Rosie has gotten used to him over the past few days and John is still … well … fragile in a way. John had put up a cursory argument but was tired himself and quickly acquiesced.

And now, Rosie is asleep and she is safe. When she wakes, she will be precocious and funny and perfect. That he has had some hand in that may be his greatest achievement.

He closes the door to her room and makes his way to John’s. Now that Rosie is sleeping—now that it is night—he has time to work on the case.

It’s funny in a way how things change. If something like this had happened when he first met John, he would have left him alone in the hospital and been off working on the case immediately. Wouldn’t even have heard about the assassination attempt. If this had happened after knowing John for a year, he would have kidnapped John from the hospital so they could work on the case together, health consequences be damned. If this had happened around the time John got married, he would have spent every second focused on finding the man who attempted to murder John. Then he would have killed him. Then he would have solved the case. Then he would have visited John.

But now … well, solving the case is important but it’s hardly the priority. At least not during the day when the world is awake. But now it’s night.

John should be going to sleep—the man is clearly exhausted. But the fool wants to help. So they struck a deal. They would work together in John’s room, with John lying in bed. He is sure John will fall asleep in no time.

“I thought I’d start going through the pile of new surveillance footage,” John says through a yawn.

Yes, John will be asleep in within 5 minutes.

“Good idea, I’ll go through the case files. Something connects these stores, I just need to find out what,” he says, plopping down in the chair at the foot of the bed.

He had thought the thefts were random—crimes of opportunity—but now he sees everything was planned to a t. Which means the stores, and the order they were targeted, were picked for a reason.

Ten minutes later, John drops the tablet he’s been watching before startling awake.

“Go to bed, John,” he says quietly, picking up the tablet and gently moving it to the side table.

“Mmmkay,” says John, laying his head on his pillow before mumbling, “big plans tomorrow.”

“What’s that?” he asks quietly, not expecting an answer.

But he gets one, mumbled as it is. “We should go for cake. Three of us. Is the weekend. Cake then gift.”

He freezes. The gift. He’d almost forgotten. It seems like so long ago. It seems like it just happened.

“We don’t need to…” he starts, but stops as he sees John is asleep.

God damn it, Mycroft is right. He hates when Mycroft is right. He needs to tell John the truth about the chase. About John’s fall. He needs a do over or whatever the hell the term is. If he tells John, then maybe he can open that damn gift without his guilt eating him alive.

He picks up the tablet to move it to the sitting room. The screen wakes up, revealing the final image John was looking at. A young couple at the counter in New Cavendish, looking at rings, presumably. A uniformed constable is leaving.

His eyes go wide and he drops the tablet, diving to get the case notes he was just reading. Yes, there it is. The owner of Cox and Power explaining the store had been visited by a friendly unnamed constable the day the store was robbed.

He drops to the floor and crosses his legs, arranging all the notes so they are laid out in front of him. The sound of John snoring softly acting as his soundtrack.

It’s time to work.

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @quimerasyutopias @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty

[raspberryfingers]

A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 23)

WARNING: Hangings, SA insinuations

—————

All—or rather most of—the Lannister soldiers had returned to Casterly Rock, and though Tywin was expected to return to Kings Landing, he had sent a raven to Kevan. He’d rather enjoyed the small break from the utter hell that was the Red Keep, and so had I. 

With the kindness and hospitality of the Starks, we planned to spend another week at Winterfell. During that time, we also intended to visit Castle Black. Tywin had said it was nonsense, but I’d always wanted to see the wall, and he found that he couldn’t refuse me. Plus, if we were going to be here, we might as well actually enjoy it. 

I could tell he was also rather intrigued by the Stark girl, who he had not had the opportunity to speak with yet. Every time he saw her, there was a spark in his eyes I’d never seen before. He was trying to figure her out. 

The day we had planned to take our trip to the wall, he finally found an opportunity to interrogate her. Or at least, that’s what it felt like to her.

—————

Arya was going back to her room now that she’d finished her breakfast, hoping to get in some practice with needle. Truthfully, she was desperate to ask you for help. To train with you felt like something of a dream to her. She’d spent a lifetime listening to her older brothers talking about you when she was little, and since then, all she’d ever wanted was to be like you. 

A fierce, female warrior. Gods, she wanted it badly. Now that you were at Winterfell, she hoped to find an opportunity to ask for your tutelage. Though, it seemed she would have to get past Tywin Lannister in order to get to you, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. 

He’d laughed when he first saw her, yes, but there was always a possibility he’d grown angry about it since then. Or that he had assumed she had been trying to kill him. 

Well, she had meant to, but not when she’d named the guard. 

Though, these thoughts were all interrupted when she turned the hall and ran straight into the man she had been avoiding.

“M-My lord,” she stuttered, looking up at the significantly taller man. His eyes were like pure ice, despite being a southern.

“Lady Arya.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and Tywin furrowed his eyebrows pensively. 

“It was you, wasn’t it? You tried to kill me,” he said, watching her lips part. She shook her head rather quickly, swallowing.

“No, my lord. It was only the messenger I killed. Well, it wasn’t me. I- I named him to another. The guard was going to tell you… I took one of your letters,” she admitted meekly, knowing he wouldn’t dare do anything to her in her own home. He merely nodded and paused for a second. It was at least reassuring to know that he wasn’t actually the target.

“Who did it?”

“I can’t remember his name. He was from Essos, though. He- he could change his face,” Arya said, lying to conceal Jaquen’s identity at least a little bit. Tywin could tell she was lying, but did not press further. If the man was from Essos it made no difference. It was the last part that captured his attention.

“How do you mean change his face?” Tywin inquired warily. The girl was not lying, but perhaps he had misunderstood.

“He could become different people. He could change how he looked. I don’t- I don’t know how to explain it, my lord,” she said, watching his pensive face. It was always so impossible to tell what Tywin Lannister was thinking. For anyone that wasn’t you, at least.

Tywin had heard of faceless men before, and knew that if they did exist they served the ‘many faced god.’ He’d never entirely believed in their legitimacy, but the girl had no reason to lie. Nor would she even know about faceless men unless she’d really met one. 

“I see. Well, I’m glad I was not the intended target. Though, it was rather bold of you to take one of my letters,” he said sharply, eyes squinting at the young Stark. Arya wanted to swallow, a certain fear in her stomach, but she did not let it show.

“Wouldn’t you do the same if you knew someone intended to harm your family?” She questioned. He paused for a moment, and then nodded. 

“Yes, yes I would.”

They both stared at each other for a few moments, and Arya found herself wondering if she should say something. In all honesty, she wasn’t exactly sure what to say, and she was grateful when Tywin spoke first.

“You’re a clever girl, Lady Arya,” he remarked, handing out a rare compliment. 

“You’re not mad at me?” She asked, swallowing now. She couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“No, girl. You were impressive, though perhaps bolder than most would be. If you were only a bit less rigid, I might’ve believed your lies,” he complimented, giving her an appreciative look. She felt herself smiling, though she did not want to. Arya found conversation with Tywin Lannister easy, especially now that they weren’t at war. 

“You’re not as bad as everyone says, you know,” she said after hesitating for a moment. She would never entirely trust him, just as any smart person would, but he’d been more decent to her than plenty of men. 

“You’d better not tell people you think that,” he warned, reminding her that as much as he enjoyed her, she wasn’t quite his equal. Not yet. 

“I wasn’t going to, but I thought I ought to tell you,” she said, looking down at his boots for a moment. She forced herself to look back at his face. 

“I would thank you if I thought it was a compliment. I’ve done plenty of bad in my life, Lady Arya. Sparing you from that side of me doesn’t erase it. Come, I’ll walk you to wherever you’re going,” he said, motioning for her to keep walking. He wanted to make the conversation somewhat productive. She nodded and began to walk toward her chambers. His heavy steps followed behind. 

“I know that. But still, plenty of men are unreasonable to everyone, and you’re not. You let me speak and ask questions, even though I shouldn’t have,” she pointed out to him, looking up. She’d grown taller since he’d last seen her, but was still quite a lot shorter than he was. She also looked much more like a woman now. Her days of hiding as a boy were long over.

“You intrigued me. A young girl hiding as a boy who knew how to read and knew plenty of history. And you’re not dumb. You’d be surprised just how often I’m plagued by people full of stupidity,” he grumbled, making her smile a bit. 

“I saw it firsthand.”

“Then I’m surprised you don’t understand why I was decent towards you.”

Arya laughed at that one, and Tywin gave her a brief smile. She’d only seen it for a second, but somehow she found herself holding onto it. Tywin Lannister never smiled. He only did so in front of people he truly enjoyed, such as you and Arya.

“I thought you’d be more like-“ Arya paused, suddenly realizing she shouldn’t say what she intended to. 

“Like whom?” Tywin questioned, already knowing which name was about to slip from her tongue. He had no great care for his eldest grandson either. 

“Like… Joffrey,” she finished quietly, looking down at the stone ground passing beneath her feet. 

“That boy was singular, and not in a good way. The product of a detached father and a mother who gave him anything he wanted. Though, I imagine it’s more than that. Tommen and Myrcella are nothing like him,” he noted, reflecting that of his grandchildren Joffrey truly was the only one with such a spoiled, cruel nature. Perhaps it was that he had been raised to be king. 

Or perhaps some were put on earth simply to be cruel. 

“He was the reason- Mycah…” Arya had muttered it under her breath, but Tywin had heard. 

“Hm?”

She looked up at him, swallowing.

“Years ago, when we were on the kingsroad with father and King Robert, I’d met this boy named Mycah in one of the villages. His name was Mycah. We were practicing- sparring. Joffrey and Sansa found us, and Joffrey cut Mycah as a punishment. The situation… well, it didn’t get any better. My direwolf bit him and he got so upset Cersei demanded they kill Sansa’s wolf since they couldn’t find mine. Sansa should’ve realized he was a horrible boy that day,” Arya ranted, eyebrows knitting together as she thought about it. Tywin watched the anger boil within her. 

“Well, Margaery Tyrell saved her a bit of trouble on that front. A lifetime of it,” Tywin remarked, not certain what to say about the rest of her story. He certainly found it quite truthful, though. It was exactly the kind of thing Cersei would do. His daughter was complex, and often two different people. The same woman who had cried in his arms was simultaneously capable of great cruelty. 

“Sansa told me they were good friends. She also spoke highly of Lady (Y/N). Robb did too,” Arya noted, trying to gauge the Old Lion’s reaction as she said your name. She was hoping somehow she would get the opportunity to bring up that she wished to practice with you. 

“Yes, most people do,” Tywin said simply. The girl was going somewhere with this, he understood that, but he simply wanted to watch her get to the point herself.

“Sansa wrote from Highgarden a few months ago. She said she’d witnessed the tourney held in Kings Landing, and that Lady (Y/N) had emerged victorious in the fighting rounds. She said that- that just as everyone began to fear for her life, she escaped her chokehold by stabbing both of the man’s eyes. Sansa said it made her nauseous, but I would’ve liked to see it,” Arya rambled fondly, a clear admiration for you in her tone. Tywin was quite aware of this, and it took him more work than usual to hold back a smile. 

“She’s an inspiration to you, isn’t she? Along with Visenya Targaryen,” he questioned, remembering the conversations they’d had at Harrenhal. Arya nodded, a bright grin on her face. He could tell she wanted to be a warrior more than anything else on earth. 

“I was- I was wondering if you… if you could ask her to practice with me. To teach me some things,” Arya finally managed to get out, looking up at Tywin expectantly. He gave her a slight nod. 

“You ought to ask her yourself. She’ll be happy to do it.”

Arya instantly grinned even wider, and it was then that she realized they’d reached her room. Stopping, she swallowed and considered what she was going to say.

“Thank you, Lord Tywin,” was all she managed, not entirely sure how else she could express her gratitude. Both for giving her the courage to approach you and for walking with her. Not to mention, for sparing her life at Harrenhal.

“You’re welcome, my lady. Try and behave yourself, hm? You’ve got quite a bit of Tully in you,” Tywin remarked, affectionately placing his hand on her head. She nodded, and he motioned for her to go in. Once she had, he found himself smiling. The girl was so clever, so eager to learn. 

Being around children like that reminded him of what his life had been like before Tyrion was born. It reminded him of the days he’d been able to sit on the beach with Joanna while the children played in the ocean. If Ned Stark was still alive, he had no question in his mind that he would be beyond proud of his children.

Tywin wished he could say the same. 

—————

I was getting ready for our trip to the wall, dressed in the standard northern fashions, and admittedly quite happy that I was. With winter arriving any day now, temperatures had begun to drop increasingly low. 

Plus, as I looked in the mirror and found Tywin adjusting the straps of his fur cloak, I realized he was quite the portrait in leather. 

I came up behind him, smiling as his eyes met mine in the mirror.

“What?” He asked, knowing I was about to make some sort of remark. Just as I had learned to read his expressions, he knew mine perfectly.

“Northern fashion suits you, my lord. You look quite handsome in furs and leather,” I said, wrapping my arms around his chest and grinning at him in the reflection. 

“Is that so? I prefer you, my lady, in Lannister red and golds. Or your custom, scandalous Tyrell fashions,” he said, turning around to face me. There was a quick kiss planted on my forehead.

“Not to say that this dress doesn’t flatter you, of course,” he corrected himself quickly, looking me up and down. I raised an eyebrow at him. 

“If you’re honest with yourself, Tywin, you just like to see my tits out,” I teased, running my hand over his hair to fix a few strands. 

“May I demand a trial by combat?” He muttered in reply, making me laugh rather loudly. Tywin, I occasionally realized, had become accustomed to making jokes around me. It was an odd thing to consider, especially when he never did it around anybody else. I made him unafraid to smile and laugh, it seemed.

I kissed his cheek, and he leaned into my touch with a gentle smile. I then watched him pull his gloves on and reach for his sword. 

“You’re going to bring a sword?” I questioned, not seeing any danger at the wall so long as we were with the Starks. Jon Snow was Lord Commander, after all.

“The night's watch is entirely made up of murderers and rapists. Yes, I’m going to bring my sword. You ought to hide a dagger in your boots,” he suggested, sheathing the weapon in his belt. I knew he was right, and so naturally I opted to take his advice. Once I had stored my dagger safely, I took his arm and accompanied him outside. 

“I spoke with the Stark girl today, just after breakfast,” he said suddenly as we walked through the somewhat snow-covered ground. We were heading for the stables, of course.

“Oh? And how did that go?” I inquired, lifting my skirts slightly. 

“Well. She looks up to you. She also mentioned wanting to ask you to teach her some things as far as swordsmanship is concerned,” he revealed, making me smile brightly. To inspire young girls like her would always make me happy. It was reassuring to know that female warriors would continue to persevere despite criticism from the opposite sex.

“And how did you respond to that?” I asked, shivering slightly. Even despite my dress, it was freezing outside. 

“I told her she should ask you herself, and that you’d probably be more than happy to do it,” Tywin said, reaching for his cloak. When I realized he meant to give it to me, I shook my head. 

“Don’t. I’ll warm up once we start riding. Plus, I don’t want you to get cold either. If you get sick you’ll whine just as all men do,” I told him, watching him raise a challenging eyebrow. He clearly disagreed with my sentiment.

“I would not whine. Lesser men, perhaps, but not me,” he grumbled, upset. I began to laugh.

“If you say so, Tywin.”

I was still laughing when Robb Stark, followed by his two younger siblings, appeared in the courtyard. Tywin gave me a look that told me to be silent, which I cooperated with. Though Tywin and I joked with each other often, I understood there was always a fearsome reputation to maintain, and I would never get in the way of that. 

At least in front of other nobles. 

“Lord Tywin, Lady (Y/N). On your way to the stables?” Robb inquired, walking beside us now. Arya and Rickon were chatting away behind us, both rather excited to see Jon Snow, I gathered.

“Yes, my lord. I’d like to thank you again for bringing us with you to the wall. The Lord Hand may complain, but I am personally rather excited to see it,” I said, smiling at him while Tywin scoffed and shook his head. Robb smiled too.

“Of course. It’s good that you’re here now, Jon’s hanging a group of traitors today, I hear,” he explained, looking over at his shoulder. We all had a mutual understanding that the children ought to be exposed to it. Death was inevitable for all of us, we might as well be accustomed to it. 

“Traitors?” Tywin questioned, clearly wanting to know what they had done.

“Angry about his decision to bring wildlings south. They tried to kill Jon,” Robb informed, making my eyebrows raise in surprise. 

Murders and rapists, indeed. 

After reaching the stables and mounting our horses, our small group—plus a modest amount of guards—set out for the wall. 

Robb and Rickon were riding in the front, and I rode beside Tywin and Arya behind them. The Hound and two other men were at the very back of the group. 

“Lady (Y/N)… I have a question,” Arya said, to which I raised my eyebrows, indicating that she ask it. 

“Would you… would you practice with me? Or rather, teach me, I suppose. Sandor’s been helping me with my sword work, but you’re quite good with daggers. Plus you’re- well, smaller than Sandor. I’d like to get advice from someone that doesn’t have that advantage,” she said, smiling at me. I instantly nodded and returned the grin.

“Of course, Lady Arya. Daggers are the best weapons a person can learn to yield. Especially a woman, as they’re easy to hide underneath skirts and such. I’d be more than happy to help you. We can start tomorrow if you’d like,” I offered, watching the excitement grow in her eyes. 

“And you’re talented with poison, too. Could you teach me something about that?”

The girl was rather surprising, and I saw Tywin look over in my peripheral vision. Clearly her request had caught both of us off guard. 

“I don’t- well, learning to fight is one thing, Lady Arya, but unless you intend to go around killing people, poison doesn’t exactly have a place within what I can teach you,” I said, trying to let her down gently. 

“I have a list,” she explained simply, to which I was unable to hide my shock. This girl was unlike any other I’d ever met. 

“I see. Well, let’s focus on the daggers first, hm?” I suggested, knowing that most poisons would be dangerous if they even so much as touched her skin. She’d need to become extremely talented with the blade before attempting to coat them. 

Arya nodded, looking ahead again. I turned to Tywin, who was trying to suppress a smile. He succeeded, but I’d caught the look on his face. 

“What?” I asked, knowing he wanted to say something. He leaned toward me a bit. 

“You were even more wild at her age.”

He whispered it only loud enough for me to hear, and I promptly responded by smacking his shoulder. He leaned away from me, raising both eyebrows playfully. He wasn’t smiling, but I could tell he was amused and reveling in his ability to infuriate me. 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment and not as the insult you meant it to be, Tywin,” I said, not exactly facing him but glaring at him from the side of my eyes anyways. 

“I did not mean it as an insult, my lady. It was only the truth.”

“Well, perhaps I would not have been quite so wild if my host had not been an insufferable-“ 

I had been about to say it, but I caught myself and held my tongue, knowing that Robb Stark and the rest of his family would not find it humorous the way that Tywin and I did. 

Most likely, they would assume we were actually having an argument and grow uncomfortable. 

Either way, Tywin had quite the smug look on his face, and I couldn’t resist the urge to scoff and smile at him. 

In all my life, I’d never met anyone other than Tywin who managed to make me smile without fail. Or who managed to tease and aggravate me so much simultaneously. It was one of the things I loved most about him.

Just then, the trees around the road began to clear up, and Tywin and I found ourselves gazing upon the wall itself. It was just a bit taller than I remembered Casterly Rock being, and that meant it was massive.

Robb Stark looked back at us, a smile on his face when he saw my gaping mouth. 

“You never get used to seeing it, trust me,” he said, to which I nodded in agreement. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing one could get used to.

We could see Castle Black now too, and I was glad for it. I had in fact not warmed up on the ride there, and I was desperate to be by a fire. Or out of the cold wind, at the very least.

When we reached the gates, the guards inquired about who we were for a moment, but easily relented and called for Jon Snow once Robb had explained it. 

Plus, surely the Stark banners waving behind us were a sign enough.

As our group entered and dismounted, several men took our horses away, though not without glancing at me quite obviously. My shivering continued. 

Murderers and rapists.

Arya was walking besides Robb, and I knew men wouldn’t dare to look at her simply out of respect. If they’d known the man beside me was Tywin Lannister, I doubted they’d continue to stare.

Tywin hadn’t noticed them staring yet, and I was grateful. The last thing I wanted to do was cause an unnecessary scene. 

“(Y/N), are you certain you don’t want my cloak?”

I turned to Tywin, who placed his hands on my arms and began to rub a bit in attempts to warm me up. I shook my head, despite the way I was shaking.

He ran a gloved hand over my hair, wrapping one arm around me and keeping me close to him as we continued to walk. 

We soon ventured inside, and I was grateful for it. Jon Snow was in his chambers, and we all watched him burst from them upon hearing our footsteps. He embraced Robb like he was a dying man, and did the same with both Arya and Rickon. It made me feel awful for marrying Sansa off to Loras. 

It was better than marrying Tyrion and staying in King's Landing, though. Starks didn’t do well in King’s Landing.

“Jon, this is Tywin Lannister, and (Y/N) Tyrell. They brought troops north to help fight Stannis and thought they might stay a bit longer,” Robb explained, watching Jon’s eyes widen a bit. Tywin had let go of me since we were inside, and I wondered if Jon realized that I was… well, spoken for.

I recalled Robb saying that both he and Jon had talked about me as young men, and it made me smile when he began to stutter.

“My lord, m-my lady. It’s an honor,” he said, reaching to shake Tywin’s hand. He shook mine too, though he admittedly seemed quite nervous.

“Thank you for having us, Lord Commander,” I said sweetly.

“Of course. I’m sorry it had to be on the day of a hanging,” he apologized somewhat regretfully, and it seemed as though he knew something we didn’t.

“Well, from what I hear there was an attempt to take your life. This does not seem unfitting,” I reasoned, knowing both Tywin and I would’ve hung any man who tried to do the same to us. 

The man merely nodded, and Robb began to laugh as he wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders. They were heading outside, and I looked over at Tywin as we followed behind. 

“I don’t like how he looked at you,” he said quietly, not bothering to look over at me. I took his arm, leaning my head on his shoulder for a moment.

“Then perhaps you ought to make it more obvious that I’m yours.”

He exhaled in a way that resembled a laugh, and I couldn’t resist a smile as we ventured into the cold once more. There was a crowd of men waiting to watch the hanging, and they all stared as Jon and Robb came into view. 

That was when they noticed me, too, and began to smile and joke with each other. I’d never been so grateful to not hear what was being said of me.

“Do not leave my side, (Y/N). Under any circumstance,” Tywin mumbled, to which I nodded. I had no intention of moving away from him. I had my blade in my boot, but if a group of men decided to catch me alone, it would not be enough. Especially if they all had swords. 

Well, I might be able to disarm one and fight the rest, but still, it was not a position I wanted to find myself in. 

We made our way into the courtyard, standing in the back with Robb and his siblings. Jon went up the platform, where those awaiting death were lined up. One of them was only a young boy, and for some reason it made me profoundly sad. 

I let myself lean on Tywin’s arm, and he reached to pull me into his side. I always felt so angry with myself when I got sentimental about death, especially because I’d killed so many during my lifetime.

But either way, it would occasionally make me sad regardless. 

“You don’t have to watch if you don’t wish to, (Y/N),” Tywin pointed out, watching as they made their confessions to Jon Snow. The young boy said nothing. 

“Robb is making Arya and Rickon watch, I’ll be alright, rest assured,” I whispered back, knowing that even if it did make me a little bit sad, watching people die did not fill me with any discomfort. Death made me sadder than the act of dying itself. 

“I wish you had looked away like I’d told you to during Oberyn’s trial,” he said after a few seconds, making me look up at him with surprise. 

“I couldn’t have looked away. I was the one who had gotten him into that situation, Tywin. And for what… all over some stupid boy,” I scoffed, still feeling the guilt as strongly as ever. 

“You protected your family. The second Joffrey got bored, Margaery would’ve become Sansa. It might’ve taken her awhile, but rest assured, Tommen is a far better match,” he said, rubbing my back gently. Nobody could tell underneath my cape. 

“Few people have truly scared me, but Oberyn was one of them. He told me he was going to poison you,” I said suddenly, recalling the conversation we’d had in the brothel. Tywin did not seem surprised by this.

“And what did you tell him in response?” He questioned casually. 

“I was speechless. He merely smiled and told me he wasn’t going to anymore, since I seemed so fond of you. It made me grateful I’d gone to speak with him, and that I’d managed to earn his respect. If he’d done it- if he’d- I don’t know what I would do,” I said, looking down at the snow beneath my boots. The thought of not being with Tywin scared me beyond words. He had become my purpose, and what does one do without purpose?

“I’m certainly glad you managed to earn his respect too, then.”

“You’ve saved my life before. It was only fair of me,” I said softly, smiling. Tywin did not reply, but was amused nonetheless.

I was too, until I heard the sound of the bodies dropping and struggling against the noose. I looked ahead, seeing the men squirming as they choked, and I watched the young boy’s face go purple as he did. 

I’d never been a fan of hangings. Better to cut off a man’s head, quick and clean. Though, several men among the crowd seemed pleased to watch this lot squirm, and it made me wonder what they possibly could’ve done, or attempted to do, to Jon Snow. 

Eventually, they began to still, and men stood to clear out. The show was over now. 

I looked up at Tywin, who I found glancing over at Arya. She showed no emotion on her face, and I had the odd impression that she’d seen plenty of death in her life. Perhaps she’d even caused some. 

“I don’t think you need to worry about her of all people, Tywin,” I said, snapping him from his thoughts. He scoffed.

“I’m not worried about her.”

“If you say so.”

A group of men walked by us, smiling at me with teeth that looked dirtier than the bottom of my boots. One of them whistled, and even despite being beside Tywin, I felt extremely uncomfortable. 

Tywin stepped forward a bit, pulling out his sword an inch or two. It was a warning, I knew. 

The men, being impossibly stupid, approached us. 

“Step away from us, men. I won’t repeat myself,” Tywin scowled, moving in front of me just a bit. 

“You want to have a go at it, old man? I think I’d rather have a go with the lady here,” the man said, laughing and looking around at his friends for a sort of validation. He then settled his eyes on me, looking me up and down, and I knew Tywin was furious. 

“You will not speak of her that way. If you’re smart, you’ll continue walking,” Tywin hissed, eyes lit with his distinct anger. The man was beginning to cower, clearly intimidated. Though still stupid, it seemed. 

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll carve your eyes from your fucking head,” he threatened, shocking even me. Tywin very seldom cursed, especially so extremely. I could recall only a few times I’d ever heard him say fuck, even during our most passionate nights, and it felt even more out of place with his anger. 

In a way, it was oddly erotic, and I suddenly had a very strong desire to watch Tywin slit the man’s throat. 

Fortunately, or rather unfortunately in my opinion, the men finally ran away with their tail between their legs. Tywin watched them go with distinct fury in his jaw and his eyes, only relaxing once my hands met his shoulders.

“Are you alright, my dear?” He asked, turning to face me and instantly letting his gloved hands cup my face. I brought my own hands to his stubble covered cheeks. 

“I’m perfectly fine, Tywin. More than fine,” I assured him, letting myself give in as he pulled me into his chest and placed one hand on the back of my head. It reminded me of the jousting incident during the tourney, and I was beginning to understand how he responded to dangerous situations. So far as I was involved, anyways. 

“I’ve never heard you speak to anybody that way,” I mentioned after a moment, not moving from my place against his chest. He was quite warm, and I most certainly was not. 

“I’ve never felt compelled to. Not in years, anyways. Not since I resigned as Aerys’ hand,” he revealed, stroking my hair. I realized then that I was shaking, and that the men had impacted me much more than I’d thought. Though I was certain I could’ve protected myself against them, Tywin’s protection was both welcome and comforting. 

“Are you certain you’re alright?” He asked softly, moving back a bit to look me in the eyes. He was always able to read my expressions.

“I’m safe, Tywin. Let’s rejoin the others, I want to see the top of the wall now,” I assured him, taking his hands in mine. He contemplated for a moment, and then nodded. With his arm around me, we met with the Starks, who were already caught up in a conversation.

“Robb tells me you’ve been getting good with Needle, Arya,” Jon said to his younger sister, hand on the top of her head. She smiled and nodded, eyes lit up at the mention of ‘needle.’ 

“Lady (Y/N)’s going to help me learn to use daggers, too,” she said, not seeing us just yet. The Lord Commander’s eyebrows lifted at that.

“Oh? I suppose I’ll have to have a dagger done for you then,” he said, smiling at Tywin and I as we joined the group. He was oddly happy for someone who’d just hung several men, but I suppose being able to see his family was rewarding enough. Loras and Margaery always managed to make me feel better in any case. 

“No need for that, Jon. I’ll have one made for her out of father’s sword,” Robb announced, to which Arya’s head snapped up in surprise. Her mouth fell open, and it made me smile. It reminded me of when I’d gotten my first real blade. And of when I’d gone to the smith with Tywin, whose arm I was currently holding sentimentally. 

“Out of Ice? But the sword is yours, Robb. I don’t-”

“Hush, Arya. It’s a big sword, there’s enough metal for a dagger. Might even make it easier for me to wield,” Robb said with a smile, making all of us laugh. Minus Tywin, of course, who only looked content. That was about as much as you could get out of him most of the time. 

“You’re going to have a hard time finding a smith who can meld valyrian steel, Robb,” Jon pointed out awkwardly, as if he didn’t want to ruin Arya’s current joy over the thought of such a weapon.

“There’s currently one in King's Landing. If you’d like, we can take the sword with us when we return. Give me the instructions and I’ll have the smith fix the weapon. You can claim it when you’re south for the wedding,” Tywin said suddenly, making everyone present fix their eyes upon him. His offer seemed to shock Robb.

“Wedding?” Jon questioned after a moment, eyebrows furrowed. I opened my mouth to speak, but Tywin beat me to it.

“I’m going to wed Lady (Y/N) in just a month and a half. You’re welcome to join your family if your position will permit it,” Tywin explained courteously, knowing that as Lord Commander, and as a man of the night’s watch in general, Jon Snow did in fact have restrictions. Jon’s face seemed to drop for a moment, but he covered it quickly and nodded.

“Thank you for the invitation, my lord.”

Robb spoke then,

“If it’s not a burden, Lord Tywin, it would be quite kind of you to take the sword with you. I’ve already got the design and instructions prepared, I can give them to you when we return to Winterfell.”

Tywin gave him a nod.

“Of course. Now, Lady (Y/N) desires to see the top of the wall. Shall we?” he suggested, motioning with his hand that we ought to go. Everyone murmured in agreement, and Rickon let out an excited giggle. I watched Jon lean toward his older brother.

“When we get back, Robb, I’ve got something I need to discuss with you. About- About my role in the night’s watch,” he whispered, though I barely heard it. I furrowed my eyebrows, but knew it was none of my business.

Our entire group was, thankfully, able to squeeze onto the elevator, but I could tell it made Tywin uncomfortable to be so tightly packed in with everyone else. To console him, I pressed myself closer to him than I actually needed to, and he evidently knew that or he wouldn’t have given me such a look. 

When we reached the top, I found myself pressing against him anyway in a desperate need for warmth, as the winds were strong up here. Not to mention, the air was far colder. 

Getting off of the elevator, we all hugged our cloaks especially tight, minus Jon Snow, who was quite used to the conditions. 

“Follow me. I’ll show you all the best spot,” Jon shouted, waving his hand just in case we hadn’t heard. It seemed Arya and Rickon had not heard, as they quite engaged in a conversation about archery. It made me smile, especially when I recalled what conversations with my brother had been like at her age. 

After walking for a little while, we found ourselves in an area that allowed us to see both sides of the wall, and I could not refrain from letting my mouth drop and eyes widen. 

I grabbed Tywin’s arm, practically in shock as I admired the view before us. Never before had I seen such a few, the pure snow covering the trees, which in turn densely populated hills and mountains. I felt as if I was floating in the sky like a god, looking down upon the earth’s finest creations. 

“Tywin, it’s beautiful,” I muttered, unable to pry my eyes away from the landscape. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend how such a scene could exist.

“Yes… beautiful.”

The way he said it struck me as odd, and I forced myself to look at him. When I did, I found that he was not staring out at the view, but at me. 

I recalled the day we’d gone hunting together and something similar had happened, and it filled me with an odd sense of warmth to know that even then he had felt at least something towards me. 

Tywin’s eyes held me captive in a way, and all I could focus on was the wind as it blew through his hair. It was incredible to me that such a handsome man could exist, and it gave me the odd desire to kiss him.

I refrained, of course, knowing Tywin was not one for such public displays of affection. The last thing I wanted was to make him uncomfortable, especially in front of Robb Stark. 

However, after a moment, one of his hands came to my waist, and the other came to my head. There, in front of the entire group, he kissed me. Well, the two children were busy looking out at the wall, but Jon Snow and Robb Stark certainly noticed us, and somehow I was proud to know that they did. 

Tywin had put aside his pride, kissing me so publicly and so passionately. I had let my hands come to his chest, and I had smiled when he’d done it. Despite all his faults, and despite perhaps being an insufferable cunt, Tywin was going to be my husband. And gods, was I glad for it. 

TAGLIST:

@cheyxfu @lemonscoffee @groovy-lady

@ladysindar @vesta-ro @exo-nova @paola-carter

@prettykinkysoul

@fullmoonshadowwrites @kishie8

@the-desilittle-bird @dianilaws @girlonfireice

@muscari-fae @lostgirllulu

@abigfanofgameofthrones @smalltownbigheart

@frombloodandflesh @supernaturalismyreligion666

@thanyatargaryen @rey26

[mushroom-trafficking]

bing bong ask meme tell me about them please

Benji 1, 18, 39

Max 2, 12, 23

Archie 13, 17, 28

Putting this one under a cut!

Benji:

1. What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

“Rarely is there truly ever nothing to do. There is always something I can busy myself with. The only thing I dislike more than boredom is wasted time. Any time not utilised is time wasted. I can barely withstand five minutes without engaging in something.”

18. What embarrasses them?

“Oh. Wouldn’t you like to know.”

It actually takes quite a lot to embarrass him. Usually he’s the one embarrassing others because of this. It took him long enough to get over embarrassment to just wear the clothes he enjoys so he tried to not let anything get in the way of what he enjoys. The worst thing you can do however is be direct with him, he’s very flowery and indirect about things if you get what I mean. Calling him out on his bullshit works wonders too.

39. How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? 

“Name me someone who isn’t flawed! We’re all just trying to get by and do what we can, hard to be perfect when around every corner is someone trying to ruin your day.”

The answer is INCREDIBLY easily. He’s no saint himself. He’ll readily ignore quite glaring issues if you help him with whatever it is he wants done. Besides openly flawed people have no right to judge when they’re also working with a flawed idiot.

Max:

2. How easy is it for your character to laugh?

“Eh, not a lot of people are actually that funny.”

Max tends to steer towards dark humour as a coping thing, but not a lot of people find that shit funny. He rarely lets down his guard enough to enjoy the humour of those around him. It’s usually something really daft will get him going. Ya’know like when you send your Dad a funny animal video and he’s crying with laughter when it’s not really that funny? That kinda thing. Once you find that niche you’re in.

12. How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

“Sometimes if I’m lucky the mutt can sort it out, but not always. I gotta be careful on account o’ the whole, ya’know, claw situation. I shredded a shirt once trying to get to a spot on my back. Not my… Proudest moment.”

Max’s death is able to touch him at times, not constantly, but enough. Sometimes he gets lucky and it can sort it out for him! Personal back scratcher! Though if that won’t work he sometimes just fucking rolls around like a damn dog if no one else is around. Catch him rubbing himself on a tree like a bear and watch him run faster than you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

23. How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)? 

“I’ve started tryin’ to just go after the shit I want. I’ve spent long enough not getting what I want from life I think I’m deservin’ of shit finally going my way for a change.”

Envy itself isn’t something Max struggles with often. He’s a former rich kid so he knows how the other half have lived and he’s pretty much over it at this point. Though he is incredibly resentful overall, he’s got a lot of unlearn and get over.

Archie:

13. What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

“Oh, uh. Hmmmm. BEST? Oh man, that’s hard. I like most colours pretty equally… It’s so hard to pick a favourite… My Ma always said I look good in white… But I think everyone looks good in white! It’s WHITE! Hm. I think. I think it’s gotta be between turquoise or burgundy! But I don’t have much of either at the moment sadly…”

Archie hasn’t really been allowed to explore his options much fashion wise. But now he’s loose on the town there’s nothing stopping him from trying out new styles! He does struggle with picking a favourite colour though, his ideal thing to wear would be one of those colour block jumpers where each part is a different, bright colour.

17. Are they easily embarrassed?

“N…No… (10 second pause) Okay. Yes. I never used to get this flustered back home but out here in the dust it’s… A bit more. Intimidating. I know the wings are a lot but c’mon!! Quit staring!!”

The youngest of three Archie actually had a pretty thick skin back home. Especially being of demonic descent, people get pretty judgy. But that quickly faded getting out into the real world. With any luck he’ll build it back up over time once he’s a bit more used to it out in Red West.

28. Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

“The truth is ALWAYS the best option!!”

Dealing with the ramifications of certain withheld truths, Archie wants nothing but the honest truth. Even if it hurts. Though it’s quickly becoming apparent that the truth is not something post people enjoy sharing around here. Archie only believes in lying for the bit.

[randomgurustuffs]

1. Are you young at heart, or an old soul?

I've been told I'm both an old soul and also that I really don't act my age.  I tell people it and they're always shocked.

2. What makes someone a best friend?

This is actually a hard one.  I'd say it's the person you most want to hang around all the time, that you're always excited to see.  

3. What Christmas (or Hanukkah) present do you remember the most?

Technically my drawing tablet was a Christmas present. Sure I picked it out and everything, but I've gotten a lot of miles out of it.  I do really remember the hotwheels firestation I got once, though.  And the pajamas, but those were every year, so do they count?

4. Tell me about a movie/song/tv show/play/book that has changed your life.

The Bible.  I'm a Christian and I read it daily.  Need I say more?

5. Name one physical feature that you like about yourself, and one you dislike.

I quite like my bushy eyebrows.  Not the biggest fan of the little wart thing on my left hand.

6. Would you like to reconnect with any friends you’ve lost contact with?

I certainly wouldn't mind.  I enjoy catching up with folks.

7. What’s more important in a relationship: physical attraction or emotional connection?

Emotional connection.  Physical attraction is the cherry on top and certainly helps, though!

8. Name a movie that you knew would be terrible just from reading the title.

[Insert any horror movie sequel here]

9. What holiday do you most look forward to?

At present, Christmas.  I get to be together with my family for an extended period, especially specific family.

10. How is the relationship between you and your parents?

It's very good.  We think in very similar ways and have similar humor.

11. You’ve got the TV on, but you’re not really watching. What channel is the TV on?

I don't watch all that much TV these days, so this is actually hard.  Hallmark?

12. Name a song that never fails to make you happy.

"So Do I"  Kenny Ball...but there are SO MANY OTHERS

13. You know at least one person named Michael. Tell me about him.

He's cool.  Likes board games.

14. Have you ever read the “missed connections” on Craigslist? Have you ever posted one, or wanted to?

Nope. Nope. And Nope.

15. If you could pick anywhere to live the rest of your life, where would it be?

Not Utah.

16. Can money buy happiness?

Nope.

17. Do you drink? Smoke? Do drugs? Why, or why not?

Nope to all 3.  Expensive habits that are bad for you in varying degrees, plus I HATE the feeling of being buzzed-I don't like brain fog at all.  

18. Is there anyone close to you that you know you can’t trust? You don’t have to give names.

Do you mean geographically close?  I don't tend to let people emotionally close if I don't trust them.

19. Where was your favorite place to go when you were a little kid?

Grandma and Grandpa's farm-especially if kittens were present.

20. Have you ever spent a night in the hospital?

I don't believe I have-maybe when I was born?

21. Do you enjoy being with only one or two friends, or with a large group of people?

Smaller groups are more fun.

22. Do you like the type of music your parents listen to? Do your parents like the type of music you listen to?

Yes to both for the most part.

23. Have you ever been bullied? Have you ever bullied anyone else?

In early grade school, yes.  I don't believe so on bullying others.

24. If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?

There are a few types of food that have near infinite variability-sandwiches and soups/stews come to mind.

25. If your partner wanted to wait until marriage before having sex, would you stay in that relationship?

Yes-plus we both do.  *points at being a Christian*

26. Do you believe in a god?

*points at being a Christian*

27. Of all the social networks in the world, why use Tumblr?

Because this is where the cool people are that enjoy my art for some reason.

28. What’s your favorite Tumblr tag to track?

I don't track tags.

29. Would you call yourself/your family “middle class?”

Yes.

30. Name a TV series you didn’t enjoy until after it ended.

Legend of the Galactic Heroes plus most other shows I've watched.

31. Have you ever bought a product from an infomercial?

Once-but that was because it was the only thing that actually met a need I had

32. If you could give up your car and never have to drive again, would you?

Only if there was a good public transit system and high quality passenger rail network-so never in the US.

33. If you go back to one point in time to give advice to yourself, when would you go and what would you say?

Stay the course but don't be as lazy.

34. What’s your “quirkiest” habit?

Not wearing a coat most of the time, I suppose.

35. What is “normal?” Are you normal?

Normal is relative.  Depends on the overall composition of a given group.

36. Someone close to you is dying. You have the choice to let this person live for 10 more years, but if you do, you cause the death of 10 strangers. You don’t have to see them die. Do you take the offer?

Nope.

37. What is one thing you could never forgive?

I am unsure. I'd like to say there aren't things I couldn't, but there is a difference between forgiving someone for something and not being cautious around them.  Forgive is one thing, but forget is another, much harder one.  Example: someone steals money.  I can forgive them for it, but I'm not going to as readily trust them with money until I see signs they actually won't necessarily do it again.

38. Would you rather be in a relationship after the honeymoon period ends, or be single?

I'm going to stick around.

39. Is it possible for guys and girls to be just friends? Absolutely.  Why wouldn’t it be?

40. Where do you and your friends go to hang out?

Wherever is convenient for all of us-a park or event.

41. Write the first paragraph of your obituary.

[paragraph redacted due to personal information]

42. What is the best TV theme song ever.

There are so many, how can I chose?  I suppose one of the catchiest would be the old 50's Mickey Mouse Club theme.  

43. When you were young, what would you dream you would be when you grew up?

I wanted to be a fighter pilot for a while.

44. When you’re alone in your own home, do you walk around naked?

Generally no.

45. What gets you out of bed in the morning?

My alarm clock-plus I have things that need doin'.

46. Do you want to have more friends than you have right now?

Certainly.

47. What part of the past year sticks out in your mind?

March 21st on.

48. You win a scratch-off lottery game that gives you $2000 a week (after taxes) for the rest of your life. Do you keep your job?

Yup.  I go stir crazy if I don't have things to do-plus I have a number of clients that respect me.

49. Could you be in a long-distance relationship? If you’re in one, what makes yours work?

Yes, in one.  Mutual trust and lots of communication.  Won't be long distance for too much longer, relatively speaking.

50. What’s the best route to your heart?

My arteries.

51. Have you ever met someone through the internet, then met them in real life?

Many times.

52. What is your favorite sport?

I quite like football/soccer.  Used to play in highschool.

53. What has been troubling you lately?

Things I need to get done...like this list!

54. Did you enjoy your high school prom? If you haven’t gotten there yet, do you look forward to it? If you didn’t go, why not?

Didn't have one.  We just had a formal dinner, which is better because good food.

55. What do you use more often: your intuition or logical reasoning?

I'd like to say Logical Reasoning.  I dressed up a Spock at one point as a kid.

56. Do you know what makes you happy?

Yes.  Someone else knows too why I grin so much these days.

57. Tell me about the last book you read.

If we're talking completed, it was the Bible-but excluding the Bible a book about it.

58. What is the nicest compliment you’ve ever been given?

Someone told me recently they felt I'd be a good spiritual leader for a family.

59. Who was your first crush?

There was this gal in grade and highschool.  I'm glad I didn't end up with her in hindsight.

60. Do you believe that there is life on other planets?

I suppose it's possible-there definitely will be once we put someone on Mars.

61. Predict what your life will look like a year from now.

I predict I'll be happily married.

62. Often, people will ask how your last relationship ended. I want to know how it began.

There wasn't a last one, so ha!

63. Where is your favorite place to go out and eat?

Burgerville.

64. What is something you want to change about your current situation?

I'd like to be closer geographically to a certain someone.

65. Early bird or night owl?

A bit of an early bird, really.

66. Are there any childhood possessions you still hold on to?

A good number of them.  I'm fairly sentimental.

67. Give me an unpopular opinion you have.

Drivers licenses should require retaking the test every renewal.

68. What was the last song that was stuck in your head?

The Mickey Mouse Club theme because I just looked it up.

69. Where do you live? Be as general or specific as you want.

In a desert near a large body of salt water and locals that are bad drivers.

70. Do you believe in giving kids medals and trophies for participation?

Depends on the context.  Something to say they were a part of something is fine-but it's easy to go overboard.

71. What was the longest car ride you’ve ever taken?

I think the leg of the roadtrip in highschoool between Vicksburg and Charleston.  But that's riding, not driving.

72. Have you ever taken part in a protest?

I haven't, no.

73. Would you ever use an online dating service?

Nope.  

74. What is your ethnic heritage?

A mess of Northern Europe.

75. Describe a person that inspires you.

My late grandfather.  I want to be more like him.

76. If you earn minimum wage doing what you love, would you?

If it meets my financial needs yes-if otherwise, no.

77. Do you believe in luck?

Nope.  Only the Lord's Providence.

78. Describe the last time you were very angry at someone.

Someone I know's 'family' decided to try and throw them out on the street for physical gain.  

79. Do you want to live until you’re 100?

If I'm still me and haven't lost my marbles.

80. Do people change? If so, how do you keep a relationship together when both of you start to change?

People can change, but a big part of being in a relationship is putting in effort to communicate and understand.  It should also have a center-it's not just about what makes you happy.  Too many relationships these days are 100% selfishness.

81. Have you ever risked a friendship by telling someone you liked them?

I haven't, no.  I was blessed enough to have it happen to me though in a way that didn't ruin anything (it was a mutual attraction).

82. Would you rather be alone doing something you enjoy, or doing something you don’t like with your best friends?

I think the fellowship with my best friend outweighs the non-enjoyment of an activity.  That in itself can be enjoyable.

83. Do you practice what you preach?

I do my best to.

84. If you take precautions to stay safe, do you ultimately act more recklessly?

If the precautions are there, how would it be reckless?

85. What do you value more in a significant other: Attractiveness or intelligence?

Given I find intellegence attractive on top of physical attributes...but really I find my significant other being who they are to be the most valuable (even though she is both very attractive AND intelligent).

86. Are you hard-headed?

Very.  It's a family tradition.

87. Have you ever laughed uncontrollably when it was socially inappropriate?

Possibly.

88. When have you felt most alive?

After I was confessed to-it was incredibly relieving and wonderful.

89. Would you prefer to live? A city? The suburbs? The countryside? The mountains?

Edge of a small town in the mountains by the sea.

90. Do you often skip breakfast?

Nope.  I require fuel.

91. How do you know what true love is?

I think it's when two people have set their hearts and life goals on a relationship which is more than just shallow-when they've decided to stay the course through thick and thin for the other person as much or more than for themselves.

92. Would you want to know the exact date and time you were going to die?

Might make planning easier.

93. Where is “home” for you?

Home is where I feel comfortable and with the people I care about.

94. What song best describes your life right now?

Possibly Country Bumpkin by Cal Smith.

95. Do you want to be perfect?

As Christ is perfect, yes.  It is, after all, the end goal.

96. What have you never tried, but would really like to someday? What’s holding you back?

Learning piano.  Time.

97. How do you express your creativity?

Art, singing.

98. Describe your neighborhood.

A complex with nice trees.

99. Name something you only liked because it was popular.

Y'know I don't remember-I've always been contrary.

100. Give me the story of your life in six words.

A long learning process paying off.

[lenievi]

Also this Officer’s Manual...

let’s ignore their dates because they’re off from what’s common now, for example Kirk being born in 2229 (still in March, but on the 26th) and the 5ym being finished in 2265 (when Kirk was promoted to an admiral at the ripe age of 36 - I wanted to laugh at this, then I realized that it was 37 in canon, so................)

let’s also ignore the factual mistakes (like the manual is like Kirk was the only one of two witnesses on Tarsus IV, and like that obviously isn’t true. So I’m just gonna handpick a few stuff that fit my personal interpretation) and there’s a lot of them, and the fat phobia

but, the manual also assumes that Kirk did the survey on Tyree’s planet under Garrovick. Which like thanks. After Farragut they have him serve on USS Alexander (which I guess I could use as a name since I’m bad with naming things) - where he was the XO, the captain was killed and he assumed command, and at the age of 30 he became the captain of the Enterprise - which funnily enough actually does fit, more or less, even though I prefer 31 (in my personal timeline)

BUT the manual says his father is deceased (the profile says Kirk is 36, so in the manual it would be after the 5ym ended, but I’m gonna assume it’s been a while, and thanks. Good to know that when only TOS was around Kirk’s father was supposed to be dead because that’s my hc and reading.)

“His chief psychological problem is the expression of normal human emotions, which he finds almost impossible due to the barrier that he has constructed between himself and his crew.” - Like, while I wouldn’t necessarily word it exactly this way, yes. I did say in the past that the reason why I think Spock understands Kirk is because Kirk like Spock fights “two halves” of himself - sometimes to an unhealthy degree.

---

next, Xtmprszntwlfd Spock :D

he’s 40 (at the end of 5ym), which means 4 years older than Kirk, and I like this age gap (I kind of feel that when people don’t use the AOS years of births, they only have two years between them, and I personally am not a fan of just two years). Funnily enough that also fits with what’s established today (his age at the end of 5ym). But I hate when it used to be common to give Kirk and Spock the same birthday just because the actors were born on the same day. I’m glad current canon took care of that. It doesn’t even make sense because of TWOK, I wanted to say, but TWOK was two years after this manual kasdhsjdfhjsdhfj (I mean it’s fun to see what was a thing before something else changed it on screen)

Sarek, retired Ambassador and physicist, age 105. Love the physicist thing. But “retired” is fun.

“After eight months as the director of The Vulcan Science Academy, Spock elected to become a candidate for the kolinahr.” oooooooh, this is cool, and literally could be employed in fics without messing with canon.

The manual says that Xtmprszntwlfd has 6 syllables (how) He also apparently has a patronymic “Sareku” okay

---

Leonard Horatio McCoy

as usual, he’s 11 years older than Jim, and 7 years older than Spock

the manual is like McCoy applied to Starfleet at the age of 27 (hello AOS, it’s 28 there though) and spent two years at the Academy studying space medicine. 

What they write about McCoy is similar to what I hc, he served on a ship (USS Hood), got into an argument with CMO, transferred to surgeon’s general office, did “cultural observations” on several planets, then he asked for a ship duty, got assigned to the Enterprise after Boyce died, as a replacement surgeon, and after a few years he took over Piper. Which also means that my hc that McCoy was actually on board during the first pilot is not weird lol 

Both parents are deceased, no siblings.

Joanna’s mother was killed during food riots on Cerberus. OK

Joanna is 23, married, and has two kids. ok

......... also apparently whoever wrote the manual thought that McCoy would get together with the woman from Mudd’s Passion he told about how he saved everyone’s lives on the Enterprise while under an influence (that woman didn’t even have a name on screen ffs)......... I wish this manual didn’t introduce me to the existence of this episode.

“His outlook on life is a healthy one, he believes in living each day to its fullest.” <3

The colour of McCoy’s eyes: hazel sfhsjdhfjdshjghjfhgj

Spock and McCoy apparently have the same height. Kirk is three centimetres shorter.

OK, that was fun. If anyone read the whole thing, I applaud you.

Probably gonna pick the “important” stuff (for me) and make a normal post, connecting them to my headcanon and fitting it within my personal timeline that follows modern dates. 

In any case, I think this officer’s manual is a fan thing, but it’s still fun imho because it’s a nice look into the past. And tbh I had more fun reading these profiles than I did with anything “official”. But mostly because a lot of the info is quite similar to my own inner universe. I’m just like 40 years too late...

[literaturewithliz]

1. Rae, I like it.

2. It depends on what you define art as. If you define art as writing and literature, the yes, I am artistic.

3. No.

4. To help as many people as I can.

5. No, I do not.

6. I don’t play for a team, but I do enjoy archery.

7. My dad dying.

8. My aunt, I think.

9. Baking, I guess? I’ve been told I’m good at writing.

10. Haha, no.

11. Some are cute, some are cringe.

12. I ADORE READING!

13. Anne With an E, that’s it I think.

14. Kind of, yeah. I feel like a lot of people grab and go. I know it’s not anyones responsibility to follow people they do not want to follow, but asking for something, getting it, and liking it only to ignore the blog after? Especially if you ask for multiple things, it just seems kind of uncaring.

15. I never remember my dreams, I swear.

16. No.

17. I have eight dogs and one rabbit.

18. Yes, I am Christian.

19. Not at all.

20. Also not at all.

21. Biting my nails.

22. When someone mentions my weight. I feel like I’m being looked at under a microscope.

23. Girl: Jane Boy: Jordan

24. Lewis Tan, Will Poulter.

25. English

26. Considering I have eight, I chose dogs.

27. Discord, probably.

28. I asked to post their name, and they said they weren’t comfortable with that.

29. Me and my dad.

30. CHOCOLATE.

31. No. I feel terrified at the thought of going on a date.

32. Yes, I love them.

33. I spent half of my childhood half an hour away from the beach, so I’ve been swimming since I could walk, practically.

34. Probably read a lot of survival books and use my newfound knowledge to survive in the wild where zombies probably wouldn’t go.

35. I was recently diagnosed with depression, even though I know that’s been going on for years. I’m positive I have anxiety too, but haven’t been diagnosed for that.

36. No, they are divorced.

37. Yellow. But the light ones. Bright colors freak me out.

38. North America.

39. Taylor Swift, hands down.

40. I would like to think I could one day be good enough at writing to be famous for it, but I’m not sure I can actually picture it,

41. I like dresses, but don’t wear them as much as I’d like to.

42. Oooo hard one. But at the moment, it’s probably True Colors by Shuba.

43. Not really. It does if it’s a really detailed conversation, but not when it’s mentioned or the word is said.

44. Ten, I think.

45. Yes. Didn’t particularly enjoy it.

46. No.

47. Also no.

48. Depends on what it’s about.

49. When I was like, 7, I went to a water park, and was just playing around when I met a girl who I thought looked a lot like me best friend. It took me about fifteen minutes to realize that it was, in fact, my best friend.

50. Meh. Tuesdays are usually just really slow.

51. I guess I was. I’m always told that I was cute, anyways.

52. No.

53. Twirling my hair.

54. No. But I have been tempted,

55. The birth certificate says blue, but they like to change from blue to green to sometimes grey whenever they feel like it so.

56. Rabbits.

57. Ooooo many times. Many, many times.

58. I have a great relationship with my dad. My relationship with my mother could use some improvement.

59. I have like, one good friend. (Not counting online friends.)

60. I have an uncle who is gay, and a cousin who is bisexual.

61. English.

62. The Good Doctor, Anne With an E, Shadow and Bone, and others.

63. I’m not really organized except for my notebooks.

64. I honestly can’t remember. I don’t watch a lot of movies.

67. Diana Barry, from Anne With an E.

68. I let what people think about me affect me. Even if I don’t have a clue what they are thinking.

69. Traveling, going to bookshops all around the world.

70. I would try harder to stop stressing so much.

71. Literally everything. I’d probably be better at focusing in class.

72. I would watch what I eat, and watch how I weigh. I’d also stop myself from being a people pleaser.

73. Depends on the loved one and the law.

74. Last summer.

75. How messy my room is atm.

76. I’m really trying hard to study for my final exams.

77. A chef, a lawyer, a veterinarian, lots of things.

78. My sanity. I like things to have order and be scheduled.

79. I don’t speak up for myself, especially when I really need to. Too many times to just name one.

80. Trying to get into a good nursing college.

81. I’d be cutting off a lot of toxic people.

82. I’d hop around from place to place probably. I might open a dog shelter.

83. College, paying off my family’s debts, paying for my cousins’ higher education. I’d give like, a fourth of it to different charities. And save the rest.

84. The future, because I feel like it will be better than the past.

85. All of the people who tell me I’m dumb for not understanding math, everyone who has bullied me, and getting to be better than my mother and my brother.

86. Still can’t remember any of my dreams.

87. The city. Because I live in the woods right now, and I can confirm, it sucks.

88. As a Christian, I believe we go to heaven. However, studying what other people believe happens has always intrigued me!

89. I had a teacher in third grade, who’s name I will not expose for the sake of privacy, who was very original. She was a very passionate person, and always encouraged her students to be the same way. She was very kind, but she never let people walk over her. She seemed like the ideal kind of person to be then and now.

90. The daddy-daughter days my father and I would have when we lived in California. We would go to a fun place like, once a moth and just spend time together. We went to places like Disneyland, the beach, Nott’s Berry Farm, and others.

91. Anne Boleyn. She is so interesting to me. She was a very intelligent and confident woman, two characteristics society did not like women to have. I want to ask her about her opinions about politics, literature, and other things.

92. I think I’d e the type of person to cry when their child receives their high school diploma or any award.

93. That not everyone is going to like me. It took years for me to accept the fact that I don’t live around a lot of people who feel the same way about things that I do, especially when it comes to social justice and hobbies.

94. I think we go to heaven to be with God.

95. Probably hide in big groups of people so no one knows I’m there because I despise when people are looking at me

96. I can’t stop caring about what others think of me. I know that I said I’ve accepted that not everyone will like me, but that doesn’t make it less hard to deal with, you know?

97. I don’t think so. I think I’d rather just let what’s meant to be happen.

98. I don’t really know. I was in like, kindergarten, and the boy o had a crush on just seemed interesting to me. I didn’t know anything about him, but he still seemed fascinating.

99. I always try and ignore my anger. I have a lot of toxic people in my life at the moment, and they make me livid. But I’ve always been taught that anger is a bad thing that needs to be suppressed. When in reality, anger is just a natural thing that can only be avoided so long. However, once again, knowing something doesn’t make it easier to deal with.

100. As of right now, I’d say I just exist, but the minuet I get to college I promise I WILL start living. I just need to wait this out.

No pressure tags! I understand completely if no one wants to participate in this since it just might be the longest ask game ever. @presidentroarie @spaceagebachelormann @rayniiariaa @fitz-avery-vacker @that-glasses-dog @oceanblueeyesoul @aeriscallanga and anyone else that would like to join!

100 questions to invade my personal life

[sharonccrter]

*Spoilers ahead*

I’ve been seeing a lot of discussion surrounding whether Bridgerton will change the sequence of the books; namely Colin and Penelope being season 3 rather than season 4. Here is why for me that doesn’t work and it ruins the integrity of the books.

First off its important to note that book 1 (Duke & I) book 2 (The Viscount Who Loved Me) and book 3 (An Offer From A Gentleman) take place in the span of three years from 1813-1815. Book 3 also introduces John Sterling and has him and Francesca get married. Unless they don’t plan on making it to season 6, aka book 6 (When He Was Wicked) it is imperative that we see them meet and get married or else the entire emotional crux of book 6 will not land.      

Then we time jump 10 years, yes 10 years because book 4 (Romancing Mr Bridgerton) take place in 1824 and that is important. In my opinion in order to like Colin and Penelope’s love story, you need that time jump. If they switch book 4 with book 3 then that time jump won’t be possible because then Benedict’s story wouldn’t make sense.

Penelope should be in her late 20s and Colin should be in his early 30s (or just turning 30) that matters. By this point Penelope should have spent 10 years thinking she wasn’t going to ever get married; Colin has had time to mature (yes his still an idiot but that’s more a Bridgerton trait then anything else.) I can’t imagine their love story working with only a 1 year time jump. That would make Colin 22 at most 23 and Penelope at most 20, give or take a year. There isn’t enough time and them being young when their love story takes place in my opinion ruins the narrative being told and rushes the whole thing too much.

It also effects Eloise because book 5 (To Sir Philip, With Love) takes place at the same time as book 4. Hell the only reason Eloise considers marriage is because she’s lonely without Penelope. Again Eloise in my opinion benefits from the time jump her getting married in her mid to late 20s makes sense for the character. Also (and I’m not going to get into the Theo thing because I still think its going to be Philip they wouldn’t have even bothered to have him in that scene during season 2 if it weren’t hinting at what’s time come) the twins (Philip’s kids) need to be old enough for their to be hijinks with Eloise.

A big part of Eloise’s book is her helping the twins and Philip deal with the grief of losing their mother and wife and Eloise taking on the role of a mother as well as her falling in love with Philip. The twins can’t be 2 or 3 they need to be way older hence the reason for the time jump. Having Eloise’s story take place way after Colin and Penelope also doesn’t work either the three of them are too connected for that.

Lastly Francesca, the events of book 4 directly tie into the events of book 6, it reinforces her always feeling left out and like the black sheep of the family. Like for example her not being invited/not told about Penelope and Colin’s wedding until after the fact to which she responds “fuck it then you all aren’t invited to my second wedding!”

All of this to say that each book has its place in the timeline for a reason book1&2&3 then 4&5&6 then 7&8 changing the order tells me two things, they don’t care that much about the source materiel and plan to wreck it, and two they don’t plan to get renewed past season 4 so basically their not bothering to plan ahead but that’s a shit plan because what if they do?

[randomshyperson]

Wanda x Reader - The one and only

Gif is not mine, another day falling in love with her.

Summary: You have always loved Wanda in secret. When Vision dies, she loves you back. But you are also the one who can bring him back. Prompt from @stay-casual

Warnings: Fluff, angst, death, insinuation and brief mention of smut (no sex though)

Words:  13.036k // Read on AO3 too

Marks: @mionemymind @abimess

Notes: Hope everyone like this, let me know if you don’t. Sorry for any typos. 

//-//

You loved someone who was not meant for you.

It was a bitter truth you had to accept.

Being an enhanced human, a Hydra experiment, and having spent years under physical and psychological torture by Nazi doctors, pain was not exactly something you were unaware of. You got used to it. You were always down to earth anyway, accepting things as they were.

When you joined the Avengers, you just hoped to help those in need, figuring your days of emotional stress were over.

But then you met Wanda Maximoff.

She was something you didn't understand in the first instant. When she tried to get inside your head, fighting as your enemy, you resisted and almost broke her neck. You saw fear in her eyes, and realized in that second that you would never again try anything that would hurt her. When her brother fought you, and you saw her worried expression, you surrendered. Steve and Tony scolded you for letting them get away, but you just tried to understand why your heart was racing when the witch looked at you before she escaped.

You fail to save Pietro however, and had to watch Wanda collapse. Never, even after so many battles, you felt so helpless. 

But you did everything in your power to be there for Wanda. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't want to allow it, but you used all the favors they owed you to get Pietro's body not treated as an experiment, but as a civilian. And then you organized the whole memorial service. You didn't speak to Tony for two weeks, because he simply wasn't interested in the matter and you wanted to punch him in the face every time you remembered.

The ceremony was simple and small, and while Wanda was finishing paying her respects alone, you took the dirty dishes into the kitchen. Natasha was sitting at the counter and nodded slightly when you entered.

"You care about her." She said after a moment. You continued to wash the dishes, without sketching any reaction.

"Yes."

"No denying it?" she teases, but you remain impassive.

"I have no reason to lie to you, Natasha." You say with a smile. "We are friends, I trust you."

"Are you complimenting me to make me feel guilty for teasing you?"

"Maybe." You say laughing lightly, and Nat smiles.

"Something's bothering you." She says after a moment. You sigh, finished washing the glasses to turn around. You cross your arms and lean your back on the sink.

"If I hadn't organized everything, you would all treat Pietro like an experiment." You say seriously and Nat looks away. "I guess I was just disappointed in the way you all acted about it. Pietro was our teammate, and he sacrificed himself for Clint. If I didn't say or do anything, he'd be in a lab right now."

"You're right." Nat says next, holding your gaze. "But I don't know what to say. Everything has settled down now, and honestly most of us wouldn't have the power to get his body back."

You let out an impatient sigh.

"Right, Natasha." You interrupt and she blinks at your serious posture, but you just have an almost disappointed look on your face. "I should have known that you guys pick the fights you're going to fight. I just hoped that all members of the team would have the same importance."

"Y/N..."

But you just give her a sad smile, and turn around, leaving the kitchen. When you walked back to Pietro's grave area, you noticed that Wanda was kneeling on the ground, leaving some flowers. Vision was beside her, and when she stood up, she allowed him to hug her. Swallowing the bitter feeling in your stomach, you forced yourself to think that you were glad that he was there for her.

//-//

It doesn't take long for you to realize that you are in love with Wanda. It's not in your place to confess it, though. 

She is your friend, and your teammate. And more importantly, she is in a relationship with Vision. You were never the jealous type, because you were never possessive, and honestly, you just hoped that Wanda would be happy. And if Vision was responsible for that, that was enough for you.

When Steve and Tony start fighting, and the team splits up, there is not the slightest possibility that you will stand up to Wanda. So you throw your weapons on the ground, and Tony looks at you incredulously.

"Have you lost your mind?" He asks.

"I'm not going to fight with my friends." You say simply turning your back on him as you walk to the other side of the parking lot.

"She really changed sides in the middle of the fight?" You hear the boy dressed in red ask impressed. But you don't care.

"If the deal divides us, there's something wrong with it" You tell Steve when he accepts you as an ally. He smiles and then you are helping him, not fighting any of your companions, just deflecting blows and preventing them from hurting you.

Natasha lands a punch to your face, and your natural instinct is to knock her down. Before you can apologize, she assumes a provocative expression.

"Too bad I wasn't Wanda." She sneers and you roll your eyes, assuming a defensive stance as she stands up. 

"I don't want to fight you, Tasha" You say as you defend the blows. "Please, this isn't right."

"You don't just want to stand against your girlfriend." She taunts almost hitting a blow to your face, but you hold her leg up in the air.

"Why are you insisting on this?"

She releases herself from your grip, and you return to defending her attempts to punch you. 

"I just don't think it's fair."

"What are you talking about?"

"You should tell her. Wanda should know." She explains and then you hold her fist closed, preventing her from hitting you. She tries with her other hand, but you stop her again, restraining her. Your faces are close together. 

"No." You say seriously as she tries to break your grip. "She doesn't need to know."

"You deserve to be happy too." She says before breaking free by hooking her legs around your waist. You loosen her wrists to avoid being knocked over as you struggle.

"Tell her" Nat ordered again and you let out a sigh, knocking her to the floor and falling on top. 

"She has already found her soulmate" You reply with a sad smile, immobilizing Natasha "Now please stop fighting".

Nat hits you in the ribs, and you let out a grunt of pain. She manages to immobilize you next.

"You are unbelievable." She comments with a slight smile, and then she lets you go. "Always making me make the worst choices, darling."

You laugh  in surprise when Nat helps you up. You think Tony is complaining that it is not fair that people switch sides in the middle of the fight, but you are not listening. You watch Vision and Wanda interact from some distance away. And then you are helping Steve to the plane.

//-//

The fight is over and you are laughing, but not with happiness.

The government wants to arrest anyone who didn't escape from the parking lot, and they are coming. So you are holding Tony Stark by the neck.

"No one is going to touch her." You warn him, and there is only fear and surprise in the man's eyes, "How can you treat your friends like that?"

You saved James Rhodes' life during the fight, and so this is what you use against Tony.

He laughs when you put him down.

"What exactly are you asking me for?"

"Time." 

"You made that choice when you chose your side."

"That's too easy for you to say, isn't it, Tony?" you retort with irony. "If you take off the armor, you are no longer Iron Man, and the deal doesn't affect you. We don't all have that choice."

Tony looks at you with annoyance. And then he puts his hand to his ear.

"They've gone north." He warns the agents over the communicator. You look at him one last moment before turning, running back outside.

"Vision, let her go." You warn the man and he looks at you in surprise, probably trying to understand why Tony let you go. 

"I don't understand."

"They're up north, Vision." Tony says appearing at his side. "We couldn't reach the fugitives in time. Our colleagues have fled north."

Vision gives Tony one last look before letting go of Wanda's arm. 

As Wanda walks over to you, you signal to your the rest of the captain's team that you have also been contained. You find the Ant-Man is injured. 

"They also stole the transport vehicle in warehouse 23, the keys were in the cabin." Vision says next and you exchange a look with him, thanking him. And then you run.

//-//

Being an out-of-state fugitive is quite stressful, but you get used to it. 

There are no fixed locations, or very long term accommodations, but you try to stay positive about the whole thing.

You all can't stay together, so you have a cell phone that connects to Steve's and Sam's. You stayed in the same hotel room as Wanda for three weeks, then Vision contacted her.

They were trying, and then you let her try it alone. Natasha agreed to run away with you, and you made sure to check on Wanda every week, but she was always fine. 

T'Challa agrees to let you stay in Wakanda for a while after the government almost captures you. 

Your powers are difficult to control after the agents hit you with a strange weapon, and the people of Wakanda seem to be the only ones able to help you.

You don't like to owe favors, but you think they are good people. 

Bucky is free when you meet him. You become close again, and it is good to see him rest.

It is Shuri who discovers where your abilities come from, and you finally understand why you have always felt connected to Wanda and Vision. Your energy came from one of the jewels, as did their power. You don't know how Hydra got access to this, and you don't understand why Thor doesn't tell you all the things humans don't understand, but you realize that these mystical stones are too dangerous.

You talk to Shuri, and then to the council and the king of Wakanda. They all agree that no human should have access to such power. You help her build a machine that can separate the stone and Vision's body. 

"How do we destroy it?" you ask her as you are putting the finishing touches on the equipment.

"Maybe you can." She says and you deny it with your head.

"No, I don't think I can." You say. "But maybe Wanda can. It's her thing, and it's her stone too."

Shuri nods and you get back to work.

Unfortunately, events move faster than you do. 

//-//

There is an army controlled by a purple man. 

That is the only information Steve gives you through the communicator. You hugged Wanda tight when she arrived in Wakanda, and she was happy to see you, but she also seemed upset. You knew it was because of Vision.

"Hey buddy, it's going to be okay." You told him with a smile as you helped him climb into the machine you built.

"Thanks, Y/N" Vision said to you.

You didn't stop fighting for the next few hours.

There was a moment, on the battlefield, that you felt something in the pit of your stomach. When you destroyed your opponent, your hands and eyes were glowing even after you stopped throwing your power. Your stone was here. 

You knew something was wrong, so you ran to where you were being pulled.

Some opponents tried to hold you back, but you defeated them easily, feeling much stronger than you ever had.

"No!" you exclaimed angrily as you launched your energy at the creature that was supposed to be Thanos, preventing him from reaching Wanda. He used the golden gauntlet to hold his power, but you kept him busy long enough for her to destroy Vision's stone, an energy field pushing you away when she did. You fell to your knees afterwards, exhausted from having held out against your own stone for so long.

Thanos slowly walked over to the redhead, and you struggled to move toward her.

"I understand, child. Better than anyone." He said and you choked, fearing that he was going to hurt her. 

"You could never." She replied angrily still on the floor.

"Today I lost more than you could ever imagine".

"Leave her alone" You muttered stumbling toward her. You are feeling a sharp pain all over your body, but managed to stand. Thanos smiled at you wryly.

You raise your fist toward him, but he just raises his golden gauntlet.

"I felt you." He with a wry smile. "In my hand"

"You will feel my fist on your face in a second." You retorted angrily and he laughed. You are almost reaching for him, but you frown when you notice the green glow on his gauntlet. The time stone.

"One second is all I need."

You blink, and you're not there anymore. You are halfway again. And then you understand what he has done. When you run back to where Wanda was, a golden light throws you away. This time, it wasn't Wanda who destroyed the stone. 

"No. No" you repeat to yourself as you run back, your body no longer aching like before, and you stumble among the trees.

You were going to attack Thanos as soon as you saw him, but Thor hit him first. Then you were running to Wanda, kneeling beside her.

"He's gone." She cried beside Vision's body. You couldn't feel his stone anymore, and your own face was wet with your tears.

You placed your hand on top of Wanda's next, and looked forward. Thor had struck Thanos in the chest and was saying something to him. 

Then you gasped in surprise as the titan raised his fist. 

"No!" you exclaimed getting up, but he snapped his fingers. You launched a wave of energy at him, but he used his gauntlet to defend himself. "What have you done?" you shouted rushing to reach the fallen titan. 

"The necessary thing." He whispered before using his last breath of energy to teleport away. 

You turned to Thor at the same instant, but he is not looking at you, but at Steve. 

"Steve?" A male voice calls out, and you watch Bucky walk toward you all. But he turns to dust midway.

"W-what?" you whisper breathlessly, taking a step forward. Steve kneels on the ground in the same place your friend was and looks at Thor in confusion. 

You look at Wanda immediately and feel your heart soar when you notice that the same thing is happening to her.

"Wanda?" You cry running to her, but by the time you arrive, she is gone. There is only Vision's body.

You can't feel either of them anymore.

//-//

The world is in complete chaos during the blip. There is no more S.H.I.E.L.D, and many other deals. And then there's a company that wants to take Vision's body away, and you destroy their trucks, and Steve has to calm you down for twenty minutes.

"No one is going to touch him." You say only as you release yourself from Steve's grip, and ignore the startled looks from the agents of S.W.O.R.D. You kick them out of the Avengers compound, and say that Tony Stark may be dead, but they had no jurisdiction there. If they had a problem with that, they could fight you.

It took 23 days for Tony Stark to come home. You hug him first when he gets off the plane. And you are impressed that it barely takes two hours for him to start talking shit.

"I told you guys we needed armor around the world..."

"And here we go again." You mumble impatiently as you take the focus away from the discussion to the tablet in your hand. 

You are startled when Tony collapses to the ground, and the team moves to rescue him. You don't worry, because you feel he is fine.

"Tony always has to make a scene." You comment to yourself shaking your head slightly. "Hey, you," You call out to the metal girl you don't know while the other avengers are out of the room, "help me find your dad."

//-//

The team is trying to locate Thanos by analyzing planets that fit Nebula's description. You feel a sharp twinge in the back of your neck and then you are getting up towards the scanning equipment.

"Y/N, what is it?" Steve asks worriedly as he notices her movement.

"I found him." You say a moment later. 

The team is impressed, but you swallow dryly.

"I felt my stone." You explain to them. "And then I didn't feel anything else. We need to go to him."

The Avengers exchanged worried looks, fearing what you were implying.

Soon you were all on a spaceship, heading for an unknown planet.

When Thanos confirmed your suspicions, the stones were destroyed, you sobbed.

"Wanda. She..." You said breathlessly turning to leave the cabin. You sat on the ground, trying to normalize your breathing. She's gone. Your friends are gone forever.

//-//

Your way of experiencing grief is unconventional.

You try to balance managing the chaos that the world has become while splitting chores with Natasha, and going to a few community therapy sessions. Steve is acting strange, but you make sure he eats properly.

There are no tears. You feel that if you start crying you won't stop, so you just work. And you help those who need it. And you have movie nights with Natasha, and you try to remember things that are worth living for.

There is a secret project too, something that is not progressing, but that you don't give up on. The machine you created with Shuri in Wakanda was destroyed in battle. With the world in complete chaos, you didn't have enough time to put it back together, especially with the current state of Wakanda. But you kept the projects going. Part of you didn't know if your lack of absolute dedication was because you believed Vision wouldn't want to live without Wanda. You wouldn't and you didn’t.

So there is this side project, to rebuild the machine and try to restore Vision, but it falls by the wayside after a few months. You keep the papers in a safe in your room, and start accepting more missions.

Tony has given up the hero's life, just as you always said he could do. You are not angry with him, though. And you visit him not so regularly, and agree when Pepper says that Morgan is the cutest kid in the world.

Steve becomes a kind of group therapist, and you want to tell him he needs a degree, but Natasha pokes you in the rib, and you just nod as you listen to the story.

Clint is different too. Losing his family has completely messed him up, and he has become a vigilante of sorts. You find Natasha crying often after you discover that he has been murdering people, and you always hug her until she stops. 

As time passes, your pain becomes numb, and your nightmares stop happening. You think it is because Natasha lets you sleep in her bed now.

//-//

Five goes by much faster than you realize.

You are somewhere in Georgia, investigating a lead on a possible terrorist group forming, when Nat calls you. Scott Lang was alive.

When you return to New York, you discover that you have to go back in time.

Your friends want to know if you know anything about how Hydra had your stone, but you have no memory of that time. And with no time, they decide to just follow the right date and place that Rocket provides. You accompany Nebula, because it might be helpful to get a feel for where your stone would be.

You hug Natasha before she leaves with Clint to get the soul stone.

"You're getting sentimental" She teases when you let go of her.

"I know" You retort with a smile. "Just be careful, Tasha."

"I'm usually the one who tells you that." She says in the same tone, squeezing your hand lightly before turning away. 

When Nebula takes you and James to a place called the Temple of the Power Stone, you can barely breathe. 

"I can feel it." You say to the two of you as you walk to the stone. 

"How are we going to get it?" James asks as he looks at the repository where the stone is placed.

Nebula is sticking her hand in the protective flame next second and you let out an impressed hiss.

She hands the stone protector to you, and you nod in appreciation.

"Let's synchronize then." You say as you form a small circle. 

"Wow, that always feels weird" You joke as you appear in the Avengers compound again, now on your time. But your smile dies when you look around, and can't find Nat. "Clint...where?"

He just denies it with his head, and you feel your heart soar. This can't be true, you think in desperation. 

"No. Nat... She can't." You say breathlessly, falling to your knees. Steve is touching your shoulder next. But then you release yourself from his grip, rushing to get out, feeling yourself suffocating. 

You end up on the pier of the complex, thick tears streaming down your face.

It doesn't take long for the team to catch up with you.

"What do we do now?" You hear Tony ask. Steve sits down on one of the empty benches.

Bruce, in his Hulk form, is further away and looks just as upset as you.

"Did she have a family?"

You let out a short laugh at Tony's question.

"She had us." You retort trying to control your tears. 

"Why are you guys talking like she's not coming back?" Thor asked angrily. "We have the stones, we will bring her back."

"It can't be undone." Clint said next, nipping in the bud the shred of hope that had risen in your chest. You sobbed. "She sacrificed herself for the stone, her soul was the price." He says looking forward. He lets out a breathless sigh. "It should have been me."

"You bet it did." You retort bitterly as you get up and walk away. No one follows you this time.

You go directly back to Nat's room. And you stay there for two days. When you calm down, and decide to take a shower and try to eat something, on the way out of the bathroom, you stop in front of her closet.

She would hate for you to take her clothes without asking, but you are wearing one of her leather jackets anyway. Wanda used to steal them too, and you both used to joke that it was because Nat had a wonderful fashion sense. 

Now you had lost your two friends, and you were alone. You tried to control your sobs. Her sacrifice had to be worth it. So you put on her clothes and went out into the living room.

//-//

The team was arguing when you came in. You just blinked in surprise when you noticed the iron gauntlet. Tony really did it.

You tried to argue that you could handle the gauntlet's power too, but Bruce insisted that since he was made of gamma ray in his Hulk form, that was what he was there for.

And then he snapped his fingers. 

You looked at Clint in surprise when he took a call from Laura. 

"Honey?" He whispered tearfully and you felt your heart soar. And then something exploded and you were creating a force field to save Clint from the rubble.

When you were finished falling among the remains of the completely destroyed Avengers compound, you checked to see if the archer was okay, sighing with relief when he opened his eyes.

"Stand up." You ordered helping him to stand. "We have to find the others."

"The gauntlet." He warns pointing to something among the stones that glowed in the dark a few feet away from you. Before you could walk towards the item, a noise caught your attention.

Clint aimed an arrow from the direction of the sound, and you choked as the space creatures moved in the dark.

"Go." You shouted to him before starting to attack the beings as he ran to reach the gauntlet and leave the place, you following him with some delay.

You almost died a couple of times though. And when you reached Clint again, there were two Nebula's with him, and a green girl.

"What's going on, people?" You asked confused, and then let out a surprised exclamation when you realized that one of the Nebula's had a gunshot mark on her chest.

"I'll explain on the way, we have to get out of here." Clint spoke pulling you through the halls.

"Wait, she killed her past self? Isn't that going to be a problem?" You exclaim as soon as Clint explains it to you and he shrugs his shoulders. "May I ask why you are green?" You say to the strange girl next to you and she looks at you reproachfully.

"Why aren't you?"

"Touché" You retort smiling, "I am Y/N."

"Gamora."

When you reach the battlefield, things are chaotic and you barely have time to notice your surroundings and you are already fighting again.

Your heart races when you realize that everyone is back. But you don't have time to talk to anyone now, as you are busy fighting.

A red glow catches your attention, however. Completely taking your attention is the right thing to say.

"Who's got the gauntlet?" You hear Steve ask over the team's communicator, but you don't wait for the answer; you're headed toward Wanda.

When you find her, she has the titan trapped in her magic. You choke with excitement at seeing her again, feeling your eyes water.

But then a loud explosion catches your attention. Thanos has activated the airstrike, and you are running toward Wanda, reaching her just before one of the missiles reaches you two.

"Whoa, hi!" She greets you in surprise as you roll on the ground together. A mixed force field between your and her magic surrounds you, protecting you two from the attacks. You let out an exclamation of happiness, raising your hand to her face, wanting to confirm that she was really there.

"God, it's really you." You gasp with emotion, letting your tears flow. Wanda probably doesn't understand what is happening, but she hugs you back as you bury your face in her neck.

This can't last long, though. You take one last look at her face before standing up, the force field still surrounding the two of you as you help her to her feet.

However, when you go to ask her how you could take down the ship, someone does it for you.

"Wow, that's cool" You comment with a smile watching Carol destroy the entire ship with one blow.

"I think you're drooling." Wanda scoffs lightly making you laugh awkwardly. 

"Shut up."

And then you are fighting again.

You have the impression that you are losing. But then Thanos' army is turning to dust before your eyes and you are exchanging a confused look with Wanda.

"Tony snapped his fingers." Steve says into the comm and you choke in surprise. Then you are running halfway across an open field until you catch up with your friends.

Pepper is kissing her husband's cheek when you arrive.

"S-Steve, what?" - You ask and he just shakes his head, thick tears in his eyes.

You gasp and then there are arms around you. It takes a moment for you to hug Wanda back. And when Steve takes Tony's body, she holds your hand.

//-//

Your hands are shaking as you step out of the shower. 

You are staying at Tony's house, as are some of the others, while the compound area is being restored and Pepper organizes the funeral. 

The laundry on your bed is Natasha's last set of clothes, and you don't want to cry anymore, but your face is wet anyway.

You finish getting dressed, but remain sitting on the bed in the room you are sharing with Wanda. The redhead enters a moment later, but you don't look at her.

Wanda sighs slightly and sits down beside you.

"Do you also have the feeling that everything is a bad dream?" She starts after a moment, you blink in surprise feeling a bit distracted and forcing yourself to pay attention. "Like the pain is so overwhelming, it's easier to think it's all temporary. Because there' s not the slightest chance you can survive this for much longer."

"Yes. I feel exactly like that." You agree smiling faintly. "But that's grief. No matter how impossible it seems now, it gets better." 

"How can you know that?"

"Because I already lost you once."

Wanda blinks in surprise and then looks straight ahead. You don't face her either. 

"How was it?" she asks after a moment, almost in a whisper. Clearly not exactly sure whether to ask that or not. You let out a dry laugh, running your hand over your face to wipe away the tears.

"What kind of question is that?" you retort and Wanda lets out a sigh, apologizing, but you shake your head. "You know exactly how I felt Wanda. Because you lost Vision too."

Wanda swallows dryly, looking at you with a frown. You stand up, leaving no room for questions. 

You leave the room next, it was better to try to eat something.

//-//

Steve Rogers is going back to the past. And he will stay there.

He confesses this to you on the eve of Tony's funeral, and you push him by the shoulders, before hugging him tightly. Bucky also cries when he tells him.

No one else must know, not yet. You go back into the room you share with Wanda and mask your tears. She probably thinks it's because of Nat, so she doesn't press you to talk.

When the ceremony takes place the next day, you entwine your arm with Steve's. You were about to lose the three leaders of the Avengers all at once, and it looked like your heart couldn't take it.

But Steve smiles, and squeezes your hand lightly, before going to talk to Potts. You walk to the edge of the lake at the cabin, joining Clint and Wanda.

"I wish there was a way to tell her." Says the man after a moment. You clench your jaw, knowing exactly who he is talking about. "Of telling her that we won."

"Natasha was sure we would make it." You say half hoarsely, trying to hold back the cry. "She trusted us. That's why she did what she did."

Clint nods slightly, not holding back the tears that were falling from his eyes.

"She knows." Wanda said next. "They both know."

Clint slung an arm around Wanda's shoulder and one around yours, embracing you both. You allowed yourself to cry some more.

//-//

There are no more Avengers. At least not for now.

The world is in complete chaos with everyone coming back after five years.

You don't want to think about how many responsibilities you will have to take on when you are a hero again, you just want to get some rest.

Your first stop is Vision's grave. The restoration of the complex took a few weeks, but Potts was kind enough to take care of everything.

You took Wanda there as soon as everything was ready.

"I know we haven't talked about this yet, but, I got it back." You tell her as you walk together to the spot Potts showed you on the map. "After Thanos activated the missiles, I worried that something had happened, but the restoration team was able to map everything out again." You counters by leading her around the place. 

Wanda just listened to your words, saying nothing. She seemed surprised by everything.

You reached a small hill, where there were two small metal and rock tombstones. On the first gravestone you made a few years ago completely recovered by Potts' team and already with slightly rusty lettering, it read "Pietro Maximoff - Brother, Friend and Hero. You are loved beyond words and lost beyond measure." On the second, a newer metal, and with gold lettering, it read "Vision Maximoff - Friend, Lover and Hero. To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die."

"I used to bring flowers, but..."

You fell silent as Wanda hugged you. You reciprocated the hug for a moment, until Wanda let go, smiling weakly at you before turning around, kneeling on the graves.

As she ran her fingers over the letters, you cleared your throat.

"I know you two weren't married, but since Vis didn't have a last name..."

"It's okay." She interrupted in a whiny voice. "Thank you."

She stood there for many minutes. You don't mind waiting. And when she allowed it, you hugged her again, wiping away her tears.

You returned to the compound just as the sun was setting.

//-//

You were going to help Wanda to have a proper grief.

She had the same quirks as you, unhealthy habits of disconnecting from reality. 

You wouldn't want that for her. Vision wouldn't want that.

The day after you took her to Pietro and Vision's grave, you appeared in her room in the morning. A tray of breakfast in your hand. 

"I don't want to get up." She grumbled against the pillows when you entered the room without knocking, opening the curtains.

"I know, but it's almost ten thirty and you need to eat something." You said, leaving the tray on the bedroom table.

The first day she resisted. But two weeks later, she was already on her feet when you came into the room. You always ate together, and you made a point of taking her for walks, and spending time doing the things she liked, for example watching old TV series together.

"Potts called me." You said as you two shared coffee. "She wants me to take over the compound."

Wanda let out a surprised exclamation and you laughed lightly.

"Yeah I know, it's a lot." You say. "But Tony left the command to Steve. And Steve left it to me."

"Are you sure you want this?" She asked looking at you. You shrug.

"It's not about wanting it, Wands," you say. "I am who I am after all. These powers are with me for a reason. Maybe I can use them to do something good."

Wanda nods slightly, looking at you in a way that makes you embarrassed.

"And what does the government think of all this?" She asks and you sigh, running your fingers through your hair.

"They want to control everything of course." You tell her. "Potts is trying to keep everything classified as private property, but after Thanos, that's pretty unlikely."

"I guess the treaty of Sokovia was inevitable after all." She then comments, and you grumble in agreement.

"I would like to enjoy the rest of my vacation, though" You say with a smile, making Wanda look at you.

"What do you want to do?" 

"I'm torn between a quiet weekend at a spiritual retreat or getting completely drunk in Las Vegas."

Wanda laughs.

"Okay." She says smiling, "Let's do both then."

"Oh, you like both then?"

"Oh, yeah."

Wanda replies wryly, and you notice her cheeks flush slightly, suggesting that she understood your insinuation. You laugh, going back to eating.

//-//

Sam has been calling you for a few hours, and you left an automated message on the answering machine that says "I'm on vacation, if it's life or death, send a letter".

You are driving to Las Vegas now, humming a pop song on the radio with Wanda in the passenger seat.

 "Now that you are Tony's heiress you will spend the money on gambling, I suppose" She teases making you laugh.

"I'm not Tony's heiress." You counter laughing. 

"Oh, yes, sorry, Miss Avengers leader."

You laugh at the teasing, then turn up the volume. You and Wanda sing at the top of your lungs.

When you park in front of the first big casino you encounter, Wanda has a mischievous grin on her face.

"I bet I win more games than you do." She says stopping in front of you.

"Can we use our magic?" You ask in the same joking tone, and she nods. You let out an excited exclamation. "Game on."

//-//

You two are thrown out of the casino a few hours later.

You both laugh as you run away from the angry security guards and get into the car quickly, many small coins falling out of your pockets. You drive through town, until you find a bar that seems crowded.

"Ready for the second half of your vacation?" Wanda asks with amusement as you get out of the car, making you laugh. Parties aren't really your thing, but you had said you wanted to drink after all.

The girl at the door looks at your clothes with a judgmental eye, but you think Wanda may have used her powers to get you two into the club.

The atmosphere is extremely noisy and with lots of lights, but you are not bothered when you start drinking.

"I think this is the worst way to go through grief" You comment before you and Wanda pour a shot of vodka together.

She laughs lightly afterwards.

"It's fun though." 

And then she is pulling you onto the dance floor. You are too drunk to care about the closeness. You laugh as you dance together.

As the nightclub is beginning to empty, you and Wanda stumble out, visually drunk.

"Where's the car, Wands?" You ask between giggles, Wanda shrugs her shoulders, leaning on you to be able to walk.

It takes many minutes for you to find the vehicle. And when you do, Wanda passes out in the back seat. You use the rest of your sobriety to throw a jacket over her body, before sitting down in the front seat and falling asleep.

The next morning you both have a very bad migraine, and decide to have breakfast at a dinner on the way back to the compound.

Sitting on opposite sides of the same table, you drink some orange juice while Wanda steals a piece of your pancakes. You don't mind.

"Where are we going to spend the last stage of your vacation?" She asks curiously, and you rest your face on your hand while propping your elbow on the table.

"I don't know." You say. "I don't think I know anywhere quiet."

Wanda stands thoughtfully for a moment.

"We could rent a cabin."

"I make minimum wage."

Wanda laughs rolling her eyes. But she becomes quiet next, her expression serious.

"I can split the bill with you."

You raise a curious eyebrow.

"May I ask where the money comes from? Please don't say drug dealing."

Wanda laughs, looking away. 

"Shut up." She retorts the next moment. "So what, you'll take it?"

You look at her suspiciously. You weren't going to pressure her into telling you what she didn't want, wishing to give her privacy. 

"All right, Wands."

Wanda smiles at you, raising her hand. You give a "Hi-Five" and the waitress looks at you curiously.

//-//

Maybe renting a cabin with the woman you've secretly loved for years wasn't your best idea, but you're handling things well.

You were only going to stay three days, and if you could disguise that you completely melted when Wanda touched you or how cute she looked when she woke up, you'd be fine.

The cabin had two rooms, which was the best thing for your sanity.

After you had finished unpacking, you decided to prepare something to eat.

"How do you know how to cook this?" Wanda asks in surprise as she joins you in the kitchen. "By the way, how do you have the ingredients to make it?"

"I bought it on the way, smarty pants" You replied with amusement, moving around the kitchen to prepare the Sokovian Stew. "And I've cooked it for you before, I don't understand the surprise."

Wanda laughed lightly, remembering.

"Sorry, you're right." She says leaning against the countertop as she watches you cook.

"Come here and see if the seasoning is good." You tell her a moment later as you are stirring the pots. 

You raise the spoon toward Wanda, expecting her to take it. But she just brings her mouth close to the cutlery, and looks at you as she tastes the food. You swallow dryly, feeling your heart race at the intensity of her gaze. You almost choke when she lets out a groan of satisfaction.

"It's delicious."

"Uh." It is the only sound you are able to produce, as Wanda looks up at you with an innocent smile. You quickly face the pot again, trying not to embarrass yourself so much.

"I'll set the table for us."

//-//

"Are you sure food is not your love language?" Wanda asks suggestively when you hand her a mug of hot chocolate. You are on the veranda, a few hours after dinner. You laugh lightly.

"My what?"

She settles into the seat she is sitting on, turning her face to you as you sit down next to her.

"Your love language." She explains with a smile. "There are several, one of them is cooking for the people you love."

You frown slightly, growing thoughtful.

"That's hardly mine, Wands." - You reply. "I hate cooking."

"What are you talking about, you always cook for me!" She retorts with a mix of confusion and humor in her voice, you shrug.

"It's because it's you." You say looking away.

"What does that mean?" She asks and you sigh lightly, taking a sip of your chocolate. Wanda looks at you incredulously. "You're not going to tell me then. Okay."

"Tell me more about these love languages." You ask next trying to change the focus of the subject from yourself. 

Wanda seems excited to talk about it.

"Okay, I think there are five kinds." She starts with a smile, you're just happy to hear her say anything. And she sounds absolutely adorable when she talks about something that gets her excited. "They are words of affirmation, quality time, touch, acts of service, and gifts."

"What happened to cooking?" You tease and she pats your shoulder, laughing.

"I guess it comes into gift giving" She says thoughtfully. "But I read somewhere that it was like a sixth language".

You make an understanding noise with your mouth, but Wanda interprets your lack of reaction as a lack of interest, and apologizes that she is boring you. You frown.

"Hey, what are you talking about? I love this idea!" You assure her, and she smiles shyly after a moment. "I was just wondering which language I fit best in. That is, if I'm the one who decides that?"

"It's not a decision really." She says. "It's more of an analysis in how you behave. Usually the people around you notice."

"Oh, right." You grumble in agreement. "You really would make a terrible analyst then." You tease and Wanda laughs, pushing you lightly and making a face when she almost knocks over your hot chocolate. You laugh. "That story that I cook to show my love, not a thing."

Wanda rolls her eyes amused and then looks at you curiously.

"Oh yeah, and what do you think your language is then?"

You think for a moment.

"I have no idea." You confess and Wanda laughs looking away, "That's harder than it sounds."

"Take a guess."

"Um... I don't think they are words of affirmation." You say and she looks at you expectantly, wanting you to talk more about it. You smile awkwardly. "I never know what to say, so that would be the last language I would think of."

Wanda smiles, biting her lip and shaking her head slightly.

"What else?"

You inhale deeply, thinking. 

"Well, I'm not the best gift-giving person." You counters. "Maybe quality time is a good option, but I'm not sure either. I'm pretty anti-social."

"I think quality time might be your thing." She says with a fond smile.

You raise your eyebrow curiously.

"Why do you say that?"

"Look around you." She replies with a smile, and you understand that this is exactly what is happening now. You give a shy little laugh.

"Can I make it official then?" You ask and Wanda laughs.

"I don't know, don't you like the others?"

"I forget which ones they are." You confess and Wanda laughs. 

"Touch and Acts of Service." She clarifies and you nod in understanding.

" Okay let me think about it." You begin running your fingers through your hair quickly. "How can anyone know that touch is their thing?"

"I guess if the person likes to be touched." Wanda says and you raise your eyebrow in confusion. "Like, if you like to give hugs or cuddle."

"Do some people not like that?"

Wanda laughs.

"I think we have an answer." She says and you smile, shrugging.

"No, seriously. I don't know." You speak. "I guess I have no problem with touching people I like, but I can't tell if that would be my language."

"Okay." Wanda says and you look at her curiously as she picks up your mug and places it on the table along with hers. She moves a little closer to you, and entwines your hands together. You swallow dryly.

"Do you like that?" She asks gently, and you look into her eyes, glowing green. You nod shyly, and Wanda smiles. She releases your hands to slip her arms over your shoulder, and you melt into her embrace almost instantly. "Is that good?"

"Yes." You whisper with flushed cheeks. Wanda releases you next.

"I think we have a winner." She jokes, and you giggle awkwardly. 

"What about you? What's your language?"

"Definitely quality time" She says and you smile. 

"I think words of affirmation are your thing too."

Wanda looks at you curiously.

"Why?"

"Because you're nice." You say. "You say nice things all the time I mean. You are an affectionate person."

"Maybe words of affirmation are your thing." She hits back with flushed cheeks, you laugh awkwardly looking away.

"What happens if people have different love languages?" You ask after a moment. "Do they fight?"

Wanda sighs lightly, thoughtfully. 

"I don't really know." She replies. "I think they each show their love in a different way, and if they talk, there's no reason to fight."

You nod in agreement and then straighten your posture, extending your hand to Wanda.

"Miss Maximoff, I swear I will try to show my affection to you with words of affirmation and quality time" You tell her in a fake serious tone, and Wanda joins in on the joke, agreeing to shake your hand.

"I swear I will try to show my affection to you with touch and also with quality time." She repeats the pledge, and you both look serious for a second, before laughing.

Neither of you realizes that by proposing to act outside your comfort zone for each other, perhaps acts of service are the best suitable love language for you two.

//-//

The second day at the cabin is like heaven on earth.

You wake up early, have coffee with Wanda, and walk a short trail with her until lunchtime. You cook again, and she teases you about it. In the afternoon you play monopoly, and cards. She makes you tea, and then you two sit on the sofa, each with a book, just enjoying each other's company.

It must be about ten o'clock at night when Wanda starts to yawn. You two are already lying on the couch, and you poke her ribs with your foot and she laughs lightly.

"Go to bed." You tell her with a smile, and she looks quickly at you.

"I don't want to sleep." She says and yawns next, making you laugh.

"Of course you don't."

Wanda laughs and then closes the book, placing it on the small table beside the sofa. She buries her body against the cushions afterwards. You laugh as you look at her.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't want to get up." She replies by closing her eyes. You laugh, closing the book and sitting down. You place the book on the coffee table, and when Wanda yawns again you sigh. 

"Come on you big baby, I'll take you to bed." - You tell her as you approach. Wanda lets out an exclamation as picks her up and carries her, blushing as she places her hands on your neck. You were laughing and didn't realize it.

When you reach your bedroom door, Wanda uses her powers to open the door, and you look at her quickly to thank her, which is a mistake, because you realize how close you are. It's hard to reach the bed without shaking now.

"Here we go." You mumble clumsily as you lay her down on the bed. Wanda doesn't let go of your neck however, and you swallow dryly. "Wanda?"

"Can I kiss you?" she asks breathlessly, and you feel your stomach drop. Your bodies are very close together, as you bent down to place her on the bed. Your hands are stretched out beside her neck, to keep you from falling on top of her.

"Are you sure?" You reply in the same tone, your voice husky. Wanda nods biting her lips lightly, her face very flushed.

You slowly advance against her and she meets you on the way. You both sigh as your lips touch. It is as overwhelming as you ever imagined it would be.

Wanda nuzzles the back of your neck lightly and you slide your tongue against hers, changing the intensity of the kiss.

She sighs, pulling you down and you shiver as you rest your weight against her.

When you pull away to take a breath, your foreheads stay together.

"Wanda..." You start breathlessly, trying to decide what to say.

"I like you." She confesses in the same tone, her voice husky. You feel your heart race. "Is that okay?"

You let out a short laugh, nodding. You kiss her again, smiling against her lips. 

You kiss for several minutes, and when your lips are swollen and you are hot, you part. It's still early for this, you don't want to press Wanda.

"Maybe I should go to my room" You whisper against her lips, finding hard to reason with such closeness. Wanda kisses you again, making you sigh. You are almost giving up on the idea of getting up when she breaks the kiss, biting your lip as she does so.

"Goodnight, darling" She whispers and you melt at the nickname, but smile, starting to get up. Wanda is still lying there, just as affected by the make-out session as you are, and you just smile shyly at her as you say goodnight and go back to your room.

You both have silly smiles on your faces as you fall asleep.

//-//

There is a delicious tension in your relationship with Wanda now.

You got up early on your last day, and went into the kitchen to make breakfast for the two of you. While you were preparing coffee, Wanda woke up.

She stretched, and seemed to hesitate slightly about what to do next, but you were already handing her a cup of coffee and kissing her cheek before walking over to the table. 

You sit in silence, glances and smiles stolen between the small talk.

When you have finished eating, you turn on the television, and Wanda sits down next to you. 

"Come here" you ask softly, and she smiles as she approaches, cuddling up to you. You watch some silly movie together, and you like to feel Wanda laughing against you.

In the afternoon, Wanda is the one who prepares lunch, and you lean on the counter when you finally decide to look at your cell phone. You sigh as you look at the number of missed calls and notifications. There are at least a dozen messages from Sam saying that something was wrong.

"What is it?" Wanda asks when she notices your expression.

"Dever calling us" You reply with a mixture of weariness and irony, shaking the cell phone. Wanda exchanges an understanding look with you, and you put the cell phone on the counter, sinking your face into your hands. She gives the pot one last check, and you are slightly startled when she moves in front of you, gently pulling your hands away from your face.

"I just wanted to stay here forever" You confess and let out a short laugh "I know it's selfish, but I just... it feels like my whole life I've been fighting." You tell her with a sad smile. "This must be the most at peace and content I've felt in a long time"

Wanda raises her hands to caress your cheeks.

"It's not selfish." She says tenderly. "I know exactly how it feels, darling. Ever since I was a child, Pietro and I went from one fight to another." She tells you and you let your hands rest against her waist. "I can't thank you enough for giving me moments like that."

You smile, shaking your head slightly. Then you sink your face into Wanda's neck and she hugs you back.

Now that your cell phone is no longer on silent, it doesn't take long for another call to come in. You grumble when you let go of Wanda to answer it. 

Sam is saying something about a new Captain America and you are frowning, but smile when Wanda presses her fingers against your forehead to get you to stop grimacing.

"Are you listening to me?" Sam asks half impatiently on the other end of the line. You had been silent because Wanda is the most beautiful woman you have ever seen and she is standing right in front of you, smiling.

"Of course, Sammy." You then reply, raising your free hand to Wanda's cheek caressing her skin. "I'll come back to the compound tonight and then we'll talk better."

"Okay, just hurry please." He asks and looks tired. "Things are a mess".

You hang up and move forward, kissing Wanda intensely. She sighs against your lips, and you wish you could call Sam again and tell him you're not going anywhere. 

//-//

When you return to the compound again there is a lot of work.

You find out that Sam is going to become the new Captain America and you couldn't be prouder.

You are no stranger to the idea that he should be the new leader of the Avengers, as Steve was. It feels right and you tell him so.

He seems surprised that you refuse the leadership, but you assure him that it was never really your thing, you would be happy in solo missions and other activities. 

Besides this, things with Wanda were going in a direction you never imagined.

Part of you kept repeating that she would never look at you if Vision were alive, but you suppress these thoughts as much as you can.

You start going out frequently, casual encounters that leave you two with flushed cheeks and racing hearts. There are some kisses. But in general, Wanda is already so much a part of your life that nothing has really changed. You live together in the complex, and spend almost all your free time together. 

There are many missions now, many people needing help.

Four months after you started to go out, Shuri calls you.

She apologizes for not getting in touch sooner, explaining how complicated things have become in Wakanda as well. You assure her that it's okay and that you would like to visit her when you can. She has a mysterious tone when she says that she needs your help with a project, and that she would have more information in a few days. You are curious and thoughtful as you hang up the cell phone and walk back to your room.

Wanda is strangely quiet the next day. You don't understand what is going on, but when you check the calendar, you bite the inside of your cheek. It was the anniversary of Vision's death. For you it had been five years, but for her, only a few months. Sighing sadly, you prepare something hot for her to eat.

When you arrive in her room, she has a sad and thoughtful countenance and is slightly startled when you enter without knocking, but you just smile and put the tray of soup on the table.

"I brought you some food, baby" You say tenderly and Wanda looks at you just for a moment. You notice a piece of paper in her hands and have a curious expression. "What's that?"

Wanda's eyes immediately fill with tears, and you blink in concern. She holds out the paper to you.

It is a house plan. It is stamped "property sold" with the date close to when you traveled to the cottage. You understand where the money came from now. But what catches your eye is the scrawl in red in the center, which reads "To grow old together, V."

Swallowing dryly, you fold the paper again, leaving it on the table before returning to Wanda.

"I'm sorry, I just... I just miss him and it seems like everything changed all at once"

"No, Wanda. It's okay." You assure her as you sit up and wrap her in a hug, which made her cry, but also relax her immediately. "I wish I could take this pain away from you, but I can't. I'm really sorry for the life you two couldn't live together."

Wanda sobs against your T-shirt and while you soothe her to sleep, you decide what you are going to do.

//-//

Shuri called. So you were going to Wakanda, Bucky next to you on the plane. 

You teased him one last time about his new name "white wolf" before you got off.

You hugged your friend tight before you two left for the laboratory.

"I managed to recover the wreckage of your machine" She tells you with animation. You push down any insecurity as you smile, and hand her the projects that have been locked away in your room for five years.

You will work together again. It will take some time, due to the amount of tasks, but you will have this as your main project.

After three days, you and Bucky return home.

Before you enter the compound, he calls out to you.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks with a worried look, you nod.

"They belong together, Buck." You say with a bitter taste in your mouth. Bucky has an almost pitying look on his face and you hate it, so you are changing your stance. "Don't say anything to Wanda, though. I can't give her hopes like that and fail. She can only know if I succeed."

Bucky nods in understanding and you walk back.

//-//

Your heart and your body belong completely to Wanda Maximoff. You eventually realize this when you return to the compound, and even though you are secretly working to resurrect her dead boyfriend, you can't resist her.

Perhaps the best choice would have been to end things between you, but all you can do is completely melt in her presence. You laugh at her jokes, engage in her conversations, and fall apart in her kisses.

The trips to Wakanda become more frequent over the next month, and you begin to miss Wanda terribly when you are away, but you use this frustration to work.

It's May, and you'll need to travel again just three days after you arrive, and by the way things are going well, this should be your last trip to Wakanda. 

"Okay, Shuri, thanks for letting me know. I'll get everything ready." You tell her through the hologram in your room and she smiles before hanging up. You are startled when you notice Wanda at the door.

"Are you leaving again?" She asks annoyed and you nod sadly. 

You hope that Wanda will not be as upset as she has been the last few times. You obviously don't tell her the reason you go to Wakanda so much, and Bucky covers for you by saying it was confidential. It has been enough to maintain the logic that the less people knew, the less dangerous it was, and Wanda believes it.

"I'll call you while I'm there" You tell her trying to soften her annoyance as she walks into her room closing the door.

"It's not the same." She mumbles moving closer only to pass her arms around your torso. "I miss you."

You feel your heart soar as you hug her back. You know that the sentence refers to the new distance you have put between you, and part of you wants to confess everything. But you hold your words back.

"Everything is going to be okay, Wanda." You tell her disguising any sign of your recent need to cry. "This is going to be the last time."

Wanda then releases you, looking at you tenderly. You smile back, and she moves in to kiss you.

You know those kisses. The ones she only gives when you are alone, or when you have been apart too long. Kisses that are dangerous to cross barriers that you didn't know if she was ready to cross, and that also make your body hot and take your breath away.

Going out for almost seven months, this was the only line you hadn't crossed yet. Honestly, your cuddling sessions were borderline. But there were so many other things about your relationship that sex really wasn't the focal point. 

And then you had Wanda kissing you like this and you couldn't resist.

Letting your hands slide down her body, you felt her sigh against your lips as you squeezed her ass, pressing her forward against you.

You began to walk with Wanda around the room, exchanging passionate, hot kisses, until she stumbled on the bed and you fell over her body on the mattress.

When your clothes came off, you reached for one of her hands and entwined it in yours on top of her head, kissing her neck as you trembled at the sound of her moans.

Wanda came on your fingers, moaning your name with her eyes closed and mouth open as you kept your free hand entwined in hers. You looked at her with adoration, thinking she was absolutely perfect.

You came against her thigh, and then she came in your mouth a few moments later. You repeated it one more time until your bodies were too tired to do it again. 

You woke up first the next day, and while preparing coffee, you felt your face getting wet. You were going to lose her again. But you quickly wiped the tears away. She was never really yours to lose.

//-//

Bucky didn't come back to Wakanda with you, and you figured he had some other mission. You also insinuated that he was spending a lot of time outside the compound with Sam, and laughed when he got flushed and told you to go fuck yourself.

When you arrived at Shuri's lab, you didn't sleep properly for two weeks.

//-//

Non-Reader Pov

Bucky nodded slightly when Wanda entered the kitchen. She had been really upset these days, feeling lonely. But Y/N made the soldier promise to check on her girlfriend often and keep her company, so that's exactly what he's been doing.

After coffee, he suggested that they walk around the compound for a while, and the witch accepted.

"You know, I think Nat would like to see you two together." Commented the soldier with a smile. Wanda grumbled in agreement, slightly distracted, but then she assumed a confused expression.

"What do you mean?" She asked and Bucky blinked curiously. "How did Nat know that Y/N liked me?"

Bucky let out a short laugh also confused by the conversation.

"What do you mean, Wanda? Everyone knew all along."

Wanda stops walking, blinking with confusion.

"Bucky, what? No, Y/N and I only fell in love after Thanos, what do you..."

Bucky laughs in disbelief and confusion.

"Whoa, she really didn't tell you." He says surprised and at Wanda's expression, he straightens his posture, putting his hands in his pockets as he looks at her. "Look, maybe it wasn't the best idea for me to be the one to tell you, but I imagine since you're together now it won't make much difference." He says, sighing slightly. "She's been in love with you ever since you joined the Avengers. You were the reason she fought alongside Steve when he defied the law for me. Everyone always knew."

Wanda shook her head, surprised and incredulous.

"Bucky what are you saying?" Wanda muttered more to herself than to the soldier. Bucky just looked at her curiously.

"All these years, and you never knew." He said surprised.

Wanda felt her eyes fill with tears.

"But... Why didn't she say anything?" She asked holding back the tears. "I... She's been with me all this time, and... how could she not have said anything?"

Bucky shrugged. 

"You had Vision, Wanda. She didn't want to make things awkward." He says. "She used to tell Natasha that loving you was enough. She never needed you to love her back."

Wanda gasps in surprise and cries, running her hands through her hair. Thousands of memories flashing through her mind at once. All the times Y/N was by her side, their escapes from the tower, their pranks, their jokes. The way she always stood up for her, helped her on missions, in training. How she blew up the TV set in the briefing room the day the government agent broadcast the report of what happened on Sokovia to the team in an attempt to shock them with Wanda's mistake. Pietro's grave, the way she took care of everything and assured Wanda that she was happy to help. But mostly in the way she always smiled when Wanda told her about Vision, how she supported her when they were on the run, and how she didn't leave her side when she was grieving. 

Wanda couldn't imagine how much it must have hurt to watch the person you love, loving someone else.

Wanda let out a dry laugh, finally letting the tears flow. 

"All this time, and she loved me in secret." She mumbles breathlessly. "How could she bear it?"

Bucky looked away.

"Well, she's always tougher than most."

Wanda shook her head, laughing sadly.

"Take me to Wakanda."

//-//

Reader Pov

You did it.

"Shuri, is this really happening?" You ask with a mixture of surprise and excitement. Your eyes completely glaze over in front of you. 

The door to the machine you created then opened, a metallic noise filling the room. It took the machine man a few seconds to open his eyes, and when he did you held your breath.

"You really did it." Shuri said to you impressed and looking forward as well.

"We did." You retorted taking a step towards the being that was looking at you with curiosity. He seemed to be getting used to the idea of being online again. "Vision?"

The question escaped your lips firmly, although your heart was racing.

Vision moved out of the machine, looking around.

"I'm confused." The male voice filled the room. "I think I've been asleep. My last memory is of a field."

You gasp, feeling your eyes fill with water.

"I can't believe you're here, buddy" You tell him, stepping forward to hug him. Vision doesn't respond however, still appearing to be in shock.

When you let go, you are smiling.

"I'll explain everything to you, Vis."

Shuri leads you to a meeting room, and she keeps checking Vision's functionality signals while you talk for a bit. You tell him about the blip, about his death, and a little about Thanos. He is different, maybe it is the stone. He seems more mechanical and logical than ever, talking about statistics and asking about social impacts. You just think he needs to get used to the world again.

"There's someone coming to see you" Shuri announces after a moment while fiddling with her computer. 

"T'Challa wants to check if we are eating properly again?" You joke and Shuri laughs, but then she frowns.

"Actually it's..."

The door to the room then opens. You get up from your armchair in surprise to see Wanda standing there. She looks at you with adoration in her eyes, but her expression falls completely when she notices who is beside you.

Her face is a mixture of surprise, disbelief, and confusion. You swallow dryly, ignoring the urge to cry, and force yourself to smile shyly.

Wanda walks towards you slowly.

"I've been working to bring him back, Wanda." You explain in a husky voice. "To bring him back to you."

Wanda's eyes are filled with tears, and she gasps as Vision rises from the armchair, looking at her curiously. 

"How...?" Wanda asks breathlessly, but she sobs then moves forward to embrace the robot. 

You feel your heart break, because it is over. You smile however, nodding to Shuri lightly as you leave the two of them alone.

When you reach the hallway, your hands and legs are shaking and you lean on the wall to keep from falling to the floor. Bucky is joining the two of you as Shuri looks at you with concern.

"Everything okay?" She asks touching your arm lightly. You nod frantically.

"I did what I had to do." You say breathlessly, holding back tears. "She...She's happy."

Bucky exchanges a look with Shuri and then he is asking if he can hug you. You nod slightly and when he does, you collapse.

//-//

You are avoiding Wanda.

It's childish, but you feel your heart ache every time you think about seeing her, so you're trying to buy time to only talk to her again when you can show that you're happy for her.

It has been two days since she arrived in Wakanda.

You and Bucky are in rooms in the same hallway, and you know that Shuri has set up facilities for Vision and Wanda to be together. You haven't seen her yet, and it's all due to the fact that you accepted whatever task the king had to keep you well away from the castle.

You returned very late to your room on the third day, and Bucky was waiting for you in the hallway.

"You two need to talk." He said, following you into the room as you sighed.

"I know, Buck." You grumble taking off your jacket. "I just need time, I...I think I'll crumble if I see her again"

Bucky runs his hand across his face, slightly impatient. 

"No, you don't understand." He says. "You just brought her dead boyfriend back, you can't just ignore her."

You throw yourself on the bed, closing your eyes.

"I'm really considering alcoholism now." You grumble, and Bucky laughs lightly. 

"Talk to her." He says before turning to leave.

You take a while to fall asleep after that.

//-//

You see Wanda again. At a safe distance. Your heart feels like it is going to jump out of your chest.

She and Vision go out for a walk just before lunchtime. You look at them from the balcony, their silhouettes in the field of flowers. It's beautiful. You don't realize that you are crying.

Walking to Shuri's labs, you intend to accept some project, but she has a worried look on her face when she looks at you.

" There' s something wrong." She comments by showing you a graph that you don't understand at first. "While you were behaving like a child, we had some problems." The teasing makes you blush slightly, but you are too worried to respond. 

"What happened?"

Shuri sighs weakly.

"Wanda and Vision talked for a few hours. And then she realized what we didn't anticipate." She explained as she changed the chart. "Without the mind stone, Vision is just a computer program. There's nothing human in him anymore."

You blinked in confusion, and let out a short laugh.

"What are you talking about?" You ask, but before she answers you are talking again. "Vision was always a computer. His love for Wanda was his humanity."

Shuri shook her head in the negative.

"The mind stone created a connection with Wanda." She explained. "Without it, he is just a set of algorithms. He remembers everything he experienced, but he can no longer feel."

You gasp in surprise and then sit down on the floor, trying to understand exactly what you had done.

"I think our mistake was not accepting death." Shuri said after a while. "We can't reverse something like that. We should know."

"I can't believe I did that." You commented with a dry laugh. "I brought him back only for her to lose him again. My god what the fuck is wrong with me?"

Shuri walked over to you, kneeling in front of you, and placing a hand on your knee.

"You didn't know, okay?" She said trying to reassure you. " Your intentions were the best".

"That doesn't matter now". You grumble bitterly.

Eventually you get up, and decide that you should apologize.

Shuri tells you that she will handle everything with Vision, that she would ask him if he would like to continue to exist, if he had a purpose, or if he would like to be deactivated. You told her to make sure that he knew that he would always have a place on the Avengers team, and she smiled saying that Wakanda would also accept him.

//-//

Your heart was racing when you knocked on Wanda's door.

She used her powers to open it, and you walked in, finding her sitting on the bed, pensive.

"You finally decided to talk to me." She teased looking at the television. You swallowed dryly, twiddling your fingers nervously.

"I talked to Shuri." You begin with emotion showing in your voice. "She told me about...about everything. I'm so sorry Wanda." You cry. "I didn't know this was going to happen, I didn't mean to hurt you..."

Wanda blinks confusedly getting up as she approaches you, raising her hands to your face.

"It's okay." She assures wiping away your tears.

"No, it isn't. I brought him back only for you to lose him again, I can't believe I could do that to you, I'm sorry..."

"Stop. No." Wanda says shaking her head, her eyes filled with tears. She swallows her emotion as she looks at you tenderly. "You gave me a chance to say goodbye to him."

"Wanda..."

"I didn't have that chance before." She continues with a sad smile, "I am grateful for it."

"W-what?" you sigh breathlessly with incredulity.

Wanda smiled, stroking your cheek lightly.

"All this time, and you've been loving me in secret." She spoke tenderly, and you felt your face heat up.

"How...?"

"It doesn't matter." She interrupts shaking her head slightly, the look in her eyes is one of pure adoration. "I still don't understand how you can hide this from me, and..."

You shake your head, letting the tears flow.

"I just wanted you to be happy, Wanda." You interrupt with a smile. "It didn't have to be with me."

Wanda gasps slightly, and moves forward to kiss you on the mouth. The kiss doesn't last long, however, and she breaks away to bring your foreheads together.

"I love you." Wanda whispers against your lips, you sigh in surprise. "Sorry it took so long."

You let out a short laugh, hugging her. When she hooks her arms around your neck, you lift her off the ground, and Wanda lets out a giggle. You spin around, smiling, your chest exploding with happiness. 

//-//

On your last day in Wakanda, you visit Vision.

He is in one of the castle rooms, looking contemplative, and pours you a cup of tea.

After you talk about what he wants to become, you hug him goodbye and he looks at you curiously.

"I never directly asked you what your motivation was for doing all this." Vision begins with a curious posture. "Shuri told me about your affection for Wanda, but I never understood precisely."

You look away from the floor, kind of awkwardly.

"I thought you two were soulmates." You say to him, and Vision observes you for a few seconds before speaking.

"How could we be soul mates, if I never had a soul?" He asks and you raise your face in surprise. Vision just smiles slightly as he puts his hand on your shoulder. "I wish you had told her how you felt in the beginning. It would have prevented so much suffering."

"Hey, we would feel your loss even if Wanda liked me..."

"I was talking about you." He interrupts with a smile and you fall silent, not knowing what to say next. "I hope you'll be happy together. You have a high level of compatibility."

You laughed at the mechanical way Vision spoke and gave him one last hug before leaving in farewell.

//-//

You return to Wakanda the following year. Many things are different now, from your address, to Wanda's rings, and your last names.

[korasonata]

So, the original plan was to do these quotes until Joe and Cleo finished their models, which was half accomplished during this stream (yay Cleo!). Question is should I still continue these after Joe has finished his model, or have we had enough now? Favourite moments of Joe and Cleo model stream part 7! Link to the video is below and time stamps are above each set of quotes!

Link: https://m.twitch.tv/videos/1155955572

—

00:32:05

Joe: This is our weekly paper craft stream. I’m joined today by ZombieCleo, who you can find at—

Cleo: Hiiiiiiiiii!!!

Joe: — twitch.tv/zombiecleo. You don’t need to type the “hi” in the middle. Although it is adorable, and so I wouldn’t blame you.

—

00:56:25

Cleo (in response to someone saying they like Hershey’s chocolate): I mean you can like the chocolate. It’s ok to be wrong. It’s fine. You know, you can—

Joe: A certain amount of the other person being wrong is to be expected in any relationship.

Cleo: Yeah! Look at my relationship with you, Joe.

Joe: Yeah, I mean we’re— we’re off the charts for that.

—

01:01:15

Joe (changing into his chroma green tank top): We can’t have people seeing my torso.

Cleo: Oh you know, yeah you— you are a cryptid.

—

01:02:04

Joe (doing a face camera expansion): these chains I’ve forged in life are about to begin pulling me down to the deep below! Enter the Jhoooooooost!

Cleo: Can I just point out that “life” was very southern. At that point. (Heavy southern accent) Life.

Joe (heavy southern accent): Life.

Cleo: Laaaaaffe

Joe: Liiiiife *both laughing* These chains I’ve forged in—

Both: laaaaffe!!

Joe (heavy twang): Pullin’ me daaan to the deep behlooow!

—

01:07:16

Cleo (in response to Joe having a laughing fit): And that is one of the rare times where Joe has a complete, absolute giggle fit on stream

Joe (still laughing): Ok I’m sorry, but “puritans go home” is the best thing to put on anything worth— ok im gonna start making a— ok. (Serious) Im gonna start making an actual checklist cause, um, (actually writing down a checklist of things he’s taking to his parents for thanksgiving) ok thanks—giving twenty twenty—one. Ok so, salad cream.

Cleo: *wheezing*

Joe (reading list): “Puritans go Home” icing on pie…Um, you know let’s just throw iron brew in there. Why not! Irn-Bru and vodka!

Cleo (laughing): Sure! Why not!

Joe: Yeah. Well, so, my maternal grandmother was Scottish and—

Cleo: oh I’m sorry.

Joe: —so I think my mom would get a kick out of Irn-Bru. As like “oh! Here’s something from the old country!”

Cleo: *physically wheezing* from the old country!

—

01:29:43

Joe: Oh, it’s really fun. Did you know that a bunch of people on Tumblr care a lot about how tall each of us are?

Cleo: Yeah. Yeah.

Joe: Yeah, oh man I’ve been spreading information and taking weird height pictures with people at conventions for years. It’s like— *Cleo laughing* I’ll intentionally like stand on things or like, uh, or like stand in such a way that you can’t tell I’m crouching, so people are like “Ok, so Joe’s like taller than Bdubs but shorter than, uh, like— Stress or something. It’s like how does that happen?!” *trying not to laugh* Because I’m screwing with you.

—

01:31:11

Joe: See that’s the thing is— is sometimes people think things are about power. I think they’re just about being obnoxious.

Cleo: I mean, you think most things are about being obnoxious which is why it’s a power move for you. Cause being obnoxious is your power move. It’s where you’ve got the most power, Joe.

Joe: Hm, that makes sense.

Cleo: Sometimes I do. I try not to when I’m with you, because— it’s easier.

Joe: Yeah. You don’t wanna give me any actual like workab— or usable intelligence.

—

01:42:47

Joe (reading chat): I’ve been on Hermitcraft since season one— yeah. That was only like 10 years ago though.

Cleo: I’ve been on Hermitcraft since season 2.

Joe: Yay Cleo!

Cleo: Which was only because Joe asked me to come on, or pu— vouched for me.

Joe (genuine): Well I am glad you joined.

Cleo: I mean I was— I was at the point where I was just like “is this what I wanna do for the rest of my life? Should I just go full ham into teaching?” And, uh, then you made that offer and I thought “well, I’ll see how it goes”. And it did quite well for me. So…you know.

Joe (quietly): I am so glad

Cleo: You are the reason why I’m still doing Minecraft content.

—

01:44:19

Joe (reading chat): Attasked says “Only you can judge whether you’re hot” no plenty of people can tell I’m hot, Graved. It’s— pretty blatantly obvious. You don’t— you don’t have to be good at judging to be able to tell. Like, that’s not an only me thing.

—

02:00:54

Cleo: You ever have those moments where you’re just questioning your choices in life?

Joe: *having a breakdown* Moments!

Cleo: *cackling*

Joe (through tears): I’m sorry, you’re just the best Cleo.

Cleo: *laughing, but genuine* Awe, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to depress you today!

Joe: No it’s— *inaudible sobbing* Today—

Cleo: *dying*

Joe (quietly to himself): Is this is frame? Sorry, I was cutting this out of frame. My bad.

Cleo (still laughing): I like how everyone’s just sort of gone quiet and gone “…is Joe ok?”

Joe: nOO!!!

Cleo: We’ve established that Joe is not ok.

Joe: But I’m really good at it!

Cleo: *spitting out her drink*

—

01:49:52

Joe: Let’s go down the Mississippi, Cleo.

Cleo: I mean, that I think we could probably do. Let’s go down the Mississippi, Joe.

Joe: yay!

Cleo: On a flimsy raft.

Joe: Yeah, we can actually— there’s a lot nicer boats now though. Like—

Cleo: I mean— yeah, but do we— do— you know…it’s the Huckleberry Finn experience.

Joe: I mean, here’s the thing, is if you actually came here and I was like “Cleo, let’s go to the Mississippi River and go down the river a few miles”. I think you’d be more likely to actually say yes if I had an actual boat lined up than if I had a flimsy raft.

Cleo (excited): If it— if it— if it makes you feel better, I— I would do the flimsy raft. Like, hands down. It seems more fun.

Joe (realizing that she’s serious): I— you say that, but I don’t think you’ve seen the Mississippi River. Like, the problem is it’s full of these giant barges these days, the wakes of which would just throw your raft over.

Cleo (dead serious): I can swim.

Joe (attempting to compromise, completely lost as to how he has somehow managed to be the voice of reason): Ok…Alternatively we can go down a smaller river…In a raft…

—

02:04:43

Joe: Sorry, I’ll stop monologuing. Uh, but yeah sorry I was in the process of—

Cleo: I’LL STOP MONOLOGUING! Yeah, yeah that’s gonna happen.

Joe: yeah, I’ll- I’ll say I’m gonna stop monologuing and I’ll warn you that-

Cleo: And then he just continues

Joe: -that Cleo you should probably be ready to start talking sometime in the next 8-12 minutes.

—

02:15:26

Joe: Oh, I need to get a green screen suit jacket. Um, I realized. Cause I got the green screen, um, uh dress shirt. That I wear under existing suits, but I don’t have an actual like green screen suit.

Cleo: I— I am always amused by your definition of “need”

Joe: My definition of what?

Cleo: Need.

Joe: Need.

Cleo: I need a green suit.

Joe: Ok, I’m sorry Cleo, the people need me to get a green suit.

—

02:30:23

Cleo (reading chat): “Joe-Getters and Go-Getters” yeah, Joe’s not a Go-Getter, he’s a Joe-Getter. Which is infinitely worse.

Joe: You say being a Joe-Getter is infinitely worse, but you also frequently lament that you get me. So, maybe you’re a Joe-Getter. Have you considered that?

Cleo: I am a Joe-Getter. I do get you, Joe. Which is terrible. It’s— It’s a trauma, actually Joe, I’ll have you know.

Joe: Yeah, comprehend me and despair, Cleo.

Cleo: I looked too deep into the abyss. The Joe-byss, sorry.

Joe: Thank you, yeah we’ve got a brand. Always be branding.

Cleo: *giggling* A.B.B. - Always Be Branding.

Joe: That’s not an infinite void of despair. That’s an infinite void of—

Both: Joe’s despair.

—

02:34:31

Joe: Let’s just leave it at don’t push me off a roof. Like *laughing* I feel like anything I could add to that would undermine the overall theme of just encouraging people to not do that.

Cleo: Um, let me put it like this. I always had the capacity. Always. But! I never acted on it, Joe.

Joe: Mhm, yeah thank you.

Cleo: …yet…I’ll try not to.

Joe: Yeah. And— and also keep in mind Cleo, I mean, given, you know, how well we’ve managed to work together over the last decade. Even if you did push me or throw me off a roof. *grinning* What makes you think that you’re not coming with me?

Cleo (slightly proud): That felt like a threat. It felt like a threat. I’m not gonna lie.

Joe (through giggles): Yeah, that was the, like— I spent 90 seconds figuring out how to revise that so is it was not blatantly like a violent threat.

Cleo: I mean…yeah, I think— I think— I think between the tw— it— it’s a mutual aggression pact at this point.

—

02:51:53

Cleo (holding up seemingly two identical pictures of turret towers): Am I— am I going actually insane? Are they not…the same turret?

Joe (examining pages on screen): …y—you know there might be…subtle differences that, uh, a— you know, skilled crafts person would find unavoidably blatant. Um…I make no such claim Cleo.

Cleo: Good, because, you know…trauma…Yours, not mine.

Joe: *laughing* yeah I was gonna say. Trauma as a verb. I’m just gonna trauma you.

Cleo: *laughing* I’m gonna trauma you so hard right now.

Joe: Yeah, if you don’t calm down and agree with me.

Cleo: If you don’t agree with me, that’s— that’s your mistake.

—

03:38:48

Cleo (about authors): just be careful who you like and just recognize the faults in any media that you do like. Just don’t imagine that everything’s perfect, because it’s not. Just be open to the fact it’s not perfect.

Joe: The only perfect media is YouTube videos produced by ZombieCleo.

Cleo: Fact.

—

04:00:34

(Having finished her model)

Cleo (tiredly): No booshes. No booshes. I know it’s got places for booshes, but I don’t want to do booshes because…there’s a limit.

Joe (currently in the United States): Yeah. Well, now you can come over here and help me Cleo, is what chat’s saying.

Cleo: Ok.

Joe: Go help Joe hold this stuff he can’t glue.

Cleo (Currently in England): Hang on, hang on. *rummaging on desk* What do you need? I’ve got lots of things, what do you need?

[homoose]

Weird is Good

Summary: A story about two people tryna make it through the age of COVID-19 in a country where people are fucking dumb lmao. My hc is that Spencer would be like wtf at all these science-denying anti-maskers. Also, two teachers just tryna make it through quarantine and remote teaching in a one bedroom apartment (this is taking place during a mandatory leave/lecture cycle).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: no warnings. reader is both a kindergarten teacher and a bruh girl with a pirate’s mouth. lots of Spencer x factz.

Word count: 3.1k

———

“We’re home for the next two weeks. ”

Spencer looked up from his desk to see Y/N kicking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and walking directly to the sink. “Starting when?”

“We get to go in on Monday to say goodbye to the kids and get any materials we might need. Then we’re home for two weeks. They’re calling it an early, extended spring break.” Y/N began her hand washing routine. As a kindergarten teacher, she’d always been a strict hand-washer. In the time of COVID, she had only become more zealous. She looked at Spencer. “Have you heard anything?”

“Since we’re so close to the end of the semester, the department head thinks they’ll try to finish out the year as normal.” He set down his pen. “I honestly don’t know. It will all depend on whether people follow the CDC guidelines. The spread of any virus is deducible mathematically, and SARS-COV2 is no different. Based on the outbreak in Italy prior to their lockdown, we can accurately describe its reproductive number, or Rt, to between 2.43 – 3.10.”

Y/N shut off the water and dried her hands on a paper towel. “In layman's terms, Dr. Reid.”

“The Rt tells how many people are infected by the contagious host,” he explained. “In the case of this strain, each infected person is infecting between two and three others. For comparison, the standard seasonal flu has an average Rt between 1.4 and 1.7.”

“So in other words, fucking yikes,” Y/N groaned. She moved to perch on the edge of Spencer’s desk.

“Indeed,” Spencer agreed. “We know how fast the flu can travel through an office or a classroom, so imagine if it was two times as transmissible. But it's also really important to understand that this number changes depending on the mitigations in place. Even prior to full lockdown, mask wearing and social distancing was somewhat common in Italy, so it’s likely the uncontrolled Rt is higher.”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N scrubbed a hand over her face. “We’ll probably never go back.”

Spencer rubbed his hand up from her ankle to the inside of her knee. “The good news is there’s nothing special about this virus compared to others in terms of how it spreads— it’s just aerosols. So if everyone wears their mask, we’ll be able to keep the spread low.”

⧭⧭⧭

“It’s safe to say that everyone did not wear their fucking masks,” Y/N snapped. She watched from the couch as Mayor Bowser delivered the news that DC Public Schools would remain closed for the remainder of the year. “This is crazy. I mean, I knew it was coming because people in this country are absolute buffoons.” She looked at Spencer, fingers pressed to her temple. “But holy shit, are we ever going to be able to go outside again?”

“With schools and universities closed, people working remotely, and lockdown orders in place, the Rt in the US could stay low. But masks have to be worn at all times, and social distancing has to be strictly followed.” Spencer pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just— I can’t believe people are refusing to wear masks. The empirical, peer-reviewed data clearly shows—”

“This is ‘Murica, boy.” Y/N mocked. “Ain’t no tyrannical government gonna tell me what to do!” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, your choice to abstain from social media is paying dividends to your sanity right now.”

Spencer looked truly dumbfounded, setting his newspaper down in his lap. “But that’s just it. It’s not just in social media circles.” He gestured to the article in front of him. “This economist just argued for ‘reopening’ the economy using the justification of herd immunity. Herd immunity can be a plausible option for less lethal diseases. But this virus is not like varicella—the chickenpox,” he clarified at Y/N’s raised eyebrow. He waved his hands around in exasperation. “Putting aside the fact that one facet of herd immunity is vaccinating as many people as possible, its success completely hinges on the Rt of a disease. If you model a population based on an Rt of 2.5, herd immunity wouldn’t be achieved until approximately sixty percent of the population has been infected. Consider that the US population is currently 328 million, and sixty percent of that is 196.8 million. The current mortality rate for SARS-COV2 is 3.06 percent. 196,800,000 multiplied by 0.0306 is 6,022,080. Over six million people would die. It's simple mathematics.”

Y/N let out an exasperated breath. “It used to be that simple math and facts were enough. Now you’ve got basement scientists who think they know better than actual, literal scientists who’ve spent their entire lives studying these things.” She ran a hand over her face and gestured at the news conference still playing. “How long do you think it’ll be before we’re both trying to teach from this tiny ass living room?”

⧭⧭⧭

“Goooooooood morning, kindergarten! It’s Friday, and no Friday is a bad Friday!” Spencer smiled. As he poured his first cup of coffee, he hummed along with Y/N and 23 six-year-olds as they sang their morning song. Observing fourteen days of remote kindergarten from across the living room had given Spencer a new appreciation for elementary school teachers, particularly Y/N. She sang, danced, conducted science experiments, held puppet shows, read stories, led art projects, and fielded questions for four hours a day— three hours less than when they were in the school building. He was exhausted by proxy.

But he was also grateful for the opportunity to watch Y/N in her element. Even though they were at home, she still got dressed every day in bright, patterned sweaters and dresses— her Ms. Frizzle attire, she’d told him once. She was able to channel her personality into a kid-friendly version that her students clearly adored, never afraid to be silly or strange to get their attention and keep them engaged during the long days. He worked from home whenever possible, strangely happy to have the background noise of kindergarten over his quiet university office.

...

“Okay, but where do I put the biiiiiiiiiiiig number?” Y/N made a wide gesture with her arms. “Ariah, where should I put it? In the big box, yes! But oh no, my small number needs a friend. My three is soooooo lonely!” Y/N drew her mouth into a pout. “DJ, how can I help my three not be so sad? You’re absolutely right, let’s put that two right next to him in our number bond.”

…

“I’ve been waitin’  for a girl to mute,” Y/N sang into the gold karaoke mic. “I said, muuuuuuuuuute, I’m blinded by loud sounds. No, I can’t hear the friend who’s tryin’ to talk.”

…

“Oh boy. Kev, honey, we can— we can see you. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. We can see all of you. I can’t turn your camera off, buddy. You gotta— there we go.”

…

“Mute please, I need— I need everybody to mute, please. Oh my goodness where is that music coming from?” Y/N frantically searched for her index card with the picture of the mute icon, as the sounds of a highly inappropriate song blared through the computer speaker. “I know it’s so loud, guys. Why is my mute power gone?! This is why we need to make sure we keep our mute button on, kindergarten.”

…

“No sweetie, it’s not time to log off yet. I’m sorry, I know it’s such a long day. We have about an hour left. Do you guys wanna do a countdown? It’s the fin-al count-down! Do-do doo dooooo. Do-do-d-do-dooo…”

…

“Annnnnd, I should see all my friends on mute. William, hang on just a second. All my friends need to look at my picture, it’s an oval with a line through it… Okay, William, what did you bring to show us?” Y/N leaned toward the computer screen. “Grandma Kathy? O-oh, she’s— she’s in the—“ Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that— is that an urn? Oh wow. Um, well, wow. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, William. Grandma Kathy, may she rest in peace.”

⧭⧭⧭

A week into Y/N teaching kindergarten from their living room, the university had announced its transition to online coursework for the remainder of the academic year. Spencer had to host his first zoom lecture, and he was absolutely dreading it.

“Spence, it’s going to be fine. It’s not like you’ve never been on a video conference,” Y/N assured him. She sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to let her in to his practice zoom.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t running those meetings. I just showed up.” He squinted at the computer screen. “Are you in?”

Y/N barely resisted the urge to make a joke, knowing that Spencer probably wouldn’t appreciate the innuendo. “No, you have to admit me.”

“What do you mean? How do I do that?”

“There should be a box with a button that says admit.”

Spencer gestured at the computer. “Well there’s a bunch of boxes— which one should I be looking at?”

Y/N sighed and got up from the couch. “IQ of 187 and can’t find the box.”

Spencer dragged a hand through his hair. “I know I shouldn’t find this so difficult. I’m sorry you have to waste your time on this.”

“Hey, it was a joke.” Y/N grabbed his hand from where he was frustratedly pulling on his frazzled curls. “I’m sorry. That was mean and you’re already stressed enough.” She used her free hand to smooth his hair back into place. She scrunched her nose. “I love you and your limited technology skills. And honestly it’s kind of nice to have one thing I can actually teach you about.” She squeezed his hand, leaning over him to peer at his computer screen. “All right, let’s find that elusive admit button.”

When the day of his lecture rolled around, Spencer thanked all the atoms in the observable universe that Y/N had a break during his class. Within the first ten minutes, he’d managed to accidentally kick himself out of his own meeting and then somehow lose track of the screenshare button.

“No one can see me and I don’t know what happened to the screenshare option. It was there and now it’s just… gone,” he told Y/N.

She leaned over his desk, eyes tracking over the screen and mouse clicking around the desktop. “How in the world did you manage to block your camera?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t even touch it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand how it’s even possible to be this bad at this.”

Y/N bumped his knee with her own, pulling up his camera settings and preferences. “Relax. You can’t be good at everything. It’s a refreshing reminder that you’re a mere mortal like the rest of us.” With a few rapid clicks, Y/N unblocked his camera and located the screenshare bar. “There. Crisis averted. I’m just going to share your whole screen in case you want to toggle between application windows. So just be aware that they’ll be able to see everything. And then you just click here when you’re ready to stop sharing.”

When Y/N turned her head toward him to check that he understood, Spencer grabbed the side of her face and caught her lips in a kiss. Y/N smiled against his mouth, heart speeding up as he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue.

“Um, Dr. Reid? Your um— your camera’s working now.”

Spencer nearly fell out of his chair, his cheeks about the color of the Leave Meeting icon. Y/N dropped her head, debating whether she wanted to laugh or let the earth open up and swallow her whole. She ultimately decided to compose herself, stepping back and giving a little wave to the sea of tiny, grinning zoom faces before slinking out of frame, miming sorry to one very mortified professor.

⧭⧭⧭

“Would you want to be our mystery reader next week?” Y/N asked, bookmarking the page of her novel and reclining back in bed. “You just have to pick a story to read. Oh, and think of four clues about your identity to give the kiddos.”

Spencer raised his eyebrow, continuing to read. “Any story?”

Y/N laughed. “Well they’re six, so maybe hold off on the Chaucer and Bradbury for now. A picture book would be preferable.”

“Did you know that the first picture book, Orbis Sensualium Pictus, or Visible World in Pictures, was published in 1658?” He looked up from his own book. “Czech educator John Amos Comenius wanted to create a book that would be accessible to children of all levels of ability. The educational theories he explored are actually still in practice in the field of early childhood education.” He turned toward her from his spot under the covers. “For example, when you have your students make a hissing sound and slither their arms when they produce the sound represented by the letter s? Comenius included an alphabet chart with various animal and human sounds representing each letter. He wanted to demonstrate that the incorporation of multiple senses could help increase learning.”

“I guess you don’t fix what isn’t broken,” Y/N mused. “300 years later, and we’re still using the same methods.”

“362, actually,” Spencer corrected.

She gave him a look. “Maybe we can save the Comenius for another time.”

“The genre of children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and philosophical story telling of all time.” Spencer returned his attention to his reading.

“...So is that a yes?”

Spencer smiled. “I’ve got a book in mind.”

“And clues,” Y/N reminded him, snuggling down under the covers and reopening her book. “We need some fun clues, mystery reader.”

…

“Kindergarten, we have a very special mystery reader this week. Oh man, are you ready for the first clue? The mystery reader loves jell-o! Raise your little hand if you love jell-o, too. Okay, kindergarten, I see you! Lots of jell-o lovers in the house.”

…

“Okay, clue number two! Our mystery reader works as a community helper— remember we learned about all different kinds of community helpers; firefighters, nurses, police officers. But if the mystery reader could be anything, they’d want to be a cowboy! How cool is that?”

...

“Clue number three for our mystery reader!” Y/N sucked in a gasp. “You guys. The mystery reader can do magic. Oh my goodness, I am so excited for Friday,” she sing-songed. “Will they show us a trick? Hmmm, I don’t know. Maybe if you ask nicely.”

…

“Okay, my friends, the last clue. The mystery reader loves reading. They read every day, and they’ve been reading since 1983! Yes, that was a very long time ago.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Okay, any last guesses about who our mystery reader might be?” Y/N questioned.

“I think it’s your dad,” a little voice called out.

Spencer made a choking noise from where he sat, slightly off camera. Y/N laughed. “The mystery reader is decidedly not my dad, Keyshon. Remember I showed you guys the picture of him— my dad’s a farmer, so he’s kind of already a cowboy.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, without further ado, drumroll please... Our mystery reader is…” Y/N pushed her desk chair out of frame to allow Spencer to roll in, holding her hands out. “Spencer!”

He gave a little wave, smoothing his hair, suddenly painfully self-aware and nervous about the opinions of two dozen six-year-olds. “Hi guys.”

“You’re the boy on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone.”

“Your hair is so fluffy!”

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

“I like your sweater.”

“Can you really do magic?”

“What’s your favorite jell-o?”

“Whoa, okay, let’s remember our mute button,” Y/N, holding up her index card. “I promise you’ll get to ask Spencer all your questions after he reads the story.”

Spencer smiled at the excited faces beaming through the screen. “Yes, I’m on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone; I don’t own a cowboy hat, yet; yes, I really can do magic; and the red jell-o is my favorite.”

Y/N watched with interest as Spencer pulled out his book. He’d been secretive about his choice, so she was as curious as her students.

“This is one of my favorite stories. It’s written by Munro Leaf, and illustrated by Robert Lawson. It’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer held the cover up to the camera. “Ferdinand is the bull here on the cover. This story was written in 1935, which was a long time ago! Okay are you ready?” Spencer looked out on a sea of thumbs up, turning the page to the beginning of the story. “Once upon a time in Spain, there was a bull, and his name was Ferdinand.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Spencer read each page, recounting the story of the peaceful bull. He was an excellent storyteller, changing the inflection and expression of his voice to match each sentence. He held each page up for just the right amount of time, panning it so her students could see each detail of the black and white pictures. He added his own wonderings and exclamations here and there, and her students were decidedly enthralled. Her heart ached at how comfortable he was, how natural this was for him. She rested her chin in her hand, trying to keep her mind in the present— ignoring the persistent little mental image of Spencer as a dad.

“So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know, he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy… And that’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer closed the book with a soft smile. “I love this story. Ferdinand is a very special bull. What do you think makes him so special?”

“Ferdinand didn’t fight,” a little voice piped up.

“Yes!” Spencer agreed. “He practiced pacifism in the face of the persistent, ingrained militarism of his country’s culture.”

Y/N placed a hand on Spencer’s knee and gave a quick squeeze. “Right, Ferdinand chose not to fight, even though everybody else he knew wanted to.” Y/N winked at him before turning back to the screen full of kids. “All his friends thought he was kind of weird, but he just really wanted to hang out in the shade and smell the flowers, huh? Sounds pretty good to me.”

“He wasn’t bothered that the other bulls thought he was strange for wanting to be peaceful,” Spencer added. “Sometimes being different can be a good thing. The Story of Ferdinand reminds me that it’s okay to be yourself, even if other people think you’re weird.” His eyes met Y/N’s. “Because there will always be people who love and appreciate you for who you are.”

[lokilickedme]

The Way

I’m writing horror again.  I guess it’s that time, you know, that time that has nothing to do with Halloween or the seasons or whatever, that time when it just hits me for some reason.  And just like I always do, I’ll say I don’t know why.

Even though I know why, and you know I know why.

Because the truth is always so much weirder and worse and more disquieting than any excuse I could make up for it, and sometimes I just feel the need.

Today I felt the need, and I couldn’t make it go away.

And so I sat down, and words I didn’t want to write were written.

.

8592 words I would rate this Mature 18+ if it was a fic, strictly because of the subject matter.

Warnings: Death, mostly.  Religious trauma, brief descriptions of abuse, mentions of mental illness, domestic violence, grief, familial dysfunction, religious abuse, emotional abuse, medical conditions, brief mentions of drug use/abuse, mild gore in reference to corpse decomposition, psychological unease and mild terror, child abuse (mental/emotional/psychological), brief allusion to physical child abuse, cult references, loss of faith, attempted murder, possible actual murder.

A Note:  I love you guys, you’re always so quick and willing to be helpful and offer advice and suggestions and such, and I adore that about you.  But on this piece of work I ask that nobody offer any theories about what happened to my brother - medical, criminal, or otherwise - and please no suggestions on things we could do to pursue investigation, that ship has long sailed.  It’s been 23 years and he’s a cold case.  We spent years trying to sort it out but in the end it’s just something that happened, and we moved on because we had to.  There are a lot of open ends, a lot of question marks, a lot of suspicious details that never connected to anything - and we tried, we truly did.  If anyone out there knows the truth, they’ve never shown themselves to us.  We do have our theories, but my brother was a secretive person living a life none of us knew about, and the people he knew weren’t people we knew.  Everyone involved is either dead or moved on or got away with whatever it was they did, and there are only three of us who still care.  It’s over.

Until today, I’ve never put these events into words.

It was something I needed to do, finally.

This is PART ONE.  There may not be a part two, unless doing this ends up making me feel better.

Please feel free to comment if you wish.  As you can see, pretty much nothing triggers me.  I just ask that you please refrain from the type of comments noted above.

And thank you.

----------

This is, regrettably, a true story.  Nothing has been changed but the names, because the dead don’t like being talked about, and James was just enough of a shit to haunt me for it.

----------

----------

They made up their minds And they started packing They left before the sun came up that day An exit to eternal summer slacking But where were they going without ever knowing the way

They drank up the wine And they got to talking They now had more important things to say And when the car broke down They started walking Where were they going without ever knowing the way

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

Their children woke up And they couldn't find them They left before the sun came up that day They just drove off and left it all behind them But where were they going without ever knowing the way?

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

- The Way, Fastball, 1998

.

That was the year James died in his sleep.

Or that’s what they say, anyway.  Asthma, the likely cause based on his medical history, our first and least disturbing assumption.  Undetermined, the official determination based on the hastily scraped-together autopsy, the best that could be done under the circumstances.  We tell people he had breathing problems, and they nod their heads and agree because they knew he did, and now he’s been gone so long that nobody asks.  Most of the people who ever met him have long moved on or disappeared or died themselves, or just remember him as the enigmatic middle son from the Keithley family that nobody really knew very well.  You know, the odd one, the one that showed up at meetings maybe once a year and smiled nervously but didn’t really talk to anyone and always seemed anxious to leave?  The one who died under mysterious circumstances?  That one.

He left the way he always came in.  Quietly, unexpected, without anyone being aware of either his entrance or his exit.

But me and mom know some things, and she’s not talking.  She probably never will.

So maybe it’s time I did.

December 1998.  I’d gotten married two years previous and moved back to the family land with my new husband.  He hated it there, but we had an affordable place to live.  It wasn’t bad.  He’d tell you otherwise.  The land never sat right with him, but I’d lived there too many years to see it.  I’d been fifteen when my father uprooted his large family from the city and hauled us out to the great back door to nowhere, and even though I’d left several times to wander elsewhere, I always came back.

I didn’t realize why at the time, at any of the multiple times.  But now I know.  That place gets you, and it holds you, and unless you’re goddamned devoted to staying gone you will always be pulled back.  It took me till I was 49 to funnel the necessary amount of devotion away from the religious dedication I’d had jackbooted into me and turn it toward getting out, but against a great number of overwhelming odds I finally did it.

But this isn’t about that, not yet anyway.  This is about my brother James, and how he went to sleep one night and found his own way out.

----------

It was snowing, had been for days, a bit unusual but not unheard of.  The part of the state we lived in was notorious for extended ice storms and we knew a bad one was coming, but until it hit we played in the snow like it was a gift and we were deprived children who knew it was all going to be taken away soon.  My brothers and I were adults but you wouldn’t know it, watching us sneak around in the woods staging elaborate commando attacks on each other.  James was the best of us, a stealth king who could stand in the middle of a room for an hour without a single soul seeing him.  Perception bias, he said.  Your brain ignores me because I obviously don’t belong, like those puzzles where you circle what’s wrong but it takes you forever to find them.

He crept around in the forest scaring the shit out of people, dropping his long tall self out of trees, appearing from nowhere to administer a well aimed snowball to the face of whoever happened to cross his path and then disappearing just as quickly.  We called him a wraith and it wasn’t a good natured jibe.  We meant it.  He made people nervous.  He was the stealthy kind of quiet you associate with danger, and he knew how to do things an average person doesn’t ever have any need to know.  It was a quiet cool that we admired him for, because none of the rest of us had it.

The religion we were raised in kept a tight lid on us, but me and James, we never really let it get into our bones.  We were the smart ones, in retrospect.  I went through the motions by force of habit and a sense of self preservation, doing what was expected and demanded of me, following the rules and making myself a perfect example of a young member of the church so I wouldn’t bring shame on the congregation and my family.  But mostly the congregation.  It was always more important than anything else.  And I had behaving down to an art form, but mostly when people were looking.  Usually also when they weren’t.

But sometimes, not quite.

And then I prayed for forgiveness about it later because God was supposed to forgive you if you asked him to, right?  The tenet of willful sin being unforgivable never took root with me even though that was what the church conditioned into us through fear and constant repetition.  They said it from the stage two nights a week and again on Sunday to hammer it home.  Two nights a week and again on Sunday my head silently disagreed.  God’s not like that.  And then I did the praying for forgiveness thing even though I knew I was right, because I was disagreeing with the church, and the church was God’s channel here on Earth, wasn’t it?  I committed a mortal sin at least three times a week on that subject alone, and though the dread of divine punishment was hardwired into me, I never could reconcile the concept of a loving and forgiving God destroying me simply for knowing better.

I’m not sure the comprehension of an overwatching deity ever actually established itself in James’ brain.  A moral code, yes.  But isn’t that what God is, really?  Maybe he understood more about God and forgiveness than the rest of us.  But he was considered an unapproved fringe member of the church because he couldn’t suffer people and noise and being looked at and he refused to preach, and he was soft-shunned as a result.  Because if you weren’t all in to the point of being willing to die at any moment for your faith, you were as good as faithless.

And faithless meant condemned.  And the congregation couldn’t be bothered with condemned people, regardless of their reasons for not having both feet in the water.  The first and only option on their list was to put the person out and let them find their own way back once they realized they had nobody left in the world who cared about them.

James escaped that somehow.  He was supposed to be shunned whole scale, but he wasn’t trying to convince anyone to leave the faith and he presented no threat to anyone’s strength of belief, and so far as anyone knew he’d committed no grave sins other than disinterest.  So the rule that dictated we cast him out was bent enough to allow him to remain living on the family land, though at one point during a fit of overzealous righteousness my mother had tried to have a family meeting to vote on whether or not we were going to let him stay.  I refused to vote and when I walked out of the house the meeting fell apart.

I’ve never forgiven her for that.  Her son’s life being put to a vote with her presiding over the proceedings, vengeful and unfeeling and devoid of compassion on behalf of God himself.  It takes my breath away, the anger, still to this day.  The only thing I ever truly learned from my mother about parenting was a long and intensely detailed list of what not to do to my own children, and I suppose I should be grateful for that.  It’s a bitter thank-you to have to give, but it’s something.

We knew James as much as he would allow us to, and not an inch further.  Which meant the extent of our knowledge of him pretty much stretched to include the singular fact that he was different.  What that meant, I still don’t really know - but it was there from the day he was born, that slight off-ness, the oddly off center calibration that you can’t really see so much as sense in a person.  I know now he was likely on the autism spectrum and he walked through life seeing and reacting to everything differently than most of us, but that wasn’t a thing back then.  You were just weird, or you weren’t.  And I’m not convinced that was a bad thing for him, strictly speaking.  But in the confines of our religion and our family’s devout and sometimes violent dedication to it, it took its toll almost daily.

He stood out, and he was very much a person who didn’t want to.  He wanted to fade into the background, to not be seen, to not be known.  And our religion didn’t tolerate that kind of nonsense, because we were commanded to be bold bearers of The Word Of God, and no exceptions were made.

None.

I’m going to stop calling it a religion now.  I beg your indulgence as I shift to calling it what it is, because calling it a religion is an insult to actual religions that don’t destroy peoples’ lives with callous indifference and murderous glee.

We were raised in a doomsday death cult.  There’s no other name that fits.

And we were trapped in it and its ugly cycle of neverending mental and emotional manipulation and abuse until we were adults, and some of us are still bound to it.  My oldest brother worked his way up to the upper levels of oversight in the local congregation and was solidly entrenched in it until his death, which is a story for later.  My youngest brother, the last remaining living blood sibling I have, is still deeply in it to this day and will likely never leave it.

I took the hard way out, three years ago, by walking away.

James, though.  He took the easy way.  He simply closed his eyes, and he was free.

----------

December 22, 1998.  Three days before Christmas, though that meant nothing to us.  The cult told us Christmas was a filthy demonic pagan ritual that was condemned by God, so to us the season was just a nice chilly time of year with lots of time off from work.  We’d had an unusual amount of snow, the most we’d had in years.  The roads were impassable and everyone was home except my husband, who worked close enough that his boss at the glass shop came and picked him up that morning with chains on his tires.  Lots of windshields had shattered from the sudden violent cold that had struck the previous night and Scott had the only glass shop for sixty miles.

I think it must have been around noon, and likely my mother had sent my dad up the hill to see if James wanted to come down for the lunch she was making.  He and his wife had split up against the strict rules of the church after a few years of suffering through an ill advised marriage, an important detail to this story that will come into the tale later, and he was alone up there at the top of the hill a lot.  Sometimes he forgot to eat, or he got so busy that he just didn’t bother, so our mother always made something for him because even though he was in his 20′s he was still a kid who needed looking after and her zealous fervor against him had died down with time.  I think he let her believe he was helpless because it worked in his favor and there was always lunch waiting for him in her kitchen as a result.

He was different, he wasn’t dumb.

We all lived on the hill back then with the exception of our youngest brother.  He’d moved to the city with his new wife not long prior.  The locals jokingly called the place a commune, and I guess they weren’t completely wrong.  Thirty-eight acres of wooded land far beyond the city limits that we’d painstakingly spent years carving a livable space into, with five houses, all built from the ground up and inhabited by an extended family of well known culties from a well known cult.  It’s almost comical, looking back on it, knowing now how they kept an eye on us for years to make sure we weren’t doing anything weird up there.

They should have run us off with pitchforks and burning stakes at the very beginning.

Things might have ended differently for us if they had.

----------

My grandparents lived at one end of the property, an old couple as simple and solid as salted soup, devoutly religious and devoted to the cult and very much cut from the can survive anything and probably will cloth like so many old country folks of their generation.  They were waiting out the end of days up there in their little wooden house, expecting the final hour of this old system to come long before their own demise.  I liked my grandmother, she had a sweet smile and fell asleep every time granddad started talking about the Bible and she paid me five dollars every Wednesday to drive her into town to get groceries, and years later, when she was dying, she told me she’d had a dream where she met my unborn son.  I was four months pregnant and didn’t know yet that I was having a boy.  She died before he was born, but to this day, fifteen years later, he tells me he’s sure he met her, he just can’t remember when.

I was scared of my grandfather.  Not terrified, but there was nothing grandfatherly to him and I always suspected he never actually liked kids much.  He’d once told us a story about the great Fort Worth flood that wiped out most of the city when my mom was a baby, and how he had told my grandmother to let go of my 2-year-old mother while he was struggling to get them across a rushing flooded creek in water up to their shoulders.  My grandmother couldn’t swim.  We could make another Ruthie, he said.  But I couldn’t get another ‘Nita.

He said it proudly, like he was to be admired for his choice.  I was young when he told that story, but it settled into me that this was evil.

Even when he was old as dirt and dying of a brain tumor in hospice care, he made me uneasy.  I was never close to him.  But for some reason, in his final days, he forgot who everyone was except me.  I had been living in another state for years and he hadn’t seen me since before the tumor started taking his life.  But when I walked into the room he turned his head and looked at me, and he mouthed my name.

He couldn’t speak.  I don’t know what he was trying to say, struggling with words that nobody could hear.  And I felt bad.  I didn’t want to be the last person he recognized.  My cousins adored him and had spent the last few years constantly at his side, and they were angry, maybe justifiably, that I was the one he reached for.

I didn’t want that at all.

I don’t believe he was a bad man, but he never spoke of anything except the cult’s interpretation of the Bible, and it was as tiresome as it was terrifying.  Granddads are supposed to be fun.  Ours quoted doctrine at us in a deep loud commanding voice that you couldn’t interrupt and you couldn’t tune out, and once he got going you had to just settle in and wait for him to run out of zealous steam.  And then he would suddenly stop and command grandmother to turn on a John Wayne movie and bring him some ice cream, and it was over until the next time.

I know my mother resented him.  She knew grandmother was the one that had refused to let her go, the one that had held onto her even though she almost drowned by the simple act of holding on.  She knew her father had been willing to let her wash away and drown.  That he thought she was interchangeable with whatever baby they would have next.  How she could spend her entire life with that knowledge and not be deeply affected by it was something that never made sense to me, but now, when she’s in her 70′s and I’m in my 50′s, I finally understand.  It affected her.  She’ll just be damned if she’ll let anyone see it.  And she had stood there in that hospice room watching him mouth my name with resentment burning in her eyes, though she would have rather died than let anyone know what it was for.  He’d forgotten her weeks ago.

The house in the center of the hill was mom and dad.  The homestead.  The house we’d all lived in together, that we’d built with our own hands, the first thing that marked that wild overgrown hill as a place where people actually lived.  A long path through the woods connected it to the grandparents’ house, and it was the epicenter of everything in our lives.  James and I had lived in the upstairs rooms of that house until we both moved out and married our respective mates years later, a reprehensible act on our part that was never okay with my mother and that she never forgave either of us for.  She’d wanted us all to stay.  We can all live here together until the New System comes, she always said.  That’s how the Bible says it’s supposed to be.  We can all keep each other safe and on the right path until the end comes, and then we’ll all be here together forever.

A decade later when I sat up on the hill watching that house burn to the ground, there was as much relief as grief billowing into the sky with the black smoke.  It was the end of an era, and it was far beyond time for it.

Nobody saw it but me.  James was dead, had been for years.  Robbie was dead now too.  Dad was gone, so was granddad.  Me and my youngest brother David were the last two left of the kids, but he had moved to a neighboring city when he got married and he has never seen things the way I see them.  We were of different generations, we weren’t raised the same way, and he’d never experienced the abuse I lived with for the first half of my life.  And he had dedicated his own life to the cult with all the honesty and lack of guile that I didn’t have when I’d made my own dedication vows at the too-young age of sixteen.

It was the end of an era, but apparently only for me.

James’ house was up the hill, past a clearing where my dad used to keep old cars that he cannibalized for parts.  Our oldest brother Robbie, long married with kids of his own, lived at the bottom on the farthest corner of the land.  And my house was on the slope to the west, built on the spot where we’d cleared off an old half-fallen homestead from the late 1800′s, dutifully paying no mind to the fact that a grave was nestled into the slope, right where the yellow daffodils grew.  The cult told us superstition was tied up with the demons and false religion, so we didn’t have the built-in human instinct that tells most people to stay the hell away from certain things.

We just pretended it wasn’t there, and put no importance on it.  It was just an old grave.  The soil was good and the garden I planted next to it did well, though those strange daffodils always wound themselves through everything I put in the ground.  My husband said something wasn’t right about it, but I didn’t pay any attention to him.  He hadn’t been raised as devout as me.

My dad knocked on my door around lunchtime and I opened it.  He backed up, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, the fancy leather coat the dealership had awarded him when he was designated a five-star Chrysler technician and given the state’s first and only license to work on the new Vipers that had recently rolled off the prototype line.  It was a cool jacket.  Made him look like the old pictures my other grandmother had shown me of him from the early 1960′s, when he was young and very much a product of a fancier era.  He’d never stopped greasing his hair back and was still so thin that he and I wore the same size jeans.

I’ve never understood the look on his face when I opened the door.  To this day I can’t sort it.  It wasn’t a blankness like so many people who’ve seen death wear without awareness.  It wasn’t grief.  It wasn’t even shock.

He was sorry.

Those were the first words out of his mouth.

I’m sorry.

I stood there, not knowing what he was sorry for.  It was cold.  I couldn’t push the screen door open very far because of the snow blocking it.  And my father was standing at the bottom of the steps James had helped my husband build, his hands shoved down far into his pockets like a penitent child about to get in trouble, telling me he was sorry.

James is dead, he finally said.  He’s in his house.  I went up there and he’s dead.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now - just now, this very moment in fact, I know that I was the first person he told.  He came straight from James’ house to mine and told me my brother was dead.

I don’t know what I said back to him, I just remember sitting down on the top step and feeling the cold bite of the snow through my pajama pants.  There’s a vague recollection of putting my face in my hands, and the embarrassing knowledge that I did that simply because I didn’t know what else to do.  And dad just stood there, nervously stepping from foot to foot in the snow, because he didn’t know what else to do either.

I think I asked How at some point.  He said he didn’t know.  He had something in his pocket but to this day I don’t know what it was.

I don’t know if it was important.  Something tells me it was.  Or maybe it was just the eternally present handkerchief he always kept on him.

I’m sorry, he said again.  He seemed to feel like it was his fault somehow.  I’m sorry.

What do we do?  I asked him.  I’ve never felt more blank.  What are we supposed to do?

I don’t remember what he said, other than he was going to get my older brother.  I remember thinking that was a good idea.  Robbie would know what to do.  He always did.  Brash and blustery and bigmouthed, he got things done while other people stood around debating how to do them.  He would get on it, whatever needed doing.  He would figure it out.

I went back in the house and dad walked away, headed down the path through the woods that connected my house to Robbie’s, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, the big retro vintage Chrysler emblem on the back of his jacket the last thing I saw before I pulled the screen door shut.  I stared down for a minute at the mound of snow it had scooped into my livingroom, still with no clue what I was supposed to do.

No clue at all.

I kicked the snow back outside and shut the door.

----------

It’s an odd thing, watching the coroner’s van drive away with someone you know inside it.  Someone you saw just yesterday.  Someone who was alive.  Someone who should still be alive but isn’t, somehow.  And since there’s really no way to earn a ride in a coroner’s van without dying, there’s an awful unsettling sensation to it that you can’t get away from.  The last time I saw James he was laughing that devious little laugh of his, his eyes red and bloodshot from the ever present asthma he’d suffered with his entire life.  I don’t count the sight of the coroner’s van leaving the hill via our long steep driveway with his cold corpse tucked into a black zippered bag, because I didn’t see him.  I never saw him.  I didn’t see him dead in his house and I didn’t see them carry him out, I didn’t see them put him in the van.  I didn’t see him later, when it was all over with.  And if I try hard enough I can imagine that van empty, with that long black bag tossed crumpled in the back without a body in it, and James somewhere else living his life however the hell he pleases.

I hold onto that.  Some days it helps.  And some days I think I see him, walking by the side of the road or getting out of a car in the post office parking lot, and it makes me happy thinking he escaped.  I see him in every hitchhiker, in every wandering traveler making his way down the interstate, in every tall thin man I glimpse from the corner of my eye as I go about my business in town.

He’s out there.

I hope he’s happy.

The ice storm hit the next day.

----------

For the next two weeks we were stuck on our hill.  Power out, no electricity, no heat, no lights, roads iced over and impassable.  We all piled up in mom and dad’s house, quietly grieving James, trying to stay warm.  Most of the state lost power for days, including the city 150 miles away where his body had been taken to the state coroner’s office.  There was no apparent cause of death, so the state ordered an autopsy.

His body had just been placed into cold storage to wait its turn when the power grid went down.  And then, by some unholy stroke of nightmarish luck, the facility’s generators failed.

Nobody could make it in to work because of the ice.  By the time someone finally got into the morgue the cold storage had been down for four days.

Six bodies melted, including James.

----------

No viable autopsy could be done, though they tried their best I suppose.  The end report was obtained two months later.  It was mostly inconclusive due to the long delay and resultant decomposition of tissue.  There was apparent scarring on James’ heart, but it was old scarring and had nothing to do with his death.  His lungs were scarred as well, but that was no surprise, he’d had severe asthma his entire life.  There was no determinable cause of death, no inflicted trauma, no presence of illicit drugs as far as they could tell from the limited toxicology report they managed with what they had to work with.

No reason.

He’d simply died.

It seemed fitting, to me at least, that the end of him be enshrouded in an unsolvable mystery.  He was a secretive person, intensely private.  He would have loved knowing nobody had a clue what happened to him.

And so we drew our own conclusion as a family.  He’d had an asthma attack in his sleep.  There had been an inhaler next to his bed, but it was new and still in the box.  He simply hadn’t woken up to use it.  Dad didn’t participate in the drawing of this conclusion, his input kept stoically to himself, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.

We pretended not to see it.

He and mom braved the last of the ice a few days later to make the 150 mile drive to see James one last time.

They came back different.

You couldn’t tell it was him, my mother said.  He was melted, literally.  It was like one of those science fiction movies where they melt you with a laser beam and you turn to goo.

Dad had nothing to say.  He went to bed and stayed there until the next day.

You can go see him, mom told me.  I’ll go with you if you want to go.  But I don’t recommend it.

I decided not to go.

And so I never saw my brother dead.  I never saw any proof that he was gone.  He just wasn’t there anymore.  There was no funeral, he was cremated and his ashes were sent home weeks later, and I went on with my life with the image in my head of James, alive, somewhere else.

----------

Dad was different from that day on.  He’d always been stoic, terse, strict.  My childhood had been spent in fear of him, an eternal dread of making him mad and feeling his temper erupt keeping me from showing any hint of a personality during my formative years.  The cult had forced him to abide by the violent tenet of Spare the rod, spoil the child and there was never any risk of me being spoiled.

James being gone flipped a switch in him.  He was nicer suddenly.  Mellow.  Kind.  After the trauma wore off his humor discovered itself and he was funny.  The dour angry demeanor fell off and revealed a man that I was sad never to have known before.  He and I became friends.  I could sense in his new attitude toward me that he regretted how he’d raised me and respected the way I’d always stood up and been my own person despite it.  But my mother was falling off the deep end and for all the newfound easygoingness of my father, she counterbalanced it with an extremism born of the religious fervor of a mother determined to gain enough favor with God to see her dead child again.  And she was going to make sure the rest of us did too.

We all had to get good and straight on the path, get completely right and stay that way, or we’d never see James again.  He’d be in the New World and we wouldn’t, and how would she explain that to him?  She and I worked together in a law office at the time and as she became more unhinged and unpleasant, I reacted by becoming more outgoing and accomplished.  Our boss changed my work designation from receptionist to Executive Assistant and started teaching me how to do everything from filing papers at the courthouse to photographing accident scenes.  I no longer answered to my mother, the office manager.  I answered directly to the boss.

That didn’t go over well.  She was a control freak with heavy untreated trauma, and the one person in the world she felt the most obsessive need to control was suddenly no longer under her thumb in a workspace where she considered herself the supreme authority.  She countermanded every order the boss gave me and tried to load me up with general office chores that left me no time to do the important assignments he���d given me.  I had no choice but to tell her she wasn’t my superior anymore.

She chose that day to have her nervous breakdown over James, jumping out of my car at a red light on the way home and storming angrily through a shopping mall with me trailing frantically along behind her, yelling for security to arrest me while I tried to get her to calm down.  I ended up telling her she wasn’t the only person who lost James but that none of the rest of us were allowed to experience our own grief because we were too busy catering to hers.

She sat down on a bench outside the sporting goods store and glared at me with a cold hatred I’ve seen on very few other faces, ever.

I knew it would be you, she hissed at me.

That moment changed our relationship forever.  It changed me forever.  That was the day I decided my life was my own, that she not only didn’t have authority over me at work, she didn’t have authority over me anywhere else either.  She could no longer dictate my actions, my behavior, my thoughts and feelings.

For this she disowned me.  It was the first of several disownings over the next few years.  I got used to it.  We went to work the next day like nothing had happened, and I didn’t do a single thing on the task list she slapped down on my desk.  It was a metaphor for the rest of my life, but I didn’t know it yet.

My husband and I moved out of state a couple of months later, away from that hill, away from her increasingly controlling paranoia and bitterness, the first of many small steps toward freedom.

As we were driving away with our trailer full of personal belongings behind us, he said one thing that I tried to argue against, but that somewhere deep inside I knew was probably right.

That land is cursed, he said.

----------

A few weeks before we moved my youngest brother came to town and we went into James’ house together.  It was exactly like it had been the day my dad found him.  The only thing that stood out as different was the bare mattress on the bed - the men from the coroner had wrapped him up in the sheet he’d been laying on and took it with them, leaving just the naked springform mattress James had bought for Jessica right before her final breakdown and their subsequent separation.

It took me a while to go in the bedroom, but I knew from the moment I walked into the house that I was going to end up there.  I needed to see it, the place where James had closed his eyes and left us.

There was a small puddle of dried blood near the foot of the bed, brown and stained into the fabric.  James always slept backwards, with his head at the wrong end.  The blood had come from his nose.

I touched it.  I don’t know why.  It was dry.

He was gone.

----------

David and I laughed a lot that day.  James had been funny in a way that was distinctly him, quiet and of few words, but those words had always counted.  And as we sorted through his things and talked about him and moved some of his stuff into boxes to be stored away, I felt as much awed respect as befuddlement at what was around me.  He’d never been a conformist, which I knew was why the cult had never gotten a firm grasp on him.  He was unknowable and therefore unbindable.  But his house was proof that he didn’t conform to any human expectations either, and nothing in it made sense unless you’d spent time around him.

There was an engine in the bathtub.  I’m not sure what it went to.  Another engine, in the beginning stages of disassemblage, rested on a blue tarp in the center of the livingroom floor, obviously the last project he’d been working on.  There wasn’t much furniture - his wife had taken most of it when she left and it would have never entered his mind to replace any of it.  Jessica’s cookware was in the kitchen cabinets, unused, some of it still in the original boxes, some not even fully unwrapped from their wedding shower years before.  Jessica didn’t cook, she microwaved.  David asked me if I thought it would be okay for him to take a glass Pyrex measuring cup because he’d broken his.  I told him to take it.  It had never been used.

I didn’t want anything, but knew I needed to take something.  One of my husband’s solo CDs was sitting on the entertainment center and the cover, the cover I’d designed, caught my eye and brought me to the CD player to pop the tray open.

Inside was a CD single of The Way.

It was the only thing I took.

----------

My husband told me some time later that my dad and older brother had altered the scene before the police arrived.  After the phonecall from me his boss had rushed him home and he’d gone up to James’ house without my knowledge.  He’d thought it strange that he’d had to step around at least a dozen empty compressed air cans scattered haphazardly around the place as he entered, like they’d been used and tossed aside one after another.  There had been several more on the floor around the bed.  My father had told him to go back down and see how mom and I were doing, and when he returned to James’ house after the coroner’s departure, the cans were gone.  Other than that he said things seemed different, but he couldn’t say quite how.  Just not the same.

He told me my dad didn’t call the police until after he and Robbie had been in there at least an hour, alone with the body.

It’s not something we’ve talked about often, because there’s no satisfactory explanation for it that either of us can come up with.  My mother says they probably didn’t want the police to assume the cans meant he was huffing compression fluid and accidentally killed himself, because Look at the shame and reproach that would bring on the congregation if anyone thought such a thing!  We all knew he used the compressed air to clear the valves on the engines he was working on, all mechanics do, it’s common.  Wouldn’t the police have accepted that explanation?  Dad was the only one that spoke to them.  They wrote down whatever he said, and then they left, and then the coroner came and took James away and that was that.  My father, the most upright straight-and-narrow devoutly dedicated man I’ve ever known in my life, misled the police for a reason that he took with him to his own grave.

The only other person in the world who knew the truth about it took it to his grave too.

At the same time.

In the same car.

Four years later, on October 18, 2002.

----------

The big garbage bag of empty air cans and whatever else that was removed from James’ house that morning had been stashed in my dad’s garage and stayed there until a few weeks after he and Robbie’s joint funeral, when my mother asked my husband’s old boss to come and dispose of it.  Scott was a man who knew people who could do things.

The evidence, whatever it was evidence of, vanished.

----------

The mystery around James never dissolved and eventually no one talked about it anymore, I guess because there was no way we could ever truly find out what happened without him here to tell us.  There were a lot of details that we could never find a way to weave together into anything that made sense and a lot of it was probably inconsequential anyway.  There was a girlfriend that he’d tried to keep hidden from us, a woman that was quite a bit older than him who wasn’t a member of the cult and therefore needed to be kept a secret.  In the end she had convinced him to stop hiding their relationship and he’d bought her a ring.  We met her all of twice before he died, and within days of his passing she left town with her brother and never came back, taking whatever she might have known with her.

James’ ex Jessica had sneaked onto the hill and broken into his house to put a dead raccoon in his kitchen sink a few days prior to his death.  We were shocked when he told us she trespassed on the land often without anyone knowing, and my mother made my father fix the electric gate down at the road so that it wouldn’t open without one of three clickers in the possession of herself, my father, and me.  James would have to come to her house and get hers any time he needed to leave the hill, an arrangement he agreed to because Jessica stole things from his house all the time, she would absolutely take a gate opener if she saw it.

He told us the gate wouldn’t keep her out though, and that she didn’t come in that way anyway.  The only way to protect ourselves from her was to lock her up and he doubted even that would do it.

He died less than a week later, and twenty three years later we still don’t know how or why.

----------

We never felt safe on the hill again.  Jessica was deranged in the worst possible way, we’d known it for a while, and James was her obsession.  She’d threatened to kill him multiple times and had tried twice.  We hadn’t known this, because James, big strong stoic Clint Eastwood type that he was, wasn’t about to tell anyone he was violently abused for years by a skinny little woman that everyone believed was not much more than a meek dormouse with shyness issues and a case of painful awkwardness.  But we knew she was evil.  We just didn’t have any proof.

The first thing my mother said after the initial emotional breakdown of finding her son dead was Jessica did this, I don’t know how but I know she did it.

I believe she was probably right.  But if Jessica was anything she was wily and devious with a strong survival instinct and an uncanny ability to lie convincingly and draw sympathy onto herself.  She’d convinced us for years that she was the perfect combination of sweetly harmless and endearingly clueless, but that only lasted until the day she called 911 screaming that James was beating her and then threw herself face first into a tree in their front yard and sat, calmly singing and coloring in a coloring book on the porch with blood running down her forehead, waiting for the police to arrive.  The act she put on when they got there was one for the Academy, but the officers didn’t buy it.

James calmly rolled up his sleeves and showed them his scars where she’d burned him and slashed him with a kitchen knife.  He pulled up his shirt and pointed out the marks she’d left on him with her teeth and nails.  He hooked a finger into his mouth and showed them the empty hole where she’d knocked one of his teeth out with a baseball bat.  One of the officers asked him why he hadn’t killed her and buried her somewhere on the land already.

She left in the back of the squad car, and my mother took James to the courthouse to get divorce papers started two days later.

Jessica came to his memorial service when we finally had it, several weeks after his death.  She wasn’t invited but we couldn’t keep her from coming.  She wore black like a widow and created a dramatic disruption complete with loud wailing and declarations of undying love, and afterward she stood to one side of the room, smirking at us with the kind of icy malice that you only see on the dangerously deranged, and then usually only in the movies.  Several people commented in hushed voices, asking why she’d been allowed to come.  At one point she started wailing They killed him!!, but everyone with the exception of her mother ignored her.

Her mother, who was still in our congregation, flitted around the room chatting with everyone, sobbing her heart out like it was her own son we’d just memorialized.  She was an ER nurse and had been famously fired from her job at the hospital for taking locked-cabinet medications home by the purse load.  She claimed she put them in her pocket to use on her shift and forgot to return them to the cabinet before leaving.

Jessica had been staying with her for a while.

----------

We fed the crowd at mom’s later that afternoon with my husband and his boss guarding the gate, making sure she didn’t try to come into my mother’s house.  The police were called preemptively, and because this was a town of 300 with not much of anything else to do, a squad car was dispatched and stationed near the inlet to the main drive.

Jessica showed up not much later, like we knew she would.  She drove past the police and parked a few yards down from them in plain sight, just sitting there by the side of the road, far enough away from our property that we couldn’t legally do anything about it.  The officers got out and talked to her, warned her not to cause us any problems, and she fed them a woeful tale about being banned from her beloved husband’s memorial service and denied the right to say goodbye to him.

The officers knew there was no body at that service to say goodbye to.  They also knew her.

My husband came up the hill and told us she was down at the road and that Scott was blocking the driveway with his truck to keep her out.  I told my mother it was time to file a restraining order against her.  She was living in fear and Jessica was known to be trespassing on our property frequently.  No, she told me with tears in her eyes but not a sign of distress on her face.  It was a look I knew, because my mother rarely showed emotion unless she was angry and the rest of the time it was this cold detachment.  That would bring reproach on the congregation because everyone knows what we are.  I can’t do that.  I won’t let her win that way.  I won’t let her cause us to bring shame on God’s name.

God’s name.  I took it in vain that day.

More than once.

I was leaving in a few weeks, moving a thousand miles away.  My husband and I weren’t going to be there to help her keep an eye out, and thirty eight acres of heavily wooded land is impossible to protect and easy to sneak onto from a hundred different directions, James had shown us proof of that.

God will protect us as long as we do the right thing and leave it to him, she said.  He knows what she is.

I think it was just a coincidence that nothing terrible happened in the following weeks, because my faith was getting tenuous and a lot of prayers were going unanswered.  But Jessica quietly disappeared back to her own world after a couple of infuriating weeks of putting herself in our paths every chance she got, and not long after that my husband and I moved away, and as we left the driveway for what we thought would be the last time he sighed and shook his head with the exasperation of a man about to say I told you so.

“That land is cursed,” he said.

I tried to disagree, though I don’t know why.

----------

Less than a mile up the road we passed a man walking.  He was tall and thin and covered in the dust of a long journey with a ratty backpack strapped to his back, and as we passed him I caught his reflection in the side mirror.

It was James, I knew it in my heart every bit as strongly as I knew it couldn’t be.

He was walking away from the hill, toward the west.  The way we were going.  And I swear on whatever holy relic you wish to place under my hand that he raised his head and met eyes with me in the mirror, and he smiled.

.

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today

.

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

I'm yours

prompt used - falling asleep on other’s shoulder | fluff| Day 21

“ potter “ draco nodded as harry walked with notebooks in his hands to the staff room, being morning it was pretty empty 

“ malfoy “ harry nodded at draco and sat down in front of him  

“ how’s the morning coming along ?” he asked with a warm smile occasionally drinking his coffee after having it miss this morning due to an eventful morning.

“ well there was a mass murder in the bathroom this morning but other than that really pleasant" harry gave him a little head tilt with a little smile.

“ really ? what was the mass murder of ?” draco chuckled leaning back in his chair to listen to harry’s interesting morning story 

“ mosquitoes. apparently my very attractive irresponsible husband left the window open and it welcomed the entire narnia of mosquitoes “ harry answered 

“ oh well, i’m sure he did it by mistake but rest in peace to all those mosquitoes” draco chuckled 

“ how was yours ?” harry asked smirking 

“hm, well eventful. It’s our anniversary so breakfast in bed before work and well you know the rest. Love these anniversaries “ draco bit his lip before giving harry a wide grin 

“ ooh anniversary, what have you planned ?” harry narrowed his eyes in a sneakish way 

“ oh just a bit of this, a bit of that. surprises you know. Don’t want to go about spilling the beans. Its a secret between me and me” draco smirked and finished the rest of his coffee 

“ potter, malfoy, to classes “ Ms. Mcgonagall walked by announcing them to cut their chatter and they did so. The rest of the day harry and draco Passed by each other a lot offering each other small smiles.

" sir is it true that it's your 6th anniversary?" A student asked in Draco's class abruptly.

" well I don't see how it's in the reference to whatever I've given you to write about " Draco answered searching for the voice

" cut them a slack Mr. Malfoy, they're merely being curious like everyone else including me " Harry walked in from the back door Grinning

" well If that is the case- yes it is true. It will be my 6th anniversary as of now " Draco raised an eyebrow at harry

"professor forgive me but if it's your 6th anniversary then you must be giving them something really special right ?" Asked the same voice but it was no lie that the entire class was curious.

" yes but I think it will be about time you focus on your work while I give Mr. Potter a word about interrupting my classes " Draco raised from his chair, Harry following him outside.

" how may I help you Mr. Potter ?" Draco asked in a professional way.

" well- I just came by to inform that today's meeting have been moved forward " Harry told him.

" well that works in my favour " Draco tilted his head in surprise but not entirely surprised , he expected It if anything.

" I must say your lover sure is a Lucky person " Harry smiled

" I think your husband is as equally lucky " Draco smiled. Lingering in the moment for a smile, Harry walked back off to his office with a little grin.

When the day came to an end, harry was busy stacking things up over his desk and drawers when he heard a little knock on the door and saw Draco leaning over the door.

" 2 minutes " he smiled. Harry looked up at the watch on the wall before he walked towards Draco and dragged him inside.

" 1 minute "

" 10 seconds "

" 2 seconds "

And then Harry pulled him closer, closing the door behind him and kissing him over the lips.

" I missed you " Harry mumbled against his lips

" you saw me an unusually lot Harry" Draco smiled not moving an inch apart

" well I missed my husband " Harry said as he gave him a chaste kiss again to show how true his words were

" in that case, I missed my husband too but I think I like professor potter better, he's got a- well nice ass " Draco chuckled creating a little space to grab Harry's ass just a little

" lucky for you, we're both the same people or you would've been a dead man " Harry chuckled intertwining their finger's together

" like the mass murder in the bathroom this morning ?" Draco laughed . Joining along in the laughter, Harry nodded.

" come home after 15 minutes, get dressed and follow little white notes okay. See you soon babe " he spoke so fast that Harry barely understood a word but he left faster than he had spoken leaving Harry excited and confused.

Just like Draco had said, Harry returned home 15 minutes later, freshened up, got dressed and finally started finding little white notes. The first one he found quite easily right over the mirror.

" find me where you know I hate those little rings "

Harry thought for a moment, wondering about wherever he hated the rings but Draco loved them. And suddenly just then his eyes fell upon the glass of water, a coaster beneath it. The ring Draco hated, water rings. He immediately ran out to the living room and looking over the coffee table.

" found it " Harry Whispered to himself picking the little white note from beneath the coaster. He went one after another notes, taking his time to solve the riddle and swearing Draco for the most part for doing something like that.

He finally reached the last note reading it only one and figuring it immediately

" meet me where the green had never looked so good and the storm had never raged "

Painting Harry reached the Richmond hill, London, a patronus waiting for him right there. He followed the little light, leading to Draco who was staring over the hill enjoying the view. He must've crushed a stick Because immediately turned around

" damn you're slow" Draco chuckled as he saw Harry

" hey I got confused with the 2nd and 3rd one, I figured the last one pretty easily, also 6 years into relationship you should know that I'm shit at riddles " Harry told

Shaking his head with a little smile Draco continued " you remembered ?"

Harry furrowed his brows with a little surprised smile " what? You thought if it were the 4th date, I wouldn't remember it! The green never looked so good and the storm had never raged? It was the easiest one, I remember everything draco. You told me that night that green-"

" is your favourite colour because of my eyes-"

" is my favourite colour because of your eyes" they said simultaneously. Smiling at the verbal connection Harry enclosed the distance between them.

" your eyes still just as beautiful as they were that day " Harry Whispered smiling.

" they still vary colour everyday " Harry added

" well If you could only see you from my eyes. You'd understand why it does it everyday " Draco smiled putting his arms Around Harry's waist, fondly looking in Harry's eyes which glowed with little yellow freckles because of the reflection of the lights Draco had decorated the place with.

" thought you said it's a pureblood thing ?" Harry frowned putting his arms around Draco's neck

" it is. But it varies colours because each day I look at you in a different way than I have before. One for each day I have loved you so long " Draco smiled. With a flick of his wrist, Draco turned on the slow music, I'm yours by Jason marz playing slowly over the radio.

Harry was left speechless, finding it hard to describe in words how much more he loved Draco but he suspected that even if Harry's eyes didn't change colour each day, Draco knew that Harry loved him in ways he'd never loved anyone else and probably would never love anyone else more. Smiling Harry put his head over his shoulders and started swaying. lightly to the music.

" I remember this song playing from the car parked not far from here " Harry Whispered

" I think it suits well for both of us" Draco mumbled tightening his grip around Harry's waist.

Harry smiled knowing Draco was smiling just like he was. 6 years of being together yet they loved each other just like they had loved one another when they first confessed their I love you's, the same way when Harry was away for the first Christmas, the same way when Draco was banished from malfoy family, the same way when Harry was away for a mission for 2 months, the same way when they loved each other during and after the first fight, the same way they had felt on the day of marriage and had promised to love everyday till death part them. In a way just like million others this song was also Just their own and they found it quite nice to having been a part of something they chose to belong to even if it also belonged to the rest of the world. In trillions of moments, the song by Fate had played in that moment but they were 2 simple boys having no choice bought together by fate, and had they never regretted it.

And for the second time in the entire life they spent together, in the moments of revelation, the song played for the second time

" and the world said we'd never make it through " Draco smiled staring up at the sky at the stars, Harry's head over his shoulders, his face nuzzled in Draco's neck, cuddling comfortably.

Harry hummed in response, his arms hung loosely around Draco's body. It was not long after when Draco heard Harry's light snoring. Smiling to himself, Draco retrieved the blanket, covered both of them us and slept peacefully, just like he did for the rest of his life for he never loved anyone like he did Harry, he didn't had to. He was enough; more than enough if so.

Requests open

Day 21- little jars of love | Day 23- ten times Harry fell for Draco

[hotchley]

strawberry cheesecake

BAM! IT’S HERE!!! BEFORE MIDNIGHT AS WELL!! It was 23:14 when I hit publish on ao3 and I really do need to go to sleep, but it’s here, with some level of accuracy because I googled what happened when someone has an allergic reaction.

Finally, I, the pioneer of Aaron Hotchner’s strawberry allergy, has written the fic where he eats strawberry cheesecake at an FBI function and has a reaction. It got unexpectedly dark, but we’re going with it.

As usual, I have not proofread it, and I kinda need you to suspend all belief about how the FBI works/is run because the function kinda doesn’t make much sense and yeah... you’ll see what I mean when you read... I’m really hoping this doesn’t suck because you guys actually looked forward to it??

Trigger/Content Warnings; food, referenced child death (most recent case), alcohol consumption, anaphylactic shock/allergic reactions, child abuse, hospitals and I think that’s everything

Word Count: 7669 (it got really out of hand...)

read on ao3!

If there was one thing David Rossi hated more than local press giving unsubs ridiculous names because they believed it would make a good headline, it would be FBI functions. And not just any type of FBI function. The FBI function where the Behavioural Analysis Unit- which nobody had believed in- would be mentioned so frequently that it felt like they were on a case.

It was just his luck that one was being held on the same day that he was supposed to be going to the ballet with one of the lovely women that worked in the White-Collar unit. Because despite the rumours that went flying around about him and his dating habits, he was not going to take advantage of his position and make rookies or anyone else uncomfortable. The woman he was supposed to be meeting had approached him and asked if he’d liked to go.

Hotchner had been watching him, looking slightly scandalised as she had placed her hand on his tie, and so Rossi had said yes. He’d even leant in slightly and asked if she would have a problem with him giving her a kiss on the cheek. When she said that she wouldn't, and would actually quite like that, he did and Hotchner had fallen off his chair.

Rossi had smirked, the lady had laughed and Hotchner had hit his head trying to get back up, gone an even brighter red and made something up about dropping his pen and needing to grab it. Rossi’s date had snickered, whilst Rossi had just raised an eyebrow.

Hotchner had excused himself to the bathroom.

As he ran out of their area, closely followed by Anya- she’d slipped Rossi a piece of paper with her name and number, Erin Strauss had walked in, holding two envelopes.

Rossi didn’t need to be a profiler to know what was in there.

“No,” was the first thing he said.

“David,” Strauss warned.

“Erin,” he mocked.

Strauss sighed. “Look, I know you hate these things, but the entire bureau is founded on politics and people-pleasing. If you come to this, then there may be less questions about what exactly it is you do all day, apart from ogling the other agents.”

“I do not ogle. And I guess it’s too much to hope that the other invitation is for Anya, isn’t it?”

Strauss nodded. “It’s for Aaron. Do try and get him to come, it’ll give us all something pleasant to look at whilst we slowly die inside.”

Dave stared at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m not saying that I want to ruin his marriage or sleep with him, I’m just saying he’s objectively attractive. And I don’t know why you look so surprised, Jason told me about the women that flirt with him. And that you started calling him pretty boy, which hasn’t exactly gone unnoticed.”

“Right.”

“Just make an effort to actually attend. And please get Agent Hotchner there too,” she said.

Dave just nodded.

Aaron had returned from the bathroom.

“Agent Hotchner. I hope Dave hasn’t been making you feel too awkward with all of his comments,” she said. It was clear that she was just trying to see whether any had been made.

Aaron’s cheeks flushed again. “Not at all ma’am,” he said, holding the door open for her. She nodded and left, but not before turning to Dave one last time as she gave him an extremely pointed glare. He made a face at her, which caused her to laugh.

When Hotch had sat back down again, Dave finally acknowledged him.

“That trip to the bathroom seemed rather urgent,” he joked.

“I- well, so,” Hotch stuttered.

Dave shook his head. “It’s fine. And it doesn’t look like that date will be happening anyways, so it’s not a big deal.”

“Wait why won’t it be happening? You both seemed… excited at the prospect of going.”

In response, Dave threw the second envelope at his head. Aaron’s reflexes weren’t fast enough, so it just bounced off and landed on the floor. As he bent down to pick it up, Dave began to understand why Erin and the other agents thought of him as being something pleasant to look at. As in, Aaron had pretty eyes. And his hair was constantly falling in his face, which was endearing.

“That envelope is why it won’t be happening.”

Aaron stared at him and then opened it. “Oh.” He seemed even less enthusiastic than Dave did about attending. 

“I thought you would have been thrilled at the thought of going. It’ll be like all those balls you went to when you were just a young boy growing up in the good old South Virginia," Dave said. He knew he was toeing the line.

Aaron's silence about his childhood revealed more than his words ever could.

"First of all, I didn't attend balls when I was a young boy. The only dance I ever went to was my prom, and that was only because Haley basically forced me to go. And South Virginia isn't that good, that's just a stereotype that people have because people live in fancy houses with white picket fences," Aaron snapped. It was uncharacteristically sharp.

"Sorry," Dave said. And he meant it.

Aaron's eyes widened. "Sir, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have lashed out at you. You've not done anything wrong. I just-"

"It's okay. Do you want to talk about it? There's no pressure, it's just if you wanted to. That seemed like quite an extreme reaction to something so trivial." Why was he so bad at this? He could charm any woman he wanted, yet the moment he tried to speak to Hotchner about anything other than work and Haley, he sounded like an idiot.

"I left prosecution because it was always more about politics than actually helping people get justice for the terrible things that had happened to them. And now it just feels like nothing has changed and time that could be spent stopping someone from destroying lives is just going to go on people-pleasing," Aaron confessed. He wouldn't meet Dave's eyes.

Dave wanted to pull him in for a hug, but he knew it would most likely not be well received. He also knew that wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't his place to push. Aaron felt things, more deeply than the rest of them, but he would never admit to anyone that there were certain cases that got under his skin.

Like the one they had just finished. A child wasn't going to be coming home, but the look on the mother's face when they informed her was not one of sorrow. It was one of relief. Aaron had asked to stay behind to speak to her for just one more moment. And when he returned, there was an anger written in the clench of his jaw that Dave had never seen before.

Jason had told everyone to give the kid space. Against his gut instinct, Dave had listened to him. Which he now very much regretted.

"Kid. We all have limits. Nobody can spend every hour of every day hunting down these guys. At the end of the day, we're all just human. I won't lie to you, it will be a lot of people-pleasing. However, it will also- if you let it- be a bit of fun. You're a good agent Hotchner. And an even better person. Let yourself breathe for once."

Aaron looked down. "Thanks Dave."

Dave just shrugged. It was only when Aaron left the room again did he let himself groan. Now he was going to have to pretend to enjoy himself at the function or else Hotchner would just be upset because of his ruined date.

Depending on how you looked at it, the members of the BAU were either lucky or unlucky when no cases turned up the morning of the event. Dave had been watching the fax machine intently, and Max had been looking through a suspicious number of case files the entire day. But in the end, there was nothing.

Which was how Dave found himself standing around, sipping a glass of champagne he thought tasted horrible, talking to strangers he couldn't care less about and silent seething at Hotch. He wasn't there yet, despite phoning Dave to say he would be there in half an hour about forty five minutes ago. 

The only reason he'd bothered to attend and not faked some form of emergency that would let him go on his date with Anya was because he wanted Hotch to have someone to keep him company and make him laugh as he suffered through conversations about being an ex-prosecutor and the change to the FBI.

He was looking round for a waiter so he could take yet another glass when Aaron appeared in the doorway, fiddling with his cuff links. His cheeks were slightly flushed and his hair was more ruffled than usual. As he entered, awkwardly greeting people and tripping over his own feet, Dave rolled his eyes.

How the kid had managed to pass all of his assessments and be the best shot in the entire building was still completely beyond him.

"Hi," Aaron greeted, a dopey grin on his face.

"It's lovely of you to join us," Dave remarked. He just couldn't help it. When Aaron's face fell slightly, he regretted it. He kept forgetting that Aaron took the things people said a bit too literally sometimes. Especially if it came from someone he looked up to.

"I'm sorry about your date being ruined," Hotch said. He was looking around at all the other people in their perfectly tailored suits and beautiful dresses. It made him- with his slightly too big shirt and undone bow tie- look even younger than he already was.

"Well barring any disasters, this should be over in time for me to make it. Anya said she could wait."

There was a slight silence, broken only by Dave rejecting what would have been his third glass of champagne and Aaron quickly accepting it. And then it became too much for him to bear.

"Kid, why is your tie undone?"

Hotch's eyes widened like he had only just realised. Rossi wouldn't have been surprised if that was true. For someone that was a profiler, he was quite oblivious sometimes. Not realising that if you took your vest off and then someone shot at you, you would suffer more than a few bruises, forgetting that his shirt collar wouldn't cover his entire neck, the list went on.

But this was something entirely different. Aaron Hotchner's tie was never undone.

Rossi raised an eyebrow when an entire minute passed without him explaining himself and the colour rose to his cheeks.

"Well, it took me a really long time to do it the first time and then Haley came into our room to grab her bag. And then she really likes it when I get all dressed up because I normally hate doing it- I mean I always hate it- so then she, you know and then I thought I had tied it properly but clearly I hadn't."

Rossi had never heard so many words spoken in a single breath. He did however, understand what the kid was trying to say. "Well at least one of us got to have some fun tonight," he joked.

"Is that why everyone's been staring at me?" Hotch asked, turning his back to Strauss. The woman simply raised an eyebrow, then raised her glass of champagne at Rossi, who glared at her, just because he could.

"Yes," he lied, because he was not about to be the one that explained to him that people were staring at him because he had been deemed the eye candy of the Quantico and therefore, everyone loved him.

"You're lying to me. I can tell! What's the truth?"

Not for the first time, Dave wondered what he'd been thinking when he saw the lead agent in Seattle run after a suspect without any sort of back-up, slip in poison ivy and then carry on running, even though everyone else had realised it wasn't the killer they were after and decided that he would make them into a profiler.

"Are you sure you want to know?" he said, making his voice as serious as he could in a vain attempt to make him change his mind.

"Yes. Because it's nowhere near as bad or as serious as you're making it out to be."

Damn him.

"Fine. But I did warn you. It's because you are- objectively- attractive. And apparently, your slightly repressed accent makes everyone swoon. Also Strauss thinks you have a nice ass," Dave said, completely nonchalant.

Hotch's cheeks went brighter than ever before and he spun round, searching for Erin. She had rather coincidentally turned her back to the two of them as she engaged in a very serious conversation with another Section Chief.

"I- I don't even want to know how you know that," Aaron muttered, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets, looking like a petulant child.

"Oh I thought you would love it! You're basically a Southern Belle."

Dave was lucky he was immune to the Hotchner Glare as it came out in full force. "Don't call me a Southern Belle. Do you even know what that is?"

Dave shrugged. "I'm sure I could guess. Look, I'm sorry, I'm just being bitter. Come here."

Aaron regarded him suspiciously. "Why?"

If it had been anyone else, Dave would have told them it was a surprise. Or that they wouldn't know until they stepped forward. But Aaron wasn't anyone else, and Dave needed to remember that. There were certain things he just couldn't say.

"We're going to be here for a while. You can't just stand there with your bow tie undone."

Aaron narrowed his eyes, but stepped forward. When Dave reached forward and grabbed the ends, he tensed. To anyone else, it was too minute a gesture to be noticed. But Dave had spent more time reading people than he had with his second wife. He knew why Aaron was tensing. It was why he took as little time as possible tying it neatly, even though he wanted to take forever.

So that the other agents wouldn't be staring and making him self conscious. That was his only reason. It had nothing to do with the attachment he could feel himself forming, and it most definitely was not linked to his desire to help Aaron associate touch with love and comfort.

When he stepped away, Aaron seemed to relax slightly. "Thank you," he said, ever the gentleman.

Dave just shrugged. "You look better with it done properly. Speaking of, where is Haley?"

"What does Haley have to do with me looking better with my tie done properly?"

"Your tie wasn't done properly because of Haley. Come on Hotch, I thought you were meant to be an ex-prosecutor. And we both know the two of you are inseparable."

Hotch flushed, the way he always did when someone mentioned just how in love with Haley he was. Dave found it adorable, even though he hated himself for that. But he knew how important Haley must have been to Aaron's survival, so even though he wasn't her biggest fan, he begrudgingly respected her.

"She's out with her sister," he mumbled. "They made plans ages ago and they've been so excited for it that I couldn't ask her to cancel just to keep me company."

"That's kind of you. Most men probably wouldn't let their spouse just leave them when there's an event like this going on," Dave said. 

"If you want to go on your date I'll cover for you when Strauss comes calling," Aaron said, rather suddenly. 

Rossi frowned at him. Aaron had seemed excited at the thought of spending the evening together when he first arrived and for him to suddenly seem so willing to spend it apart, just so Dave could go on a date with someone who he was sure was lovely but he couldn't envision a future with, was more than a little unusual.

"Like I said, barring any disasters, I should be able to make it. Are you annoyed at me for bringing up Haley? I know that we had a bit of a rocky start when we first met, but I do respect her. And I like to think she appreciates the fact that I keep you alive."

"I'm not annoyed at you for bringing up Haley," Hotch said, huffing slightly. He was fiddling with his cufflinks. Dave wanted to comment on his behaviour, but did not want to be reminded of the no-profiling rule- which Hotch himself had implemented.

"Well you're annoyed at me for something and I would appreciate you telling me, instead of just bottling it up until we're on a case and something else happens."

"Dave, I am fine," Hotch snapped, tone mitigating his words.

"I'm sure you are," Rossi snapped back, turning away. Strauss was frowning at the two of them and he rolled his eyes. Screw etiquette, and screw the people that thought they were being unprofessional and causing a scene.

They were, but he wasn't going to admit it.

"Do you really think I would forbid my wife to do something as harmless as going out with her sister the same night that I have to attend quite possibly the most boring function known to man?" Hotch suddenly asked, tone laced with malice.

"Of course not Hotshot. I was joking," he said, softening his tone as the problem clicked.

"I wouldn't. I'm not her keeper. And I'm not-" he caught himself, shaking his head. "I just wouldn't."

"I know. I'm sorry, it was wrong of me to joke that like that," Dave said, catching Erin's eye. She nodded, clearly pleased that he had resolved something without resorting to violence or shouting.

He didn't acknowledge her. He wasn't an idiot, and he knew that resorting to violence or even raising his voice would lead to some sort of shut down from Aaron. And he did want the kid to enjoy himself, even though he did agree that playing politics whilst people were dying was stupid.

"The decoration is nice," Aaron commented, a few minutes later.

"It is, isn't it? It reminds me of this opera house I took Carolyn to, for one of our anniversaries. Actually, that opera house seems like the sort of place Haley would enjoy going to. I'll give you the name, you can surprise her," Dave said, deciding he would take the win and prod later.

Aaron choked on his champagne, colour rising to his cheeks when he realised people were watching him cough. He cleared his throat once more before turning to Dave, making absolutely no attempt to hide his shit-eating grin.

"What?" Dave said, hating himself for taking the bait.

"I have to tell Haley that you think she's the kind of person that would go and enjoy herself at an opera house."

"Is she not?"

"Dave, for our last anniversary, I took her to the local theatre because they were putting on Pirates of Penzance because that's what got us together. And the year before that, we both thought it was a week later than what it was, so her sister ended up taking us out."

Maybe Dave wasn't as good a profiler as he thought he was, because in his mind, he had a very specific image of Haley, and none of what had just been said fit with that image. He supposed that was what he got for making assumptions, having never actually met her in person.

"Oh, that's certainly interesting," Dave said.

"She's a very interesting woman," Hotch said, smiling so wide it physically hurt Rossi to see because he knew how the BAU burnt out love, and the strain it put on marriages. Hell, he had lived through it.

"Hold onto her Aaron," he said, without thinking.

Aaron frowned. "Of course I will. Dave, you've been acting weird the whole time we've been here. Are you okay?"

In all honesty, he wasn't. He always said he wasn't like Jason. He had no interest in being a mentor, or finding the next generation of profilers. That was never what he wanted. But there was something about Aaron, and his too large suits and his floppy hair that made him feel things he wasn't ready to confront. 

But if he said any of that, Aaron would probably run for the hills. Hell, he probably would too.

"Of course I am. Now loosen up and enjoy yourself. I can tell you want to," he said, smiling when Aaron's eyes sparkled.

"What do you think Strauss would do if I told her I know what she thinks about my butt?" he asked, the smirk on his face far too mischevious for anyone's comfort.

"You can find out now," Dave said, nodding as Strauss approached them.

"Dave. Aaron, you look very handsome," Erin said, looking him up and down once.

Whatever had possessed Aaron just a few moments before had clearly vanished, as his cheeks flushed and he awkwardly stuttered out something that nobody, not even the person speaking, understood.

"Thank you… Ma'am. You look very nice too," he eventually managed to say, sipping his champagne to distract from his failure at speaking.

"Is there something you need?" Dave said.

"No, just making sure you weren't too bitter about your date being cancelled. And also making sure that Agent Hotchner would save both of us a dance after dinner. I'm sure everyone from Quantico wants to know whether or not our Southern Belle can dance," Erin said.

Hotch downed the rest of his glass. "I'm not- it doesn't work like- I don't- I really don't think- fine. One dance. But that is it, and none of you are allowed to laugh if I mess up, because I'm not the dancer. Haley is."

Haley seemed to be a lot of things that Aaron wasn't. Maybe it was part of the reason they were so well-matched.

Erin nodded, smiled at them both, then went to mingle with different people.

"See, everyone thinks you're a Southern Belle!" Dave said, smirking.

"But why? I've done everything I can to repress my accent, and I have done since the day I started law school," Aaron said. He did not whine, because grown men that worked for the FBI do not whine. But if they did, his sentence would have definitely sounded like whining.

"I know, and most days, it's only the slightest thing. I don't really know how everyone worked it out, but they did. And that's fine!"

Hotch pouted.

"Look, if you really don't want to dance, you could always land yourself in the hospital with some kind of injury. I could take you, sneak off to my date, Haley would affectionately roll her eyes and then give you all the kisses you want…" Rossi said, smirking.

"No it's fine. I'm not going to fake an injury, that would be so embarrassing," Hotch replied.

"Then stop pouting, you look like a child. And go mingle with someone else, if you spend the entire time before dinner with me, what will people say?"

Hotch snorted, then schooled his face into a look of neutrality, before nodding and going off to speak to one of the other higher-ups. Rossi noticed, rather fondly, that it was the one person that actually cared about the people involved in their cases, as opposed to just the politics and the prestige.

About five minutes later, he realised he missed the kid. And then he started to panic. Because he didn't get attached to people. Especially not new agents that had too much hope and faith. Not new agents that were that nice. He didn't. He couldn't.

Him and Aaron ended up seated next to each other at the banquet table, because there genuinely was no other way to describe it. It was long, and grand, and every platter was filled to the brim with food of so many different types. Dave honestly could not remember what the function was actually for, but a part of him was tempted to comment that if part of the budget for these events went to the BAU then they'd probably be able to properly fund the unit.

He refrained, if only because Aaron looked so excited at the prospect of finally eating something. Dave had learnt long ago that you had to eat before you came to these events because people loved talking and more often than not, you'd drink the champagne just to get through their conversations, but clearly Aaron hadn't quite learnt that lesson yet.

"So where is that wife of yours?" Max asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Hotch tensed. "Out with her sister. Why?"

"I've only seen you smile like you are now when Haley is around, but I don't see her anywhere," he said, in that annoyingly patronising tone of his.

Hotch relaxed, but flushed. "I-oh. Yeah. She's out with Jessica because they had made plans a while back and they don't really see each other as much anymore because Haley's busy teaching and doing the school production, and Jessica's getting her Masters so," he trailed off.

"I think it's lovely, how much you love Haley," Erin added.

Dave snorted into his glass, not at the fact that Aaron looked so uncomfortable but at the fact that these people hunted down serial killers and criminals for a living, and yet the thing they got the most joy from was teasing a kid about his marriage.

"Right, that's enough being mean to the newbie. What about dessert?" Dave said.

Aaron flashed him a grateful smile. He just shook his head. He remembered when he’d turned up to his first event, Carolyn in awe of all the decorations and outfits, and everyone else had been ruthless with their teasing. He wasn’t about to let Hotch suffer that same fate. He’d probably faint with embarrassment.

Erin laughed at the two of them, and Jason smiled at Dave’s defensiveness over his new protege. One day. One day Jason would get Dave to admit that the way he felt towards Aaron was nothing short of paternal. Max just rolled his eyes, but the waiters came to clear their plates before he could make another biting comment.

Aaron excused himself to the bathroom, and then the dessert was brought out. Dave, being the saint he was, switched his and Aaron’s plates because he wasn’t getting younger and he knew he was meant to be cutting down on his sugar. So if Aaron had the bigger slice, then it would do them both a favour. And it had a whole strawberry to decorate it, not just the jam.

Erin was giving him one of his looks when their eyes met and he resisted the urge to stick his tongue out. He knew what that look meant. It meant Erin had an opinion on whatever he had just done, and it was one he wouldn’t like or approve of. 

“Look, it’s strawberry cheesecake!” Dave exclaimed, poking his fork in Aaron’s direction in an attempt to distract from Erin’s gaze.

The smile that had been plastered across Aaron’s face since they’d been sat down- and Dave really didn’t want to think that it was as a result of Erin’s comment about his butt, although it was the only thing that made sense- faded, and the colour seemed to drain from his face.

“What is it? Come on, you must love dessert, you’re the kid,” Dave said, slightly teasing.

Aaron opened his mouth, seemingly contemplating saying something that he thought would ruin the entire evening, but then he closed it and gave Dave a forced, tight-lipped smile. He almost pushed, but they had been having fun, so he just grinned back and urged Hotch to eat it.

If anyone noticed him wince as he swallowed each bite, or the fear that flickered in his eyes when he ate the strawberry, they didn’t comment. For that, he was grateful. He still had no idea what he was meant to do when the inevitable happened, but so long as nobody realised, he had time to work it out. All he needed was time.

He did really miss Haley though. If Haley had been there, she would have said something on his behalf because she would have known there was no way he would do it himself. It was too late to turn back now though. There was a tiny part of him that secretly hoped he’d outgrown it, but the moment he felt stomach cramps forming, he knew that was wishful thinking. Still, if he was lucky, nothing too serious would happen until he got home. Haley would panic, take him to the hospital and everything would be fine. Nobody else would have to know.

Or so he thought.

He’d gotten so good at not eating strawberries that he had completely forgotten just how badly, and quickly, the effects would hit him. He had forgotten just how allergic he was to the fruit. And he was aware of how stupid that sounded, but it was just one of those things.

Dave was staring. So was Erin. He cleared his throat, awkwardly looking down. When the waiters came out once more to clear the plates away, he smiled at them, hoping his cheeks didn’t seem flushed, or his palms too clammy.

“You promised me a dance,” Dave said, nudging his elbow.

“I did, didn’t I?” Aaron responded, hoping his voice didn’t sound too strained. When he stood up, his vision went slightly fuzzy and unfocused, and he found himself grabbing the table in order to stay upright.

He was going to be fine. All he had to do was make it through another few hours, and there was always a delay between his vision blurring and breathing becoming difficult, so with just a bit of luck, he could still do it.

Luck had never really been on his side.

Erin was standing, talking to Dave, and he couldn’t remember what he was meant to be doing, or why nobody was dancing. Maybe they had just been teasing him when they said he owed them both a dance. Or maybe they were waiting for him to do something. Either way, the confusion wasn’t helping him function.

“Kid, what’s happened to your hand?” Dave said suddenly. It reminded him of that time his cousin had eaten shellfish, but that didn’t make sense. There was no way Aaron had hit adulthood without realising he was allergic to the things they’d eaten.

Aaron stared at him.

Erin grabbed his wrist, the look that crossed her face one of fear and panic. “Aaron.” 

It couldn’t be. There was no way the ugly red rash forming on his hand as they watched him was being caused by an allergic reaction. It just couldn’t, because Hotchner may have been stupid and irresponsible, but there was no way he was that irresponsible.

He cleared his throat.

“Now would be a terrible time to tell you that I’m allergic to strawberries, wouldn’t it?” he rapsed.

Dave’s jaw dropped. “You’re what?”

Aaron Hotchner’s timing had never been good. It had actually always been abysmal. He was born early, in both senses of the word, met the girl he would end up marrying on the last day before a three month holiday which she would spend out of the state, and was generally just not smooth with the way he did things.

So as if on cue, he fell to the ground, completely losing consciousness. Clearly the delay between his vision growing blurry and his breathing becoming shallow was not the large space of time he thought it would be.

“Aaron!” Dave yelled.

Erin dropped to her knees by her side. “Dave, phone for an ambulance. Now.” 

Dave blinked a few times, then realised what she was asking him to do and ran out the room to find the phone. When he was patched through, he realised he had no idea if what Aaron was experiencing was just a reaction, or anaphylactic shock, but he just explained himself as best he could, only relaxing when they said it was likely everything would be fine and they would be there soon.

He re-entered the room only two minutes later, and Aaron was still in the recovery position.

“The idiot doesn’t have an EpiPen on him. I don’t know why, but he doesn’t, so now we literally have to wait until the ambulance gets here and hope for the best,” Erin said, some strange mix of angry and terrified.

“He doesn’t have his- what kind of- why not?” Dave said.

When he looked around the room, he realised it was suddenly startlingly empty. It was just Erin, him, Aaron- who still hadn’t come around- and Jason. Max was suspiciously absent. He figured that was for the best. If anyone would make the situation more awkward than it already was, it’d be Max.

“He managed to get everyone to go downstairs, then said he would stay with them. We figured the less people around when he woke up, the less embarrassed Hotchner would be,” Jason explained. “And on that note, I’ll go explain to the paramedics what happened,” he added, as sirens filled the air.

“Dave, when did our lives suddenly become co-parenting this mess of an adult if only so he gets home safe to Haley?” Erin suddenly asked.

“We don’t co-parent him. No. We just… look after him the way we would do with any other new agent that was his age,” Dave said, although he wasn’t even convincing himself. Erin didn’t respond, just looked at him with that glint in her eye.

He didn’t get the chance to carry on with his argument because Jason entered with the paramedics, and him and Erin moved away. It seemed like they had already been informed that Aaron didn’t have an EpiPen on him, because the first thing they did was inject him. There was one terrifying moment, in which Erin grabbed his wrist, where Dave thought they were too late, but they weren’t. 

Aaron opened his eyes, obviously disoriented and immediately after lifting his head, let it hit the floor again. He seemed far too pale, but nothing gave the impression that he was going to be sick, so Dave relaxed. When he and Erin were finally able to go over, Aaron was almost done answering their questions, some of the colour returning to his face in the form of flushed cheeks.

If he was capable of embarrassment, then everything was going to be fine.

“We’re going to need to take him to the hospital for observation and to make sure he doesn’t have a secondary reaction, but one of you is welcome to come. In fact, it would be preferred, wouldn’t it Aaron?” one of the paramedics said.

Aaron nodded, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Dave, you should go. Aaron, I don’t want to see you in the office until you’ve been cleared both by the doctors and by Haley to return. Do you understand me?” Erin chastised, sound every bit the mother Aaron had never had.

He nodded miserably, closing his eyes, and for a few moments, Dave felt terrible for him because so many pieces seemed to be falling into place now. And then he remembered that the whole thing had been caused by Aaron not saying he was allergic. He still felt terrible, but he also wondered what the hell he was meant to say to Haley.

“Come on kiddo,” he said as gently as he could, helping Aaron to his feet and into the elevator.

When he was safely sat in the ambulance, and they were well on their way to the hospital, he raised an eyebrow at Aaron who pulled a face.

“Don’t,” he protested weakly.

“So you’re allergic to strawberries,” Dave said. “How long have you been sitting on that piece of information for?”

“I’ve known since I was four and ended up in the hospital after I went strawberry picking with my mother and ate one of them.”

“Aaron, nobody was going to be offended. You could have just said something, it would have been okay. Really, you can’t judge someone just because they have an allergy, and everyone would have just moved on. You didn’t need to eat it.”

Aaron swallowed. “When I was eight, my father bought strawberry tarts for my mother and I, because he knew she had friends round and he wanted to seem like a dutiful husband. He didn’t- she’d kept the first time a secret from him because he’d been out of town. And when she tried to tell him, he said I was being difficult, then he made me eat it whilst she told her friends everything was fine. I only survived because she snuck in with my EpiPen.”

“Oh kid,” Dave said, chilled to the bone.

He shook his head. “I knew, realistically, that nobody would say anything, but I just couldn’t shake the memory of being told that if I was going to waste food, then I didn’t deserve it.”

“Aaron, that’s not-”

“I know that. Now at least. Thanks for not reacting weirdly. Or thinking less of me.”

“Agent Hotchner- are you still esquire, oh it doesn’t matter, esquire- nothing would ever make me think less of you. Especially not this. It wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault, and I know it’s easy for me to see, but I need you to know that.”

Aaron gave him a slight smile, eyes watering. “Thank you Dave.”

“I do have one question though. Where the fuck was your EpiPen?”

He made a sound, one that Dave was not going to dignify by actually naming in his head.

“That didn’t sound like an answer young man,” he teased.

Aaron sighed. “It- okay. My blazer pockets weren’t big enough to fit it, and I figured strawberries isn’t exactly a common thing, so it would be fine if I left it in the car, but then I didn’t want to say anything, and then I passed out before I could- oh.”

“What?”

“Did everyone see me collapse?”

Dave considered lying, but Aaron had bared his soul to him. He owed him this small piece of honesty. “Yes, but they also witnessed me running like a headless chicken to get to the phone and Erin completely freaking out, so it’s all okay. I promise.”

Aaron nodded, not fully convinced. “Thank you. For caring.”

And one day, Dave would teach him that caring was what people did for each other. That it wasn’t something he had to earn, or something that would be snatched away at the smallest transgression. He would teach him that the love he had always deserved but never been shown was going to come from more than just Haley. It was going to come from every single good person he knew.

But in that moment, he just leant over and ruffled his hair. And maybe the gesture was paternal, but he could live with that.

“Mrs Hotchner’s been waiting for you all to arrive,” the receptionist said the moment they came through the doors. Aaron relaxed at the mention of his wife.

“You can send her in as soon as we go in. He’s been treated, we’re just keeping him for observation,” the paramedic said. The receptionist nodded and turned to one of their colleagues, who immediately got up.

Dave hung around as they got him situated, wondering when would be an appropriate time to leave. He didn’t want to step on Haley’s toes, or make her feel like she wasn’t trusted, but he also didn’t really want to leave either of them. Not if the real timeline matched the one he’d created in his head. She would have just been a child too, but children always believed that they needed to save everyone and anything less was a failure. He didn’t know how to say that their job was to be a child, and it was on the adults to keep them safe without patronising the two of them.

So he sat instead, keeping Aaron company until he was no longer needed.

Haley came rushing in the moment she was allowed to, her eyes slightly red. They must have told her how severe the situation was, and Dave felt guilty for making her panic so much, when Aaron was doing much better already.

“Baby, they told me what happened. How are you feeling? Is your heartbeat erratic? Is there anything you need?” she asked, not even acknowledging Dave. He wasn’t offended though. The love Haley had for her husband was the most fierce thing he’d witnessed, and now he understood. She’d spent her entire life defending him and the love she had for him.

He shook his head, then grinned at her. “Kiss me?” he asked, and for a moment, he was just a normal man, so in love with his wife it physically hurt to witness.

“I shouldn’t- me and Jess had strawberry margaritas before we got the phone call. She’s coming round tomorrow to check on you herself by the way,” Haley said, brushing his hair off his head with a smile.

Aaron nodded. “I’d expect nothing less. Oh Haley, this is Dave. And Dave, this is Haley.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Dave said. 

“You too. So, what happened? Because you told me it was just a function, and then when I got home, there was a message from the hospital that you were being brought in for anaphylactic shock which doesn’t make any sense because you don’t eat strawberries anymore!” Haley said.

Aaron had the decency to look away. “I didn’t want to cause a scene so I ate this slice of strawberry cheesecake. And I thought it would be fine- well not fine, don’t look at me like that. I thought I’d be able to last till I got home. I’m sorry.”

“Baby, I’m not angry, don’t worry,” Haley said, taking his hand. “Just do what the doctors say, okay? And please don’t eat strawberries anymore just to be polite.”

“I’m afraid I may have made it worse,” Dave confessed, needing them to know, even though it had not been intentional, by any stretch of the imagination.

“What do you mean? How?” Haley asked. Aaron lifted his arm enough to signal that he had the same question.

“I switched our plates when they got given to us so Aaron had the bigger slice. It also had a whole strawberry on it, instead of just half a slice. Maybe if I hadn’t done that, his reaction would have been less severe. I’m sorry.”

Haley, in spite of, or maybe because of that single comment, started laughing. Aaron just watched her laugh with a smile on his face like he had never seen something so beautiful, and he probably never had. Dave watched them, confusion across his features.

“I’m sorry. It’s not funny. It’s just- Dave you have nothing to apologise for. He was always going to have a reaction. And given that he didn’t even have his EpiPen-”

“It was in the car,” Aaron said, not quite whining but definitely getting close.

“Didn’t have his EpiPen,” Haley said, like Aaron hadn’t even spoken, “it was probably always going to end like this. I’m just laughing because you sound like such a parent. Like switching slices is something my dad did for me and Jess when we were little. It’s cute.”

Aaron looked to Dave, fearful and hopeful all at once.

“What can I say? Erin and I need to make sure someone keeps an eye on him,” he said. There were a lot of things in his life he wasn’t proud of. There were lots of mistakes he had made. But this? Being considered Aaron’s parent? It would never be one of them.

Aaron smiled at him, the light in his eyes returning. Haley nodded her approval. When the nurse came in a few minutes later to check Aaron’s vitals, the silence felt comfortable and natural, as though they had already become attuned to the others’ needs.

“Are you two going to be okay?” Dave asked. Someone needed to tell Erin that he was okay, and he really wanted to go to bed. He realised that he hadn’t even considered trying to salvage his date with Anya. He supposed they could always reschedule. Besides, Aaron was more important now.

Haley nodded. “Yeah, I’ll drive us home, make sure he takes a bath and have him back and safe with you on Monday, don’t worry.”

Dave stood up and started heading towards the door. “Oh don’t worry too much about rushing back to us. I’m sure we’ll survive. His cute butt will be missed, but we’ll make it through.”

Haley snorted. “Aaron didn’t I say that there was no way people hadn’t noticed?”

Aaron did not reply, but he did glare at both of them.

Dave smiled. Just before he left, he hesitated for a moment, wondering whether or not it was the time and the place. But he just couldn’t resist. “So are there any other allergies we need to be aware of? Shellfish, pollen, nuts? Pretty ladies that want you to call them back?”

“Dave!” Aaron said, and this time it was definitely a whine.

He just smiled, leaving Aaron and Haley in the hospital room. Had it been a normal event? No. But he wouldn’t trade the night for anything in the world. After all, he had just found a whole new family. And he couldn’t wait for Haley to meet Erin. The two of them would definitely cause Hotcher a whole new level of embarrassment.

It was going to be the messiest and most random family to exist, but a family nonetheless.

[doloresdraws]

| time-lapse of the painting on my youtube |

❤ I wrote these for Twitter, but decided to post them here as well ❤

Werner Adler, Nosferatu residing in San Francisco, Embraced in 1970 in his mid 30s.

1. Werner is pretty chill most of the time, more than angry he gets frustrated from not being satisfied with his writing or when he says something that makes complete sense, yet the other person still fails to acknowledge it, especially when it is about something important.

2. I think he never believed in soulmates, until he met Leslie. Now when she is gone, a part of him is gone too.

3. His pet peeves: When people call themselves stupid or speak about themselves in a degrading way, especially women and children. Also when he sees grammar mistakes like they're/their, etc.

4. Unfortunately, what used to be his happy place now brings him a lot of pain, so he rarely allows his thoughts to venture there. When Leslie was still alive and he thought she was living a happy, fulfilled life somewhere, he often thought about their life together.

5. He has suffered from depression since his teens, but his happiest time was when Leslie said yes to his clumsy proposal, they got married and were planning their future together. Despite his coming and going depression and some bad days, she made him very happy.

6. His least happy time: Finding out that Leslie was dead, running to the hospital morgue and seeing and holding her lifeless body in his arms.

7. I think he is neither. He would sit at the bar minding his own business.

8. As a mortal, he never had any serious physical injuries (mainly because he was at home most of the time) As a vampire he got his wrist broken by the Gangrel who had found him after the Embrace, Werner didn't understand anything and wanted to just run away.

9. He doesn't really remember his Embrace as he was passed out sleeping, so the Embrace itself isn't a traumatic experience for him. There is a lot he would rather forget during his Kindred existence, but nothing tops his desperate attempt of Embracing Leslie's dead body.

10. His childhood wasn't exactly filled with many good memories. His parents argued a lot and it ended up in divorce that left him living with his quite overprotective mother. His fav memory would probably be time he spent hanging out with his best friend, a neighbor kid Mike.

11. Honestly, no, he doesn't have a type. He was seriously in love only with Leslie. They had a connection right away as she as an artist understood his need to be sometimes left alone with his writing and at the same time possessed quite a different, more positive outlook in life.

12. A pen that he bought from his first salary. Lucky for him, he was able to keep it even after his Embrace. Also his and Leslie's wedding rings and her journal that he stole after sneaking into her husband's hotel room and going through her things.

13. +14. No tattoos or piercings, even if he wasn't a Kindred/Nosferatu he wouldn't even consider it. He is quite old school, he doesn't really like them.

15. He had his dream house already. Not long before he got Embraced, he and Leslie had bought a house in a small town in Maine. It wasn't much, but they had so many plans for the garden and for the kid's rooms.

16. I think others, especially Kindred of other clans wouldn't probably expect him to be so well-mannered, gentle and well-spoken considering his dishevelled, unclean looks. He just sees no point in showering or caring for his look when he isn't really socializing with anyone anyway.

17. He is very thoughtful when it comes to gifts. He is that kind of person that would give you a present out of the blue, just because he would see something that he thinks you would enjoy.

18. He has a love-hate relationship with his writing. Some days he thinks he is really good at capturing the right mood with his words, other days he is questioning his writing skills and if he should even continue. He isn't proud of anything that he does, unfortunately.

19. A stranger would probably describe him as a sad man who desperately needs a bath and new clothes.

20. A close friend (Kayley) would describe him as kind & caring, but broken man who is trying his best and tries to do the right things.

21. He actually isn't concerned about his looks at all, he didn't care much about his looks even when he looked normal. His biggest insecurity is fear that somehow deep inside he is a bad person and that he somehow deserves what happened.

22. Physical: dexterity, non-physical: Intelligence.

23. If he knew that the lie was for his own good, he would actually appreciate the thought. If it was a lie to spare him from fear (I am looking at you Kayley) he would get upset at the sheer irresponsibility and the harm that could have happened and you would be in for a lecture.

24. He doesn't care much for the weather when he's spending most of his nights alone in his sewer haven, but he finds rainy nights inspiring and accurate to his own feelings of despair. He sometimes goes to the cemetery when it pours, stands in the rain and allows himself to cry.

25. He has no problems saying I love you to the people that he cares about when it feels right and appropriate to the situation. Though he usually never says it first, but more as a response :)

26. He doesn't like to talk about his worries - like when he was a mortal he really didn't like to talk about his fear of not having enough skill to make it as a writer, as he felt like he was failing Leslie to not make enough money for them to be able to raise a family.

27. He murdered a man that was a threat to Kayley and Jane. He really thought that there wasn't another way, but he sent the children away while he did it, so they didn't have to see. He was on the verge of frenzy and part of him could justify the murder as the man was a scumbag.

28. He isn't ticklish, but he would probably try to stop you tickling him anyway.

29. As a mortal, he had pretty low pain tolerance, but as a Nosferatu and after Leslie's death he realized that any amount of physical pain was nothing compared to the crippling pain and guilt that he feels inside everytime his mind slips and he thinks about what happened.

30. He wishes he had the courage to walk up to Kyle (Leslie's then husband) and tell him that he was sorry, that he was weak, selfish and negligent and that it was his fault that Kyle lost his wife and his unborn child. But of course, he never did it, and now Kyle is an old man.

31. Messy: feeding is a very stressful ordeal for him, he only feeds on the homeless men from his herd and he gives them money for it. It's always a terrible time for him, it takes him a while to actually bite down and then he wants to be done with it as soon as possible.

32. When 14 yo Kayley made him bite her after she found out the truth about what he was and she wanted a proof that it didn’t hurt when he fed on people, despite him reassuring her it didn’t. He was deeply hurt by this request, but he forgave her, he realized she was just a curious child, she didn't know how much pain this was causing him.

33. When Leslie found him and despite seeing how he changed, she still told him she loved him and was willing to stay with him. And maybe even more when they had met a few years later and despite the time, he could still see love for him in her eyes like nothing had changed…

34. Hard choice between vision & touch. Both would hinder his ability to write and that is that is the only thing that keeps him somehow sane. Well, together with caring for Kayley, but as she is growing older it is better she sees less of him and has a normal life.

35. He can hold on small talks pretty well,it's actually the only kind of talk he is willing to have with other Kindred after Leslie's death. Mirabelle especially noticed the change in his behavior, but she understands that they weren't really friends and she has no right to pry.

36. He would ask Leslie if she can forgive him for what happened to her and her unborn child. But the truth also is that he is absolutely terrified at the idea as he fears that the truth is that wherever she is, she hates him.

37. The past-so he would have never traveled to San Francisco, or at least he would have traveled to the night when Leslie came to him and this time he would be stronger and pushed her away, not letting her touch him... The future is pointless, there is nothing left there for him.

38. Positive - Leslie made him feel understood, Kayley - gave him some will to live back, Jane - made him feel like he made a difference in her life by persuading her to own her mistakes.

Negative - His Sire who made him question why he deserved this fate for his kindness.

39. He was used to live alone, then he met Leslie and then he was alone again. He was always a solitary person, so the solitude and isolation actually didn't even bother him after the Embrace.

40. The worst had already happened to him, so for a time there wasn't really anything that would make him terrified. But then he met Kayley and of course he fears for her safety as he feels responsible for her. He's afraid that her compassion will one day cost her her life.

Werner © me/doloresdraws