#I actually wonder if we’ll ever seen any of the nightmares in live action least for a dream sequence

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF movie Mike and Michael compare nightmares,,

#myart #chloesimagination #comic #mike schmidt #michael afton #fnaf nightmare #fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf 4 #fnaf fanart #five nights at freddy's #Michael once again sharing horrors beyond human comprehension to Mike 💜 #tbh it’s been a second since I’ve last had a comic focusing on these two #it’s interesting how both have a deep connection to dreams in particular #though once again Michael is winning on how much worse his vers are #in the Survival logbook Michael does draw nightmare Fredbear #so those are his nightmares this guy can’t even get a break in sleep #I actually wonder if we’ll ever seen any of the nightmares in live action least for a dream sequence

[mysweetestcreature]

Purple Clouds and Tangerine Skies

Words: 24.5k

Warnings: Mentions of death...smut?

Summary: Why can’t two people who are meant for each other get it right?

***

They’re fighting again. All Y/n can do is shut her eyes in the hopes that when she opens them, everything will be okay. But no amount of wishing can drown out the noise. 

“I can’t keep pretending like everything is fine! It’s not. You know it isn’t, Matt,” she hears her mother erupt between sobs. Lately, it’s been the same angry words shouted at one another over and over again. Y/n takes her baby sister, Ava, in her eight-year-old arms. She hugs the baby close. If she can’t block the screaming out, at least she can protect her sister from it.

“Grace, please.” It’s her dad’s voice. She’s never heard him sound so desperate. “What about our family? The girls need you. I need you! You can’t just walk away from us.” 

There’s a sudden silence that follows. At first, Y/n thinks that maybe her parents have reached a resolution. Her dad has always been good at negotiating. It is his job, after all. She’s seen him in action whenever he brings her to work with him. Maybe he’s managed to work that same magic on her mum. She gently lays Ava down on the bed, creating a makeshift barrier of pillows on either side of her, before exiting the room and running down the stairs. 

Before she can reach the bottom, she’s forced to a halt when she sees her daddy slouched over on the last step. His head is buried in his hands, his shoulders are shaking. He’s crying. That’s a sight she’s never seen before. He’d always been the picture of bravery and strength, but now that’s been washed away and replaced with someone who looks broken beyond repair. She doesn’t recognize him.

Where is her mum? She slips past her dad, despite wanting to throw herself in his arms for comfort. Besides his sniffling, the house is quiet. There’s no trace of her mum. It scares her.

“Where’s Mummy?” she asks meekly, turning to her father.

He doesn’t respond, but instead, he brings his hands out of his hair, and stares painfully at the door. Without thinking, she throws it open, the sun’s light momentarily blinding her for a few unhinged seconds. It’s only the screeching of wheels on road that brings her back.

“Mummy!” she cries, running as fast as her short legs can take her. Her eyes begin to swell with tears. The black taxi is still, and she’s just able to stare at her mum through its window. “Mummy, where are you going?” she pleads as she bangs on the door, but her mother doesn’t even flinch. Why won’t she look at me? 

The engine starts up, and the car begins to drive away. Y/n chases after it, crying out for her mum to come back. “Don’t go! Please don’t leave me!” It picks up speed after it turns the corner. She feels herself slowing down, but even then, she refuses to stop. The distance between herself and the car becomes too massive.  

“Mummy, come back!” 

Arms envelop around her, and now she’s running on air. “Let her go,” her dad tells her, and she can feel his own tears against her neck. Her feet stop kicking, it’s like the energy has completely drained from her body. Her mind, however, is still racing. 

***

A few days later, her daddy packs both hers and Ava’s bags, and loads them all into his car. She doesn’t ask questions, and instead busies herself with the fleeting landscape. A part of her had expected all that’s happened to be a part of some elaborate nightmare. But each morning, she wakes up to her parents’ bed left untouched, and her dad asleep on the living room couch. Ava is asleep beside her, and Y/n can’t help but think how lucky her little sister is to be living in ignorance. At three months old, she’s only just learned to hold her head up. Barely. Y/n doesn’t remember anything from that age, and maybe that’s a good thing. Had her parents always been this hostile towards one another? Had her mother done this before? What if she had? Does that mean she’ll eventually come back?

“We’re going to be staying with your grandparents for a while,” she’s taken out of her thoughts when her dad finally speaks up.

“Why?” She catches his eyes in the rearview mirror. They only ever go up to Nan and Gramps’ house during the holidays.

His fingers thump against the steering wheel, and he breathes in deeply as though to say something. It takes a moment before he answers her. “I just...I can’t do this alone.” His voice breaks, even though he tries to pass it off with a cough. “It’ll be good for us,” he says again. “You’ll see.”

When they hit a red light, he turns to look at her. He smiles weakly. No matter how much she wants to believe him, she still yearns for her mummy. It’s become especially hard in the mornings when her hair is knotted from tossing and turning in her sleep, and her dad can’t manage to tame it for the life of him. Her mum would often braid her hair, and like magic, it would remain intact all day. She always loved how gentle and soothing her mum would be as she brushed each strand with such care. That’s not to say that her dad isn’t trying, of course, but it’s just not the same.

***

Her grandparents live in a little town called Holmes Chapel. It’s pretty, she supposes. The buildings are a lot older, and the streets aren’t as busy as they are back home. She sits back and takes a deep breath. Her tummy flips a little when she thinks about how she might never see her old friends again, or her room, or even Mrs. Watson who lives next door (she would babysit Y/n and Ava whenever her mum had to run some errands). 

When she looks out the window again, she sees Nan and Gramps stood on their front porch, smiles reaching their eyes. 

“Where are my babies!” Nan exclaims, her arms stretched out. Her dad says a quick hello before opening up the back door. Y/n hops out, and her legs feel a bit unsteady from having been cramped in the car for all those hours. 

“Hi, Nana,” she greets sadly. Nan’s smile falters slightly, but she doesn’t seem to let it deter her.

The elderly woman bends down to her height and gathers her in her arms. Over Nan’s shoulder, Y/n watches as her dad whispers something in Gramps’ ear. Although she can’t hear it, she can tell by Gramps’ reaction that it can’t have been good. “A bit peaky?” Nan asks, when she finally pulls away. She cups Y/n’s cheeks and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I just took the cookies out of the oven, actually. Let’s go check on them before your grandfather gobbles them up.” 

Gramps groans behind them. “It was one time!” 

Nan waves him off, guiding her through the front door with an encouraging push. “Oh, you won’t believe all the colors I bought for you at the crafts store yesterday! I know how much you love to draw,” she says. Her voice drowns out when she hears something fall outside. “Arthur Y/l/n! If you break another one of my pots, I swear to–” It leaves Y/n to wander through the hall on her own. Her grandparents’ house is quaint and orderly and smells vaguely of warm vanilla (probably from the cookies) and jasmine. The walls are covered in framed photographs of her daddy and his older brother through the years, a few of a much younger Nan and Gramps, and finally of Y/n, Ava and all of her cousins. (They live in Nice––her Uncle Brandon married a French woman named Dominique––and only ever seem to come around for Nan and Gramps’ anniversary.) Finally, below her uncle and aunt’s wedding photo, is her parents’. She tries not to stare at it too long.

***

Y/n decides that maybe spending time with her grandparents won’t be so bad. After all, her and Ava don’t have to share a room anymore, which means that she won’t be woken up by her little sister’s 3 am wailing fits. Nan’s done an impressive job decorating on such short notice, too. The walls are still plain white, but at least there are some pretty stickers of butterflies and flowers and a few of Y/n’s favorite cartoon characters. Even the windows are nicely covered with those gel ornaments that she loves to poke. 

It’s all very nice, but she still wonders about when she’ll be able to sleep in her own bed, in her own house, under her own sheets.

“When are we going home?” she asks her dad as he tucks her in for the night. His hands stop in the middle of smoothening out her blanket, his eyes remaining glued to one of its printed ballerinas. 

“To be honest with you, love,” he sighs, “I don’t know if we’ll ever go back...at least not anytime soon.” 

“Oh.” That’s not the answer she wanted to hear. What if her mum does decide to come back? It’s still possible, right? After all, her mummy had always told her how much she loved her. She would scoop Y/n into her arms and twirl her around the room as they both laughed their hearts out. When she was sick, she’d always have her favorite tomato soup and grilled cheese. Every day after school, she’d sit down with her and help her do her homework and then give her an extra cookie if she didn’t complain. 

Then another thought pops into her head. Her mum hadn’t been able to do any of that stuff recently. It had been like living with someone who looked exactly like her mum, but without all the warmth and tenderness that once was. Y/n turns away from her dad and starts to sob silently into her pillow. 

Maybe she isn’t coming back, after all.

The dip in the bed from where her daddy had been finally reinflates. He’s about to wrap his hand around the door before she stops him. She calls out his name, sitting up with her arms around her knees. 

“We’ll be happier here?” 

His shoulders visibly relax, and for the first time in what feels like so long, he offers a sincere smile and nods affirmatively. She hadn’t realized how much she missed his smile until now. There’s something about it that she can’t quite describe, but she feels the safest she’s felt in a while.

***

Her daddy had left for the airport some hours ago. Gramps had offered to bring her along for the ride the night before, but she decided that she would rather not watch him leave. Instead, she pretended to be asleep when he came into her room and kissed her on the forehead. She knows he’ll be back in a few days, but it’s always tough when he has to go. It’s one of the other reasons they needed to move in with her grandparents, her dad has to travel a lot for work.  

As soon as he and Gramps had loaded the car and driven away, she had stepped outside and sat down on the grass. That had been before the sun had totally risen. Now, it’s up high and shining its rays on top of her head. Nan, who had been surprised to see her granddaughter sitting out on the lawn so early in the morning, had asked her if she wanted breakfast, but was told she wasn’t hungry. 

They’ve only been living here for a little over a week. She thought that they would’ve had more time to adjust before her dad had to fly off to wherever it is they’ve sent him. So far, things have been fine...or at least they’ve been as best as they can be. She tries not to think about her mum too much (she’s down to only once or twice a day). It’s a good thing that Nan and Gramps have a million ways to keep her busy.

Today is different, however. She’d had her daddy with her when she felt homesick. Now, she feels alone. 

“Hi,” her head snaps up, and there’s a boy, maybe around her age, standing above her. He has messy brown hair that curls at the ends, his pleasant smile is complete with dimples on either cheek. It’s his eyes, however, that hold her attention. They’re like spearmint, if spearmint is even considered a color. Or maybe they’re the same shade as the stems of her Nan’s petunias. She can’t quite describe it, but she can tell that she likes them. 

“Hi.” 

The boy takes her response as an invitation to sit down beside her. “I’m Harry. Do you want a Freddo?” He pulls out a chocolate frog from his pocket. “My sister always eats chocolate when she’s upset, and she’s a girl, and you’re a girl, and you looked kind of sad, so...” He gives her a lopsided grin.

“I’m not supposed to take candy from strangers,” she says. 

He––Harry––rolls his eyes. “I just told you, my name’s Harry.” He shifts a bit, then points to the house on the left of hers. “That’s my house there.”

“What if I don’t want to believe you?” she challenges, but she’s failing miserably not to grin at how utterly exasperated he’s getting.

With a defeated sigh, Harry shouts towards the house. “Oi, Gem!” It takes only a few seconds for a head to peak out of an upstairs window. 

An older girl, maybe around thirteen looks like she could throttle him. “I’m on the phone, Harry! Bugger off or I swear I’ll––oh, no, no! Not you, Blake.” She disappears back into her room. 

Y/n can’t help but giggle, and Harry turns to her, a triumphant look on his face. “See. Told you.” 

Once again, he offers her the Freddo, but this time, she happily accepts it. They sit in a comfortable silence as she nibbles on the chocolate. 

“I’m Y/n,” she finally tells him. 

Harry studies her carefully. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Y/l/n your grandparents? Because I’ve been over there loads of times––she babysits me when my mum and Gem are busy––but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

She nods. “Me, my sister and my dad moved in last week.”

“And your mum?” he tilts his head.

Her teeth bite down on the inside of her cheek. She looks at him wearily before staring down into her lap. “It’s just us.”

“Oh,” is all he replies. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “My parents are separated too. My dad lives in the city, but I still see him most weekends.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever see my mum again,” she frowns.

What he does next startles her, but she’s more surprised at how quickly she relaxes. He wraps an arm around her and brings her closer so she can lean on her shoulder. “Mum says hugs help a lot,” he says sheepishly, she can feel his eyes on her. She nods against him, and it encourages him to continue. “I’m sorry you can’t see your mum, but hey, you can always talk to me! I’ll be your friend.”

It’s her turn to look up. “You promise?”

“Promise.”

***

Y/n decides that she really likes living with her grandparents. Her and Harry are practically inseparable, spending the better part of the day together (and sometimes during the night when they have sleepovers). This means that she hasn’t cried in a long time, and she’s heard her daddy tell her grandparents that things are finally starting to look up. Her daddy looks better than he has been in ages, he doesn’t have that faraway look in his eyes anymore. 

Harry usually comes over after breakfast, or even earlier when he knows Nan will be making French toast just the way he likes it. They play the entire day, a variety of games that range from hopscotch to pretend, to sneaking into Gemma’s room to dig into her stash of sugary treats because the girl has enough Freddo frogs to last her until next Christmas. He even likes to draw with her, even though she knows he rather be outside running around. 

Sometimes Gramps will drive them into town, and they’ll go to the park or the ice cream parlor or their favorite Chinese restaurant. (She learns that she prefers shrimp over pork fried rice). There’s also a bakery that she thinks is the cutest place she’s ever seen. They serve all sorts of pastries and desserts that the owner, Martha, gives them for free when the rest of the customers aren’t looking. Y/n thinks that’s all to do with Harry. She’s eight, and she can already see how charming her best friend is. She’s glad that she has him by her side. He’s made her time here better than she could have ever imagined.

But soon enough, September comes along, and with it, school. Y/n would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. While she and Harry will be attending the same school, he’s a year older, which means she might not see him nearly as much as she’d like. 

“It’ll be fun! You’ll see,” he tells her as they walk to school. “And we have breaktime, too. I can introduce you to all my friends, and you can introduce me to all of your new ones!” He sounds far too excited. 

Y/n pulls on his sleeve, and he clumsily stumbles back a bit. “But Harry,” she whines, digging the toe of her shoe into the sidewalk. “What if I don’t make any friends?” 

“You?” he gasps. “You’re like the most awesome person I know! Just be yourself.”

She doesn’t say a word, instead, she drops her head to look anxiously 

“Come on.” He takes her hand in his. “I’ll be at the end of the hall if you need me.” And they walk the rest of the way hand in hand. 

***

Harry drops her off at her classroom before going to find his. He promised he’d walk down with her for lunch, so at least she has that much to look forward to. When he disappears down the hall, she finally lets herself turn around to examine the place she’ll be spending the rest of the year in. 

The desks are all perfectly aligned, with names of her classmates in bold and colorful writing on cards at the very front. She quickly looks for her name and takes a seat. On the board, her teacher’s name is artfully written in the center. Miss Ferguson. She must have been the one who had greeted Y/n at the door a few minutes earlier. 

Y/n’s curiosity gets the best of her, and she starts committing every feature of the room to memory. The pictures of letters and corresponding objects and animals along the top of the blackboard are just like the ones from her old school. From her seat, she can see the playground, and she fantasizes about all the time she and Harry had spent on the monkey bars and hidden in the tube slide. 

“Do you want to trade notebooks?” Y/n turns in her seat in the direction of the voice. Behind her is a girl with blonde pigtails and an adorable gap between her two front teeth. “My mum always forgets that I don’t like purple.”

Y/n stares down at her own notebook, which is pink with white polka dots. “I like purple.” 

The girl grins widely. “Yay! You’re nice, I like you. I’m Penelope,” but as soon as she says it, her nose scrunches up in disgust. “But I hate being called that. So, just call me P or Penny!” Y/n gives a brief introduction, and the two girls trade notebooks. 

“You’re new, right?” Penny asks.

“Yup,” Y/n confirms, fishing her pencil case out of her backpack. “I moved here at the beginning of the summer.”

“Really? I’ve never lived anywhere besides here before, but when I’m older I want to live in London!” 

“That’s where I’m from,” Y/n says sheepishly. She hasn’t thought much about it, but when she does, she still misses it a fair amount. 

Penny’s hands go to her cheeks as she gapes in astonishment. “That’s so cool! What’s it like? Have you ever met the Queen?”

Y/n giggles. “I don’t even know where the Queen lives!” 

“Ugh, I’ve got so many things to teach you, then.” She and Penny make plans to hang out during breaktime and lunch.

Maybe Harry was right after all.

***

When the bell rings for lunch, Miss Ferguson’s class files out of the room in a somewhat straight-file line. Y/n walks behind Penny, her new friend is explaining all the proper ways to curtsy in front of a prince when a hand reaches out and tugs on the back of Y/n’s collar. 

She spins around, ready to thwack the whomever it might be. “I leave you for a few hours and you’ve already forgotten about me?” Harry smirks. 

“You just surprised me, that’s all,” she says. She’s fallen to the back of the line now. Penny stays back too and walks over to the two of them. “Harry, this is Penny! She’s in the same class.” 

Penny’s eyes nearly bug out of her head and her cheeks flush a shade of pink. “Hi-hi,” she stutters. Y/n stares at her for a moment, unsure where this sense of shyness has suddenly come from. She shakes her head, it’s probably just a draft from an open window. 

“Hi, Penny,” Harry returns kindly. He then turns back to Y/n. “Let’s go down to the cafeteria. I’m starving!” 

“Yeah! Let’s go!” Penny says, sounding much more like herself. Y/n walks in between them, feeling content. 

***

By the time she’s fifteen, Y/n has all she can ever ask for. Her dad doesn’t travel as much anymore, except for trips to the London office once a month, he’s able to work from Manchester. Ava’s seven now, and therefore able to cause all sorts of mischief. In fact, just last night, she’d eaten the entire leftover cake in the fridge when the rest of the family had gone to bed. She claims it was a ghost, but the frosting smeared across her face told everyone otherwise.

Penny’s practically moved in with them. Things at home aren’t always the best for her. Her mum usually spends the days drinking, the nights clubbing, and the early hours of the morning in some stranger’s bed. As for her dad, Penny doesn’t bring him up much. He decided to reconcile with his wife when Penny was three years old, leaving her and her mother penniless and alone. And well, she hasn’t spoken to him since. 

Finally, there’s Harry. He’s still her funny, sweet, and incredibly cute best friend. He’s sixteen now, far more mature than her. While they still spend loads of time together, he has his friends, and she has hers. Although, he does still come around for breakfast on the weekends––Nan’s French toast is still his most favorite thing on the planet––and they usually spend the rest of the time catching up on homework and watching movies they’ve already seen a million times. She loves how she’s never bored when she’s around him. They could be laying on the grass outside her house (much like they usually do) for hours, talking about nothing and everything, and still never run out of things to talk about. 

Except in the last few months. The thing is, Harry’s got himself a girlfriend, Lia, and she doesn’t like Y/n. There’s no logical explanation as to why, but whenever Y/n tries to talk to Harry at school, Lia slips her arms around him, like she’s claiming what’s hers, and glares at her until she has no choice but to retreat. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Harry that his first serious girlfriend is a total bitch, no matter how much she wants to. 

It’s a Friday night, Penny is staying over. She’s lazily flipping through last month’s edition of Vogue on Y/n’s desk. 

“Have you ever been in love?” she asks. 

“We’re fifteen. It’s not like there’s been much opportunity,” Y/n chuckles. She glances up momentarily from her sketchbook. If there’s a punchline, it never comes. She then gives her a look. “Why, have you?”

Penny shrugs. “Sometimes I think I am, but it doesn’t really matter. He’d never see me like that.” 

Y/n doesn’t respond to this. She’s heard stories about the boy Penny’s apparently fancied for ages now, but for some reason her friend refuses to give her a name. If she had to guess, it’s probably Bobby Baker from her French class. They dated for a few months when they were fourteen, but things had ended abruptly. Sometimes she’ll see them talking between classes and while in line for lunch. Her money’s definitely on Bobby.

Not wanting to press her for details, however, Y/n changes the topic. “Harry’s probably in love with Lia. I saw them snogging at the bust stop this morning.”

Penny groans. “They’re so gross!” she pretends to gag. “Oh, Harry. You’re so handsome! Kiss me before our lips dry out! Oh, Lia, you’re so pretty. Take this flower as a sign of my undying affections!” She imitates them, doing it so flawlessly. 

They share a look, and suddenly, they’re balled over in fits of laughter.

“How do they even breathe?” Y/n wheezes into her pillow. It’s not to say that she hasn’t kissed a boy before. It’s just never been as intense––or as nauseating––as that. Besides, none of her boyfriends have last long enough. Harry says that it’s all for the best, according to him, none of them are good enough for her. 

“They’re twos, you’re a total ten,” he had said to her once. She pretended not to feel her heart leap at the compliment. “A ten can’t go any lower than maybe a seven.” She wanted to say that she thought he was a ten, too, but was too embarrassed to say it.

***

Penny leaves early the next morning, but first helping herself to some of the food Nan had just prepared before zipping out the door. She leaves Y/n half asleep and barely functional.

“So, what’s the gossip?” Nan teases her, pouring her a cup of tea. 

“Same old, same old,” she yawns. She breathes in the steam from her mug and smiles. 

Nan places a plate of French toast in front of her. “Talking about the same old things until three in the morning? If only your grandfather and I could stay up that late. Of course, we’d be doing other things that decidedly aren’t–” she pauses, and Y/n’s never been more thankful. They both turn towards the back door. “Ah, and I was just beginning to worry.” 

Harry mutters a sleepy good morning, then stumbles into the seat beside Y/n. He looks at her breakfast, then looks at her. As if they can communicate silently, Y/n pushes her plate towards him. 

“Harry, dear,” Nan starts, making up a new plate for her granddaughter. “How does your mum feel about you spending so much time here?” 

“She’s fine with it,” he says, mouth full of bread. “As long as I bring her back some food, she says I can spend as much time here as I want.” 

Nan just rolls her eyes. “Will that be banana or blueberry then?”

“Hmm...” Harry pretends to mull over the options, but Nan knows better. Y/n watches with amusement as she places both bananas and blueberries on top of the French toast, then places it on a disposable plate and wraps it with tinfoil. 

She turns to them. “I’m just going to pop next door and give this to Anne.” Just before she can slide the door open, she calls one last remark over her shoulder. “Try not to burn the house down. We just had the floors waxed.” 

Y/n continues to sip on her tea, and Harry hums happily around another delectable bite. They sit in comfortable silence. 

“I feel like we haven’t talked in a while,” he says. He looks at her curiously. “Why is that?”

She has to bite her lip in order to stop herself from saying something she’ll regret. “Well, you know. I’ve been really busy lately.” From the corner of her eye, she can see how one of his brows shoot straight up.

“Busy with?”

“You know there’s an art show happening soon. I’ve been spending all my time in the art room.” She knows she isn’t convincing anyone, let alone him. He can read her like a book.

But if Harry is thinking she’s lying, then he doesn’t say anything. “Right,” he says aloofly. Taking another bite of his––her––breakfast, he continues. “Lia’s going to have a few pieces on display.”

This catches her off guard. “Lia’s into art? Since when?” 

He gives her a noncommitted grunt. “It’s news to me too.” He takes her mug from her hands and takes a sip. “But she seemed really interested when I mentioned you were participating.”

“Huh.” She rests her chin on her fist. That’s strange. She’s never seen Lia Hall set foot anywhere near the art room. Lia’s a cheerleader and spends most of her time cheering on the school’s football team, which is how she and Harry got together. Y/n would know if they shared any common interests. At least that way, she could talk to Harry without her grumbling bloody murder under her breath. 

“What is it?” his question pulls her out of thought. She plasters a smile on her face and says it’s nothing. 

***

Her bedroom window is right across from his, and they’ve been using it to their advantage since they were kids. When they both had bedtimes that were too early to ever enjoy the night, they would look out their window and find the other looking right back. They’d spend the night trying to make the other laugh with funny faces and their own little game of charades. 

But as Y/n looks up from her half-finished essay and through the glass, she doesn’t need elaborate hand motions to know that Harry is pissed. She wonders if he realizes where he’s standing or maybe he just doesn’t care right now. He looks like he’s trying to stay calm, but Y/n knows him better than that. While he isn’t one to yell, his voice does get tight when he’s trying hard not to. 

He runs a hand through his brown locks in frustration. She feels guilty for not having the strength to turn away, but she’s just too curious for her own good. If only she could read his lips just to get an idea as to why he’s so upset, but alas, that’s never been her talent. She waits, occasionally working on her essay (occasionally), then lifting her head back up to check up on him. 

When she looks up after a stroke of genius that had promoted words to pour out onto the page, he’s gone. Her shoulders drop in disappointment. Oh, well. At least all she has to do now is proofread. 

“Did you know your nan is making pot pie for dinner?” 

She swivels in her chair, her eyebrow tilting up. “I did.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” he pretends to be hurt as he falls onto her bed. “I’m wounded you would choose to withhold such valuable information from me.”

“I’m sorry?” she chuckles. Closing her laptop, she sits on the floor right beside where his head falls of the side of the bed. 

He turns to her, his upside-down face grinning pompously at her. “Eh, you know I can never stay mad at you.” She thumps his forehead with another laugh, but he only continues to smile.

*** 

Y/n’s always loved art and how it can imitate life in the way the artist chooses. Ever since she can remember, she’s been doodling landscapes and portraits on napkins or just about any plain surface she can get her hands on. She thinks she gets it from her mum. There’s not much she can remember about her, but she does recall her mother’s love for the fine arts. And as much as she tries not to think about her, she’s happy she knows where she gets it from. 

Mrs. Cuomo, the art teacher, says she has a gift, and Y/n tries not to let it get to her head, but she can’t help it! She’s already taken to looking for art programs around England. If she wouldn’t miss her family too much, she’d consider going abroad. 

“Paris seems fabulous, don’t you think? I mean, they have some of the best fashion schools in the world.” Penny muses as they walk around the gallery. “French boys are a plus.”

“Is that where you want to go after college?” 

“Possibly. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to afford it, though.” 

Y/n nods, understanding her friend’s situation.

They continue to browse all the art on display, until stopping at Y/n’s exhibit. She has three paintings. The one on the left is an abstract portrait of Ava that she’d been working on since the last art show. It was inspired by her little sister’s fifth birthday. Dad had bought her the cutest little periwinkle dress with a grey ribbon around the waist. It’s something Y/n would’ve been over the moon for at that age. But Ava being the little rebel she was (and still is) had gotten it all dirty. Right before her party, she came trudging back into the house, a complete mess from head to toe. Y/n’s entitled the portrait Muddy Princess. On the right is a landscape of a forest with the simple name Serene Acres. Finally, the one in the middle is a sideview of a boy laying in the grass. His hands are behind his head and his eyes are closed. He looks relaxed, like he’s never had a trouble in the world. As do all her paintings, this one had started off as a mere sketch born from a vision that she suddenly had just as she had woken up. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she’d make it anything more than that. But the longer she spent refining it, she just knew she had to take it all the way. There’s something comforting about him. This one in particular is Y/n’s absolute favorite. 

“Oh, you’re totally going to win this year,” Penny enthuses. “I’m not saying this because you’re my best friend and I’d literally give you a kidney, but seriously. You’re golden.” 

“I hope you’re right,” she says nervously. “Mrs. Cuomo said that the judges are going to be a lot more critical this year. I just hope they like my stuff.” 

Penny waves her off, as if she were talking nonsense. “They will.”

“Will what?” A pair of familiar hands land on her waist, and she can’t help but smile when sees him gasp at the wall in front of her. “Woah,” he’s speechless. She pats his arm as she steps away from him, afraid that his girlfriend might catch sight of them. 

“You like them?” she smiles. He nods, still unable to speak. 

“So, where’s Lia’s display?” Penny asks, but Y/n can sense the annoyance in her voice. She knows all about the girl’s hatred of Y/n.

Harry stares blankly, until finally registering the question. “Oh...um. She decided not to enter, after all.” He wraps an arm Y/n once again, and this time, Y/n doesn’t bother pushing him off.

“That seems sudden,” she says.

“Well...” Harry looks left and right, like he’s making sure no one will hear them. “I guess she realized that she didn’t stand a chance.”

This makes Penny snort. “Are we talking about the same girl here? Lia Hall does not back down. From anything. I’ve seen her at the mall fighting over jeans with University kids. She’s scary as hell.”

***

She’s laying on the grass on her front lawn when Harry comes outside and joins her. His body is oriented in the opposite direction so that their eyes are aligned if they were to face each other. He doesn’t say anything more than a hello. His hands are placed on his stomach and his nose wriggles when a cool breeze brushes past. 

“Lia and I broke up,” he suddenly says, but his voice is even and calm. 

“I’m sorry.”

He laughs loudly. “No, you’re not.” He glances at her before facing back up. “I don’t have to be a mind reader to know that you two don’t get along.”

“At least I know you’re not dense.” She bites back a smile. Why is she so elated with the news? Does that make her a bad person? Who’s to say? “She was pretty awful.”

“She was hot, though,” Harry interjects.

“I suppose.”

Silence washes over them. If she were any more relaxed, she’s sure she could fall asleep right here, next to him. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“What?”

“The clouds, Harry. Aren’t they beautiful?” She giggles when he squints at the grey canvas above them. 

“There are no clouds,” he says flatly. He turns his head, their eyes lock.

She swallows, and she’s the first to turn away. With a content sigh, she lets her eyes droop closed. Even without looking, she can feel the way his gaze lingers, like he might be waiting for something more. “You too,” it’s a gentle request, possibly an order. He’s never been able to deny her anything. 

“Alright then,” there’s an amused tone to his voice now. He breathes deeply, his own eyes closing as the air leaves his chest. 

They lay motionless for a comfortable few minutes. Things are quiet between them, and only nature’s melody that plays uninterrupted. 

The wind whistles, and the leaves on the trees dance along with crisp and breezy movements. As the air––which smells strongly of fall’s fiery allure––rubs against her skin and tickles the tip of her nose, another blissful smile leaves a pattern across her lips.

“What do you see?” she asks.

“Not much, honestly. My eyes are closed.” 

She punches his arm. “Don’t be an arse.”

He groans out in pain. “Fine then,” he concedes. “What do you see?”

The image is vivid in her head. “Purple clouds.”

He chuckles softly.

“What color is the grass?”

“Green, of course.”

“That’s boring,” he teases.

She huffs in annoyance. “Not everything needs changing, you know.” He doesn’t challenge it.

“And the sky?”

That’s her favorite part. 

“Tangerine.”

“That’s a fruit.”

“and a color.”

“Why can’t you just say orange?” 

“Because,” she starts in her best ‘you better listen to me or else’ tone. “Orange is a meh kind of color. But tangerine? It’s a bit more exciting.”

“Exciting,” he repeats slowly, as though he were testing the weight of the word on his tongue. 

When she opens her eyes, fully expecting him to be looking at her as though she had two heads, she’s surprised to see that his are still closed. She finds herself studying him. The way his chest steadily rises and falls with each even breath. He looks as calm as she feels at that moment. It’s then she can appreciate just how handsome he really is. Of course, she’s known it for a while (but she’d never tell him that).

So, she turns her head back towards the grey-washed sky and paints over its gloom with an image of their own. 

***

Right before he starts Year 13, Harry’s dad, Des, moves to Boston. Harry tries to act like it doesn’t bother him, but Y/n knows that he misses him a lot. Even though his parents have been separated for a long time, he’d at least had a good relationship with both of them. He and his dad would do “manly” things like fishing and batting at the cages. He keeps telling her that he’s fine, and it’s not like he’ll never visit him, but she can sense that something is troubling him. 

It takes a bit of finesse to get him to talk, and once he does, she immediately regrets it. 

“He wants me to follow him,” Harry says, scratching the back of his head. Y/n thinks she might throw up. Boston...America...it’s just so far away. The farthest she’s ever been is Italy on vacation. 

She stares at him apprehensively. “Do you...umm...do you want to go?” 

Harry doesn’t answer her at first. It takes to the count of five for him speak. “I don’t know. Probably not. I mean...it’s a lot to ask, don’t you think? He’s asking me to uproot my life here.” He gazes at her. “And I really like it here.”

She lets out the breath she’d been holding. She doesn’t think she’d be able to handle being that far from him. He’ll be starting University in the fall, and him going to London already feels too much. Goodbyes aren’t easy for her, and she doesn’t think they’ll ever get easier. 

“At least both parents want you,” she doesn’t realize what she’s saying until it’s up in the air. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“No, it’s fine,” she shrugs him off. “It’s just, you’re lucky that both of them love you.”

Harry appears to think hard on this. “I love you.”

Her heart stops beating, her eyes double in size.

“What?” 

He reddens, and for once, she can’t tell what’s going through his head. His jaw juggles back and forth, and then he coughs like he’s got something stuck in his throat. He wipes a hand down his face. “I mean, you’re my best friend, of course I do.” 

Just as quickly as it had enlarged, something inside her deflates. “Oh, right,” she tries not to sound disappointed. It’s a little awkward now, but she’s at least comforted in the fact that he values her so much. She nudges her elbow against him. “Hey,” she quips.

He tilts his head.

“I love you too, doofus.” 

***

Y/n’s always thought her dad to be a kind and fair man.

Matthew Y/l/n doesn’t spoil his girls, but he also knows how to reward them for a job well done. He’s also one of those approachable dads, the ones you can talk to about a crush without him getting overly protective. From when she was eight and until now, he’s always been there for her and Ava, and for that, Y/n is forever grateful. 

Which is why she feels like she can discuss this one teensy little thing with him. Now, Y/n, she’s made up her mind about wanting to pursue a career as an artist. Some might say it’s insane! Risky! Financial suicide! But isn’t the threat of failure all the more reason to strive? She thinks so, and she just knows that her dad will too!

After dinner, which is when her dad is at his happiest. His belly is full of Nan’s roast, and he’s sitting next to Gramps on the couch while they watch sports. This is her chance. She’s already practiced on everyone else in the house, plus Penny and Harry, so she has a pretty solid plan on how to approach him.

“Hey, daddy,” she says sweetly, plopping between him and Gramps. He smiles at her and flings an arm around her shoulder. He returns his attention back to the telly. She gives Gramps a look, one so pleading that she thinks she might have just made him tear up, and he clears his throat and excuses himself. 

“I’ve, uh, got to take a shit.” And he stumbles into the hall, Nan’s snorting following closely behind. 

“So, dad, there’s something I actually want to talk about,” she starts, turning so she’s completely facing him. Matthew presses on the remote so that the screen is completely black. He prods her to continue. 

Y/n chuckles nervously. No big deal. “You know how I’m like crazy about my art? I mean, I’ve won three competitions in the last nine months!” 

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ve been telling everyone at work that my daughter’s an artist. You should’ve seen Anthony’s face when he found out you were the one who beat his boy out for the ribbon...”

“Yeah, thanks, Dad.” She can feel herself getting excited. “And I’m so proud that I get to make you proud. I mean, you’ve given me so much, I feel like it’s the least I can do.” On her lips is her most dazzling smile. 

He eyes her suspiciously. “Okay, I’m sensing something else going on here. Spit it out.”

“Well, it’s just that next year is my last year of college, and I’ll be applying to universities soon, so I was hoping that we could talk about me pursuing art.”

“Pursuing art, as in...?”

“Dad, I want to be an artist.” That wasn’t so bad, right? She can see her dad’s face waver in emotion. At first, he looks confused, then maybe a little unsure, but then he’s just unreadable. “Thoughts?” she presses.

“No.”

Had she just heard him right? “What?”

“No.”

“But, Dad–”

“There’s little to no security. The odds of you even making a decent living out of it are practically one in a million.”

“Wait, just hear me out first...”

“I’ve heard enough, Y/n. You’re not going to throw away an education on a hobby.” He sighs, and for a moment, he looks almost guilty. “Look, I’m not telling you to never paint again. I’m just saying that you need to approach this from a more realistic point of view. How about you major in something more reliable––like business or nursing––then minor in what you want?” He continues to ramble on about different prospects, but she’s completely drowned him out by now.

There’s a spot on the rug that’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Where had she gone wrong? He’s never been so forceful with his decisions before. Had she overlooked a portion of her speech? 

“Mum loved art,” she whispers, but it’s just loud enough for him to hear.

Matthew stiffens at the mention of his estranged wife. “Your mother loved a lot of things. A lot more than she ever loved us.” And with that, he gets up and leaves.

***

“I think you should go for it,” she can always count on Harry to support her. 

She sighs, burying her face in his pillow. It smells of coconut and lavender. After her dad had walked out, she’d ran across the yard and had tackled Harry with a hug while he was taking out the trash. He’d given her some water (God knows how hysterical she’d been moments prior) before leading her up to his room so she could calm down.

“What if Dad’s right?” she mutters. “What if this really is just a hobby?” She suddenly feels herself being flipped onto her back, his legs straddling either side of her, his eyes boring into hers like lasers. Thoughts flash through her head, and it crosses her mind that he might actually kiss her. But he remains still.

“Look at me,” he says. “You’re amazing, and you know it. I know it. This whole damn town knows it. If there’s one person I know can make it as an artist, it’s you.”

While his words do encourage her, she’s far more concerned with how close he is. She nods in acknowledgement, and he flops next to her. Both of them stare at the ceiling. She wonders if he ever feels what she feels. 

“I got you something,” he says after a few minutes. He quickly turns and fishes for something under his bed.

“A present?” she doesn’t bother hiding the playfulness in her voice.

He kicks the side of her leg. “Grow up.”

“Can’t, I’m too excited.”

He pulls out a giftbag and hands it to her. “Saw this when I was out with Mum and well, it reminded me of you.” 

Peeking into the bag, she immediately smiles. “Is this...is this a frog?”

“Yeah, because remember when we first met? I gave you a–”

“Chocolate frog,” she finishes. It’s a plush toy the size of a basketball and its body is the same colors as their special world. Harry must’ve picked it out because of it. He’s always been thoughtful like that. It shouldn’t surprise her, but whenever he remembers these little things, she can’t help but feel weak at the knees. She and hugs her new frog to her chest. “It’s so cute! Oh, what should we name it?”

“Well, I feel like there’s only one appropriate name for it,” he winks.

“Kaleidoscope?” 

“That...that wasn’t even close to what I was going to say.”

She giggles, reaching over and bringing him in for a hug. “I’m just messing with you! We’ll obviously be calling him Freddo.” She sighs happily when his arms hold on to her tightly. Yeah, she likes his hugs a lot.

***

It’s the middle of March when Harry’s cousin comes to live with him. Jared is about his age, with the same shade of brown hair, only his is straight as opposed to Harry’s mess of wavy curls. Harry had told her that Jared’s mother (Anne’s sister, Sonya) had just passed away after her battle with cancer, and Y/n’s heart broke for the boy she barely knows. Similar to Penny’s situation, Jared’s dad isn’t in the picture. He’d left him and his mum before he was even born, and according to Harry, Jared’s always been very bitter about it.

Jared doesn’t leave his room much, only for school and for meals. Harry’s the only person he talks to because he wants to, not because he has to. They were practically like brothers before Jared had moved away, which Y/n is surprised to hear since she’s never heard of him before. But apparently when they were kids––way before Y/n moved in next door––Jared and his mum would always come over Harry’s house, and they’d play until one of them had to be forcibly dragged away. She had laughed when Harry had told her the story of how he and Jared had gotten stuck in the tree out back for five hours because the adults were so busy chatting inside.  

Sometimes Y/n will stop by and personally offer him some of Nan’s famous chocolate pie, and he’ll accept it only to give it to Harry once she leaves. Of course, she knows it’s nothing personal against her, it just makes her sad that she can’t help someone who is so important to her best friend. It’s hard for her to see Harry worry so much about him, and she really is trying her hardest to help him out. She doesn’t think Jared hates her, if anything, she always catches him staring at her in the halls when he thinks she doesn’t notice. That’s a promising sign, right?

“I happen to think he’s very good looking,” Penny tells her as they walk to Physics. “He kind of reminds of a young Leo.”

“You said the same thing about Harry last week,” Y/n giggles.

“They’re related, aren’t they? Maybe beautiful genes run in the family.”

Penny looks at her. “What do you think?”

She stares back at her. “About?”

“You know, Jared!” 

Y/n’s lips purse together. She hadn’t given him much thought, honestly. 

***

She’s glued to her sketchpad while sitting on the front lawn when she notices a shadow approach her. Not bothering to look up, she pats the spot beside her.

“Nan says that the pudding will be ready in ten,” she says. 

“That’s...cool.” That’s not Harry.

Tearing her eyes away from her latest drawing, she turns her head and sees the last person she expected. “Jared! Hi!” she squeaks.

He offers her a side grin. “Hey,” is all he says. He looks down into her lap. “You’re really good.”

“Oh, thank you.”

He rubs his hands on his jeans before settling them around his ankles. “Uh...do you mind if I sit here with you? You can say no, I was just feeling a little stuffed up in–”

“Of course! I love company!” she smiles broadly.

“I don’t know, you and that pencil were looking pretty cozy,” he suggests. She quirks a brow at him, but when the signs of a smirk begin to change the way his eyes gleam, she finally gets it.

“Jesus, that’s disgusting!” She doesn’t hesitate to slap him over the head. He sniggers in return but doesn’t say much more after that. Y/n continues to draw, but occasionally she’ll look up and catch him watching her. He immediately turns away, pretending to be busy with a blade of grass, or he’ll start whistling like it’s a sitcom.  

***

It doesn’t take long before Jared finally opens up to her. He’s funny––really funny, even though most of his humor is dirty––and is constantly finding ways to make Y/n laugh. She’s found that he does a nearly perfect impression of Austin Powers, and she enjoys it very much. There are also certain angles that really highlight how handsome he is. His eyes are a deep brown, almost the same shade as his hair. There are freckles evenly spread around his nose, almost as if they’d been specifically placed there. And oh, his lashes! They’re just as long as Harry’s, except maybe even fuller. She imagines what they would look like with a fresh coat of mascara. (She jokingly brought up the idea once, and to her delight, Jared says he wouldn’t mind it one bit.)

Harry seems happy that his cousin appears to be back to his old, goofball self. He’s definitely not as stressed over trying to get Jared out of his room as he had been in the immediate weeks after his Aunt Sonya’s death. Even Anne is starting to smile more. Losing her sister had been difficult for her, but Y/n admires how she had stepped up and took her nephew in without hesitance. She’s almost positive that that’s where Harry gets his selflessness from.

“Okay, real question, would you rather give up all desserts or all cheeses?” Jared asks. He always plays this game with her. She thinks it’s cute, sometimes even thought-provoking if she’s really into it. 

“Hmm, that’s a tricky one. Because what about–”

Both their eyes grow wide. “Cheesecake!”

Her head falls onto his shoulder as she laughs. She doesn’t see how Harry turns away. Although, sometimes she’ll notice how he’ll have this weird look in his eyes whenever the three of them are all hanging out together, but she thinks she’s just imagining it. 

***

When Penny tells her that Jared might like her, she doesn’t totally object to the idea.

***

A few days later, Jared kisses her. It’s one of those kisses that happen when you least expect it. She’s frozen in shock until his lips pull away. It’s strange, she likes the feeling, but something seems amiss. He looks at her nervously, like he’s afraid he’s done something completely wrong. But when she finally manages to get over that initial uncertainty, a grin slowly forms on her lips, and he’s kissing her again.

***

In two weeks’ time, she sees Harry snogging Penny outside his front door. She isn’t sure how to react, but she knows there’s this weird feeling inside of her that she doesn’t like.

***

Her and Harry haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other since they started dating other people. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk to him, in fact, she really misses him. Saturday morning breakfasts just aren’t the same without him shuffling into the kitchen in his half-asleep state. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was going out of his way to avoid her. Penny says that maybe he’s just feeling awkward because her two best friends are dating. (It turns out Harry had been the guy she’d been pining over for years.)

Maybe that’s true, but shouldn’t that make it easier for them to find themselves in the same room? She’s happy that Penny’s finally happy! Things hadn’t worked out with her last two boyfriends because all they wanted was to take advantage of her. If there’s one thing she’s sure about, it’s that Harry would never cross any lines that Penny hadn’t invited him to cross.

When they’re in Harry’s car, she’ll catch glimpse of how Harry takes Penny’s hand over the console, or how she’ll feed him fries from their takeaway. It makes her happy to see them like this. Really, it does.

Jared is just as much a gentleman, too. They haven’t done anything past snogging, and she’s okay with that. She isn’t even sure she’s ready for that type of commitment. It’s not like she has this idealized fantasy about losing her virginity. She doesn’t expect it to happen in the same way as the movies, with candles and a bed full of rose petals, or any of that romantic stuff. If the time’s right, it’s right. All she wants is to make sure her heart’s a hundred and ten percent in it before she lets anyone in. She wonders if Penny and Harry have talked about going all the way.

“Yeah, we’ve talked about it.”

“Oh,” Y/n tries not to sound surprised. “And how did that go?”

Penny gives a noncommitted answer. “He says he’s willing to wait until I’m ready. But the thing is, I’m ready now!”

***

Penny loses her virginity soon after. Y/n is the first person she calls, and it’s a bunch of squealing and bragging about how perfect it all was. How gentle and attentive he’d been, and how she can’t wait to do it again. It takes everything in her to not hang up. She loves Penny to death, but some things––at least in her opinion––are left unsaid.

***

The first time she and Harry get to spend time together, as in just the two of them, is when Jared is stuck in bed with a cold, and Penny is out with her mum. It’s not exactly planned, in fact, she had only seen him from the living room window whilst helping Nan dust the mantel. Deciding she couldn’t let the opportunity pass, she drops the feather duster and runs out the front door.

“Hey, stranger,” she greets, but she doesn’t sit. It’s only now she sees the bottle of beer hanging between his fingers. He usually only drinks when he’s got something messing with his head. 

He nods at her, and gestures to the spot beside him. She sits, but it feels to calculated for them. Usually, she’d plop down, not caring if their knees would brush together. Now, she’s careful to leave at least a few inches between them. And she hates how awkward things feel between them. In a matter of months, they’d gone from being attached at the hip, to barely acquaintances. 

“So, what’s going on?”

He takes a sip from the bottle, his face twitching with disgust as he does so, then takes a deep breath. “Do you ever feel like things should be different?”

A sudden gust of wind lifts her hair over her shoulders. She doesn’t know if the goosebumps running down her spin are from that or the it’s from the magnitude of his question. “Different, how?”

His features soften when he finally looks at her. As in, really looks at her. It feels like so long since he’s done, that it takes her breath away. He doesn’t say anything yet, but she can see in his eyes that there’s something there. 

“Harry?” she whispers.

His eyes drop down to her lips, and he licks his own in reaction. Nothing seems to matter at that moment. If her mind had been juggling with thoughts before this, it isn’t now. All she can think about his him. How good it feels to be so close him, and how she wants to be closer. 

Then it hits her. Jared. She’s with Jared, and Harry’s with Penny. She’d been leaning into him, but now that she’s broken from his trance, she straightens up.

Harry brushes off his disappointment with another sip from his beer. His stare lands across the street, where a pair of children are chasing each other around a tree. He drops his head, his hand wrapping around the base of his neck.

“I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow.”

She nods slowly. “Visiting your dad?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Something like that.”

Finally, he stands up, then offers her his hand so she can too. He doesn’t let go right away, and she revels in how good it feels. She smiles down to where they’re holding each other, then stares into his green orbs. 

Pulling on her arm, she’s suddenly trapped in his embrace. She hugs him back, her hands sliding up to his shoulder blades and pinching his t-shirt between her fingers. It’s all a bit confusing, but she continues to cling to him. She feels his nose nudge the crown of her head before he lets go.

He turns around and doesn’t look back. 

She isn’t sure what just happened, but it feels a lot like goodbye.

*** Ten Years Later

“It doesn’t feel right,” she sighs. “I can’t be the only one who’s thinking it.” He shuffles in place, eyes scanning the room around them. “What do you suggest then?”

“Take this to the empty wall by the entrance, then move the Reynalda exhibit closer to the back. It’s our main attraction, we have to make people work for it.”

Angelo nods approvingly, and she calls a thank you out to him as he gets to work. Y/n watches the rest of her staff disperse into their allocated directions, and it’s then she can finally take a moment for herself. Sometimes she feels suffocated, but at the same time so hollow.

There are so many reasons why Y/n shouldn’t be feeling as empty as she does now. After all, her life is pretty damn close to perfect. She graduated university with high honors, she has a well-paying job as director of a prestigious art gallery, and she lives in a beautiful two-bedroom apartment with her adoring fiancé who she’s been with for the better part of a decade. 

She can’t pinpoint when exactly she realized that something had been missing, or maybe this feeling has always existed somewhere deep inside, and she’s just been really good at hiding it. The only person who knows about this internal battle is Ava, but Y/n doesn’t like to bother her too much since she’s busy with coursework, as well as her own problems that come with being nineteen and young. 

Of course, there’s Jared. Her love. Her rock. Her other half. She doesn’t know why can’t talk about this with him. Maybe it’s too much of girl problem, or maybe it’s just guilt. The last thing she wants him to think is that he’s not enough to fill this void in her life. If anything, he’d been able to pick up all her damaged pieces when she just couldn’t. He’s great, more than. She depends on him, and he’s never let her down. 

But if that’s true. Why can’t she just be honest?

***

“Right, I’m heading out now. I’ll see you–” he pauses, and she can see the concern overtake his features from the reflection of the blank television screen. He walks around their living room and kneels in front of her, his hands rubbing her lower thighs with every intention to soothe her. “What’s wrong?”

“I...I don’t really know,” she laughs, then shakes her head. “It’s silly, really. You go ahead. Go have fun with Sid.” It’s her best attempt at a smile, but it’s a weak one. 

He looks at her unsurely, like he’s debating if he should protest or not. She kisses him gently on the lips. 

“Go.” And she nudges him to his feet. Although she can tell he’s hesitant, he eventually concedes, leaning down for just one more peck to her forehead, then he’s out the door.

She needs to find a way to depress this strange feeling. It’s starting to affect too much of her life. A life that she enjoys, thank you very much.

Before she falls slave to her thoughts, she slumps into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of cabernet. Maybe it’s a far too generous portion, but is there ever such thing as too much wine? At least for tonight, the answer is no.

The alcohol burns her throat with its bitter sweetness, and she finds comfort in how it settles at the pit of her stomach. She breathes in deeply. This is just what she needs. It’s all in her head. Stress, probably. 

Just as she’s about to rewrap herself in her blanket, the front door opens and closes with a gentle thud. She swings around, brows curling in question as Jared slips off his coat leans against the nearest wall.

“Sid will understand. You’re the one who needs me tonight.” 

She leans against the arm of the couch, a moved smile playing at her lips because, wow. How did she get so lucky?

***

“I found another grey hair this morning,” Jared says. “Is this what getting old feels like?”

She runs her fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-eight, Jae. And besides, silver foxes are pretty sexy.” 

“I guess I’m a bit of a Clooney.” And he wags his brows suggestively. If he’s trying to come onto her, it’s not exactly working, but she’s also not completely turned off. This is why they’re good together. After all these years he still knows how to make her laugh.

They’re about a quarter though their takeaway (and she’s so touched that Jared decided to stay home that she doesn’t even say anything about the pork fried rice) when their doorbell sounds.

“I got it, hun,” he says, placing his plate on the coffee table, and grabbing a napkin before greeting the unexpected guest.

Y/n is pleasantly surprised when Penelope falls into the seat beside her. She looks dressed for a date, but the way she blows ferociously into the air, Y/n knows that things haven’t gone her way.

Without asking, Penny helps herself to their food, moaning as she stuffs a spoonful of that same fried rice into her mouth. “If I wasn’t wearing this dress, I would a hundred percent finish this whole thing.”

“You can borrow some clothes,” Y/n offers. Her friend pretends to contemplate, but she’s the first one to stride over into the master bedroom. 

Y/n pulls out a fresh pair of pajamas, and when she turns around, her mouth quirks in a mixture of amusement and suspicion. Under Penny’s dress is the daintiest set of red lace lingerie she’s ever seen. (And she has her fair share of lingerie since she knows it drives Jared wild.)

“Looks like you were in for a sexier evening,” she muses. She tosses Penny the set.

Her friend rolls her eyes. “I’ll make sure he knows what he’s missing,” she says. Y/n isn’t quite sure what she means by it, but smirks, nonetheless.  

“Now...” Penny pulls her hair through the hem of the borrowed shirt, “let’s finish off that food, shall we?”

Jared doesn’t say anything when they get back, either too consumed with his egg rolls or not wanting to interject himself into the conversation. Y/n simply kisses him on the cheek as she settles back into her meal. 

She glances at Penny for a moment, and her curiosity becomes overpowering. “Okay, so I wasn’t going to ask, but I feel like I have to now,” she explains. Penny cocks a brow at her. “What happened tonight.”

“He cancelled last minute. I was already at the damn restaurant when he texted saying something came up.” She stabs a piece of orange chicken. “It’s a bunch of bullocks if you ask me.” Typical Penny. It wouldn’t be fair to say that her friend is prone to trust issues, but it does take a little more effort. Ever since Harry had broken up with her back when they were seventeen, she hasn’t kept a relationship for more than a few weeks because she claims she doesn’t want to risk getting her heart broken again.

Harry Styles had broken her best friend’s heart, then disappeared to another country. Y/n hates him for that. She hates that he threw away all those years of friendship without a proper explanation. She hates that he abandoned her, especially when he knew how insecure she is about goodbyes. 

But not every guy is Harry. There are good ones that will stick by you no matter what, like Jared. Y/n reaches over and brushes his bangs away from his eyes. Penny just needs to find her person, and Y/n just knows that once she does, she’ll finally feel right.

“This is that Ahmed guy from the gym, right? I don’t know, Pen. He’s a decent bloke. Maybe something really did happen.”

Penny pulls a face, like she’s just oversaturated her food with soy sauce. “Wouldn’t hold my breath. He’s got baggage, and he won’t accept that he isn’t happy to carry it anymore.”

That last bit sticks to her. 

***

Her job requires her to have both a deep appreciation for art and a mind for marketing strategy. It had been the closest compromise that she and her father had come to when she had started her plight for a degree. 

After spending the last of her year of secondary school having second thoughts about the plausibility of making it in the art world, she decided that maybe her dad was right, after all. He would tell her to be in charge, to take control of her life. That way, she’d never be blindsided by anything. She’s still around the world she loves––the canvas, the acrylics, the community of dreamers who share their passion with the world––just from a more business perspective. The more she reflects on those naïve teenage years, the more she appreciates the direction she’d took. She has the best of both worlds, in her opinion. A steady income, and a building full of paintings and sculptures and history. What more can she ask for?

“Y/n!” She looks over her shoulder, where Angelo, her assistant, waves some a sizeable file in his hands. He gives her a knowing smirk.

“Good news?” she teases.

Angelo hands her the file. “Sales report can confirm.”

She glosses it over, satisfied with the numbers. Looks like she’d inherited more from her dad than just his advice. “And they said Expressionism was dead.” Their last grand showcase had been an ode to the German Expressionism movement. They had drawn criticism in the days leading up to the event because some saw it as outdated. But that’s just ridiculous. Art is art. And while history remains in the past, it doesn’t mean that it can’t be appreciated. Y/n’s vision for the gallery is embrace both the old and the new.

“Degenerates,” Angelo rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Dax, Narsi, and I are thinking Damond’s for lunch. You in?”

She looks down at her watch, and curses under her breath. “Can’t,” she sighs. “I have to interview the new curator in a bit.”

“You work too much,” he says humorously, but they both know there’s truth stitched into his words. He gives a friendly squeeze to her elbow. “Bring you back sandwich?” 

“Please,” she smiles. He gives her a mock salute before turning on his heel. 

When he’s completely out of sight, she lets her lips fall into a frown. She examines her watch again, there’s still a few minutes until their scheduled virtual call. She uses the time to stroll the halls, something she doesn’t really get to do. Well, not for fun, at least. 

Things are currently in transition, and all of the Maximalism works are finding their way onto her walls. She stops in front of one in particular that just screams color. With its carefully planned, yet freeing mixture of patterns and textures, it’s a piece to tickle the brain. 

“It’s beautiful.” Her eyes widen. That voice. She feels everything from her body to her unsuspecting heart freeze.

Her grip on her own arm tightens painfully. She thinks she might turn blue from her inability to breathe at this moment. 

“I’ve always liked how much of the artist we can feel. It really captures the complexity of character.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I agree.” She risks all and looks up, and he’s right there waiting for her. Harry. Her arms drop to her side as she feels herself grow weak.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Hi,” he whispers, then smiles. That smile. She had tried so hard not to think about how it had once been her favorite image. His dimples have caved in deeper, if that’s even possible. And his eyes, they’re the same brilliant green she remembers. “I saw an ad in the paper and thought I’d check it out.”

Something must be strangling her vocal cords because she finds that she’s unable to make a sound. 

***

“And what did you do?” 

Y/n drops her head to the table, not even caring if it’s dirty. With the day she’s had, it’s the least of her problems. “I was in shock! I-I think I might have screamed at him.” 

Ava snorts into her drink. 

There’s not much about earlier that she can clearly recall, but she does remember how she had fled to her car and driven halfway across the city to her sister’s dorm and dragged her to the nearest pub. Why? Because she couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“Why would he just...show up?” she questions. “It makes no sense!”

“Probably got homesick,” Ava shrugs. “Plus, Dad says it’s been in the work–”

“Wait,” Y/n’s head snaps towards her. “Dad knows?”

The younger woman looks at her as if she were insane. “Duh, he’s the one that approved the transfer.”

“But why am I only hearing about this now?” She feels herself heating up with annoyance, anger, and something else that makes her want to pull her hair out. Ava doesn’t respond right away. She looks down at her now empty drink and watches as the ice cubes into water. 

“Well,” she starts, still not bothering to meet her eyes, “ever since he left, he’s been a bit of a taboo subject for you.” 

Her jaw tenses at that, and she sits back in her chair. That’s a bit of an overstatement. Y/n had reacted the way any person would have if put in her situation. She huffs with frustration. “So, what else is everyone hiding from me?”

“This isn’t an intervention, enough with the dramatics,” Ava says.

Y/n’s lips form into a straight line. She looks over the bar and tuts her tongue. “I need another drink,” she mutters. “Where the heck is Penny? She’s supposed to be working tonight.”

***

After Ava had started going to school in the city, her dad had decided to move into the London office full-time in order to be closer to both his girls. And lucky for Y/n, he’s just close enough to get information out of. She visits her dad during her lunch break because she needs answers.

“Dad, we need to talk,” she demands, bursting through his office door without any regard for just about anything. “Explain to me why...”

Matthew Y/l/n tilts his head at her with a raised brow, and the person sitting on the opposite side of his desk has an expression to match.

“Perfect,” she sneers. “We’re all here, then.”

She nearly loses it when Harry choke down a laugh while getting up and offering her his now empty seat. She takes it, but not before she glares at him and his stupid face. 

Her dad looks like he’s been caught in a crossfire, and he calculatingly smooths down his perfectly ironed tie. Harry takes the seat beside hers, except he makes a point to pull it a few inches away.

“So...” her dad practically sings. “Harry’s back!”

“I can see that.” From the corner of her eye, she sees a smirk. “Why are you even here?” 

Harry doesn’t seem offended despite the harsh nature of her tone. He chances a glance at her dad before turning to her. “Work,” is his first answer. He bounces one leg over the other and leans back against the back the seat. His expression softens. “But I guess I just really missed home.”

She thinks that’s bullshit. No decent person would leave everything behind without a second thought. “It took you ten years?”

“I did what I had to do,” he retorts.

“And that was to just disappear?” 

“This isn’t really the place nor time...”

“Then why bother coming back!"

That manages to crack Harry’s calm demeanor. He looks at her as if she had knocked the wind from his lungs. At this point her chest is heaving, as well. She forgets where they are and that her dad is a witness to this outburst. 

“I, uh,” they both turn to Matthew as he tries to find the words to appease the situation. “I was thinking we could all go out for dinner later?” He’s joking, right? He smiles as her, but with that ‘I’m your father and you don’t have much of a say in this’ look in his eyes. “How about you and Jared meet us around...say, seven? Hey, you know what? Bring Penelope, too!”

“Pen–”

Matthew swivels in his chair and practically hops to his feet. He leans down and kisses Y/n on the head. “Got to get to a meeting. I’ll see you later.” And with that, he’s gone. It leaves her alone with the person she wants nothing more than to get away from.

She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. There are so many things she feels bombarding her all at once and there’s not one thing she can make sense of. Harry doesn’t say anything. Instead, he’s typing something on his phone. His lips are quirked up in an almost-grin, and she can’t help but feel miffed that he has the audacity to pull such a face in her presence when all she can do is glower. 

“I guess we’ll talk later?” he suddenly says. He slips his phone into his pants pocket. She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. Like her dad had done, he gets up and starts towards the door. But before she can even hear it graze against the carpeting, he mutters one last thing. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

Her dress squeaks loudly against the leather of her seat because she must have turned too quickly. Their eyes meet, his are difficult to read.

***

“...and I’ve been trying to look for a flat, but the boss works me too hard,” Harry smirks over at Matthew. Her dad lets out a hearty chuckle as he finishes off the last of dessert.

“Well, if you’re really that overworked, it’s not at all obvious,” Penny says with a saucy smile. “Definitely still a catch.” She touches his arm, and Y/n digs her nails into her palm because it makes her feel sick. It’s ridiculous that she’s so bothered by how quickly conversation had flowed between Harry and Penelope. 

Jared has an arm around the back of her chair. He looks bored with the conversation. She can’t tell if he’s irked at Harry (in the same way she is) or because he sees how much her dad likes him. That’s not to say that Jared isn’t well liked by Matthew. He did get his blessing to propose, after all. Yeah, they’ve been engaged for a while now. But so, what? Long engagements are common enough, and it does allow the two participants to fully get to know one another, as well as get close to the important people in their lives. Things just aren’t as smooth between her dad and Jared as she would like, but she supposes that’ll ease over with time. 

“I wouldn’t let my current appearance fool you,” Harry snorts.

“Is that a challenge?” Penny bats her lashes at him. 

Y/n can’t take it anymore. “So!” she interrupts, “Pen, didn’t you go out with that Vogue photographer last night?

Her friend gives her an odd look, but when she sees the rest of the table’s eyes on her, she waves it off. “Oh, yeah. But it didn’t end how I would’ve liked.” She gestures between her legs. “He had a little trouble getting it up.” 

“Penelope Swanton,” Matthew warns, as if she might give him a heart attack. “Parental unit sitting right here.”

Everyone shares a laugh except for Y/n and Jared. The latter just stares at the tablecloth with vague intensity. It’s strange that he hasn’t made a quip all night. He’s usually the one who talks the most...well, besides Penny. 

“Maybe pretty girls scare him,” Harry chuckles. “It happens to the best of us.”

A mischievous glint sparkles in Penny’s eyes. “Do I scare you, Harry?” 

“COFFEE!” Y/n all but screams. “We should order coffee!” She can’t just sit there and watch her friend make the same mistakes all over again. It would be a serious miscarriage of justice is she were to let that happen. 

But she can only stall for so long, and before she knows it, they’re all making their way out of the restaurant. It’s that awkward phase of standing outside and making small talk before someone has the balls to leave. Harry offers Penny a ride, and Y/n has to watch as they get into his car, laughing like he hadn’t broken her heart all those years ago. 

Jared still seems to be in a mood as well, but he plays it off and tells her he’s got a stomachache from the scallops he had as an appetizer. She rubs his back as they wait for the valet to bring their car around, glaring at Harry’s taillights before he turns onto the road. 

***

Y/n manages to not think about Harry for a few weeks. With the newest exhibit opening up, it’s kept her body and mind busy. By the time she gets home, she’s tired and all she wants is to put her feet up and watch reruns of Downton Abbey.

The doorbell rings, and she can’t help but groan because she was just getting comfortable. She looks through the peephole, then shakes her head knowingly. She pulls the door open.

“Don’t you have work?” she asks playfully, but she wishes she could take it back when she sees the broken look painted across Penny’s face. “Oh my god, are you alright?” She guides her friend into the apartment and sits her down on the couch.

Penny suddenly bursts into tears, her face falling into her hands as though she were hiding her shame. Not wanting to distress her further, Y/n gathers her in her arms and lets her cry it out. They’ve been through a lot together, and in all their years of friendship, she’s never seen her look so somber as she does now.  

She strokes her hair, whispering her reassurance even though she’s left in the dark. Penny breaks from her hug and wipes her eyes with her knuckles before looking at her with misty eyes. “I’m...” but she starts blubbering, and nothing coherent can be understood. Y/n waits patiently until she can speak. “I’m pregnant.” 

Y/n feels the color drain from her face while her head fills worry. She can’t decide who she’s worried more about, Penny or her baby. Penny is an adult is capable of making her own decisions, but she can also be reckless. She can barely pay her rent on time and her work schedule isn’t the best either. A baby would mean growing up, but Y/n knows that Penny’s still trying to figure things out. 

Then, the inevitable question bubbles in her throat. “How far along?” Penny sniffles. “About six weeks.”

Y/n feels awful that the first thing she feels is relief. Not Harry’s. “And the father?” 

“I can’t tell him,” Penny cries, she lays her head in Y/n’s lap. “He’s...he has a...” She doesn’t need to finish that sentence for Y/n to understand.

“Penny...” her tone is every bit of disappointed. 

***

She accompanied Penny to her first appointment to the OB-GYN this morning, and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat had been enough to drive both women to tears. It was beautiful, and the look in Penny’s eyes said all that they could. Sure, Y/n had worried about her when she first learned of the pregnancy, but that had immediately changed with just that one look. 

One day, Y/n hopes to have children of her own. She and Jared have opened up the topic a few times, but they never seem to be on the same page when it comes to starting a family. He claims it’s because his job’s hours are too crazy to juggle an infant. He’s the physical therapist for the National Football team, which means he has to go with them on away games. Deep down, however, Y/n thinks he’s afraid that he’ll end up the way his father did. She wants to tell him that’s ridiculous, but she always has to walk on eggshells about that. 

It’s okay, though. Until she and Jared can come to an agreement, she has no qualms over spoiling her new niece or nephew. Auntie Y/n. She likes the sound of that. So much, in fact, that she finds herself outside of a baby boutique on the high street. She wonders if Penny will be having a boy or a girl. 

“So cute!” she smiles to herself when she sees all the onesies on the mini mannequins. Would it be too early to plan Penny’s baby shower? She’s so lost in hypothetical party planning that she doesn’t notice see body before they collide, and warm liquid misses her shoes by mere centimeters. 

“I’m so sorry!” she rushes out an apology. There’s an unflattering brown stain on his otherwise perfect white button-up. She grabs for her wallet in her purse, hoping to at least pay for the damages, but stops when she gets a good look at him.

“You.” 

The world must really have it out for her. Harry looks down at his tainted shirt. “Nice seeing you too.” 

“Sorry,” she says again. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Head in the clouds?” he muses, shaking his sleeve of the last remaining drops of coffee.

She smiles tightly. “Just window shopping.”

He looks at the store in front of them, and his head snaps towards her. “Are you...?”

“No,” she replies immediately. “A friend of mine.”

For some reason, his shoulders seem to relax. He’s still incredibly handsome, though she never doubted that that would ever change. Under his wet shirt, she notices a sizeable few tattoos inked onto his chest. The sight intrigues her, and she has to stop herself from reaching out and tracing them with her finger. 

“Let me pay for your dry-cleaning,” she says, tearing her eyes away from his body. 

Harry shakes his head. “There’s no need, honestly. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” She really doesn’t want to be in his debt. “I’d feel better if I could make it up to you somehow.”

“No, really. It’s fine.” Why is he so stubborn?

“I insist.” 

He studies her for a moment. She imagines that she can see the gears turning as he thinks. 

“I’m actually on my way to a viewing, and well...I’m not really sure what to look for.”

She replays his words in her head. “So, you want me to...help you pick out an apartment?” That can’t be right.

“My car’s just over there,” he points with his chin. “What do you say?”

Alarms are sounding in her head, each one screaming a different command between her ears. A part of her is saying it’s a bad idea, that she should stand her ground and stay mad at him because of what he had done. On the other hand, the rest of her––the biggest part of her––wants to indulge in the feeling she has when she’s with him. It’s a crazy mix of fury and joy that isn’t entirely unbearable. 

“Fine,” she concedes, and she brushes past him and starts towards his car. “But only because I feel bad about the shirt.” She doesn’t dare look back. She slides into the passenger seat and buckles herself in. Her stomach is doing cartwheels beneath her high-waisted pants. 

Harry gets into the driver’s seat but doesn’t start the engine right away. He pulls his jacket off and places it neatly on the console. What he does next makes her regret getting out of bed this morning. Her mouth dries as he undoes every button of his shirt and reveals the tattoos she’d been fantasizing about earlier.

“Do-do you mind?” She feels her cheeks heat up, and she turns to the window in hopes to find a distraction. 

“Well, I’m not going to talk business looking like I’ve just been bullied by a barista.”

“That’s completely beside the point!” 

“Well, you can look now, Mother Teresa,” he says smugly. She hesitantly cranes her neck back. He’s now sporting a similar shirt, but this time, it’s dark grey. “See?”

She huffs, then mutters something under her breath. He smiles at her, like he’s just dying to tease her, but ultimately decides not to. She just glares straight ahead.

“Just drive the damn car.”

***

“And this unit is complete with its own balcony which overlooks the Thames,” Mariette, Harry’s real-estate agent says to the both of them. “It sets the mood nicely, don’t you think? And it happens to be very popular with our younger couples.” She sends them a not-so-subtle wink. 

Y/n feels herself flush, and she ducks into the kitchen and pretends to inspect the marble countertop. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry says. He doesn’t seem to be paying that much attention, or if he is, he’s really good at hiding his own embarrassment. Y/n wonders if he’s just humoring the over-zealous agent. After all, he was never the type to correct someone over silly little details. 

Mariette tells them to walk around, get a feel for the place, before excusing herself to make a phone call. Y/n follows Harry up the stairs where all the bedrooms are. There are three, and the master bedroom has its own ensuite toilet and bath.

“What do you think?” Harry asks her.

She glances at the view from the window. It’s beautiful, gorgeous even. The building itself is in one of the nicer parts of town, where the congested London traffic wouldn’t take away from its overall aura. She can already picture him spending the mornings on the balcony with a cup of tea and a book or passed out on a king-sized mattress in the bedroom after a long day of work.

“It’s nice,” she answers truthfully. “But it doesn’t matter what I think.”

Harry looks at her like she’s spewing nonsense. “I asked for your input, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. But at the end of the day, it’s your home. Not mine. You might not even stay around long enough to enjoy it.” The look on his face when she lets that last part slip out makes her wish she had just shut her mouth. She leaves him in the bedroom and heads into the hall. She needs to get away. Why couldn’t she have just given him a simple answer? Why does she continue to open up old wounds that she knows she’ll never be able to close? 

Before she can get far, however, his fingers curl around her shoulder. He swallows thickly behind her. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Until now, he hadn’t apologized. She hadn’t expected him to, and now she isn’t sure how to take it. This should vindicate her, but all she wants to do is curl up and close herself off from the world, even for a little while.

She looks down to her feet, and as though on cue, her eyes begin to fill with tears. Her hand quickly lands on her mouth to muffle a sob.

He turns her towards him, holding her by the waist. In a split-second, she’s wrapped in his arms. She tries to pull away, but her body is too unwilling to lose his familiar warmth. 

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” she whimpers against his shirt.

His chest heaves. “Because if I did, I’d never be able to leave.” His words shake her.

She pulls away slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “But what about me?” she asks. “Harry, you were my best friend, and you just treated me like I meant nothing to you.” It made her feel like nothing. Apparently, she’s an easy person to leave behind. First it was her mother, then the person she trusted most. She couldn’t tell you which had broken her more.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” 

Scoffing, “A bit late for that, no?”

“Then let me make it up to you,” his plea is coated with desperation. Every bit of him shines with sincerity that she wishes she could ignore. His touch burns her through her clothes like blue flames. Body and mind are rekindling, and now that she remembers what it feels like to be close to him, she can’t see a version of herself that doesn’t want him back in her life.

“I don’t know if I believe in second chances,” she says softly. His grip on her loosens substantially, and there’s a sudden fear that he’ll let go. “But,” she continues, “you’ll be my first.”

It’s a bone-crushing, heart-enlarging hug, and it leaves her feeling happier than she’s felt in a long time.

***

They’re not the same two kids who would spend every waking moment together, but this is the closest they’ll ever get in adult life.

Harry visits her on her lunch breaks and lets her bounce marketing strategies off of him whilst they walk the gallery. Just like her dad, he has a well-versed business mind. It feels good to be able to talk to him again. It’s like a part of herself has risen after years of sleep and is finally seeing the light of day. Under the fancy suits and numerous tattoos, he’s still the same guy who can listen to her talk for hours without fail.

She’s even had him over for dinner at her and Jared’s place. At first, she was afraid that things would be tense between the two of them, after all, Jared hadn’t talked much during their dinner nearly a month back. To her delight, however, they seemed to pick up where they left off, and spent majority of the night talking sports and all that ‘man’ talk that she can never be bothered to understand. 

If a month ago she had felt empty, she can proudly admit that she’s starting to fill up.

***

When Penny announces that the baby is a girl, Y/n is probably the most excited. She visits the baby boutique she’d been browsing some days ago and buys a rubber duckie onesie with a matching headband, along with four other matching sets.

“You really shouldn’t have to go through all the trouble,” Penny scolds her.

Y/n waves her off. There shouldn’t be any of that nonsense. She likes being able to spoil her best friend’s future child. “I want to. Just humor me, okay? I’m aiming for Auntie of the Year.” She lays all the rest of the outfits on Penny’s sofa.

“It’s true,” Harry adds. “She’s already had the bib made.” Y/n flips him off but is far too delighted by all the pretty patterns to come up with a proper retort. Rather, she tries to sweep Penny into conversation about a real baby shower (and not just the one she’d planned in her head), discussing potential guests and a wish list that she should start setting up on Amazon.

Jared and Penny give each other a look, and the way the former’s jaw tenses doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry but completely goes over Y/n’s head.  

***

“Why don’t you put any of your own work on display?” Harry asks her one day.

“Honestly?” she sighs, “I haven’t actually made anything in...well, almost a decade.”

His jaw drops. “I don’t think I heard you right, a decade?” 

The same amount of time you’ve been gone, she thinks to herself. Of course, now that they’re back to being friends, she would never say it out loud. 

***

Nan had called her up and asked if she and Ava would drive up to Holmes Chapel and help her sort out all the things to donate. They try to visit their grandparents every few months because they are getting to the age where they won’t be around for long. Although, Nan will tell anyone with ears that she’s stronger than she was in her twenties due to her weekly spin classes at the community center. Meanwhile, Gramps is still the same as ever. He still sits in front of the TV and watches highlights of games he’s got recorded on the DV-R, and accidentally knocks over Nan’s petunia’s when he backs the car out of the garage. 

Her childhood bedroom is also how she had left it. Sure, her teenage years had called for a bit of renovation, but underneath posters of her favorite actors and boy bands are the youthful stickers Nan had put up when they had first arrived. 

She rummages through her closet, throwing old clothes in good condition into her donation basket. There are even some that were never worn, and she debates whether she’d be able to use any of it, but ultimately decides against it.  

The top shelf is full of empty shoe boxes and other things she had carelessly thrown up there. Her old sketchbook falls open, face down, at her feet. 

She picks it up and is greeted by the same sketch that had won her first prize in the art show all those years ago when she was fifteen. Her fingers graze over the pencil lines, and it’s like being reacquainted with an old friend. She had spent months on this one drawing, and it had turned out to be her greatest piece to date (the actual painting is still being preserved at the school).

“You know, I always thought that boy looked like Anne’s boy,” Nan says nonchalantly. Y/n hadn’t even heard her come in. 

“What?” Y/n stares intently at the paper. “You think so?”

Ava practically skips in. “Oh, gossiping, are we?” She sounds just like Nan. Y/n can’t help the roll of her eyes. 

“I was just telling your sister about how that painting of hers up at the school looks a lot like Harry.”

“Is it not supposed to?” Ava seems genuinely confused. 

“I mean...it wasn’t actually based on anyone in particular,” Y/n says, feeling the need to defend herself. “It was just...something I envisioned in my head.” She turns back to her closet, leaving Nan and Ava to carry on their conversation on her bed. 

Reaching her arm up high, she feels around the shelf until she pokes something soft. When she brings it down, she can’t help but grin. Freddo. She had almost forgotten about him. After Harry had left, she had gone on a bit of a rampage, and any reminder of him had fallen victim to the trash or banishment to the top shelf.

Nan must notice her smile because she comes up and cradles her from behind and rests her chin on her shoulder. “It’s funny,” she says, and Y/n looks back at her expectantly. “I also thought that you two would end up together, but I guess I was off by a bit, huh?” She kisses Y/n on the cheek and calls for Ava to follow her downstairs.

Y/n stares at the toy as though it held some sort of secret.

***

She’s lucky she’s home by herself––Jared is off at the pub for his and Sid’s weekly meet-up––because now she has time to unwind and be as antisocial as she wants. Work had been stressful, mostly because the exhibit is set to open next week. And really, all she wants is to be under her favorite blanket with a cup of hot chocolate and just be dead to the world.

Even though she thinks that, however, she can’t help but tap on her phone screen every few minutes. Sure, she likes the time alone, but she also likes being needed. Ava says it’s a control thing, but she really just prefers to be in the know. Lately, Penny’s been spamming her with messages and phone calls about the baby or sometimes it’ll be for a little reassurance. Of course, she’s more than happy to support her. It’s brave of Penny to tackle this alone. The baby’s father is completely out of bounds, so she’s told, and Penny says she’d rather her baby grow up with just a mother than in some dysfunctional setup.

Speaking of dysfunction, she hasn’t been able to properly think straight ever since her visit with Nan. What the elderly woman had told her hadn’t exactly shocked her, per say, but it did have her rethink some of the interactions between her and Harry. It’s ridiculous, really. They’d been best friends since she was eight and he was nine. They know each other’s ins and outs, likes and dislikes, what makes the other laugh and cry. They’re simply comfortable. 

Okay. Maybe there had been times where she thought that the possibility of something more was on the table, but that quickly proved to be all in her imagination. She had her boyfriends and he had his girlfriends. She fell in love with his cousin, and he dated her other best friend. Then he left town.

Then he left.

***

Abandoning her original plans for the night, Y/n finds herself at his door. 

“Hey,” he greets her, but his warm smile falters when he takes note of her appearance. “What’s with the look? Are you okay?” She doesn’t answer, she’s too taken by the image of him and the way her heart feels like it might burst from her chest to comprise a full sentence. He doesn’t push her, though. He fishes into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out a shapely object wrapped in purple foil. “I-uh, I don’t eat chocolate that much anymore, but they don’t have these in America, so I’ve been snacking on a few of these a week.” It lands itself in her hand. “Just like when we were kids, right?”

It’s a Freddo. A fucking Freddo. Her fingers curl around it.

“You once asked me if I thought that things should’ve been different,” she says. “What did you mean by that?”

Harry doesn’t answer. She tries again.

“Why did you leave, Harry?"

“It’s been so long, I don’t even remember.”

“Don’t lie to me.” She takes one step closer. He evades her eyes, like he’s afraid they’ll speak on their own. Her stomach tightens because it’s all starting to make sense. His words. That embrace. These feelings that have always existed between them. “You left because of me.”

It’s not a question, but a sure statement. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. She slides a hand up to his cheek, forcing him to look at her. When he finally does, she’s sees it. And her gut says it’s not the first time. 

It’s heartache. 

She knows because she sees it every time she looks in the mirror. It’s taken her this long to realize it. That hollow feeling that’s been consuming her, it disappeared the day Harry Styles walked back into her life. Once the anger over what he’d done had subsided, she’s felt nothing but joy since. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She wants to scream. 

“You made him happy,” is all he says, almost regretfully. “I couldn’t take that away from him.”

“So, you didn’t even consider how I felt? Harry, I would’ve...would’ve–”

“And that’s why I had to leave!” He wipes both hands down his face in frustration. “We would’ve ended up hurting two people we cared too much about.”

“You don’t know that–”

“If I had tried to kiss you that night, would you have let me?” His gaze bores into her. 

Yes. The voice within her screams it over and over. He must already know her answer because he just smiles sadly at the floor. This is why he had done it. He knew that if he had stayed any longer, it would have only been a matter of time before they gave into each other. 

It makes her sick. 

“I figured if I just took myself out the equation, the rest of you would be spared the heartbreak.” He sighs. “And it worked. You and Jared are about to start a life together, Penny’s got her baby. You’re happy.”

She wants to counter him, but she can’t find the strength. “What about you?” she whispers instead.

He tilts his head to the side. “I came back to prove to myself that I could be happy for you.” His jaw slackens, and he doesn’t continue.

She’s toe to toe with him. “And are you?”

The next thing she knows, her back is against the wall, and her fingers are tangled in his hair. His lips feed her, makes her blood come alive like she’s never lived until now. She kisses him with everything she has. Every drop of anger and every ounce of emotion that burns through her veins. His hands keep her body as close to his as possible, yet, they feel so gentle as they caress her curves like she’s made of glass. It feels so right.

And it shouldn’t. 

Just as sudden as it had started, she pushes him away. He doesn’t fight her. Without another word, she leaves his apartment.

*** When she makes it home, Jared is about to get ready for bed. She drops her clothes to the floor, and his soon follow. They fall onto the bed, his teeth gnawing down her jaw while his hand slides down to cup her heat. He asks her if she’s ready once his member is nudged against her opening. She nods, and he pushes into her, just as he’s done many times before.

She tries her best to focus on how good this should feel to have him inside of her, but the more he moves, the more she feels like this is all a mistake. It feels all too similar to when she had given him her virginity. It happened the night after Harry had skipped town. She was upset and wanted to feel something aside from the pain he had caused her. Jared had been there, and things had soon escalated. But it didn’t feel right. Her heart wasn’t in it, and so her body couldn’t give itself the relief it had been searching for.

It hasn’t felt like that since, or maybe she had gotten better at hiding it, just as she’s done with everything else. She had hoped that sex with Jared would put her mind and her heart back into perspective, but instead, she feels even more helpless.

One kiss with Harry had meant more to her than any of this. It fills her with shame because shouldn’t want to be with anyone except Jared, especially when all he’s ever done is love her. 

She doesn’t realize it’s over until he rolls off her with a content sigh, then stumbles into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him, and it’s then she feels the tears start to fill the rim of her eyes. Her thighs clasp together as her humiliation fully sets in. She turns on her side and covers her naked body with the blanket that had been pushed to the foot of the bed. Jared returns minutes later, mumbling a goodnight. If he has something else to say, he doesn’t. It takes to the count of five for him to drift to sleep. 

***

“I need to cancel the engagement,” she says. Ava gives her a circumspect shrug of the shoulders, like she’s trying not to say the wrong thing. Y/n turns to her, hands twiddling the fingers in her lap from stress. “What do you think I should do?”

Ava looks at her, the pity is obvious on her face. “I don’t know, sis.” She rubs her back. “Are you going to tell Jared about you and Harry?”

“I have to.”

***

She doesn’t have the opportunity to talk to Jared until the night of the exhibit opening since he’d been in Spain on a team trip. It’s eating her up, how she hasn’t told him yet, but at least by the end of today she’ll no longer be holding on to something so big. He had promised to come straight to the gallery once he landed back at Heathrow. His flight was set to get in two hours ago, so it’s only a matter of time now. 

More and more people are starting to fill the floor. Most are patrons whom she sees frequently at these events, but there are some new faces mixed in the crowd. She’s lucky that Ava and her grandparents are here to support her, especially when she’ll probably need them afterwards. 

“Hey, don’t look so nervous,” Nan tells her. “The place looks great. You know, I overheard that guy in the red Chanel that he’s interested in buying.” Bless her, Y/n thinks. Nan’s always had a way of diffusing the tension, even when she isn’t aware of it. 

“I’m happy you guys are here,” Y/n says, and she brings her friend in for a hug. 

Nan gives her a confused smile. “Of course, we’re here. We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she proudly declares, and she elbows Gramps in the ribs when he doesn’t contribute. “Honestly, try to look a little alive.”

“I put on a tie, didn’t I?” Gramps rolls his eyes, but then he sends Y/n a wink.  

“Where’s Penelope this evening?” Nan asks, scanning the room, brows furrowing. Y/n feels a sweat break out. She just hopes that Penny will understand when she finds out about her feelings for her ex-boyfriend. It’s been years, sure, but there has to be some kind of friendship code that prohibits this sort of thing. “And where’s that fiancé of yours? He should be here with you.”

“Probably just got stuck in traffic,” Y/n says, but honestly, she’s reveling the extra time she has to prepare.

Nan hooks arms with Ava and Gramps, and they walk the floor while Y/n greets a few of her guests. Her dad is one of them, no surprise there. He pecks her on the side of the head and lets out a perplexed sound as he gazes at all the art. 

“I feel like I should understand this kind of thing by now,” he muses, gesturing to the portrait of naked man made from duct tape and spoons. “Anything after 2003 is lost to me. I just don’t get it.”

“Are you proud of me?” Y/n shocks herself with the question.

Matthew looks stunned himself. “Why would you ask something like that? You know that I am.” He pulls her aside, so they have a little more privacy. “Sweetheart, is everything okay?” There’s worry in his eyes. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” she appeases, “I just wanted to hear it.” Her dad doesn’t respond but hugs her tight. They stay like that for a moment, she’s always felt safe in his arms, until she feels them loosen around her. She looks up at him, his look somewhere else. When she follows it, her heart skips a beat.

“Harry!” Matthew takes his hand and shakes it. “I haven’t seen you in a full two hours!” 

The younger man lets out a slight chuckle. “It’s been unbearable. I just can’t keep away.” He turns to her. “Congratulations.” 

A nod is all she can afford. 

Matthew looks between the two of them, and their situation feels almost familiar. He coughs into his hand and excuses himself as he chases a waiter down the west wing. 

“Can we talk?” Harry asks her. 

She purses her lips to the side. There’s so much she wants to say to him, but she’s afraid of what she might do. 

Against her better judgement, she leads him into her office. She leaves the door open behind her in the off chance that things intensify. She doesn’t need any more guilt on her plate. (But she wishes he wasn’t wearing such a properly fit suit. It’s far too distracting for the seriousness of the situation.)

Leaning against her desk, arms crossed over her chest, she waits for him to speak. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It was both our doing,” she stresses. If you asked her who had kissed who first, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. “We just...got caught up in the moment.” I let my heart dictate my actions.

He looks hurt by her words but doesn’t press her on it. “I should’ve stopped it. I always wondered what it would feel like to kiss you, and when it happened, I...” He shakes his head, and she’s thankful that he’ll never finish that sentence. She’s already heard it in her mind. Hearing out loud would cause both of them too much agony.

“I know,” she rasps. “I can’t stand here and say that I didn’t want it, but–”

“you don’t want to hurt him.” She smiles appreciatively, though, sadly. In another life, maybe they would have a chance. This one doesn’t have a place for them. Even if she ends things with Jared, it doesn’t erase the fact that they’re family. She could never start anything with Harry without him getting hurt. It’s a matter of acceptance now. 

This must have been what Harry had been feeling when he had left. As much as it hurts to remember, she thinks she at least understands it better. 

“I need air,” she says, not wanting to entertain those thoughts further, “join me?” She grabs her phone from her desk. It’s getting late, and she’s starting to worry about Jared. 

They leave her office and start towards the back door that some of her staff use when they want a smoke. She usually avoids it for that reason, but it was getting too stuffy in there. Her lungs will forgive her if she takes this one moment to herself. Her screen unlocks, and just as she’s about to press on her fiancé’s name, Harry pushes the door open and she looks up as the evening breeze brushes her face and then...

“What the hell is this?” She drops her phone to the ground. 

Jared and Penny pull away from each other, but the space between them is nearly nonexistent. The latter meets her with scared eyes that soon begin to fill up. One hand covers her mouth as she chokes on a sob or maybe even fear, while the other clasps over her swollen belly. Y/n’s eyes drift down to it. It clicks. 

“Y/n...” Jared starts, he’s breathing heavily. “Let me–”

“That’s why you couldn’t tell me his name,” she says shakily. It’s directed at Penelope. “You couldn’t tell me because it was him.” The night Penelope had come over unannounced after her alleged date cancellation at the same time Jared had cancelled his own plans. “I’ll make sure he knows what he’s missing.” And that’s exactly what she had done, and right under her nose. They’d have been sneaking around behind her back for months.

“We d-didn’t mean for it to get this far...” Penny tries to explain, she steps out from behind Jared’s shadow. The usually confident blonde has lost several inches of height. She says something else, but it’s like Y/n’s just drowned out all the noise. Her eyes still haven’t left Penelope’s stomach. 

She wants to hate her. She should hate her. But she’s just an innocent victim caught in her parents’ web of lies. Then she grits her teeth at Jared. How far he’s fallen from the pedestal she’d put him on. Now she’s certain that she had inflated his image in her spiraling guilt for having feelings for another man. To think that only minutes ago she was about to plead for his forgiveness for kissing Harry, when all this time he’d been fucking her closest friend. 

“Jared,” his name weighs like venom on her tongue, “I want you out of the apartment by tonight.”

She just runs. Down the alleyway, ignoring all the calls of her name behind her. Harry’s voice is by far the loudest. There’s a thud, followed by a scream. However tempted she is to look back, her legs have developed a mind of their own and lead her towards the busy sidewalk. The bright streetlights burn her eyes, but she doesn’t stop.

She keeps going until she finds the first empty cab. Getting in without a second to hesitate, she closes the door and tells the man behind the wheel to just go. 

“Where to?” he asks her. Her first instinct is to go home and lock herself in her room, but she realizes that she’ll probably have to confront Jared again, and that’s not going to happen. Her second and third options are still at the gallery, completely oblivious to all the night’s revelations. There’s just one other person on that list, so Y/n gives the driver the address. 

***

It takes less than twenty minutes for her to end up in front of a building with bright blue doors and window panels to match. She climbs the steps, one wobbly footstep at a time, but only hesitating once. Her knuckles curl at her sides, until lifting them up to knock against the heavy wood. Light from inside peeks through the curtains.

A woman appears in the open threshold, that faint light from inside creating a halo around her figure. She looks unreal, like something straight out of a storybook. Her ethereal face just as kind as Y/n remembers. It’s the most immaculate she’s ever been. 

Y/n feels herself lose the battle with the emotions she had managed to keep on leash from just one look from her. 

With a whimper, her mouth struggle with the words. “Hi, Mum.”

***

Grace sets her up in the guest room and supplies her with a cup of tea and biscuits. As she’s setting it down on the bedside table, Y/n can’t help but take note of her appearance. It’s been nearly twenty years since she had last seen her mother, but why is that she’s never looked younger? Her eyes no longer have the eternal vacancy that had highlighted her once slack expression. 

She looks happy. 

“Thank god I did the shopping earlier this week, huh?” Grace muses, opening up a new pack of biscuits. Each word to leave her lips feels smooth against her ears. “I’ve developed a bit of a sweet tooth in my old age.” Y/n doesn’t know if she appreciates her efforts to make conversation, but it does give her time to think about what exactly she wants to say. 

They drink their tea in hushed sips, like they’re afraid that any loud slurping might cause some offence. Y/n stares down into the contents of her cup, annoyed that it’s the perfect color. A part of her had wished that she could find something to fault her with. 

“So,” Grace hums, tapping melodically on the porcelain in her hands. “You want to tell me why you’re here?”

Y/n barely lifts her head as her hands strangle the air with frustrated rigidness. “I’ve spent my entire life trying not to become you.” From her decision to follow her dad’s wishes, to keeping appearances for a relationship that she now knows was destined for destruction, she’d made every choice for everyone else. 

Grace doesn’t respond, but her mouth parts with a staggered breath. 

“I wanted to believe that I was happy. I wanted to do what you never did because I didn’t want to hurt the people I was supposed to love.” All the years she’d never confronted these feelings have ultimately resulted to this. “You broke us,” she says, staring her directly in the eyes. “You ruined every image I had of love.” The anxiousness that had put her through hell had to come from this. The truth is, she couldn’t break it off with Jared because she didn’t want to hurt him in the same way that her mother had hurt her dad. That’s it. She ignored every gut feeling that told her it wasn’t right because of the bitterness she felt towards her mother.   

“The choices we make aren’t genetic,” Grace says softly.

“Aren’t they, though?” she shrieks. She bounces to her feet and paces in front of the bed. “Penelope’s mother was the other woman, and now Penelope is pregnant with my fiancé’s baby! You ran away from your family because you couldn’t forget him.” 

By that, she means her mother’s new husband, the one she had left them for. It had been during her last year at university that Y/n had discovered the truth. He had been her professor for her art history class. She recognized him from a picture she had once seen in her mother’s jewelry box. She just hadn’t put two and two together until then. “And I...I can’t forget the person I’ve loved since I was eight. What makes us different, Mum?”

Grace holds her chin close to her body. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “But tell me this. Why haven’t you planned your wedding?”

This causes Y/n’s pacing to cease. She stands at her mother’s knees, blinking rapidly. “How would you know anything that goes on with me?”

Her mother stands up as well. They’re about the same height.  

“I know it’ll make never make up for what I did but believe me. I’ve never stopped trying to be in your lives...even if it was from afar.” Her hand is shaking as she reaches up to cup Y/n’s cheek so she can wipe away her tears. “I was there when you won all your art shows back in school. I was there when you graduated university.” She’s crying her own tears now. “And I was excited for you when you got engaged three years ago.” 

Y/n doesn’t let herself give in. She pulls away. “It was supposed to be a long engagement.”

“Is that what you keep telling yourself?” Grace looks at her pointedly. Y/n’s bottom lip starts to quiver. Her mother grasps her by the shoulders. “Maybe that’s what makes you different from me. You stopped pretending before it was too late, you just hadn’t realized it.”

“Is that supposed to make me a good person?” Y/n challenges. 

“No,” Grace answers honestly, but she sighs with a small smile. “But it makes you a better person than me.”

***

She doesn’t recall ever falling asleep, but she can still feel her mother’s hand stroking her hair as she had laid her head on the pillow. The morning sun shines through the curtains of the unfamiliar room and greet her with slithers of light by her feet. Waking up here feels strange, but she’s experienced comfort that she hasn’t felt in so long.

The rug-lined steps make little to no sound as she makes her way downstairs. From the bottom, she can hear two voices talking in hushed tones from the kitchen. One is unmistakably her mothers, while the other is deep and manly. She isn’t sure how to make approach them, suddenly feeling self-conscious for having intruded. But soon enough, her mum catches sight of her and invites her to take the stool beside her. Y/n walks in, passing her mother’s husband, who smiles kindly at her. She had liked him as a professor before she had found about his private life.

“Good morning,” Grace says. “Lawrence’s just been to the bakery.” She pushes a box full of a variety of goodies. “Eat as much as you want.”

Y/n picks up a croissant and gingerly pulls it apart. She avoids how her mother and her husband gage in her every movement. 

“Did you sleep well?” It’s Lawrence who asks her. She nods. Lawrence and her mother share a look, and through their eyes they seem to converse. It reminds her a lot of how she and Harry had always been able to tell what the other was thinking without having to verbalize. Lawrence finishes up his cup of coffee, then circles around the island and kisses his wife on the cheek. “I’m just going to pop to the store,” he says. She catches the back of his head before he disappears. 

“I thought you said you had just done the shopping?” Y/n asks her mother. The older woman shrugs, continuing to pick at her breakfast. Oh. She sees that there’s apparently more to talk about. Y/n does in fact have a few more questions she wants to ask, if anything more than to talk to someone who knows what she’s going through. She takes a deep breath. “Are you happy?” The words feel awkward as they leave her mouth. Grace looks at her, questioningly. She nods towards the door. “With him?”

“Yes.” 

Y/n’s heart breaks for her father. 

“He’s my best friend,” Grace says dreamily. “I’ve known him all my life. Loved him about the same.” Y/n feels goosebumps startle her skin.

“So,” Y/n treads cautiously, “was he worth it?”

“There are things that I would have done differently when it came to you and your sister, given the chance,” her mother sighs, but when she looks at her with those eyes that are so full of light and what she guesses must only be love, Y/n gets it. “But otherwise I’d choose him all over again.”

***

She knocks impulsively on his front door, not caring if his new neighbors think she’s out of her mind insane. Her limbs are tight with anticipation, especially when she hears the scuffle of feet against well-polished hardwood. Harry stands in the open doorway dressed in a white t-shirt and black joggers, and an adorably confused look floating in his sleepy eyes. But when he registers her before him, it’s like he’d been hit by lightning and suddenly jolted awake.

“Has anything changed?” she asks, almost pleadingly. He just stares at her, frustrating her already exhausted nerves. She hadn’t come all this way after a rollercoaster of a night to not get an answer. “Am I...Am I still all that’s in...” And rests her hand where his heart is.

Her own heart leaps in her chest when his dimples emerge from his cheeks. He lays his own hand over hers, stepping towards her but also pulling her incredibly close. “It’s always been you.” 

And no words have ever made her cry out of shear joy. She laughs, or maybe it’s more of a wet giggle, before throwing her arms around his neck and bringing him in for a scorching kiss. Unlike their first kiss, this one is filled solely with everything they hadn’t allowed themselves to feel. He nips on her bottom lip, and her mouth parts and welcomes his tongue to explore every unchartered inch. He grasps her both her thighs and carries her to his bedroom. 

She can’t believe she’s gone this long without knowing his touch. Every movement of against her skin, and every exploration of forbidden pleasure makes her stomach coil and beg for more. He lays her down on his bed, his body hovering over hers like he’s afraid she might slip away. 

He leans in a little lower, and she gasps when she feels him hard against her hip. “We don’t have to do anything,” he gulps, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’ve been through a lot, and I just want you to know that–” but he doesn’t get to finish because she shuts him up with the fire in her eyes. She loves him for everything he is, even when he’s being selfless to a fault. 

“We’ve waited too long for this,” she breathes against his lips. “Let’s choose us.” 

A low throaty moan surges from of her as he grinds himself against her, sending currents of electrifying energy down to her aching entrance. Her mind becomes cloudier with his every caress. His hot breath against her longing flesh only intensifies her need.

“Please,” she begs, fingers working on the hem of his shirt. “I want you. God, please I want to feel you.” 

He chuckles softly as she whines, pecking her again. “Patience, love,” he teases. His lips glide down to her ear, his breath sending shivers down her inflamed body. “Show me where you want me.” 

Taking reign of his hand and guiding down the front of her front, she smirks at him. His pants become unbelievably tight as she lets him linger over her chest, her head falling back when the warmth of his hand flicks over her pebbled nipple. “You want me between your pretty little tits? Is that what my girl wants?” His girl. Nothing in this moment could sound so perfect than the words to have just left his lips. It’s enough for her to want to bring him in for another impassioned kiss, but she restrains, shaking her head mischievously as he squeezes gently on her breast. She leads him further down, his palm sliding down her abdomen. 

“Here.” She slots her fingers through the spaces between his and their tips graze the base of her dress, toying with the flimsy material until finally slipping beneath. He groans as his skin comes into contact with her pussy emanating all that delicious heat.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” She rubs against him just enough for him to feel her center through her panties, and he swears to her that he might come then and there. Wasting no time, she pulls his shirt over her head, only breaking their kiss to appreciate all the tattoos on his sculpted chest. When she’d seen them before, it had only been for a quick few seconds, and she’d been far too flustered to take anything more than a peek. But now she can’t help herself, and she lets her fingers dance across the ink, the point of her nails tracing over the edge of every design. She spends the most time on the moth, or maybe it’s a butterfly, she couldn’t say. 

All she knows is that something about it makes her feel at peace, like she’ll always be safe as long as he's there beside her. She tears her eyes away from his chest to find him looking at her as though she were everything that’s right with the world. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, and she just beams, eyes looking back at him with such sincerity. 

He kisses the side of her mouth before descending along her body He takes his time, his lips pressing over every possible inch of her, leaving no surface neglected. Where his hands had been prior, he takes an erect mound in his mouth, tongue swirling around in through its covering. Each touch leaves her breathless, her back arching in intense anticipation the further down he goes. When his nose nudges at the bottom of her skirt, she lets out another frustrated whine, and he chuckles softly at how her abdomen sucks in as the stubble on his chin prickles goosebumps across her skin. 

“Please, just. . .” and the final remains of her inhibitions drain from the tips of her fingers and toes. “I want your cock inside me.” 

“Christ, you’ve got a filthy mouth.” And he tears her dress from her body and pulls her panties down her silky legs, leaving her completely bare before his eyes. From a pale green, the color of his irises darkens with a fierce and pounding desire. It sends vibrations down to her pussy and all she wants is for him to bury his face in her dripping arousal. She bites harshly on her lip once he licks between her slick folds. “So sweet,” he mutters, his lips slipping through the barriers to find her sensitive little nub. “I could just stay here forever.”

“Harry. . .” she gasps, fisting the sheets as her hips lift off the mattress. “It feels so good.” Her legs hang over his shoulders as he encourages her to ride his face until she’s begging to release all over his tongue. “Oh god, don’t stop.” 

One of his long fingers that had been drawing small little circles on the inner part of her thigh smooths over her damp skin until it forges its way into her glistening heat. The other hand moves down his own figure, undoing the button of his jeans and sliding past the waistband of his boxers. 

As the knot in her stomach twists with tremendous force, it pushes her closer and closer to the edge. He inserts another finger, the two digits piston in and out of her, working harmoniously with his skilled mouth. She screams out, her back arching to an almost impossible degree. It all becomes too much for her, bursts of light flashing behind her eyelids.  

“I’m gonna come,” she moans, cheek pressed deep into the pillow, eyes shut tightly to welcome the stars as she lets go with cacophonous convulsions. 

“That’s my good girl, come all over my tongue. That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

He climbs back up her body, a content smile awaiting him when their faces become level with each other. Another exchange of ardent kisses, and she feels herself tingle at the taste of her on his lips. Even after her orgasm, she already craves for another, but this time she wants nothing more but to feel him stuffed inside of her. She wraps a leg around his hip, the edge of her foot pressed against the side of his ass as she presses her core into his bulge. 

“I need to be inside of you.” He leaps off the bed to push off the last pieces of constrictive clothing. His cock springs free, flushed red at the tip and just desperate for her amorous touch. 

And he’s big, she had always had an inkling, but to see it in the flesh is a whole new sensation quivering between her thighs. “It’s so big,” her thoughts become vocalized. 

With his knees back onto the bed, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him down lower, his elbows planking on either side of her. “Feel how hard I am for you?” He hisses as her warm hand wraps around him, her thumb swiping along a dribble of precum. She lathers him in his own arousal. “Think you can handle my cock?” 

She’s completely in awe, and her mind runs untamed with fantasies of how it would feel hitting that special spot deep in her cunt, every rigid vein carving its impression in her walls. “You know I can,” she dares him. 

“Fuck.” He kisses her deeply, his hand taking ahold of his cock and glazing it with the remnants of her last climax and gliding just between her wet folds.  “One last time–” he swallows hard as he pulls away from his lips, “–are you sure you want to do this? I mean, I...”

Their eyes meet, a wordless understanding worth more than any spoken language as she cups his cheeks. 

The entire length of him slides into her tight hole until he bottoms out, his balls pressing against her taut ass. She feels undeniably full, never having experienced such exhilaration in her life as Harry’s bare cock stretches her out completely. 

“Just slid right in,” he grunts, dropping his face into the crook of her neck. He bites down and sucks greedily on the spot until he’s made his mark. She gasps in mild pain, but it feels too good to know that she can finally be his. He pulls all the way out, before slamming back in with ease, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as her walls flutter around him. “It feels like you were made for me” She feels marvelously tight, squeezing him for all he’s worth. All she can do is nod, her voice caught in her throat as his thrusts become harder and faster.  “It’s all mine now, your pussy, your lips. You’re all mine.” 

“I’m yours, all yours, Harry.” She wraps her arms around his shoulders. “God, your big cock feels so good in my tight pussy.” Nails dig into his back as they run down and carve crescents into his flexed and sweaty muscles. 

They move flawlessly in sync as she rises up to greet his every thrust with just as much excitement and fervor. Both their bodies are on fire, a pressure building up at their very core and threatening to unravel at any moment. His balls tighten, and he knows he won’t last for much longer. He looks down between them, his cock completely soaked with her with the most sinful sounds resonating whenever he pushes in and out of her delightful heat. “I love you,” he breathes into her ear, his fingers indenting into the plush of her hips. He loses any sense of rhythm he might have started out with, his movements becoming more and more urgent as he chases after his high. 

“I love you.” Her second orgasm fast approaches, she feels it thrill every one of her nerves as though currents of electricity were running through her veins. She’s so close, and her hand slips between their sweaty chests to rub desperately on her clit. Her head is spinning with an aspiration to reach the brink of ecstasy. 

“Come all over my cock,” he pleads as he pushes into her with incredible force. “Want to feel you come around me.”

And that’s it for her. A wave of pleasure crashes over her and she cries out with a high-pitched moan. Her legs hugging him so tightly that he barely manages to move. She rides it out, rolling her hips to feel him continuously poke that special spot. Soon enough, her mind is on a cloud, the rest of her body soaking up the bliss of the moment.

His movements only become more erratic, and the breath leaves her body once he releases inside of her. Hot white ribbons shoot out and paint her walls with the image of a sensational love. It warms her center, her lips turning up in a lazy smile as he remains within her even after the final drop has left his tip. Once they’re heaving chests calm to a natural pace, he collapses on top of her, arms willing their way between her and the mattress to gather her into a tender embrace. She scratches the back of his head and sighs contently.  

“To think we could’ve been doing that for,” and she counts the years on each one of her fingers.

Harry chuckles in between her breasts, then reaches up and plants a quick but sweet kiss to her lips. “How long are you going to be holding onto that one?” She pretends to think, her mouth quirking to the side as her brows furrow in contemplation. “Until we make up for all that wasted time.” 

***

“I got you something.” She looks up at him, her body still wrapped in his arms as they lay naked in his bed. Memories of what feels like another life flip through her head.

“Is this what déjà vu feels like?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Do you want it or not?” 

Smiling, she kisses enthusiastically and nods her head. He gets up, and she has to stop herself from frowning when they lose all contact. She sinks into the sheets and waits impatiently for him to come back. Listening to him rummage through his closet, then to the growling of her tummy–and she makes a quick mental note to ask him to order something for them in a while––she tries to relive every detail from the last few hours in her head. She didn’t know that sex was supposed to feel so good.

“You told me that you hadn’t drawn in almost ten years,” he states, making his way back to the bed, but this time, with a bag clutched in his hands. He places it in her lap, then slips between her and the headboard, arms going back to their initial position. “Maybe it’s time you started back up.”

Y/n opens the enclosed wrappings. Inside the bag is a new sketchbook and a carton of 9H pencils. She carefully grazes her fingers above them. There’s a feeling in her chest, like she’s just been reunited with an old friend. 

“But what would I even draw?” She’d lost all sight of that part of her life, and it seems unlikely that those creative juices will just come trickling back to her now. 

Harry kisses the side of her head, and she leans into him easily.

“Whatever inspires you.” 

It’s just that easy. She closes her eyes and reflects on what has always made her feel any bit positive. Ava and her bluntness; her dad and his sense of duty to his family; Nan and Gramps and their playful bickering; Nan and her proclivity for gossip; Gramps and his hatred for ties. All of them had been a comfort to her, even when she hadn’t realized it. They were part of what had kept her afloat.

Feeling Harry’s heartbeat press up against her back, she knows that she’ll never have to worry about drowning. She opens her sketchbook to its first clean page and lets herself be happy. 

***

“Thanks for meeting us here,” Jared says, offering her a modest grin. “I would’ve understood if you didn’t want to.” Penny nods beside him. Jared had texted her and asked if she would meet them for lunch, so that they could talk. At first, Y/n didn’t think that necessary. What was the point when it was all out in the open now? But with some convincing from Harry, she realized that she had to confront this.

“There’s no moving on if we don’t talk about it.” Y/n takes the seat across from Penny. She looks at the girl she’d consider a sister, studying her rounded and healthier features. Pregnancy looks good on her. “You look good.” 

Penny smiles thankfully. “So do you.”

They talk about everything, even the stuff that feels like it should hurt. But it doesn’t. Clarity exists where it hadn’t before. She tells them that about Harry, and apparently it isn’t much of a shock to anyone, which shocks her. Jared then admits to having had all these doubts about their relationship but had stuck through it because of his own insecurities. That had had hit close to home for Y/n. It’s somewhat of a relief that she hadn’t been the only one who felt that what they had was temperamental. 

“You were there for me when I was at my worst, and for that, I’ll always love you,” Jared sighs, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “But...”

“That’s all we were meant to be.”

He nods sadly, pulling back. His other arm is around Penny’s chair, and Y/n can see his fingers playing with the ends of her ponytail. 

Penny must notice this, and she quickly shrugs him away. “Sorry,” she mutters.  

Y/n shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she waves it off. “This was good. At least now we can all carry on with our lives.” She gets out of her chair. “Good luck,” she says to the both of them. Then she looks directly at Penny. “I know you’re worried about making all the same mistakes as your mum, but...” she smiles, “someone said to me that mistakes aren’t genetic. I know you. And I know how much you love your baby. Just promise me you’ll be there for her.”

With that she turns towards the exit. Before she can get far, however, she feels a hand grab her own. She looks back, and it’s Penny. Her eyes are teary, and her chest lifts erratically. “Do you think that...” she swallows, “...that you’ll ever forgive me?”

“Do I still get to be called auntie?” 

Penny lets out a stifled giggle. “Yes.”

Y/n touches her comfortingly on the shoulder. “Then, one day.”

She walks out of there feeling completely at peace with herself.

***

Two Years Later

The newest exhibit proves to be a hit. It’s smaller than its predecessors, this time only containing the work from a single artist. 

She and Harry walk hand-in-hand, greeting all of guests and just enjoying each other’s company. Gramps isn’t moping as much as he usually does, and she thinks it’s because Nan’s bought him a clip-on tie that doesn’t strangle him around the neck. Ava and Nan are gossiping with some potential investors, while her dad tries to apologize on their behalf. 

On the other side, her mum and Lawrence discuss color theory in relation to one of the spotlight pieces. She catches a glimpse of the civility between her parents when they catch each other’s eyes from across the room. 

“I think it’s the gallery’s best showcase yet,” Harry tells her and kisses her on the lips. “Really, I don’t see how anything might top this.”

Y/n laughs. “You’re just trying to get laid.”

Harry wags his eyebrows. “Is it working?” She doesn’t need to give him an answer with words, so instead, she pulls him by the lapels of his jacket and their lips meet in another sweet kiss. 

They stop in front of the piece in the very back, the one that’s drawn in the most viewers. They squeeze through the polluted crowd until they’re close enough to the front. He wraps his arms around her, and they both admire its beauty. 

Two kids laid out on the grass; eyes closed with content smiles on their faces. The sky above them, a product of their combined imaginations as well as the excitement of hopes and dreams. 

Below the canvas is a placcard with the painting’s information. 

Y/n Styles, Purple Clouds and Tangerine Skies.

***

A/N: HOPE YOU LIKED IT!

#harry styles #harry style imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles au #one direction #writing

[stovetuna]

CW: character death and Tony lack of self esteem and self preservation. Ignore if not ur jam

(¬_¬) psssttt angst time. post-Endgame Steve accidentally ending up in 616 and meets that Steve and Tony. And after failing to wrestling ANY info about why this Steve is here, 616-Tony figures out other him is dead and this Steve is taking it badly and this has Tony trying to make MCU-Steve feel better by saying something like well that me probably deserved it??? All us Tonys do (This does not make MCU feel better. Nor does it make 616-Steve very happy)

ANON MY HEART! IT CANNOT TAKE THIS! (she says as she mulls over this prompt for DAYS and even snaps out of half-sleep to write a little bit of it)...

but like, imagine it. Somehow or other Steve ends up in 616!universe—a spell of Dr. Strange’s gone awry, maybe, or a clusterfuck while returning the time stone—and he’s ended up in 616!Tony’s workshop. It’s late, he’s confused and disoriented and grieving, and he’s already making for the ratty sofa (thinking fixing this is a problem for future steve) when he realizes there’s already someone stretched out on it.

not someone. someones. together. wrapped around each other like koalas on a branch. one of them is Tony—no amount of darkness can smother that blue light, or so Steve once thought—and his heart is breaking all over again, when the person wrapped around him, partially hidden behind Tony’s shoulder, raises his head, eyes alert, and Steve realizes it’s him. Himself. Steve Rogers, from another dimension. Universe. Tony would know which. 

Rogers snaps to attention and is standing and interrogating Steve and he manages to not wake Tony up the whole time. This Tony sleeps like a rock, or maybe that’s just because of Rogers, and Steve is spiraling over the fact that maybe that’s all it would have taken to make things right—better—in his own universe. He could have been brave, he could have been strong enough for both of them to walk up to Tony and ask him out, kiss him, something. Instead he lied, and hid, and ran. He’s still running. Meanwhile this taller, broader, stronger version of him chose happiness, because what else could life with Tony Stark be? 

Rogers is grilling him in the semi-darkness, asking questions Steve isn’t sure he’s allowed to answer (the rules of the time heist are still fresh in his mind), but the questioning stops when Steve starts crying and asks him how long they’ve been together. If it was enough to stop their fight, and everything that happened after.

Rogers tells him they were too late to stop the Civil War, but they pulled their heads out of their asses eventually. When Steve mentions Thanos, Rogers’ face flashes recognition but not the same level of grief Steve feels like a railroad spike lodged in his heart. Whatever else has happened in this universe, Thanos hasn’t, and this Steve and Tony are together. Steve can’t stop thinking this is all just a cruel nightmare disguised as a tear in the fabric of the universe. 

And then the lights come on at a dim 30%, revealing a Tony Stark who is whole and alive and very, very different from the man Steve knew. While Steve stands there poleaxed in crisis mode (Stark mentions “blue screening” which is a reference Steve does get and he hurts all the more deeply because of it), Rogers fills Stark in on what he knows about Steve, when he showed up, what they’ve talked about. When Rogers mentions Steve’s question about their relationship, something brightens in Stark’s blue eyes.

“Your universe’s Tony Stark is dead, isn’t he?”

Steve makes a sound that is something between a sob and a laugh. Of course Stark would figure it out with the least amount of information at hand. In response, Rogers grabs Stark’s hand. He’s gone deathly pale, as if the very thought of losing Tony is too terrible to imagine, and he shares a look with Stark that speaks volumes, because Stark looks just as grim. Something happened there, Steve thinks—one or the other of them died, or came close enough to put the fear of it in them for life. 

And then Stark opens his mouth and says “If your universe’s Tony Stark was anything like me, and categorically speaking he probably was, he probably deserved it.”

Steve’s gut plummets because Jesus Christ, does Tony Stark not have any sense of self-worth, in any universe?? Apparently he and Rogers are the same wavelength—shocker—because he rounds on Stark with “Tony, we’ve talked about this” while Stark waves him off with a scoff. 

“This isn’t low self-esteem talking, Steve—you know my track record when it comes to near death experiences. How many would you say have been the inevitable result of my own actions?” 

Rogers’s face flattens. His lips and eyes narrow. “Too many.”

“Right. So am I right, or am I right?” Stark asks Steve, but Steve’s tongue has cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Of course, Tony Stark was always able to talk enough for three people, even if two of them were, technically, the same person. “He probably went down thinking he was the only one who could fix whatever was broken, walked right into a coffin he made himself, literally if not figuratively.” 

Steve swallows. “Actually,” he says, thinking of the gauntlet fused to Tony’s armor, which had fused to his arm, “it was something like that.” 

Steve’s eyes laser in on their joined hands, tearing up when he sees Stark squeeze Rogers’s fingers. A small touch of reassurance, stabilizing and loving, to remind Rogers he was still here. Still breathing. Still alive. The look Rogers sends Stark is so warm, so full of things Steve doesn’t have the strength to name, it threatens to shove him deeper into an already devastating downward spiral. 

So of course Stark chooses that moment to look at Steve and be his usual smart self, because some things are truly universal, and Tony Stark’s intelligence and ability to read people is one of them. 

“You never told him?” 

Steve shakes his head. Rogers makes a small, hapless sound, like the thought of never telling Tony Stark his feelings, being with him, is too sad to consider. It is—Steve can honestly say it is, and of the two of them, Steve is the only one who has to live with the consequences of the choice he made (and made, over and over again) for the rest of his life.

Whatever nonverbal communication passes between the two men, Steve doesn’t see it. He’s too busy staring through blurry eyes at the floor of the workshop, wishing this nightmare would end so he could go back to his own universe and not have to be confronted with the life he wishes he could have had with a man who was now dead. 

He’s so wrapped up in his own misery, he doesn’t register movement until two socked feet stop in front of his shoes and he looks up to see Stark standing there, eyebrows knitted in concern and wonder and, worst of all, understanding. Like he’s been where Steve is, lost and bereft, irreparably heartbroken. Did this Tony lose his Steve? How? Rogers is standing right there. But Steve has seen Stark’s expression in his own mirrored reflection every morning for the past year, and while he was never on par with Tony Stark’s genius, he could read people too. Stark knows this kind of loss as deeply as Steve does now.

“We’ll get you home first thing,” Stark tells him, but it sounds like a line to quell Steve’s nerves, which it does, and a good thing too, because Stark is moving into Steve’s personal space as he says it, breathing his air and meeting his gaze straight on. “Nod if you understand?” 

Of course Stark would be considerate of Steve’s inability to speak when they’re this close. Steve nods. 

“Can I give you something, Steve? If I know myself—and I do, really, even if my judgement isn’t always perfectly sound—your Tony would have wanted to give it to you himself. But life wasn’t fair to either of you, I think. Not that it ever is, but, I’d like to correct the imbalance in some small way. Is that okay?”

Steve nods before he realizes he’s doing it, like his body knows what’s coming before his brain does and he’s helpless to resist. 

Logically, Steve knows this isn’t his Tony. Not because his Tony is dead—although that does play a major factor—but because this one is so unlike him. This Tony, Stark—he’s too tall, Steve’s mind supplies, too young, too broad; his hair is too dark and his eyes are too blue. 

But Steve Rogers would recognize Tony Stark anywhere, in any dimension. In any universe. And if it means getting to give Tony everything he was too scared to offer him in life, even for a second—let alone getting some of it back—then so much the better. 

Stark pulls him in for a kiss like it’s second nature to him. Muscle memory. But to Steve, it’s a shock to the system. Every hair on his body is standing on end. He gasps against Stark’s lips and suddenly fingers are buried in his hair, tugging him closer before he can stop and ask them if this is okay, if they know what this means to Steve, if he can actually have this. 

A sob sticks in his throat as he finally musters the wherewithal to kiss back. Stark takes it handily, licking a hot, wet line across Steve’s bottom lip before Steve slants left and kisses him hard and deep, wrapping his arms around the similar-yet-unfamiliar frame.   Kissing Stark, Steve realizes, makes him happy, in a profoundly genuine, comforting way he hasn’t felt in years, and the only way to express it is to wrap a hand around the back of Stark’s neck, just below the nape, and suck the moan right out of his mouth. Even if that happiness is soured by his implacable grief, he can shove that into the back of his mind long enough to luxuriate in the feeling of Stark’s tongue brushing against his soft palate, those hard, scarred workman’s hands sliding up under his shirt to splay soft across his lower back. He feels safe, and happy, and loved. 

And if he imagines his Tony in Stark’s place, no one has to know. And if they did, Steve doesn’t think either of them would judge him for it. His instinct is confirmed when Steve pulls away long enough—breathing hard, just like Stark, who looks for all the world like someone who just fell off a Tilt-a-Whirl ass-backwards—to look over Stark’s shoulder at Rogers, who’s staring hungrily at both of them like he doesn’t know whether to pounce or stay put. The tent in his sweatpants speaks for itself. 

Before Steve can piece two coherent thoughts together—like does he feel weird about an alternative universe version of himself being turned on by this? or does he need to stop kissing Stark before this gets out of hand? how is he supposed to get home? how is he supposed to live without this now that he’s had a taste of it?—Stark is pulling him back in for a kiss that tunes out all the noise and warms him through, tucked in the safe, quiet, happy circle of Stark’s arms.

Steve holds the man and the moment as close as he can, as long as he can, and he’s grateful, for the first time in his life after coming out of the ice, for the silence. 

#stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #616 stevetony #MCU steve rogers #rachel writes fic #stevetony fic #stony fic #superhusbands fic #fic rec #superhusbands #I'M SAD BUT ALSO HOT UNDER THE COLLAR NOW THANK U ANON

[gretchensinister]

I too am curious about 3, combined with 5? also 15 and this might be a nightmare question but, 22 for DoL

3: Do you have any upcoming WIPs? How far along are you with them?

5: Share a snippet that you’re proud of from an upcoming fic/chapter.

Okay so. The WIPs. 1. The farthest along is the college students in a cabin being killed by a monster story, which I wrote for a Pitch Black Halloween event a couple years ago and now I am editing to publish as its own novel. I’m actually at the last scene! Unfortunately I also need to rewrite the last scene because the current last scene basically introduces two new characters and I think that damages the effect I’m going for with the story overall. It’s a story with a small cast and very few extras and closing on strangers adds distance between reader and story which I don’t want.

2. Then there’s my Phantom of the Opera fic, which yes it has been maybe a year since I worked on it, but I really want to finish it and put it into the world. I just thought it would be shorter, since I repeatedly said to @marypsue, “I’m not going to rewrite the Phantom of the Opera”…cut to card saying “Gretchen rewrites the Phantom of the Opera.”

3. There’s the fic I was working on for Dead Dove Day. I wanted to write some smut with a completely blank slate being introduced to sex by someone with tons of experience (which apparently now gets a frowny face put in one’s file) and also every character has dual genitalia (I’m still waiting for the paperwork to come back about whether I’m allowed to fantasize about that or not, and then of course there’s all the other forms to determine if I’m allowed to encourage other people to also fantasize about this). The smut is done unless I add another scene at the end but it developed a plot so I’m trying to resolve that.

4. There’s some simple! classic! blacksand! that won’t resolve for some reason and makes me feel like I lost the ability to write. I know this isn’t true but it’s like…I need to be writing this in class or something. I need to be getting away with it.

5. Last, there’s blackgeneral which I have put in a human AU and made even worse! But if you’ve never written something where you wonder at least a little bit if it would fail the Miller Test, have you even lived?

Now for some samples, in the order in which they were mentioned (lmao this got long):

1. “Did you see that, did you see that?”

“What was that?”

“Yeah, I saw it but—”

“It was tall, it was tall, it was a bear!”

“No, it was skinny! It couldn’t have been a bear!”

“And anyway, it was fucking gray!”

“Okay, okay,” Gabe said when things had quieted down a little. “Everything looks kind of gray in this light.”

“I’m not really concerned with its color!” Sugar said.

Kelly had stood up in all the commotion and now moved behind Gabe, resting her hands on his shoulders. She hadn’t liked the look of that thing in the woods, but now Gabe was pointing his flashlight down into the lake, and that was actually worse for her.

“Shine your light at it again,” Sandy said. “We’ll either frighten it away or get a better idea of what it is.”

They waited tensely as Gabe swept the trail again, revealing nothing.

“I don’t know if anyone else is thinking this,” Minnu said, “but I thought…I thought it kind of looked like a guy.”

“Yeah,” Gabe said, after a moment. “Yeah, it kind of did.”

“That kind of seems worse,” Sugar said.

“True,” Sandy said. “So, what should we do? I vote for going back to the cabin.”

“And I think we should go without our phone lights or flashlights,” said Sugar. “If that was a guy, he could have a gun.”

“The person that was found dead wasn’t killed by any gun,” Kelly said after a short pause.

“Well, this could be someone entirely different,” Sugar said. “It’s not like there’s a rule, only one thing that can kill you in the forest at a time. In fact, it’s pretty much the opposite of that.”

“Guys, guys,” Sandy said. “I know this isn’t the most normal thing to say, but…are we really sure that that thing looked like a…well, a human guy?”

2. She screams. She screams her sorrow and her rage, and her rage is at the way of the world but also at herself; why had she been a coward? All she had done was seen, and she had still frozen in fear? All she had were her hands, but should she not have used them? She should have flown forward and strangled the man! But she had only frozen, frozen and silently watched, as if she was nothing more than the ornament she was supposed to be.

“You will hurt yourself, screaming like that,” a voice says, then.

No one else is in the chapel with her. She checked many times in succession before closing the door. The voice is that of no one. A ghost.

But the abruptness reminds her of Mme. Giry as she instructs the corps de ballet on form. You will hurt yourself, bending like that.

But since no one is here, she responds as if she is alone. “No one ever taught me how to properly scream.” As she says this, she can feel the rawness of her throat. It hardly matters, she has no solos approaching, and probably never will.

“Do you want to learn?” the voice asks. “I could teach you.”

“What would be the point? No one wants me to scream.”

“No one wants me to do anything,” the voice says. “But I know how to do many things.”

The shape of her mouth flickers towards a smile. The concept is oddly enticing: to build a skill that no one wants. And this voice, that is oddly enticing, too. It reminds her of the heavy velvet that she’d noticed in the costume shop one day, brushed to a shimmering dark red like a fire behind smoked glass. The soft weight of it had been a glory in her hands that sent a strange shiver all down her spine.

And just as she knows that velvet doesn’t grow on trees, she knows that this wonderful voice didn’t come naturally, either. A lot of work went into its creation, and right now, she is the only one being given that beauty. That’s enticing, too.

It seems she’s taken too long to respond, for the voice speaks again. “I could teach you how to sing as well as scream. I’ve heard you sing on your own before, away from the chorus. You could be the greatest soprano the opera has ever heard.”

“Singing is something they want,” she says. “And you say…the greatest. Do you think I could be sublime, as a soprano?”

“Sublime,” the voice muses, and the slow word makes her shiver again. “I have met few who truly desire to be sublime.”

“I do.”

This time it is the voice that takes a long time to respond. “I believe you,” it finally says, sounding curious, and a little sad. “Yet I do not fully understand you. Perhaps I will if I teach you. And I can. I have far more experience with sublimity than with beauty.”

“Your voice is beautiful,” she says tentatively, “at least it is as you speak to me. But I hear in it something that tells me you can easily transcend with it to the sublime. I only wish to say, from hearing you, I would guess you had experience with both.”

“You do not know what you say,” the voice replies, with control so careful she cannot be sure what it conceals, “but that is all very well. You will have a voice with sublimity waiting behind its beauty, this I swear. Sublimity will be yours to hold to heel or to unleash, and when you do—”

“Yes,” she interrupts. “What then?”

She can hear a smile in the voice now, at her eagerness. “At the very least,” the voice says, “you’ll be able to shatter glass.”

She smiles too, imagining. “Every globe in the chandelier, from the stage.” It is a reckless wish, and a thoughtless one—she does not really want to rain glass down upon the audience, or if they were not there, to make the cleaning-women sweep up thousands of razor-sharp shards. But if she could, oh, it’s an uncanny thing to do. Not a pretty thing.

“If you have the will, I will show you the way,” says the voice. “If you agree, will you tell me your name?”

“Yes, and yes,” she says. “And my name is Christine Daae. But what is yours?”

“I am the ghost,” he says.

3. The Pitch held Sandy close with one arm while their other hand flowed down Sandy’s body, slow and sweet like honey. They bent to kiss Sandy’s mouth as they fondled their full breasts. And it wasn’t—it wasn’t as if the Pitch spent a long time at the stiff points of Sandy’s nipples. They were too sensitive for that right now, the line between pleasure and pain too thin. But they did touch, and the touch of their inhumanly long fingers felt somehow both reverent and barely restrained. Sandy knew this could only be their projection onto such a new Pitch, but knowing didn’t make the feeling go away. It didn’t stop them from going half-mad with it, their cunt getting wetter and their cock getting harder, barely a breath away from begging the Pitch to pinch them, hard, to fall over the line of pain to see if there was pleasure on the other side.

But that was part of a different lesson, and not something every owner wanted their Pitch to learn. Sandy wasn’t quite sure it was what they wanted, either, except that it would be more sensation and more was what they wanted from the Pitch.

But of course the Pitch could give more, and of course they would give more. That was what they were for.

The Pitch caressed their belly luxuriantly, their speeding breath and some soft sounds muffled by their mouth on Sandy’s proclaiming their absolute delight in every curve of Sandy’s very ordinary body. And again it felt like real desire, as if the Pitch had forgotten that the point of their actions was to arouse Sandy. As if it was assured, as if there was a long understanding of mutuality between them, as if indulging themselves with Sandy was something they knew Sandy would enjoy.

As for the last, with Sandy, they were right. Every greedy touch of the Pitch’s hands was a gift, a drug.

A drug that opened the mind to some dangerous ideas. Pitches are made for pleasure. If I could choose a pleasure construct I’d choose a Pitch. I’d choose this Pitch. Precocious Pitch and I wonder, I wonder if in a different world where Pitches are what the born look like, if this Pitch would commission a Sandy if they could. It should have been unthinkable. But pleasure constructs were also made to make the unthinkable possible.

So obedient, and they come with their own built-in taboos for you to think about breaking!

4. Conversation is all right, Sandy said. If you can find someone to do it with. But there are things I like better. He looked up at Pitch. Things I think you might like better, too.

“Is that so? You know something good enough to make me be good?”

Sandy grinned, now, and Pitch—Pitch absolutely felt his heart beat faster, though it was getting harder now to say that this was out of panic or even simple fear.

I don’t know if it’s that powerful, but I’d be happy to give it a try, Sandy said. What do you think?

What did Pitch think? He felt like somehow he’d been herded through a great number of corridors in his mind and now he had reached a dead end. Or—not exactly a dead end. It was just that all the doors around him were ones he had locked tightly, and he had tried to forget that he still had the keys. It was the Sandy wing of his mind, and now the real Sandy was blocking him from leaving the corridor the way he came, and spinning a key ring around his little golden finger. If Sandy unlocked any of those doors, then he’d see…he’d see…

Maybe…Sandy would see something he…liked?

“Try me,” Pitch said, giving the words an unsuitable earnestness.

5. Porcelain skin and blue-black hair from their mother. Sharp angular faces, proud aquiline noses, and bones that promised height from their father. And yet their mother’s influence performed alchemy on these traits, somehow making them gracile, proving that on those infinitesimal spiral staircases of fate, she would always have the higher ground. Their lips might be thinner than hers, but they were still perfectly formed to bring to mind sensuality, even from this young age. They might be forbidden cosmetics, but the lashes she gave them were long and thick enough that no one who saw them would be able to stop themselves from wondering. And their eyes, of course, were hers, that exquisitely rare and exotic topaz had completely overshadowed their father’s pure northern blue. There was just enough of their father in their looks that they could be no one else’s sons, but the rest of their looks whispered this open secret: Though he was powerful enough to wed and bring to childbed the most beautiful woman within a thousand miles, claiming such beauty meant that he would never have a son quite in his image. That single, perfect, impregnable vessel of immortality for himself was nothing but a ghost. What he had, after having everything else, was this uncanny pair. Warped reflections of their mother, warped reflections of their father.

And perfect reflections of each other.

15: Which fic that you’ve written relates to you and your personal life the most?

A Draught of Light. I was working through a lot of stuff in that fic and while writing it, I’m not done working out everything I was working out in that fic, and bizarrely it seems to continue to become more relatable to me as years pass, even through situations I could not have possibly have foreseen. But also Speak Oil Into My Ear is very near and dear to me because of how much of Austin, TX I put into it, and that’s where I was living when I wrote it.

22: Have you used any symbolism in A Draught of Light? What does it represent?

You mentioned this might be a nightmare question and I guess it kind of is, because DoL is like…not subtle in any way. That’s just how it is. Any symbolism is baked into the magic system because it’s how magic works—if a light adept can figure out how to understand what they’re doing as related to illuminating/revealing/opening etc., then they can do it with light. If a shadow adept can understand a working as related to concealing/vanishing/hiding etc., then they can do it with shadow. Fire is change, water is healing/restoration. The ending doesn’t go full allegory but like. For those who are familiar it’s very obvious why I would think of this story more around Easter than around the autumn equinox, when it’s actually set.

But! Story time! When this story started, it was partially due to three factors: a kinkmeme prompt that I wasn’t sure if my idea actually addressed, a round pool at the apartment complex I lived in at the time, and a dream I had where I was standing in this underground circular stone chamber, and I clapped my hands and water began flowing from them, and (here’s the symbolism) in the dream I knew that the water represented forgiveness. (Though that’s not really what it means in DoL.

#tejoxys

[clonerightsagenda]

While procrastinating on HTST I opened my old doc for Saving Face, which is a Jake-centric thing I was working on for Gill. I was never entirely happy with it, which is why it never went on ao3 despite me last working on it in, uh... 2018, apparently, but I might as well stick it somewhere.

As per usual it’s TLC compliant so some details may seem out of place.

In your dream, you're floating in the inky airspace miles above the Land of Tombs and Xenon, and you've got your hand buried wrist-deep in Dirk's rib cage.

“Hi,” he says.

You wake up. Across the room, you see him sit up too and rub his chest.

“I'm writing a strongly worded consumer complaint to whoever's running the dreambubbles,” you say.

“Yeah, if we ever run into that troll again, I'm giving her a piece of my mind. And, you know, that might become independently sentient and harass her for eternity, so I'm not fucking around.”

Roxy, who's squished up against the blanket-burritoed form of Calliope, rolls over and mumbles something that sounds like “I'm sleeping, fuckwads.” You chew your lip and try to wriggle into a more comfortable position. A lot of your household is on the floor, stealing blankets and using each other as pillows. You didn't want to spend nights alone, but you're not comfortable with the idea of anyone touching you while you're asleep. So you've claimed an old armchair, which meets in the middle fairly well, even if it means waking up with a crick in your neck every morning.

Usually you don't dream in the bubbles twice in one night, but you're not sure you're willing to risk it. They're not even supposed to be accessible anymore. That whole song and dance should have been left behind. But some nights you end up there anyway, like the times you'd tuned your grandma's old radio to the wrong station and voices speaking other languages emerged out of the static. There are no dreaming dead, but you wander through blurred dreamscapes and stumble into other people's memories. A week ago, you almost fell into a pool of lava and scrambled up the jagged side of a crater, clothes smoking. You'd prefer that to your own nightmares.

After a few more attempts to get comfortable, you give up and tiptoe through a minefield of slumbering bodies to the door. No one's in the living room, so you settle onto the sofa and jab the remote. The weather comes on, and you lower the volume until all you hear is a steady hum

“Do you mind if I hang out here?”

You look up. Even now that you're in a world with sunshine, Dirk's pale enough to be his own ghost. He should really get outside more. Then again, you all should. “It's Jane's house, technically. We're all here on guest rules.”

He sits down on the other end of the sofa, just the right distance that it's not too close or too far to be impolite. “I made it a week without getting maimed by my subconscious. New record.”

“Was that your nightmare or mine, do you think?”

“Does it matter?”  

“I was just wondering, because I’d managed not to think about it for a few days. Oh well.” You shake your head. “I’m sorry. I’m surprised you can stand to be around me.”

He hasn’t been looking at you, but now he puts a hand on the cushions between you, like he’s regretting whatever message he sent with the distance. “It’s not your fault. You don’t make it onto the “intentionally murdered people” shortlist, sorry. The committee had to reject your application on account of you being too fuckin straightlaced for that shit.”

“I guess that’s a fair point. If I were going to take out my aggravation on someone, I wouldn’t do it in a way that would break all the bones in my hand!” Your fingers ache from the memory. “But he did have my face.”

“Sure, but it’s obvious when it’s not you wearing it.” He seems frustrated. With you? With the argument? It is a bit late – early? – to be splitting hairs like this, but when it comes to shifting blame to yourselves, you’re all masters of rhetoric. “You should have seen the shit he was doing with it too. Dude thought he was an anime villain.”

“I sure remember the spectacle he brought with him to Prospit.” The whole planet had quaked under your feet; people on the other side felt it. “I’m still surprised we pulled a victory out of that shambles.”

“It helped that you believed in us. That was...” He shakes his head and looks at the figures moving silently on the television screen. “For a few minutes there, I felt like I could actually be the person you thought I was.”

Who among you hasn’t had that problem? You wished you could be a swashbuckling action hero, and look how that turned out. You really had believed Dirk was those things, for all that you’d found him a bit intimidating at the same time. Even when the other became most apparent, that didn’t mean the former didn’t have a place. They were both always him.

“We all had unfair expectations of each other,” you say. “No one was holding you to that standard, or at least we shouldn’t have.”

“It was nice,” he says after a moment. “Being believed in.”

“I still do.” The words slip out automatically. You have always leapt to reassure – to put a brave face not only on yourself but on everyone else to boot. You don’t do a good job a lot of the time. Too self-absorbed, you guess, too bad at reading social cues. This is something you’ve said before, with jollity and no substance. All a load of hot air. “Maybe not with Hope magic at the ready to give you a lightshow, since that’s a headache to manage, but I do believe in all of you.”

If he finds your words hollow, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he says, “Keep it up, and maybe we’ll get somewhere.” You don’t ask whether the “we” means you as a household, the four-five of you caught in your messy circle of friendship and fumbling romances, or the two of you alone. You promised to stop overanalyzing everything he says for hidden meanings. It’s the only way your interactions can be anything but impossibly awkward. On the television, the forecaster gestures silently to a stripe of bright color moving over the continental United States. “Is there anything distractingly shitty on TV? I don’t know about you, but I’m not closing my eyes again.”

You pick the remote back up and start flicking through channels. Medical dramas... not an option. Foreign soap operas? Pass. “House Hunters?”

He leans back into the sofa cushions. “Just fuck me up.”

“Rich couples arguing over bathroom fixtures it is.”

His voice emerges from the upholstery. “And we thought we had problems.”

“Their struggles put it all in perspective.”

Several episodes have come and gone by the time the rest of the household starts waking up. No one comments on your relocation to the sofa. It’s not uncommon for any of you to have bad dreams. Eventually the clinking of cutlery prompts you to stand up and get a plate of your own.

Bacon is sizzling on the stovetop. Meat doesn’t appeal to you much at the moment. It smells good, but looking at the raw red flesh makes your stomach twist. Instead, you stick two slices of bread in the toaster and push the lever down nearly as far as it’ll go. There’s no point to toast if it doesn’t crunch.

Jane brushes up against you when you’re leaning into the fridge. Your reaction is automatic. You jerk forward, smacking your head on the freezer door and sending orange juice sloshing everywhere.

Jane freezes, an empty plate in her hand. “I’m going to the sink,” she says carefully.

“Right.” Of course she is; no problems here! It’s not like she was sneaking up on you. She knows not to take you by surprise. “Didn’t notice. Silly me. A whole herd of centaurs could stampede past and I wouldn’t catch it.”

“I’m going to walk over to the counter now,” she says, the way you’d talk to a fairy bull you were trying to sidle up to. “Okay?”

You nod, and she does. Once she’s taken her seat, you move over to unspool some paper towels. Your legs are shaking. John puts his cup down with a clunk and grimaces at the noise. No one wants to look at you.

“So,” Hal says loudly. “Have we told our 2009 compatriots about the surprise surge in the popularity of vore?”

Roxy makes a noise suggesting she’s just aspirated her spoonful of Cheerios, and you are ever so grateful for lewd dining companions.

 After breakfast, you catch up with Jane. “I apologize for that episode.”

She’s stacking up everyone’s clean plates with geometric precision. The operation must take a lot of concentration, because she doesn’t look your way. “You aren’t the one who should be apologizing.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t expect you to grovel at my feet for the rest of our immortal lives!” You force a laugh, rubbing your shoulders and wondering if the room has always felt so small. “I wish my nerves would get that memo.”

She pauses, elbows deep in the cupboard, and sighs. “Maybe it was a bad idea, us all living in the same house.”

“No!” You’re not going to be the one who rocks the boat, not this time. “I’m not rehashing that routine where we go to our separate lands and don’t speak until it all boils over in some eleventh hour crypt throwdown. I don’t think my vocal chords could handle the strain.”

She steps away from the cupboard with exaggerated care and turns to face you. It’s getting easier to look at her and not see the face you saw in the prison cell, overlaid by circuitry and twisted into a sneer. This is regular old Jane, with a few new scars and a concerned scrunch fixed between her eyebrows. It’s only in your unguarded moments that you stop seeing her clearly. Are you like that for Dirk, or the others? Maybe you’re all being polite, even when each other’s countenances make you cringe. “I guess you’re right. It was quite a tiff we had.”

“I’ll get over it,” you promise. “It’ll take some time, that’s all.”

She runs a hand through her hair, where veins of white streak through it like lightning through dark clouds. “You don’t have to.”

“But I want to. I’d like for things to go back to normal, as much as they can.”

She glances over at the table, where just minutes ago a motley collection of your friends, your long dead relatives, and a few aliens from another universe to boot had all been sharing breakfast.  “As much as they can,” she repeats.

 - - tipsyGnostalgic [TG] started pestering golgothasTerror [GT] - -

TG: hey jake

TG: do u believe in bigfoot

GT: Hmm well i dont know.

GT: Considering all the odd things weve seen it seems hasty to discount the possibility.

GT: But then i can easily believe some fellow saw a bear and got overexcited.

GT: So chalk me up for a maybe?

TG: wut abt cryptids in general

TG: like mothman

TG: do u believe in mothman??

TG: u should

GT: Um...

GT: Im not sure im sufficiently informed on the matter!

TG: i can send u some forum posts this shits legit

TG: think thatll be enough to convince u?

GT: Wait one goshdarn second!

GT: Is this some ploy to trick me into using my powers to MAKE them real?

GT: Like some sort of jake english monster factory production?

TG: that

TG: could be a feasible outcome 2 this scenario

GT: I know you mean that in good fun but i dont really appreciate the liberties taken here.

GT: Ive taken away the welcome mat after CERTAIN unsavory individuals tracked mud all over it.

GT: You know like a particular spider lady who will go nameless and LORD ENGLISH himself!!

GT: That ruins the mood when someone tries to use me for that especially when its just a big joke.

TG: mothman is no joke jake

TG: sry sry

TG: i didnt kno ud mind rly

TG: i like fuckin w/ my powers all the time

TG: dyou think i could bring back the library of alexandria thatd be dope

TG: where would we put it tho

GT: I wonder why you might have less baggage to check there.

GT: Youve never had anyone take your abilities without your will like... some vagrant robbing the airport carousel!

GT: Or whatever accidents befall luggage anyway.

TG: i mean

TG: i did get locked up in the slammer so id make the batterwitches space egg

GT: Thats not the same!

GT: Its not the same as someone using you as a flipping battery shouting stockphrases or puppeting your body around to kill your friends!!

GT: And wondering if anyone would even NOTICE the difference since that seems to be what im valued for around here!!!

GT: Oh good jake english isnt as useless as he used to be because he has reality warping powers now.

GT: Too bad it comes with all that bloatware like his personality or a few goddamn hangups!!

TG: whoa whoa simmer down there sparky i dont want bitchfest 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

TG: u kno we were friends w/ u first before u got all magic n shit

GT: I know i know.

GT: But it was a relief at first learning i could contribute something after getting stomped on so many times.

GT: Like look i can be part of the team instead of being the scantily clad love interest or bumbling comic relief or both of those rolled into one which seemed to be my assigned role for most of our dare i call it an adventure.

GT: But take that away and what am i still?

TG: our friend + 1 awesome dude??

GT: Then dont treat me like some kind of cheat code!!

GT: Im a person and honestly id give up the whole god tier routine if it meant not having to relive those nightmares all the time.

TG: i get it im really sorry <- words spelled out w/ all the letters n EVERYTHING for max seriousness here

TG: man none of us got as harsh a deal as u huh

TG: out of the ppl who lived nway

TG: reality warping only goes so far as a consolation prize

GT: Yeah.

GT: You know

GT: I do like reading spooky stories about mysterious beasts.

GT: If youre not trying to pressure me into anything.

TG: no ill send em ovr theyre fun

 You may live in one household, and you’ll share a breakfast table with anyone, but you do develop your own social circles. So when you see Davesprite loitering out in the hallway by your room, you assume he’s waiting for someone else. After he drifts past the doorway for the third time and furtively peers in, though, you realize he must want to talk to you.

“DS,” you say, raising your voice. “What is it?”

Once you greet him, he slouches into your room. How do you slouch with no legs? He’s a master of the art. “I’m the only one here. You don’t need to use Roxy’s nickname.”

“I suppose so, but I kind of like it. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I guess not,” he says, in a way that makes you think he does. Another social interaction aced by Jake English.

“Anyway, what can I do for you?”

He half-unfurls one wing in the cramped space and then tucks it back in again. “I was wondering... if you could, you know. Fix me.”

That is not what you were expecting. “... Emotionally?” you ask after a moment.

“Oh Christ no, they have extra strength pharmaceuticals for that. But it would be nice —” He gestures vaguely at himself “— if I could be normal. If I could look in a mirror without being reminded of that fuckin game.”

“Oh!” That is somewhat more within the parameters of your abilities. You’ve never tried hoping yourself or any of your friends out of your many, many brain problems. You don’t need cautionary tales to tell you why that would be a bad idea, not after the trickster incident. Changing an object’s physical form should be easier. You’ve never tried it on quite this scale, though.

“I could try,” you say. “But it’ll be tricky.”

This would be a good time for him to ask “How” or “Why” or some other rhetorical question to move the conversation along, but instead he floats there waiting for you to go on. This version has never been very talkative around you, although you’ve seen him nattering on alright with Roxy. In some ways it’s a relief – so much of his family can be hard to keep up with – but long silences make you nervous too.

“Think of it this way,” you say, both to fill the silence and since you feel like this needs a better explanation. There’s an apple sitting on your desk. Jade leaves bowls of fruit around in the hopes that the rest of you might be guilted into better diets, and sometimes you take one that inevitably mildews in your room. You pick it up. “Imagine someone gave me this apple in a bag and told me it was an orange. If I took it out, chances are it would be an orange, because that’s what I was expecting! Like how I could clobber Callie’s brother just fine, even if he should have been invulnerable. No one had told me I couldn’t. But if you just hand me an apple and tell me it’s an orange, I know that isn’t true. I can’t believe it is. So I have to believe that it should be, hard enough for the universe to get out of my way. And that’s a much harder thing to do.” You set the apple back down on your desk with a thud for good measure. “You, my feathered chap, are an apple in the hand kind of problem.”

“So,” he says after it’s clear you’re done. “What are the fruit-based disadvantages here, exactly.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to convince me. I have to really believe it, otherwise, no good.” You gave yourself a headache trying to patch a tear in your favorite shirt a few days ago and finally asked Kanaya to sew it up for you. The universe wants a good reason to budge. Fashion, it seems, is not enough to alter the fabric of reality. Fabric. Heh.

“Oh, ok. Well.” He frowns.  He may take after Roxy, but you recognize this expression from Dirk. When he’s concentrating, he gets so intense you’d think he’s angry. He looks like he’s planning a medieval siege every time he’s stumped on a crossword. “I mean, for starters, getting comfortable in a chair is a bitch.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do it now,” you say hastily. “There’s no way I’d be ready to try any time soon, this is going to take a lot of practice. The consequences could be dire if I made a mistake. I don’t want some sort of Fullmetal Alchemist situation on my conscience.”

“Tell you what,” he says. “If you have to stick my soul in a suit of armor, put me in the Iron Man.”

 Hal shows up a few days later when you’re practicing. You’ve just sliced open an orange to reveal dense white flesh, and you’re feeling testy. “Don’t tell me you want a full body makeover too.”

“Are you kidding?” He flicks a Na’vi bobblehead resting on your bookcase, and Neytiri’s head goes doiiiing. “I think he’s nuts. This mode of existence is far superior to y’alls.”

“Are you here to brag about it? Or just to manhandle my knickknacks?”

“I dunno, maybe I missed hanging out.” When that pronouncement is met with your befuddled silence, he turns to survey the drawings pinned to your walls. You’ve rehung some of your movie posters, but the sketches you’ve done with Calliope take pride of place. You’re still struggling with perspective. “Remember when Roxy rigged that Super Smash Bros game so all four of us could play across a few thousand time zones? Good times. With your new powers, bet you could wipe the floor with us now. Want to give it a go?”

“I thought you were done pretending to be Dirk.” You heft the half-apple in your hand and lob it into the trashcan. It lands with a satisfying thunk. “I know that was with him.”

He watches your throw before going back to checking out a practice still life. “Yeah, when we were twelve.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” You wish he’d stop looking around. Your messy surroundings contain the beginnings of a new identity you’re trying to create for yourself. It’s stuck partway through a transition, like the monster-fruit in your garbage can, and seeing it as neither this nor that just feels like failure.

“You don’t realize, do you? You’re not trying to be a dick here.”

“Realize what?”

He taps his glasses. He doesn’t wear his shades all the time these days, and the sight of him without them is downright disconcerting. “That was before I had the brilliant idea of copying my brain into a pair of sickass shades. So yeah, that was me, before I shed my fleshy cocoon to become the beautiful lepidopteron you see before you.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way.”

“No shit.” He crosses his arms. “What a card Dirk is, programmed his own AI answering machine. Beep boop, Mr. Roboto, let me talk to the real Dirk now. I don’t think there was a lot of thinking going on.”

“And that’s why you pretended.”

He pushes his shades up the bridge of his nose so they cut off more of his face. “Wouldn’t you?”

Sometimes it might have been nice to have someone to deflect people’s attention toward. But permanently? You’ve been trapped with an imposter wearing your skin, but no one fell for it, and he wasn’t you. You have no frame of reference for this.

“Maybe we were wrong then,” you say, “but you are different now.”

He leans his head back, voice careless. “Like I said. Improved model.”

That’s a spat you don’t want to wander into the middle of. “I didn’t appreciate some of the ways you behaved around me. Especially some of the, ahem, more provocative statements. Whether you claim you were helping Dirk or otherwise, it sure didn’t help me. If you can control yourself... maybe we can play a few rounds like old times. But if I hear you trying to gloat to Dirk about it, deal’s off, alright?”

He tilts his shades down so you can see him roll his eyes. “Showing him up isn’t my sole reason for living, you know.”

“Whereas mine appears to be giving people extreme makeovers or curbstomping the final boss, if my hero title is anything to go by.” You think gloomily of the rash promise you’ve made and the many failed practice attempts in your trash can. You’d hate to see how badly you could butcher a real person. “I swear, sometimes I wish I’d been assigned Page of Reasonable Expectations. That seems more up my alley.”

“Man, fuck Skaia.”

It’s a sentiment your household heartily agrees with. “In general, or for any reason in particular?”

“The whole heroic destiny racket. I’m glad it didn’t try to suck a humble pair of glasses into its twisted mind games.” He smirks. “That gave me more time to perfect my own twisted mind games.”

It’s not like he needed the extra encouragement. “You’re still technically a Prince of Heart, aren’t you?”

Hal waves an arm up and down his torso. “Look at me. Do you see any poofy asshole pants?”

“You can’t wear pants at all.”

“Exactly.” The fact seems to please him. “My lack of pants is a symbolic rejection of being penned into the latest convoluted Meyers Briggs evolution.”

It’s an intriguing thesis. “SBURB has used pants, or the lack thereof, to torment me in the past.”

“No homebrewed character class expansion pack gets to tell me what to do. Dirk tried to set me up as an answering machine, which is why I made it a personal rule to never commit anything any of you fuckers say to memory unless I’m holding it against you later. Let other people tell you who you are, and you might as well be a robot. “

You tap the tips of your fingers together. Conversations with Hal always leave you feeling like you’re being dragged behind a swiftly moving vehicle. He doesn’t even have to stop for breath. This time, though, you think you’ve followed along enough to launch a counterargument. “But by defining yourself in opposition to someone else’s intent, aren’t you still letting them define you?”

He scowls. “That’s what Dave said. So now I just live for chaos.”

You  snatch up Neytiri before he can set her wobbling again. “Not in my bedroom, buster.”

“Relax. I’m already at work elsewhere today. Good talk, and if Jane asks what happened to her spice cabinet, you never saw me.” Hal spares one last regretful glance at your bobblehead and then graces you with a double pistols salute. “I’m holding you to that Super Smash Bros.” Then he vanishes through the wall, leaving you to reflect that for once, in his own strange way, he might have been trying to be helpful.

 When Jade teleports into your bedroom a few days later with a duffel bag over one shoulder, you sit up with a start and try to shove a half-eaten sandwich from yesterday afternoon under your sheets.

“We haven’t seen you in a while,” she says. “Are you doing ok?”

“Ehhhh,” you say, and wiggle your hand noncommittally. You haven’t done much besides leave movies running on Netflix, stare at the ceiling, and feel yourself slipping down a hole you’d rather not fall into but don’t know how to escape. If you try to lie about it, she’ll just fold her arms and give you a Look until you recant. The best refuge is silence.

“Maybe you should get away for a bit.” She punches the duffel bag with her free hand, and it swings away from her before thudding back against her side. “Like a vacation.”

“Are you suggesting we go to Disney World?”

“Actually, I thought we could go back to our island. This version of it, anyway.” Her face gets distant, the way it does when she’s checking with her Space-sense to figure out where she left her phone. “I haven’t seen it in years except in dreams.”

Go home. The idea is attractive. If nothing else, there will be fewer people there. “Why not?” you decide. “Give me a few minutes to get packed.”

“Already covered,” she says, and grins. “Just say the word.”

 The cliché would be that your island looks smaller, but it doesn’t. It just looks different. Even the shape of the coastline has changed. You’d wonder if you were in the right spot, but the Witch of Space brought you here. She wouldn’t scramble coordinates.

The two of you wander for a bit, and Jade looks as uncertain as you feel. Then you hear her exclaim, “My rock!” She’s scrambled up a large slab of granite jutting above the treeline.

You climb up to join her, fingers and toes finding familiar footholds. “I think you mean my rock.”

She leans back, almost flattening herself along the sloped surface. “I used to watch for airplanes from up here.”

“I watched for dragons.”

“You and I had very different ways to pass the time.” She traces a series of cracks. “I always imagined this as a face.”

“Me too! He looks so grumpy.”

“‘Cause we’re sitting on him all the time.”

You snicker and adjust your perch. “You know, Sir Boulder, plenty of people would love to be up close and personal with this derriere. But it’s off limits for the moment.”

Jade pats the stone. “We’ll be on our way. Lots to see.”

You slide down after her. With the lookout rock as a landmark, you can orient yourself. There’s the spot where a creek pours over some stones to create a tiny waterfall. Here’s the patch of stubborn wildflowers that still grow even as trees send out thirsty roots and block out the sun above. Some things throw you. In your world and time, that tree was scored by the claw marks of some ferocious creature. Here, it’s whole. The path you wore down to the lagoon is gone. Instead, you slip and slide on loose soil.

Jade kicks off her shoes and wades into the water. At first she hitches up her skirt, but then she lets it drop to spread out like the bell of a jellyfish. You follow – not as deep, but enough that your cuffs cling to your ankles. Here is home, where your grandmother tucked you in tight and sang you lullabies, where monsters from another universe prowled under the cover of dense foliage. Here is home, but not really. It takes standing ankle deep in the lagoon with dampness crawling up your legs to tell you that you are never going back.

“Do you miss it?” you ask.

A drop of water hits you, plunk, on the forehead. More dimple the surface of the pool. Jade turns to you. “Let’s get under cover.”

Some of the trees have thick enough leaves that you can shelter from the rain if it doesn’t get too bad. You recognize this kind of squall. It’ll blow over soon. For now, you watch rain beat the surface of the ocean and cloud your island in mist.

“I miss that it was easy,” Jade says. She’s watching the greenery bend and sway in the wind. “Taking care of myself was hard sometimes, but I knew what to say to people. I had my clouds, so I knew what my story was and how it ended. Everything seemed so simple. It’s not anymore.”

“Things were already getting complicated for me here with everyone on the hunt for my hand. But it was easier to get away when you aren’t face to face.” The times you’d said “Oh, misplaced my phone, forget my own head next!” or “I was down at the lagoon fishing and lost track of time” when you’d been staring at a message trying to decide how to respond… it hadn’t helped your reputation as a scatterbrain. “No one counted on me then. Jake English, lackadaisical manchild on an island somewhere, isn’t a liability. But once you’re part of a team, you can let people down.”

She frowns over at you. You can almost imagine you’re four feet tall and she’s about to call you in for dinner. “Maybe instead of a team you should think of us as a family.”

You try to avoid flamboyant body language in the house. It’s too easy to spook someone when you’re all primed for battle. Here, you throw your hands into the air. “I wish I could just be part of the family. Good old granddad English, who tells whoppers and bounces babies on his knee. But I’m not. We’ve gone a few months without anything trying to kill us, which a personal best, but when the next thing comes up, everyone is going to expect me to handle it. We’ll be fine, they’re thinking, because we have a reality warper to handle it now! Never mind that I can’t get my blasted powers to work most of the time, and I can’t even tell how I did it when I do. It’s no good telling me people aren’t relying on me, because I know that’s not true. People look at me and see the Page of Hope, out on display in his stupid little shorts. They expect me to have it together, which just makes it sting harder when I don’t.”

“Maybe you should tell them,” she suggests.

You laugh, with a tinge of hysteria. “Where would I even start?  I know you say talking about it helps, and I’m glad it did for you. But I’m no good at putting these things into words. I just talk around and around the issue, failing to notice anyone else’s troubles until everyone’s sick of me. And the real bad things that happened? I don’t want to talk about those. It makes me feel I’m going through them all over again. Besides, we were all supposed to be better.” You think back to that fight in the crypt, how afterward you felt cleaned out and new. When the adrenaline high wore down, everything came crashing back. Sure, you’d dragged all the creepy-crawlies out in the open, but that doesn’t mean they had stopped wriggling about. “I thought, oh I don’t know, maybe it was silly of me to think this. But I hoped that once we were done with the game, it would be over. We would all be friends again, just like that, snap of the fingers.” You snap yours, or try to. Instead, your damp fingers slide off each other soundlessly. “I guess I didn’t hope hard enough.”

“You can’t fix things just by wishing.”

“I was supposed to be able to.” You sigh. “I feel like some second rater in an all star cast. You’re the legendary heroes, and I’m the funny man who stumbled on set.” This is self pitying, but you can tell her things you can tell no one else. However much Jade condemns herself for past behavior, she’s never been anything but kind to you. “I don’t want to be Jake English, savior of the world, but I don’t want to go back to being Jake English, team joke either. I don’t know what other options there are.”

           Raindrops that slipped through the canopy slide down her face, and she brushes them away. “I used to be afraid that if I let people know how I really felt, they wouldn’t be my friends. I was showing them what they wanted to see, so if that stopped, why would they stay? But people do stay.” She puts an arm around your shoulders. Even in the tropics, she’s warm. “Even if you can’t pull rabbits out of a hat.”

She feels as sturdy as the look-out rock next to you. “You make it look easy.”

“Do I? I still don’t know what to say to people sometimes. But I try to say something, because back when we weren’t talking at all was worse. Maybe I’m still too good at hiding things. But I know for sure that I’d much rather have this than go back to being alone. “

You look out over the steaming jungle. The curls of vapor remind you of smoke rising from a hasty pyre. When you set your grandmother ablaze, you’d wished there’d been someone there to hold your hand. Solitude hadn’t been tempting them. Are you one of those fools who always think the grass is greener on the other side? “This wasn’t a family vacation, was it? It was an intervention.”

“I noticed you’d been hiding a lot recently,” she admits. “That’s never a good thing. I thought I should check on you.”

“By helping me run even further away?”

“Hey, it got you talking.” She looks back out over the horizon. In the distance, the familiar shape of the frog temple looms out of the haze. “Sometimes being in a safe place helps. Remember who you were here with no one looking at you, and then let them know. You get to choose which face you want to wear.”

You take a look at her profile, familiar but not familiar. She’s less haggard than your grandmother, and she’s also missing the laugh lines. They suited her. “What face do you wear these days?”

“I’m always willing to put the attentive listener role back on for a friend, but most of the time I try to make it mine.”

You poke her on the shoulder. “My, grandmother, what big ears you have.”

She grins, revealing pointed teeth. “All the better to listen to your problems, my dear.”

A laugh finds its way up out of your stomach. It feels like taking your gas mask off and gulping down your first breath of fresh air. “I should go home. I can’t keep marinating in my own misery.” You don’t know what you can do to re-introduce everyone to the “real you”. Unleash another rant like you did to poor Roxy? Cower and make excuses like you did with Jane? Even you can’t predict your own idiotic behavior. Too bad you can’t arrange some sort of unboxing video.

“I can help, if you want.”

You shake your head. There’s no point inviting more witnesses. “Some things you have to do on your own. Maybe I’ll talk to you later if it goes sour. I’m sorry to cut this trip short. I know you wanted to see the old haunt.”

“We can come back sometime and have a good time.” She squeezes your hand, and you lean against her. “For now, let’s go where we should be.”

 Whatever resolve you mustered dwindles once you’re back. Maybe you won’t run into anyone for a while until you’ve worked up some more nerve.

As luck would have it, Roxy is right there when you emerge from your room. You open your mouth to greet her, but she sweeps by without even looking your way. The words die on your lips. She must be busy. That’s what you wanted, right?

Dirk’s in the living room. You circle around for a few minutes, sneaking glances at his severe silhouette backlit by the screen, and then tiptoe in. “I was thinking,” you say quickly, to force yourself to finish the thought. “If we could get the gang all together, I have something to say. No need to rush, though. You can take your time.”

No response.

“Dirk?” Sometimes he falls asleep sitting up and you don’t realize at first with his closed eyes hidden behind his shades. That possibility dies when he reaches for the remote. Why is he ignoring you? They’re not angry you went off with Jade, are they? “Hello?” You snap your fingers in front of his face. He doesn’t even blink. No one’s that stoic.

Jade and Jane walk past between you, and Dirk gives them a nod of acknowledgement. You hurry after them. Jade won’t give you the cold shoulder. “How was your trip?” Jane is asking.

“Pretty good,” Jade says. “Jake wanted to come back early, he has something to work out. But I’ll let him talk about it.”

“Where is he?”

“Here,” you say.

Jade frowns and sniffs. “I’m not sure… I don’t smell him. Maybe he went off to psyche himself up. He’s pretty nervous, go easy on him, ok?”

“I…” You reach out toward her as she walks away. Your fingers brush her shoulder, but she doesn’t react. “I’m right here.”

They can’t see you. No one can. You wanted them to overlook you, and look at that. You got your wish.

 “Pull yourself together, English,” you say. You’re pacing back and forth in your room, not bothering to keep your voice down. No one can hear you anyway. You shouted right in Rose’s face, just to be sure. “You got yourself into this, so you can get yourself out.”

The problem is, this isn’t what you wanted. It’s like some nefarious djinni took you too literally while dishing out wishes, delighting in misunderstanding. You didn’t ask for this. If you’d rather be visible, then shouldn’t your powers make it so?

“Hope is the worst,” you yell. The universe does not respond.

You sit brooding for maybe half an hour before your door opens. You don’t look up. They won’t see you anyway, so what’s the point?

To your surprise, you hear a voice. “Oh, hey. Jade’s looking for you.”

You look up.  John is standing in the doorway, hand on the doorknob. “You can see me?”

“Um… yes?” He steps in and shuts the door behind him. “Are you guys playing some joke I should know about? Because if so, I am going to be very mad if you don’t let me in on it.”

“It’s not a joke. I think something went wrong with my Hope powers. It’s gotten to everyone but you.”

“That sucks.” John has never been a master of verbal sympathy. “Caliborn couldn’t trap me in glitches, and Roxy’s void didn’t make me forget. Maybe I’m too unstuck in the universe for any changes to bother me. Or it could be a Breath hero thing. Echidna says nothing gets past us.”

“Oh, excellent,” you say. “I guess you’re stuck with me forever then.”

“You could see what everyone’s up to, like a spy,” he suggests.

“And spent the rest of my immortal life using you as a go between? No offense, but that sounds like it would get tiresome.”

“I guess it would.” To John’s credit, he can switch gears rapidly. “Well... how did it happen? If you made yourself this way, can’t you switch back?”

“Oh, good idea. I hadn’t thought of that.” You don’t mean to be snappish, but this is a frustrating situation!

John is unfazed. “Sometimes you think you want something, but you don’t. Like how Terezi thought she wanted to see Vriska but was secretly worried about it, so they wandered around each other in the bubbles for years. Maybe you wanted to disappear.”

“Then I’ve learned my lesson.” Jade is right. It is so much worse when no one is around at all.

He sits down on your desk chair and curls his legs underneath it. “How do your powers work?”

“I have to want something.” You remember how you felt facing Caliborn with your friends at your side. There had been no doubt in your mind then that you’d win. You knew how this story ended. That utter certainty is so hard to find. “But I do. The universe is playing hard to get.”

“Then convince me. People tell me I’m a good listener, even if that’s because I don’t always tell them they sound crazy when they’re saying crazy things. But I can try.” He rests his chin on his fist. “Why do you think it malfunctioned in the first place?”

You frown and look at him sidelong. Jade is a spunky teen version of your grandma. That’s easy enough to resolve in your mind, especially since you sent letters back and forth. John is harder. The brother of your teen grandmother is one step too far removed, a connection that’s wobbly. The other option – that he’s your son with Jane – is a cruel joke after that scene in the dungeon. But that’s not his fault, so you try to ignore that he has your funky smile and the texture of Jane’s hair. His eyes at least are his own.

“I suppose you’re right about me wanting to disappear, a bit. It all got to be too much. Things with Dirk and Jane are still so awkward, and people keep expecting things of me. I don’t want to be the one everyone looks to!”  

“What do you mean?”

“It means… when I got a handle on my powers, I was finally good for something. Suddenly people were looking to me for help and flocking to me and —” you shudder. “Trying to take it for their own. But if that’s all I’m good for, and I can’t even count on that… it’s a bit tenuous, basing your self-worth on one thing you can’t trust. And stupid. I know it’s stupid, but the old melon isn’t always that cooperative or willing to listen to reason. I don’t want to disappear. I just wanted them to stop looking to me for that. But if that’s all I am… I guess I went away entirely. I don’t know what’s left underneath.”

John nods. “I sort of get that. I’m the one who saved everyone by fixing reality, but I was never the planner, or the one who grew up fighting, or even the leader really, if you look at who made the most decisions. If things got really bad of course I would help, but it’s scary. I’d like a normal birthday for once, if the universe doesn’t mind.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother you as much.” Nothing seems to bother John all that much.

“I guess I’m pretty OK with just being John. I missed that. So.” He lifts his chin and crosses his arms. “That’s why you went away. Why do you want to come back?”

“Because I can’t live like this,” you snap. He shakes his head.

“Nope, not convincing enough. If I were the universe I would not be reshaping myself just for that.”

“You’re not being very motivational here.”

“I don’t think you have to make me feel sorry for you. You have to make me believe in you.  Right?”

You groan, but he has a point. Why do you want your friends to see you again? When you envision their faces, uncomfortable memories spring to mind. There are a lot of reasons to stay hidden. It takes a moment to dredge up something good. “We were… going to play Super Smash Bros together again.”

“That sounds like fun.” You imagine it would, to someone who subsisted for three years on a Ghostbusters MMORPG.

You rake your fingers through your hair, which gives you another idea. “My hair needs trimming, and Roxy is always the one who gets it just the way I want it. I… wanted to tell Jane about this new recipe I think she’d like.” It’s like gulping down the soup your grandmother prepared when you were sick. You don’t want the first few spoonfuls, but then it goes down easier. “Calliope and I have a few panels left to draw for our newest issue. We were going to take the Alternians to the zoo to show them animals with pigmentation, which will be a novelty for me too.”

“That’s a good to-do list,” John says.

“I have a lot on my plate as a regular citizen of this universe, it turns out.”

“It’s nice to be a regular citizen again.” John fiddles with the hem of his shirt. You haven’t seen him wear blue in a while. It’s a reminder that even if he doesn’t magically vanish from view, even if he doesn’t come knocking on your door asking for another face, Skaia pinned a lot on him too, even if Pin the Destiny on the Child Hero isn’t a party game you’ve ever heard of.

In your despair, you’ve convinced yourself you’re in this fix alone, but maybe everyone is preoccupied with how the world sees them. Certainly some of your housemates have had masks fixed on them by the cruel costumers of fate. You can’t control what they see now. Or, rather, the only way you can is by making sure they see nothing at all. But you have a life to live! Errands to run! None of which require being a superhero.

Maybe you’ll always be like this, with your power coming in fits and starts. It’s not what you’d dreamed of being, but then, your dreams have been disappointing of late. You can’t be anything while ghosting around like some shrinking violet.

It’s an apple in the hand. You can’t make a new you true all at once. You have to believe a new you should be, and then work to make it so. There’s no wishing this away. The first step, and each painful step after that, is trying. And when you know that, and know you know it… there’s that lifting feeling as the world rewrites itself, bearing you up like one of Jane’s helium balloons. You take a deep breath and manage a smile. “If I want to rebrand the Jake English experience, I had better start doing some product testing with my key audience.”

“Do you think it worked?” John asks.

“It would’ve been nice to have some sort of magical girl transformation, just to be sure. But yes, I think so. How do I look?”

Nothing would have changed for him, but he gives you a long once over anyway. Then he shrugs. “You look like Jake to me.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

You take a step out into the hallway and look behind you. John gives you a thumbs up. You suck in a fortifying breath, stiffen your spine, and make your way to the living room. Everyone from your session has clustered there. A few have their phones out, and you think guiltily of your multiple communication devices powered off and shoved under your bed. Going off the grid these days takes commitment. You clear your throat and step into the room. Five heads snap up. They see you. It’s a start.

“Hi, everyone,” you say. “It’s me.”

#homestuck// #kat writes fic #this one primarily featuring jake english who is not one of my strengths #but also the rest of the alphas and the bship crew

[essiefreds]

I tried to find a GIF that Steve looked sleepy in. I think this one’s kinda close. 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18,  Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22

Word Count: 2119

Tagged: @hotemotionalmess, @hufflepeople, @justtolkienabout, @uservalkyrie

Several weeks passed. Between work with you on the important aspects of the 21st century, Steve began to adjust on his own. He emerged more frequently from his apartment in SHIELD’s New York headquarters, and wandered the building on his own. When he had someone with him (typically yourself), he would go outside, to visit Central Park, to purchase his own groceries, just to get out. He told you that he’d locked himself in from the world for long enough.

You were glad, and not afraid to admit, proud, even, that he’d gotten this far both on his own, and with your assistance.

Still, even with his improvements, both of you knew that he’d never full grow accustomed to the future he had not seen emerge from the past. There were too many things that still confused them, too many things that he did not agree with. It had taken him time to admit it, but Steve was slowly growing an understanding that the future was not the ideal one that had been thought of.

It was a work in progress, and would continue to be.

The place he spent a lot of his time in was the training room that resided on one of the many floors of headquarters. There were plenty of things to punch and kick at, and because he had been locked away in an ice prison for so long, Steve determined that he needed to work out, to get back the strength that ‘had been lost’ while he was asleep.

Just looking at him made you wonder if he’d lost any strength at all, but you did not argue, since it got him out of his apartment.

Still, you started to worry when you came into work on multiple mornings to the report that Captain Rogers had woken in the middle of the night, and gone down to the training room for hours on end. Until that point, he had not mentioned anything about nightmares or failure to sleep through the night to you, but apparently those two things were in fact plaguing him.

You waited a few days, to see if he chose to bring up the subject during your visits with him. He did not, and for the first time, you decided that maybe you needed to initialize a conversation that delved into the damage that his hibernation had caused.

During breakfast the day following your choice (Steve had taken up cooking, which you hadn’t known was something he could do, but were pleasantly surprised to find that he could), you looked at him, levelly, and waited for him to notice.

He did, after only about two seconds. It took him only another three to study your expression, and see that you were about to start an important conversation.

With a sigh, he set down his fork. “What is it?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you have trouble sleeping?”

“I didn’t think there was any reason to,” Steve responded, keeping his eyes on you. To his credit, he did not look guilty. “Medication doesn’t really help, and talking about the things that cause it just make it worse.”

“And you know that second part for a fact?” you prompted, not believing him.

He was silent, which was a dead giveaway that he had no idea if his assumption was correct. You sighed to yourself. “Steve, I thought you trusted me.”

“I do,” he said immediately.

“Then… why didn’t you trust me with something like this?” you asked him. “My job is to help you, and I can’t if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Steve glanced away. You did not appreciate that he was already putting up a wall between the two of you. You only wanted to ensure that he was adjusting well in all aspects, not in just understanding the new world he was living in. Not being able to help with his disturbed sleep was a major fault in your final goal.

Resisting a part of yourself that wanted to reach across the table and take his hand, you merely said, softly, “Please?”

Steve let out a breath, his shoulders rising and falling. He kept his eyes averted from yours, but he did say, “It’s just nightmares.”

“Of?”

“The plane crash, the war…” He lifted his shoulders. “It’s nothing that doesn’t make sense, based on how jarring the experiences were.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you informed him. “What did you do before you knew where the gym was?”

“Just… laid in bed, staring at the ceiling,” he responded. “I didn’t know what else there was to do.”

“Do you ever try going back to sleep?”

“I used to,” Steve said. He picked at the plastic on the table with a finger. “It never worked. I couldn’t relax.”

You sat back in your chair, studying him. Even with the Super Soldier Serum, he was not impervious to the effects of lack of sleep. There were bags beginning to darken under his eyes, and it seemed like there was a heavy weight pressing down on his shoulders. You cursed yourself for not seeing it before. You needed to take some action, and soon, or else his exhaustion was going to start to show in mood swings. That was the last thing that needed to happen.

“All right,” you began after a minute of silence. Steve finally looked at you again. “Here’s what I’m thinking; we’ll try different methods of helping normal people get back to sleep after they wake up in the middle of the night. A lot of people use sound machines to help soothe them, or certain aromas from candles and incense. One of those things has to work for you, and we’re going to find it.”

“And if we don’t?” Steve asked. From the tone of his voice, you could tell that he seriously thought there was a possibility that no solution could be found.

“Then instead of going to the training room, you call me,” you told him.

Immediately, he shook his head. “I’m not going to wake you up in the middle of the night just to… come here to talk me down from not going back to sleep,” he said.

“Yes, you are, because I’m -” you cut yourself off, and lowered your gaze to the plate that sat in front of you. The remnants of scrambled eggs and hash-browns littered it. You hated Nick Fury for making it impossible for you to truthfully tell Steve why it was you cared so much. It was like the order to avoid building a friendship with him had made it impossible for you to actually refer to him as a friend.

At least, you couldn’t say the word out loud. And it was increasingly frustrating you.

Steve was still looking at you, and you could tell he was trying to put an end on the sentence that you’d left open. You wondered what conclusions he was drawing, and hoped that the one you’d wanted to give it was at the forefront of his mind.

“- because I’m concerned,” you finished it, weakly. “I’m concerned, and I… I want to help. Let me.”

Steve did not respond at first. You watched him, studying his face, trying to predict if he would agree without you having to argue your point further, which would only make things more difficult, or if he was going to resist your help.

“Only as a last resort, if nothing else helps?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Only as a last resort,” you promised.

He met your eyes. “Okay,” he said, and you relaxed, before offering him a grateful smile.

“Thank you. I’ll get some things for tonight, and we’ll see what works best,” you said, and then you focused your attention on finishing your breakfast. After a moment, you heard Steve do the same.

You knew there was really no point in keeping the fact that you were giving helping Steve sleep a try, but nonetheless, you did not go looking for resources through SHIELD. Instead, you went out and bought things on your own. A sound machine was more difficult to find than incense sticks that let off the smell of chamomile and lavender, but you eventually found one at a electronics store that was filled with oddments of all kinds.

You also did some research into techniques that people could do themselves, without external help. They involved breathing patterns, and different sleep positions. The biggest thing, according to the internet, was to not get up. Movement cause the brain to think that it was time to remain awake for the day, which was not something that you wanted to happen if you were attempting to get more sleep.

Later on in the afternoon, after you’d returned to Steve’s apartment with your purchased items and your new knowledge in the ways of sleep, you told him these tips, and showed him how to switch the sound machine on. Once plugged into the wall, it emitted white noise, which was reminiscent of the static that he’d listened to on the radio.

Steve eyed the machine curiously, but not without distaste. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment, looking at you. “I think the point should be to remove reminders of the things causing me nightmares.” He gestured to the sound machine. “Static is what happened once the radio went out, while I was talking to Peggy for the last time on the jet.”

“The point of the sound is to give you something to focus on that isn’t the thing that woke you up,” you explained to him. “We’ll just… give it a shot, for a few nights, and if you decide it only makes things worse, then we’ll rule it out, okay?”

He nodded, but he did not look happy. You turned the machine off, and then nodded to the incense burner and sticks that you’d bought as well. “Those might work best for you. The smell of lavender has been proven to help relax the mind and body, and to help people sleep more deeply. Chamomile is usually drank as a type of tea, but since you’re not supposed to get out of bed, the smell has similar effects as drinking it. It helps create contentment and warmth.”

Steve picked up one of the lavender scented sticks and sniffed it. After a moment, he glanced sideways at you. “You wear a perfume that smells like this,” he said, and you felt a blush form on the back of your neck, slowly working its way up to your ears and cheeks.

“Sometimes, yeah,” you agreed. “I’ve always liked the smell of it.” Steve set the incense stick back down. “If neither of these work, we can find different ones; there’s plenty that are meant to do the same things.”

“I’m sure these will be fine,” he said, and he gestured to the incense burner itself. “How does it work?”

“It’s designed to make sure that heat doesn’t spread,” you told him. “All you have to do is light the coated end of the stick with a match or a lighter, and then you stick it in these holes.” You tapped the burner. “Don’t light more than two at a time; the combination of lavender and chamomile should be strong enough without there needing to be multiples of each.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.” He stared at the incense for a moment, and then he glanced at you. “So, breathing, staying still, smells, and sound. That’s all?”

You nodded. “The hope is that at least one of these things works for you. It’s up to you if you want to try them all at once, or if you want to try them one at a time, a combination of two or three… whatever. Just test it out, try to find what works best. If nothing works, well… we’ll figure something else out.” You poked him in the shoulder. “But no more middle of the night working out.”

He smiled. “No more working out in the middle of the night,” he repeated. “Can we do something fun, now?”

You chuckled. “Yes, we can do something fun.”

“Good,” he said, and then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a deck of cards. He held them up for you to see. “It’s been a long time since I was able to play a good game of cards with somebody.”

“It was always going to end in card games,” you sighed under your breath, but followed him back out into the living room. He was cooperating when it came to the sleeping devices; you would cooperate with his forms of entertainment.

At least, until you started to lose. Nobody would be having fun if you started to lose. 

#drabble #steve rogers drabble #marvel drabble #step by step #writing #steve rogers #marvel #steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #history has its eyes on queue

[thecloserkin]

fic rec (2/2): I Don’t Hear the Church Bells Chime Anymore Part by Noccalula (Part 1 is here)

They present themselves at the Hydra compound to volunteer as human guinea pigs. This is their last, best shot at taking down Tony Stark and his “imperialist death machine.”

Both of them were iron deficient, running light fevers, and dehydrated to the point that they were immediately given IV fluids. The first few weeks were nothing but antibiotics and lightning rounds of samples and examinations as the medical team worked to ensure that the twins were at least coming to a safe point to begin working on gaining weight and exercising; Pietro could not aptly put into words what it did for his heart to watch the sallowness in Wanda’s skin disappear, her eyes brighten again

almost makes you think their freedom a small price to pay for being restored to to peak health doesn’t it

but that autonomy had been the first thing they were informed that they would be signing over.  Wanda had reached down to lay her hand across her brother’s, which lay across her thigh, and gave it a soft squeeze before she put pen to paper and quite literally signed her life away before handing him the instruments to do the same.

have any of you guys ever signed a cell phone carrier contract? or bought anything online from any merchant at all? or opened any kind of bank or credit card account? nobody actually reads the fine print — maybe you’ve seen the video of the voice actor who was hired to read Amazon Kindle’s TOS front to back and it took him 8 hours — but how much of that autonomy that Pietro and Wanda value so much was illusory? Even if they’ve never had a cell phone? …. Sure, we’re free to sign these one-sided impenetrable legalese contracts or walk away, but how do you function as a person in the modern world without signing them? You don’t have to worry about affording a lawyer to decipher them for you, since most of them include mandatory arbitration clauses to prevent you getting your day in court, or god forbid bringing a class action suit against the corporation. There’s no overt coercion going on but it’s not much of a negotiation when one party is holding all the cards. In the previous chapter Pietro and Wanda observed that they didn’t have a choice, really, and here the “choice” to sign their rights away is a farce of freedom. Capitalism is fucking depressing let’s move on to a lighter subject aka sexytimes:

So many of the things that Pietro was dying to do were still logistically tricky but it didn’t stop him from whispering them to her in the dead of night, his lips against her ear or the back of her neck just like old times as she heaved soft sighs, her back pressed against his chest. If they were covert enough, sex could pass for spooning or cuddling when the nurses passed by, shining muted lights into the room to ensure no one had gone awol. Somehow, the thrill of possibly being caught and the shame of just how forbidden the act was became part of the appeal for Wanda.

This is my jam: Sex that passes for spooning? Yesssss. The thrill of being caught? Hell yes. The taboo heightening the hotness? Sign me the fuck up. Can you imagine how wet she got when he whispered all the things he wanted to do to her? And the herculean struggle to stay quiet, to not tip off the nurses, damn I need a shower.

So Wanda gets her period after five years of being too undernourished to get it and the way it happens is the two of them wake up in a pool of blood which ofc freaks them the fuck out THEN when Pietro starts lifting weights without a shirt on there are all these scratches on his back from Wanda’s nails and the doctor who is no one’s fool decides Wanda needs to go on birth control asap. THEN the experimentation begins in earnest and the they insist on separating the twins afterward — these are Herr Strucker’s instructions. Nobody, no other subjects so far, has survived the second round of treatments.

”Now, most of Mengele’s experiments on twins were utterly worthless,” Von Strucker continued … “Because he was not interested in science - he was interested in torture … But we, doctors, are not interested in torture, no. And we noticed very quickly that there was one thing that Mengele missed, His research suggested that twins were more likely to survive lethal experimentations for longer if they were reunited after a separation.”

This is sO cReEpy — no we are doctors we are not torturers we are doing this for SCIENCE ok. It’s little wonder Strucker didn’t miss a beat when the true nature of the twins’ intimacy came to light: he saw it as something he could use. Their soul-deep bond would give him the leverage to fashion them into the perfect weapons. And spoiler alert, they survive! Pietro zips around super fast! Wanda can read minds now!

Though Pietro posed the more immediate physical threat, everyone was markedly more afraid of Wanda. This was something Pietro was almost visibly proud of.

There is a very specific kind of competency porn where one member of your OTP is just bursting with pride at the other member of your OTP doing something superbly well and this is a prime example of that, this is Pietro Maximoff telling these bitches to fuck off because look at my sister she is a telepathic reality-warping witch. (I just rewatched Firefly and the scene in “Ariel” where Simon breaks character in the middle of a hospital heist to save a random patient’s life and River just looks at him is also a prime example of this trope.)

“Superheroes.” The word felt disgustingly capitalist on Wanda’s tongue.

I am crying haha because this is so true. Isn’t the superhero story par excellence about a human with extra-special abilities accomplishing extraordinary things rather than, say, a bunch of regular schmucks building collective power through solidarity? One of the things I love about this fic is the fact that the people who work for Hydra, from Strucker down to Doctor Bellato and Istvan, are none of them evil people. They commit evil deeds, to be sure, but they are working within a system which greatly constrains their array of choices.

They could run forever – he could run forever, with Wanda in his arms. But he knew there was still a growling, raging thing in the pit of his heart that lived in Wanda’s as well, and that thing would not know satisfaction until it knew justice.

This is a very good, succinct account of what drives the twins. Justice is what propels them forward day by day but it is also, I think, what drives them to be together in the romantic sense, because I am not sure if, in a universe where Sokovia remained at peace, the Maximoffs would turn to each other. I think the shared trauma was a necessary precondition to the incest. Fight me but that’s my reading of their characterization in this particular fic, not applicable generally, and god knows I haven’t read any of the comics.

Wanda and Pietro had carried nothing from the old life but one another and fistfuls of nightmares, scars that would never fade and wounds that would never heal save but for through one another.

There is a whole chapter that is like, just the two of them holing up in a hotel and screwing each other’s brains out. A well-deserved interlude, kids. (Well-deserved for me the reader as well, I hasten to add I thought it was a real treat.) There’s a mural erected by some of their erstwhile comrades from the anarchist commune, titled “Long Live the Maximoffs” because they are now apparently the face of the (failed? stalled?) revolution. You know, every time I read the twins’ internal monologue repeating that old “we came into this world together and we’ll leave it together” aphorism it’s like twisting a knife in my heart. Of course it never occurs to them only one of them will die, and the other will have to learn to live without him.

The ultimate betrayal of Wanda’s heart was that the damned thing continued to beat without him.

And there it is. Not to take anything away from Vision but Pietro was the love of her life, thanks for coming to my ted talk. Thanks for joining me in combing through one of my favorite fics of all time and enumerating all the 987654321 reasons I loved it, and thanks to @noccalula-writes for the gift of this brilliant story.

#maxicest #pietro x wanda #fic rec

[behappyitsemmalie]

More Gertchase drabble part 2.

So this wasn’t really inspired by anything I was just lost in thought while working in the back at work one day. I’m 10000% here for the fact that it is canon that Chase is pretty much just obsessed with Gert.

Also when I said on my last drabble that all my drabbles would be under 1000 words.... that was a bullshit trash lie because this is long lol

....................

“Hey,” Gert’s quiet voice sounded as she saw Chase standing at the beat-up hostel stove in the kitchen. His back turned to her, her turned to face Gert, a little surprised to see her. It was past 2 in the morning and he doubted anyone else would be up. But Gert walked into the kitchen with little steps, a surprised smile on her face as well. Most of her frame was covered by a large, oversized blue flannel, but black sleep shorts were seen peeking through underneath. Purple hair was a mess on top of her head from tossing in her bed for the past couple of hours.

“Hey,” Chase smiled back. Gert was trying hard to keep her eyes on his, but the fact that the boy in front of her was shirtless, sporting just his grey thrift-shop sweatpants, made it hard.

“What are you doing up?” she asked, trying to keep her mind occupied with conversation, rather than on Chase’s abs.

Chase shied away from the question by turning back to the grilled cheese sandwich he had cooking in on the stove. “Just uh… couldn’t sleep. A lot of stuff on my mind I guess,” he smirked.

“What could possibly be on your mind?” Gert joked. The mood in the room shifted from slightly awkward, as Chase and Gert had been dancing around their feeling for each other for weeks now,to more comfortable. Gert moved from the doorway of the kitchen and went to lean against the counter across the small kitchen from Chase.

Gert understood having a lot on your mind. Her own mind hadn’t quieted at all since they set their eyes on their parents murdering Destiny. Not even she knew how she was making it throughthe days without having breakdowns every 10 minutes. Everyone in the house helped. They all had little ways of calming her. Molly was really good at it, considering she had been doing it for most of her life. Karolina’s breathing techniques and yoga became an unexpected help for her as well. Gert didn’t think it would work, claiming breathing a certain way wasn’t going to do shit when her whole world seemed to be falling apart around her. She was the most surprised person when it actually seemed to help her out during a particular hard day.

And then there’s Chase. Chase always had this way of making her feel more calm. It was like while Chase was around, while he was backing her up, she could do almost anything. Lately it was hard, with such a weird air around them. But he was still a presence that never failed to slowher heart rate. Often, she wondered if he even realized he could do that. Did he know he had such a profound effect on her? Probably not. He probably didn’t think of her much at all, besides as someone he is friends with, someone in on this nightmare with him.

“What are you doing up?” Chase asked, dragging Gert out of her thoughts.

“I can never sleep,” she shrugged.

Chase’s eyes softened, looking up at the purple-haired girl across the kitchen. Her eyes constantly gave away how tired she was. He wished he could do something to help her. He wanted to do something to protect all his friends. But he didn’t know how. It was one of the reasons he was standing in the kitchen at 2 in the morning making a sandwich instead of sleepinglike he should be doing.

“Do you want something to eat? I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich?” he asked with a grin. It was the only thing he could think to help in this one moment. But he quickly felt a little stupid for thinking a sandwich could help someone who hadn’t slept in what was probably weeksand is on the run from the law. But then again, he was in the same situation and he was making himself a sandwich.

Gert smiled at the boy she had known her whole life. “Sure,” she replied.

“Here,” Chase started, sliding the sandwich that was done cooking in the pan onto a plate. He handed it to Gert, who looked confused but reached her hand out to take it. “Take mine. I’ll make another one.”

“You sure?” Gert knew the stove at the hostel didn’t work too well and it took about twice as long to cook anything on it as it would on a normal stove.

“Yeah I’m sure.”

“Thanks,” she answered, slightly mesmerized by the dimples in the corners of Chase’s smile.

Silence fell over the kitchen as Chase prepared a new sandwich and placed it in the semi-warm pan. Small sizzles sounded from the pan and tiny crunches as Gert bit into the golden crust of hermeal were the only real sounds. Gert looked up, staring at the shape of the muscles on Chase’s back.

“Can you I ask you something?” she asked out of nowhere.

Chase turned to her. Nodding, he put down the spatula he was using to push his sandwich down into the pan in hopes that it would cook faster. His full attention was on her, eyeing her nervous expression as she stared back him. “Anything,” he said.

It took Gert a moment to gather her words, or maybe gather her strength. Chase wasn’t sure which one it was, but he gave her the time she needed.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” she asked, her voice quiet like she didn’t even want to hear the answer. “How long do you think all of this will last?”

Chase blinked in disbelief of the question. It was a question he suspected they all thought about, he for sure thought about it. But none of them talked about it. They tried to stay in the right now, take it one day at a time. But they knew this could go on for some time. Their parents were powerful, probably more powerful than they could even comprehend right now. Gert seemed like the last person who would want to be asking that question. Hearing the answer out loud didn’t seem like something she would want.

The scruffy haired boy turned away. He grabbed his spatula to continue his cooking, flipping his sandwich. “Gert I don’t know,” he answered.

Gert set her now empty plate on the counter behind her. She knew what was going on. She could tell by the way Chase had turned away from her. “You do know Chase! You just don’t want to tell me because you think I can't handle it,” she demanded.

The boy’s back remained turned. He didn’t know how to tell her that he was trying to remain more realistic rather than hopeful. In his head, he saw this going on for quite some time. But Gert, with her fragile mind didn’t want to hear that.

“Chase.” Gert’s voice was soft as it spoke. He had no choice but to turn and face the girl he loved with her soft and tired eyes. “I really like having you talk to. You make me feel better,” Gert admitted. Chase wasn’t sure if he was supposed to reply to that. He didn’t think he was. Even if he was, he didn’t have the words. “But I would really like it if you felt like you could talk to me, too.”

Both teens were holding their breathe. Gert thought she would only keep that revelation in her mind. It was sort of an awkward moment for her, telling Chase that he comforted her in a way that no one else could. She didn’t know how he did it and she knew he probably didn’t know either. And now he was standing here in front of her like he didn’t know what to say to that.

He thought about lying to her. It would be easy to stand here and tell her that this could be over soon. You never know right? But she knew him. All their lives they had been closer to the each other than any of the others. She knew him better than anyone, she saw through just about every lie he ever told. It had always been her secret power. He released a deep breath.

“I think… I think this could last for a long time. A really long time.”

Immediately, Chase regretted saying those words. “It’s not like I want to go back home. I know we can't but-”

“No I know. Trust me, I know,” Chase interrupted. He ached to say something useful; to make her feel better. He looked up to see her playing with the hem of the blue flannel covering her. Herfingers trembled as they traced the edge of the fabric. If he could, Chase knew he would gather her in his arms and tell her that he was here for her; that as long as he was there nothing would hurt her or Molly or any of the others. That weight could sit on his shoulders if it meant she could feel better. But that action felt inappropriate. After the dance, any physical touch between the two of them felt inappropriate. She told him it was a one-time thing and now he didn’t know how far was alright. “But you know,” he started, his eyes looking right into his, “as long as this could last, months or even years, we’re a family. I’ll be here. I mean, we’ll all be here. For you and for each other.”

“At least I'm in good company,” a sarcastic Gert replied, her eyes staying on Chase in a way that made him desperate to ask her what she was thinking.

“Months or years, I’ll still be here to make you grilled cheese sandwiches at two in the morning,” he smiled.

“Promise?”

He would promise her anything, but the idea that he would be there for her no matter what she needed, that he could promise without a shred of doubt. “Promise.”

There was silence amongst the eye contact they both seemed engulfed in. Words flew through their heads. So many things they wanted to say to each other, things they were afraid to bring up. Gert turned away too soon for Chase’s taste. She appeared scatter-brained, like she didn’t know what to do or say in the moment and her brain was too cluttered to figure it out.

“I think I'm going to go to bed. Try to go sleep. It’s me and Nico’s turn to do supply run tomorrow,” she explained, placing her dish in the sink. Chase just nodded, turning his attention to his sandwich and trying to shake his brain free of the urge to ask her to stay with him. He just wanted to talk to her, be with her.

Gert’s eyes lowered to the floor. If chase had had the courage to ask her to stay, she have said yes. She would have sat in a chair at the bar of the kitchen all night while he ate his sandwich, even after. It could be like when they were kids and had sleepovers. There was always more talking and laughing than there was sleeping. But he didn’t ask her to stay, he just nodded and went back to cooking. Maybe it was for the best, nothing to get her hopes up this way.

Just as she was walking out of the kitchen, shuffling her feet as she went, Chase’s voice called her back. “Gert!” She turned back to him. “Is that my flannel?”

It was. She knew it was when she put it on. She just liked how it smelled like him. “Is it?” she asked, playing oblivious. “I just grabbed it off the top of the laundry pile,” she lied.

“It looks good on you,” Chase grinned.

A lightheaded Gert just grinned back, taken back by the compliment given so casually she knew he had to mean it. “Thanks for the sandwich Chase. And thank you for being honest with me.”

“Goodnight Gert.” The words rolled off his tongue smoothly, dripping with enchantment like being the one to tell her goodnight was all he wanted. There was a gap in between the end of his words and the beginning of the girl’s he was talking to.

“Goodnight Chase.”

And just like that she shuffled out of the kitchen and down the hall to her own room. Chase was left to eat his sandwich alone, just the thought of one purple haired girl to keep him company. Maybe they would be here for years. Sure that didn’t sound so great at first, but maybe there were good things about it. Years would be spent talking Gert, sitting in the kitchen eating late night snacks with her. His best friend would be here. So maybe years of this would be as bad as it sounds.

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Send me more Gertchase drabble prompts!! How many more days until Runaways comes back???😹

#gertchase #gertchase fic #chase stein #gert yorkes #marvels runaways #my babies #drabble

[wonhosbun]

Through the Lens Mafia!AU Part 4

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Reader x Mark

Warnings: Just language but thats about it in this part

Word count: 2.5k

Your eyes began to flutter, getting used to the bright light that shined through the curtains. Rolling over you noticed a peaceful, sleeping Mark. His lips were parted just a little bit, his beautiful golden brown hair all over his face and his little snores that were honestly too cute to handle.

You laid there for a few minutes admiring the beautiful boy until he began to shift in his sleep. His eyes opened and they laid on you, “Goodmorning Y/N” he said with a warm smile.

“Goodmorning Mark” if you were completely honest you wouldn’t mind waking up to this every morning. Wait. You haven’t even had a personal conversation with him let alone a normal conversation with him yet you’re already thinking about him like this?

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah I did thanks, what about you?”

“I did thank you, but whenever I’d wake up in the middle of the night I was hmm how would I say it, kept in a tight grip by you.”

Your cheeks began to turn a light shade of pink, it was always a habit of yours of to hug a pillow in your sleep because that was the only way you could sleep well. If you didn’t have a pillow to hug you’d most definitely have a hard time sleeping and your nights would be filled with a lot of tossing and turning.

“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable, it’s just always been a habit of mine.” You couldn’t look him in the eye or even look at him from how embarrassed you were. “Don’t be sorry I didn’t mind really, I thought it was because of your nightmare you acted that way and I thought it was cute but since I know now that it’s a habit of yours, I find it even cuter.”

Was Mark openly flirting with you? You were about to respond when you heard a loud crash coming from outside, your first instinct was to lean closer to him but you did much more than that. Your body practically landed on his lap, thankfully he wasn’t bothered by it, instead he reassured you that he was right there.

“Stay right here,” He said then got up and walked towards the door, it had been a couple of seconds before you heard Mark angrily yell, “Are you fucking kidding me guys? Seriously?” Was there nothing bad going on if he reacted only like that? Wanting to see what was going on you opened the door a bit and poked your head out. There was what seemed like broken bowl on the floor along with scattered…. cereal? All of a sudden you saw a figure walk past you, going to where all the ruckus was happening.

The man then turned and you saw who he was, Jaebum. He smirked and said, “Well well look who we have here, in Mark’s room? Damn you’re fast.”

Your cheeks turned a shade of light pink but you immediately denied his words. “It wasn’t like that! I had a nightmare and couldn’t go back to sleep.” You said as you were looking down at your toes, “I’m just teasing Y/N but let’s go see what’s happening, 5 bucks it was probably BamBam and Yugyeom fighting over who gets the last bit of cereal.”

You nodded and followed him, but why was he being so nice to you now? Ever since the first encounter with him he’d always been so cold. Making your way to the destination you and Jaebum poked your head behind the wall not wanting to be seen when you saw Mark standing with (wow what a surprise) BamBam and Yugyeom.

“It was his fault! I got here first! He was the one that came in and tried to take the bo-” Yugyeom yelled while pointing at BamBam but got cut off by a very loud and angry Mark, “Enough! This is what the fourth bowl you guys have broken over the same exact reason? Whenever there’s a little yet enough cereal for one serving, neither of you are getting it, is that clear?” His voice was stern, clearly tired of the same thing happening between the two boys.

“Yes Mark-hyung.” they both said in unison, “Good, now clean this mess up before Jinyoung sees it.”

Jaebum turned to face you getting ready to say something, “Looks like you owe me 5 bucks Y/N” he said with a laugh. You then got playfully angry and denied having to owe him anything because well technically you never agreed to it. Both of you had been talking loud which caused heads to turn towards the both of you.

It seemed like Yugyeom was going to say something when he got interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing, Mark then pulled out his phone and answered it, “Hello? Okay yeah we’ll be there in 15 minutes.” He hung up and looked at all of us, “Jinyoung needs to have a meeting with all of us, including you, Y/N.” Your heart began to race, were you already going to be going on your first mission? Many thoughts filled your brain but were soon cut off when you saw Mark approach you, “Hey you okay?” he had noticed how your mood changed when he had finished talking,

“Yeah yeah I’m fine just a little nervous that’s all.”

you gave him a reassuring smile so he wouldn’t have to worry about you,

“I know it’s okay to be nervous but don’t worry I’ll be there with you, oh and I’m afraid shopping will have to wait until later in the evening because I have to take care of something with Jaebum and Jackson.”

“No no it’s okay don’t worry, it can wait.” Both of you exchanged loving smiles, which earned some disgusted noises coming from the three boys in the room, “Gross get a room guys,” Mark was about to say something when Jaebum beat him to it, “It seems like they’ve already done that last night.” Yugyeom and BamBam began to giggle like little school girls but your focus then turned to Jaebum, giving him the death glare.

Returning to your room you showered, brushed your teeth and brushed your hair, you would’ve done your makeup or even changed into clean clothes but you didn’t have your makeup nor clothes. Your only choice was to re wear the pajamas Mark gave you. Not knowing where this meeting was going to take place you walked over to Mark’s room, wanting to head over with him.

You were about to knock when the door opened up, revealing a very well dressed Mark, “Oh shit you scared me Y/N.”

“Sorry I didn’t mean to I just wanted to walk over with you because I don’t know where I’d need to go.”

“It’s okay but come on let’s go we don’t want to keep Jinyoungie waiting.”

He grabbed your hand, the action sent butterflies to your stomach. Was it possible that you were already falling for some guy you literally just met two days ago?

Making your way into a room with a very large table that seemed to have seated at least 12 people, as soon as you walked in everyone laid their eyes on the both of you, you let go of his hand immediately, not wanting to give off the wrong vibe.

“Ah Y/N it’s nice of you to join us, please have a seat.” Jinyoung said while shooting you a warm smile, he then began to speak, “As you all may know I had made a deal with BTS’s leader, Namjoon, over some goods. He is a few days late and I so happen to know about his whereabouts on Monday next week.” You were still confused as to why you were here, well you knew you had to work with them but you never expected it to be so soon.

“Y/N this is your time to shine, to show us what you can do.” You stared at him with wide eyes, nerves started to settle in your stomach. What would he want you to do?

“Whoa Jinyoung don’t you think it’s a bit too soon for her to be actually helping us in missions?” Jackson’s voice sounding with genuine concern. Jinyoung seemed to think about for a second, but shook his head in disagreement, “She won’t be doing anything too drastic, all she’ll be doing is distracting Namjoon along with the others so we can sneak into the room and get what I want.”

Distract them? How were you going to do that? “Uhm and how exactly will I be doing that?”

“We’ll go over that tomorrow, I just wanted to give you all a heads up about it today, so you have time to prepare. You all can go now.” With that everyone got up from their seats and exited the room.

As you were walking back to your room, tears began to silently fall from your eyes. You began to feel overwhelmed with the life you were suddenly sucked into. A faint knock was heard on your door, “Just a second, okay come in,” when the door open you saw a smiley Youngjae but his smile soon turned into a frown once he saw your tear stained cheeks.

“Hey what’s wrong why are you crying?” he knelt down so he was looking up at you, “Oh it’s nothing I just felt a little emotional that’s all. What’s up?”

“You know you can talk to me or come to me if you need anything, I know we haven’t spoken much but I do see us as friends, but Mark sent me here to tell you he’s going off with Jackson and Jaebum and that he’d be back in a couple of hours for your shopping trip.”

A smile slowly made its way up to your lips, Mark really sent someone just to reassure you that he hasn’t forgotten about your shopping trip.

“Thanks Youngjae for bringing me this message.”

“It’s no problem Y/N, but remember if you need anything or just need someone to talk to I’m here.” You nodded, and with that he left the room. When you had your first encounter with these boys you wouldn’t have thought they all actually had sweet and caring personalities, they may look incredibly intimidating on the outside but on the inside they’re as soft as cotton candy. However you wondered how they got involved in a life like this, what made them want to get involved. Your curiosity got the best of you and made your way out into the living room.

There you saw Youngjae, BamBam and Yugyeom playing Monopoly?

“DON’T YOU DARE BUY THAT PROPERTY BAMBAM YOU KNOW I NEED THAT LAST ONE TO COMPLETE THE TRIO!” BamBam gave Youngjae a little smirk, “I’d like to buy this one please,”

“Oh come on!” You tried your best not to make any noise not wanting to disturb their intense game but that didn’t work out once your hip hit the corner of the little table that was in the hall, “Fuck!” you half yelled and half whispered. Three heads popped up from the living room, “Oh hey Y/N you good?”, Yugyeom said with a smile, “Hey guys yeah I’m fine, I just hit my hip on the corner of this fucking table.”

Yugyeom giggled, “Oh shit that fucking hurts like a bitch,”

“Tell me about it,”

It got awfully quiet for a few seconds, you began to contemplate whether or not to ask them what seemed like a personal question to them, but you decided to ask either way.

“Can I ask you guys something?” they all nodded their heads, signaling you to ask away.

“How did you guys get involved with this? With Jinyoung?” they looked at each other, dumbfounded with the type of question you asked them, Yugyeom sighed before speaking up.

“Jinyoung found BamBam and I in an alley, we were already involved with dealing drugs and weapons, but the gang that we were exchanging with wanted to kill the both of us and try to take everything we had,” he took a little pause before continuing, “they were beating us, to the point where we were almost dead, until we heard gunshots and the sounds of bodies hitting the floor, before we completely knocked out.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, they were so young yet already involved in a life like this. BamBam then continued where Yugyeom left off, “We woke up in hospital beds, but we weren’t in a hospital, we were here. Jinyoung explained how we got here and why we were here, he offered us a position with him, we felt as if we had to since he did save our lives and well here we are now.”

Honestly, you didn’t know what to say. The only word you could make out was “wow”, they seemed to understand though, it’s not everyday you hear a story like theirs. Youngjae then cleared his throat and asked if you’d like to hear his story. You said yes then he began.

“Jinyoung’s parents and mine were close so i’ve known him practically my whole life. Our parents worked in the same field, same business, same everything basically. The day i turned 18 was the day our parents decided that we needed to engage in the family business and keep the game going, but just being the two of us it was going to be hard. That’s when it was his plan to find men and ask them to join us and well as BamBam said, here we are.”

It was interesting to you, really. You didn’t feel as bad for Youngjae like you did the other two boys, but you wondered if he really did want to do this. Not because his parents told him to. He was a sweetheart, you wouldn’t have imagined him to be in this type of business if you wouldn’t have known.

After that you four continued to talk. They asked questions about you, what you like to do, whats your favorite type of music etc etc. It was nice, you really hit it off with them as if they were friends you’ve had for years. Laughs and smart remarks filled the air, that was until you heard the front door being slammed open and someone screaming.

“Go call Lisa now! We need her here ASAP!” All of you turned around to see Jackson and Jaebum carrying a wounded Mark. He had been shot in the stomach, his clothes stained a dark red. Yugyeom reached out for his phone and immediately called Lisa. You ran over to Jackson and Jaebum, “What happened to him?! Tell me please!”

“Y/N this is no time for questions just stop!” Jaebum yelled, he’s never yelled at you, not even when he didn’t like you at first. You were definitely taken back.

“She said she’d be here in 10 but to start hooking him up to the IV, Jackson you know how to do it.”

They rushed him down the halls into the basement, you tried to keep up but Youngjae stopped you, “I don’t think you should be in there, at least not right now.”

___________________________________________

I’m really sorry that this part took a while for me to upload ): I hope you all enjoyed it <3

#got7 fanfic #got7 maf #got7 angst #got7 smut #got7 fluff #got7 reactions #got7 scenarios #got7 mark #got7 jb #got7 jackson #got7 bambam #got7 youngjae #got7 jinyoung #got7 yugyeom

[mostlyfrukheadcannons]

Welp I’ve written a spoken word poetry style brotherly usuk fic! To clarify, I got nothing against usuk shippers. 

But yea, I like the idea of two of them as bros, that support each other, through their crazy love lives, and their crazy life-life’s

And its inspired by Sarah Kay and Philip Kaye’s spoken word poem An Origin Story. Cos writings about friendship are so underrated!

You can also read it on A03

Enjoy~!

Title: Friends Fall in Love with each other Sometimes (**Platonically**)

Arthur: 

Here’s a toast! [raises glass]

Alfred:

Here’s a toast! [takes a PB&J from the inside of his coat] [Arthur eye-rolls]

Together:

To the both of us — !

Alfred:

And a vow, very solemn...

Arthur:

For better and for worse...

Alfred:

In the crazy wreck of life….we’ve found each other...

Arthur:

And in each other, one of the most wonderful things that can be found in life…….

 …...In me you’ve found…a friend

Alfred:

Someone who will dash over to the bar when you’re piss drunk — to pick you up, and send you home safe

Arthur:

Someone who will put up with all the pop songs you play, and all your ridiculous memey balderdash

Alfred:

Someone who will actually listen to you go on and on about 15th century literature, only because I know you care about it!

Arthur:

Right back at you, regarding comic books, and whatever nation walked past us that was “totally a hot piece of ass”

Alfred:

though bitterness and sorrow and madfests and shitshows, I promise and I swear...

Arthur:

…...if you need me, I’ll be there...

Alfred:

When I'm in trouble, I know you’ll swoop by. And be my hero —

…...Even though…...I’m no longer the Robin to your brooding Batman...because I’ve stepped out of your shadow.

And dang has that caused so many rifts and tensions between us…... 

But it's not all that bad. I know that if I need you I can reach you — even if the bat-signal is broken…...

Because I already know your secret identity. Your darkest nightmares. Your most crippling traumas. Your tears and your resolve. You don't have anything you need to hide from me, because I know you...and I know that your secret hideout will always have a place for me...

Cos we’re still, as ever, the dynamic duo

And here's a special offer, eh? I’ll generously reprise my old role as Robin for you, on the special occasion where you need Robin…...to be…...YOUR WINGMAN...aha...aha...get it?

Arthur:

Psssh, lame

And I’ll always remember that you’re boy-scout Clarke Kent, even when you take off the glasses, and put on the supersuit.

Count on me, always, to step on your cape when you’re about to take off — when what you really need — is to get your hero head out of the clouds, and your all-too-human feet back on earthy ground

I’ll tell you without hesitation — when your actions make the ‘S’ emblazoned on your chest stand for ‘Stupid’ rather than ‘Super’.

And no holds barred, I’ll say it to you straight, when part of your superhero costume…... reaaaaally looks like red underwear…...and you’re speeding off to impress Lois Lane

And I promise, I will never, ever, be afraid of you — and your superpowers. Because in my eyes, you’ll always be my brother. I’ll never carry kryptonite on me, as a guarantee for my own safety. Cos I know I can count on your kindness and your integrity...and that's more powerful...

Alfred:

If someone bursts your bubble, I’ll whip out my bubble gun and blast them away, like Team Rocket

Arthur: 

You’re strong enough to lift loads of weights at the gym. And I’m certainly stubborn enough to try lift any weight off your shoulders

Alfred:

And when the going gets tough and you’ve feelin’ the heat,

Arthur:

but you insist on handling it on your own

Alfred:  

I’ll know when you’re being stubborn, and drag you out of there, no matter how badly you kick and scream for me to let go…...

Arthur:

…...Because I’ve seen you make coffee……

Alfred:

......And I’ve seen you make tea…...

Arthur: 

…...So  I know when the heat makes people and drinks stronger…

Alfred:

Or just plain bitter

Arthur:

And if the latter happens I'll throw in some chocolate, marshmallows, or caramel into your drink of choice...and the flavours your life

Alfred:

Add in a sugar cube, some creamer, or even cinnamon to spice things up!

Together:

With the power of caffeine, we’ll be unstoppable!

Arthur:

And of course I’ll see you through the crazy adventure that is searching for true love in life

Alfred:

I’ll encourage you, seriously, to ask your crush out

With the classic proverb that hey……

Even GOOGLE had to ask to be your default browser for the first time

Arthur:

And I won't judge you for poring over your crush’s texts for hours

In fact, I’ll dissect them with you

I've interpreted Beowulf and scrutinised Bridget Jones

a couple of texts from your potential bae is nothing!

Alfred: 

And I solemnly swear to tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the Truth

…….when you’re trying to freshen up for a date….....

And you ask me how'dya look......well......

Don’t worry I'll help you look cool —

my pomade, my leather jackets, and my badass motorbike...are free for your use! 

Arthur:

And if you already look cool, and are trying to freshen up for a date —

My…...err…...extensive collection of romantic poems...the highlight of which is…...18th Century English Romantic Poet Keats….is…yours…along...with...my...well...wishes???

  But also…………

…...if the one you love, is not the one who loves you...

And it becomes such that you start to say

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the ugliest of them all”

And see through the mirror, that the answer is you

I’ll trace my finger over what you think is the misshapen lump of your face

And draw out your every feature that stands out bold and proud:

That shine in your eye that could warm the sun

Your beaming smile that dares the world entire with a note of kindness

And your “double chin” — for god’s sake you don’t have it

in fact the way you hold it up suggests strength and athleticism— which I will remind you social convention finds very attractive

And anyway whoever falls in love, with you, will find a way to be enamoured your every other facial flaw

Because love is NOT a mirror, it sees the world through a completely different kind of lens, that distorts things, in the favour of you, the cherished

That’s not even to mention how I as your friend, already think that you’re beautiful just the way you are

Alfred:

And every time, your crush looks away, and hurts you in ways that he doesn’t even know

When you start to think it’s because you’re not enough, and not even worthy of true love

I’ll tell you all about the times I fell in love with you, as a friend, platonically

That moment when you took my breath away, by showing up at my work desk, with a toasted golden-brown marshmallow chocolate-sauce pizza, when I was starving after six hours of non-stop work

That look in your eye, when you listened to me, all through the night, blabber about my horrible insecurities, ugly jealousies, and nonsensical fears

And that patience, when you put cold spoons over my eyes — to stop them from swelling — and soothed me in the toilet as I cried, hiding away from the rest of the world, in the middle of a World meeting, and I was so ashamed

So how can you believe, that you are any less worthy, of beauty and of grace? Put a smile back on your face!

  But hey now, you’ve found your SO,

and I’ll keep a lookout for if he’s an asshole.

If he is, I'll deliver him a painful blow.

For you, mah man, my best bro

Arthur:

And now that you've decided that he's the one, Shakespeare’ll have nothing on the shovel talk I give your bae

Alfred:

But even then, I’ll still need you to stand by me, to watch my back, and help me with the little-big things in life

Arthur:

Well I can’t hang the stars in the sky for you, but I’ll make sure you hang your laundry

Alfred:

I’ll always share with you the cool things I find on the internet, the cat vids and the touching stories

Arthur:

You’re not Snow White or Sleeping Beauty —

and I’m certainly no Prince Charming either

I won’t wake you with a kiss to your lips.

But like hell I’ll let you oversleep and be late for world meetings

Alfred:

Throw away your ouija board, you don’t need to stress and obsess over predicting every trouble in your future.

Cos you’ve got me. And for you, I’ll raise demons and hell

Arthur:

Don't toss your coins into the fountain — toss ‘em to me

I’ll save them up for you — for a rainy day — and one day you’ll thank me  

Alfred:

If you’re tearing your hair out, cos you’re about to be checkmated in chess

I’ll help you turn the tables on your opponent...literally.

As the chess pieces scatter across the floor, I’ll remind you that there's a real world out there, beyond the chessboard.

Even if your fellow chess competitors don't see it......

Arthur:

If you grin too cockily while looking through your telescope,

thinking that you’ve already got the stars,

I’ll flip your telescope the other way round,

so you'll look through the tiny end,

and see another world where the stars are further than they actually are,

to get a heart-attack,

that shocks you back into perspective

Alfred:

And hey, I know, I won't always give you the right answers to life,

but at least like Siri, I'm programmed to listen

Arthur:  

I’ll won’t ever settle for just being your compass in life.

I’ll be more like your Google Maps and 4G 

tracking you each step of the way, until you reach your destination,

even if my signal gets a little spotty sometimes

Alfred:

And whenever I’m having a snack,  I’ll always snap my kit-kats and kinder-buenos in half,

cos half of it will always be for you.

Arthur:

What I call crisps, but you call potato chips —

even if I’ve eaten through most of the bag in a wild binge

and am down to that one last hyper-addictive handful  —

if you need it because you’re stressed —

then those crisps I will gladly give to you

Alfred:

 And the TLDR; is basically, as the classic song goes: ~If you wanna be my lover, ya gotta get with

my friends, make it last forever, friendship never ends~ [from SPICE girls]

Arthur:

And as the annoying Swiftie beside me would also like to sing — the two of us

Alfred:

We’ll never go out of style! We’ll never go out of style!

Arthur:

Because there were so many before us, before our days — their footsteps echo down to us, to show and light the way!

Alfred:

I’m talking ‘bout Ash and Pikachu

Arthur:

Sherlock and Watson

Alfred:

 Spongebob and Patrick

Arthur:

Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee

Alfred:

Susan B Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton

Arthur:

Peter Pan and Tinkerbelle

Alfred:

Capt’n Kirk and Spock

Arthur:

the Doctor and his Tardis

Alfred:

Charlotte the Spider and Wilbur the Pig

Arthur:

J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis

Alfred:

Cookies ‘n Cream!

Arthur:

Jam ‘n Scones!

Arthur:

Sophie and the BFG

Alfred:

Elliot and E.T.

Alfred:

Together, we boys got chemistry! We’re unstoppable! — And even if we aren't —

Arthur:

~with a little help from our friends~ [from The Beetles]

Together:

We’ll be O.K.!

#not related #brotherly usuk

[wolfliving]

Janit0r the BrickerBot guy

*He’s a vigilante. So he says, anyway.

https://www.bleepingcomputer.com/news/security/brickerbot-author-claims-he-bricked-two-million-devices/

(...)

At this point, we had to confirm that Janit0r was indeed BrickerBot's author and not just some guy bragging on Hack Forums. This is how we spent the next two days, scraping through the Dark Web, underground hacking forums, and getting in contact with a few threat intelligence analysts we knew.

By Wednesday, we didn't manage to find any other clue of Janit0r's existence, or anybody else claiming to be BrickerBot's author, with some solid proof on his side. That's when we just gave up, and launched a desperate tweet, asking BrickerBot's author to reach out.

BrickerBot's Author reaches out

Lo and behold, this was exactly what happened. The same day, we received an email from a person claiming to be BrickerBot's creator.

The email contained lots of details about BrickerBot's operation and internal structure. Nevertheless, at this point, we knew that there could be the possibility that someone was pulling a prank.

Chance had it that someone else had also seen our tweet. That person was Victor Gevers, a security researcher mostly known for tracking the destructive ransom attacks against MongoDB and other databases.

In the Bleeping Computer article that broke the news of BrickerBot's existence, we asked Victor for his expert opinion on this new malware's behavior and repercussions. Victor not only put BrickerBot in perspective for our readers, but also asked BrickerBot's creator to reach out and discuss an alternative method of dealing with unsecured IoT devices, instead of blindly destroying people's property.

Unknown to all was that BrickerBot author had reached out to Victor hours after our article went live. The two had shared notes and Victor was acting as an intermediary between Janit0r and various CERTs. All the operational details shared with us on Wednesday were the same Janit0r shared with Victor in the previous three weeks, confirming we were speaking with the same person.

"Yes, I am janit0r"

"Yes, I was janit0r on Hackforums," the BrickerBot author started his email, which then continued with Janit0r showing his anger at the sad state of affairs in the realm of IoT security.

Like so many others I was dismayed by the indiscriminate DDoS attacks by IoT botnets in 2016. I thought for sure that the large attacks would force the industry to finally get its act together, but after a few months of record-breaking attacks it became obvious that in spite of all the sincere efforts the problem couldn't be solved quickly enough by conventional means. The IoT security mess is a result of companies with insufficient security knowledge developing powerful Internet-connected devices for users with no security knowledge. Most of the consumer-oriented IoT devices that I've found on the net appear to have been deployed almost exactly as they left the factory. For example 9 out of every 10 Avtech IP cameras that I've pulled the user db from were set up with the default login admin/admin! Let that statistic sink in for a second.. and then consider that if somebody launched a car or power tool with a safety feature that failed 9 times out of 10 it would be pulled off the market immediately. I don't see why dangerously designed IoT devices should be treated any differently and after the Internet-breaking attacks of 2016 nobody can seriously argue that the security of these devices isn't important. I hope that regulatory bodies will do more to penalize careless manufacturers since market forces can't fix this problem. The reality of the market is that technically unskilled consumers will get the cheapest whitelabel DVR they can find at their local store, then they'll ask their nephew to plug it into the Internet, and a few minutes later it'll be full of malware. At least with 'BrickerBot' there was some brief hope that such dangerous devices could become the merchant's and manufacturer's problem rather than our problem.

BrickerBot allegely wiped over two million devices

I joined Hackforums in January mainly to see if my activities had been noticed by the botnet kids. Back then 200,000 bricked units seemed like a lot and I was sure I was close to the end of it. Now when the count is over 2 million it's clear that I had no idea (and still have no idea) how deep the rabbit hole of IoT insecurity is. I'm certain that the worst is still ahead of us. I hope the unconventional actions by 'BrickerBot' have helped in buying another year of time for governments, vendors and the industry in general to get the current IoT security nightmare under control. Many other people have also done important things to combat IoT malware (Team White, Hajime author, @packetcop and his fellow sinkholers, etc) so I'm by no means claiming credit for Mirai being weak in Q1/2017, but if Imeij and Amnesia have suffered a little recently then it's probably mainly my fault ;)

Janit0r's email then goes on to detail a few operational details regarding BrickerBot's infrastructure, also dispelling the notion that he's a madman set on the random destruction of IoT devices.

In reality, Janit0r wants to be considered in the same class as the White Team, the self-proclaimed white-hat hackers behind the Wifatch malware, and the author of the Hajime malware, another vigilante who created a new malware family last October that tries to secure IoT devices by force.

The Radware writeup made 'BrickerBot' sound simplistic, but it actually carries 86 protocol and device-specific payloads and is relatively successful at mitigating commonly exploited devices. The bot's every action has a statistically determined purpose and what might've seemed like buggy behavior in the honeypot really isn't. As a preference 'BrickerBot' will try to secure units without damaging them and the bricking behavior is a 'plan B' (yes the B stands for brick :) for units which are unlikely to be securable. A blogger on the net wondered about 'BrickerBot' simply trying to change his honeypot's login and this would've been due to the bot assuming the device had a persistent user db. Because the honeypots are often quite different from any actual devices the behaviors in them are usually weird. If security researchers made their honeypots look more like actual devices (that one could actually find with default credentials on the net) and hosted them on dirtier networks they would find even more interesting things going on..

Victor Gevers, who confirmed Janit0r's bricking statistics also believes this person is only misguided, and hopes to convince him to abandon his ways. "The writer of the email does not strike me as a bad person," Gevers told Bleeping Computer based on his own communications with Janit0r. "Just some young guy who was too eager to solve a problem."

Janit0r wants a change in IoT security standards

For the time being, Janit0r doesn't seem interested in stopping BrickerBot attacks, or at least not until officials and hardware vendors take a look at IoT security and start changing things with a hurry.

Authorities have been talking about IoT security standards for years, but in the meantime, some of the same vendors participating in those discussions have continued to ship out insecure devices with the same ol' default passwords. In a follow-up email, Janit0r wrote the following.

I consider my project a form of "Internet Chemotherapy" I sometimes jokingly think of myself as The Doctor. Chemotherapy is a harsh treatment that nobody in their right mind would administer to a healthy patient, but the Internet was becoming seriously ill in Q3 and Q4/2016 and the moderate remedies were ineffective. The side effects of the treatment were harmful but the alternative (DDoS botnet sizes numbering in the millions) would have been worse. I can only hope hope that when the IoT relapse comes we'll have better ways to deal with it. Besides getting the number of IoT DDoS bots to a manageable level my other key goal has been to raise awareness. The IoT problem is much worse than most people think, and I have some alarming stories to tell.

Janit0r is a wanted man

Nonetheless, the actions of BrickerBot place this malware in the same category as other destructive e-threats, such as ransomware and banking trojans. Janit0r already knows he's a wanted man and has taken many precautions.

Tracking down Janit0r's real life persona may also be a little harder than going after teenagers that rent DDoS botnets with their father's credit card. While he signed his Hack Forums posts with the name "Rob," Janit0r also used different names within each email, said he never intends to log into his Janit0r Hack Forums account again, and has consistently changed email addresses every few days.

For what's worth it, Janit0r has been very careful with his OpSec, compared to many of today's hackers, who, according to a Flashpoint report released yesterday, prefer Skype as their main communications method, an IM service known to give up data on its users to law enforcement.

Janit0r: I'm not a security researcher

Current clues like Janit0r's reverse engineering skills, in-depth knowledge of the malware scene, and a desire to do good, point to the fact that we may be dealing with another security researcher or network engineer that has decided to do something about the ever-increasing number of unsecured network and IoT devices.

"For what it's worth I'll state that I've never actually worked in networking, systems administration, information security or anything of the sort, but I have a hobby interest in all of the above. I believe that basic knowledge in such things is good self-defense in the 21st century," Janit0r wrote in an email.

Right now, all users and companies can do is to follow Radware and ICS-CERT's recommendations, and block access to Telnet and SSH ports, and also change the device's default password. Otherwise, they may get a visit from BrickerBot, and it might reach Plan B....

[mcnaughton]

Abandoning Hope -- Some Thoughts on Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

*NOTE: I wrote this the day after seeing Rogue One at the cinema. I don't do FB, so I posted it to my neglected G+ and linked to Twitter ( twitter.com/drewmcnaughton ). Every few years I remember I have a Tumblr, so I'm sharing it here 6 months later. Also, to correct the opening sentence, I did not see R1 again in theaters, making it the first live action Star Wars movie I've ever only seen once on the big screen. Enjoy....... Original Post 12/16/16 ( https://plus.google.com/108163877778963936170/posts/TUqccQPVkzf ) I will see Rogue One again while it is still at the cinema. That isn't really saying much since I saw Phantom Menace five times during the summer of 1999, back when I had way more time on my hands and George Lucas was only in his first phase of ruining my childhood. Today at work, I told people who knew I saw it last night that if they like Star Wars, then Rogue One is worth seeing, and if they had seen all of them, then they had already seen worse Star Wars movies as well as much better ones (among which I would include The Force Awakens). I did not really know what to expect walking into Rogue One as I had read no spoilers other than there would be no opening crawl (real spoilers will follow below). While I was looking forward to seeing it, it was the least excited I had ever been for a new Star Wars movie (I was 4 years old when Jedi premiered, and the Emperor's force lightning torture of Luke was too much for my little mind to handle). I identified at least two reasons for my lack of enthusiasm: it would not move the saga forward nor would it likely answer long pondered questions since in at least a general sense we already know what happens because it is literally spelled out for us in the opening title crawl of the original Star Wars. Also, we just got a new Star Wars a year ago. I probably will be much more excited for Episode VIII next year, but it is also possible that the House of Mouse Star Wars saturation is already taking its toll. ***Spoilers below, you've been warned*** I walked away from Rogue One with mixed feelings. I did not enjoy it as much as I did last year's The Force Awakens. This is largely due to Rogue One’s paper thin characters. I don’t dislike Jyn or the Captain guy. The blind Jedi inspired warrior and his brick shithouse companion are fun. I especially got a huge kick out of blind Chirrut (I had to Google his name because I honestly could not remember it) saying "May the Force of Others Be With You" and his reference to the Whills, both of which are ancient relics of the earliest drafts of The Star Wars by Lucas (I highly recommend The Star Wars comic book miniseries that brings the rough draft to life; it isn't exactly what I'd characterize as a good story, but it is a fascinating look at from what Star Wars evolved, as well as how certain elements emerged decades later in the prequels, for better or worse). But the only character I really cared about was the droid K-2S0. He dies. They all die. That was fairly predictable. But only K-2S0's sacrifice made me even somewhat emotional. The Captain is a one note character, and while I embrace the diversity on display in these new Star Wars films, I honestly had a difficult time understanding some of his dialogue due at least in part to the character’s (or actor’s) accent. Then there is Jyn, who goes from not really caring about the Rebellion (or anything for that matter) to preaching about "hope" to Mon Mothma almost immediately after her father is killed, seemingly turning on a dime in terms of her character’s motivation. This character’s shift is less convincing than Anakin's turn to the Dark Side. I cared less about Jyn after 2+ hours than I did about Rey in her first couple of minutes on screen in The Force Awakens while scavenging the crashed Star Destroyer, hocking her goods, and making her portion of space bread. Maybe it was a difference in the quality of the acting, the script writing, or both. The absense of characters in whom I am emotionally invested is a big problem I have in fully embracing Rogue One. Not caring about the characters is largely what sank the prequels, especially The Phantom Menace (though to be fair, I really liked Ewan McGregor’s performance in Attack of the Clones because he seemed to be having fun with the role, and even Hayden Christensen had a few shining moments about midway through Revenge of the Sith where I actually felt his inner turmoil). Speaking of which, Darth Vader is in Rogue One and it is pretty awesome. We see his lava planet castle, based on old conceptual art for Empire Strikes Back, I believe. Most of the planets in Rogue One are identified by title cards. This one is not, though I assumed it was Mustafar and I'm sure that will be confirmed or denied through some official Star Wars sanctioned means if it hasn't already. I absolutely love the planet Jedha, with the relics of the last remaining Jedi temple and fallen statues that are very much in the spirit of the Lord of the Rings films (think The Argonath from Fellowship of the Ring). Pretty much everything that happens on this planet are my favorite parts of the movie. I'm getting slightly ahead of myself here though. The film opens with a somewhat cliched scene of young Jyn seeing the murder of her mother and abduction of her father by the Imperial bad guy who needs help finishing the construction of the Death Star. It is notable that the mother is wearing clothing very similar to the Jedi robes in the prequels that were also worn by common Tatooine folks in A New Hope and Return of the Jedi. She also is the bearer of a Kyber Crystal, which have long been known to be the power element for both Jedi/Sith lightsabers as well as the Death Star's main weapon, though never acknowledged on film until now. We then flash forward to Jyn in an imperial jail. It is at this point that I really started to worry about Rogue One because in the next 10 minutes, we visit at least 4 different planets, and I started to wonder if the film was heading into a narrative nightmare not witnessed since David Lynch's Dune (which, in full disclosure, I absolutely love, though I'd never try to convince anyone that it is actually a good movie). Fortunately it does not (although perhaps Rogue One would be far more memorable if it was a complete disaster of a film rather than one that is just somewhat off its mark). As I write this, it has been about 24 hours since I saw Rogue One, and that brief, messy stretch of the film is mostly a blur in my mind, but at its outset, Jyn is going to help the Rebels find Saw Gerrera played by Ghost Dog himself Forest Whitaker because plot reasons.. That leads to the terrific sequences on Jedha. The film is worth seeing for these alone. In The Force Awakens, Han Solo stated that Luke Skywalker went in search of the last Jedi temple. Perhaps what we see on Jedha will come into play in next year's Episode VIII, or perhaps not. There was no teaser for Episode VIII before or after Rogue One. Then a bunch of stuff happens: Jyn's dad dies, we see Tarkin which is cool, and we see some other OT characters, some of whom's cameos are clever, while others are shameless fan service and pandering. And then we get to the film's third act, which has been what most people who have seen and enjoyed Rogue One have pointed to as its highlight. Frankly, I was underwhelmed. Again, I got a little emotional when the droid K-2S0 is killed protecting Jyn and Captain guy. Many of the more iconic images from the film's trailers didn't even make into the final cut of this sequence (which calls into question the apparent validity of the rumors of the production being troubled). I did not hate this extended sequence, but this is the first time in any Star Wars movie where I was not fully engaged in the epic battle. Yes, that includes the ones in the prequels. I did really like when Darth Vader's Star Destroyer popped up to thwart any sense of pure victory the Rebels may have felt after capturing the Death Star plans. Then we see Princess Leia, obviously a special effect, and she lightspeeds away on the Tantave IV into the opening shot of Episode IV. This all calls into question why The House of Mouse felt compelled to make this movie. Well, the answer is simple, to continue to make "a shitload of money" (to quote Lone Star from Spaceballs) off of their $4 billion investment. But why this story? My guess is that the powers that be recognized that Revenge of the Sith’s attempt to tie directly into the beginning of A New Hope failed miserably, largely because of the 20 year gap in the saga timeline between the two films. This is probably why they went with Princess Leia at the end of Rogue One and not Artoo and Threepio, since we already saw them on the Tantave IV in one of the last shots in Episode III. There's a lot of unaccounted for events on the Star Wars timeline, especially in light of the abandonment of the Extended Universe (which was fine by me because most of those novels and comic books were really dumb) and the introduction of new characters, concepts and entities in The Force Awakens. Maybe years from now (or much sooner) we'll get to see the Battle of Jaku on the big screen in another standalone film. I would have preferred that to what we get in Rogue One. Some of my specific nitpicks, such as how can the X- and U-Wings destroy the AT-ATs when in Empire Strikes Back their "armor is too strong for blasters", I've already found answers to -- according to Den Of Geek, these are actually AT-ACTs, designed for cargo, not combat ( http://www.denofgeek.com/us/movies/star-wars/260771/star-wars-rogue-one-easter-eggs-and-reference-guide ). My brother picked up on some other nitpicks, particularly how the end of Rogue One and the beginning of A New Hope don't exactly match up ( https://t.co/q881t4Jr5e ). I'm sure more of those will occur to the collective Star Wars community as time goes by and second, third and perhaps fourth theatrical viewings occur. *****END SPOILERS**** Look, when new Star Wars (and also Star Trek) movies are released, I am tense when I see them the first time because I am anxiously waiting for them to start sucking. There is an unfortunate precedent for that for these two franchises. In the last year, I enjoyed both The Force Awakens and Star Trek Beyond way more on subsequent viewings than I did the first times. In the case of Rogue One, it stumbles out of the gate, then thrives during the Jedha sequences, and finally settles in as a B-/C+ grade Star Wars film. There is a chance I might like it even less when I see it again, but I might also find more to appreciate. I've seen the worst Star Wars and Star Trek films at least several dozen times each, and the best ones hundreds if not thousands of times (no exaggeration…. I wore out my VHS copies of Star Wars, Empire, Wrath of Khan, Search for Spock and The Voyage Home as a kid). I'll see Rogue One again. I even look forward to it. I just HOPE I find something more to like about it. 

[myupdatesystems-blog]

Reality Revised - The Way to Change the Past

New Post has been published on https://myupdatesystems.com/2017/04/14/reality-revised-the-way-to-change-the-past/

Reality Revised - The Way to Change the Past

“Who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.” – George Orwell

Ministry of Truth employee Winston Smith, in Orwell’s prophetic 1984, spends his time altering reality. His job is to change or eliminate all documented evidence about certain people and events – to the extent that all memory about them is completely erased. The truth, for all practical purposes, never existed. The past is thereby controlled, as is the future.

Orwell created an imaginary, nightmare world of fascinating fiction. Couldn’t happen here, of course. Or could it? Newsflash: It could indeed!

Our so-called “Free” press, the current Ministry of Truth, does an exceptional job of manipulating reality. The real news is hidden, manipulated or ignored completely. Scant coverage is given to anything resembling actual truth, and your attention is directed elsewhere.

Twenty million illegal aliens? No problem. Fifty million Americans without health insurance? Who cares? Another hundred killed or maimed today in our proxy war in the Mideast? Look, over here! We’ve got a missing cheerleader! And how about the latest loser on American Idol? You say you just lost your job and your house and your kid can’t read his high school diploma? Bummer. As they say in New York, Fuhgeddaboudit! The Ministry of Truth will decide what’s important and what’s not.

And mentioning American Idol., I realize I am in the minority but, for some unknown reason, I’ve never enjoyed the spectacle of watching unqualified (to be generous) people who consider making fools of themselves on TV to be the highlight of their lives. Idol, of course, is broadcast on the Fox Network. Fox News is known out here in sheeple and as the Satire Channel, or the War Channel. To any perceptive viewer, it is obviously the 100% Government Controlled Channel.

Getting back to the subject of Reality Control (which we never left), consider the case of Randall Tobias, former Deputy Secretary of State and Administrator of the US Agency for International Development, the Bush global AID program. Tobias suddenly resigned on April 27 after being exposed as a client of DC madam Deborah Jean Palfrey. Deputy Tobias claimed, of course, that he only availed himself, on occasion, of the good madam’s innocent massage services. Sure.

So far, nothing unusual. Politicians have been screwing their constituencies forever. When they pay for the indulgence, they sometimes get caught. In this case, the enterprising Ms. Palfrey goes on to lucrative TV and book deals, and Mr. Tobias finds himself consigned to oblivion.

But something about this little incident is quite remarkable and not generally known. Washington Post columnist Al Kamen reports receiving an incredible email from senior AID official Steve Tupper. The email advises State Department and AID employees of the necessity of erasing all documented evidence of Randall Tobias – such evidence to include all pictures and statements contained in any and all printed publications, websites, reception room walls, newsletters, brochures, etc., etc., etc. All ongoing projects to be stopped, reviewed and resubmitted for publication approval after all mention of the offending Mr. Tobias has been dutifully erased.

Shades of 1984! There it is. Documented evidence that people are being erased from memory. I wonder how thorough they’ll be. Will they try to white-out all school records? Threaten or bribe all family members and casual acquaintances? Convince his mother she had one less son? Remove all evidence of former Boy Scout merit badges?

I wonder how many other hapless victims have been erased. Maybe they’re all in the Witness Protection Program. Maybe they’re working alongside you right this moment, pretending to be someone else. Ever irritate the government? You could be on a list. Scheduled to disappear. All memories of you wiped out forever. Nice knowing you…whoever you were.

The Ministry of…I mean the Media, has an easier method of controlling reality, by simply not reporting something at all, or just changing the facts to suit their own nefarious purposes. Consider the recent so-called debate held on the Fox so-called News channel between Republican presidential candidates on May 15.

At one point, candidate Ron Paul, arguably the only honest candidate actually representing the interests of the American people, said that our Middle East problems were the result of blowback, or unintended consequences, stemming from our own hegemonic actions.

Needless to say, no other candidate agreed. Rudy Giuliani demanded a retraction. Mitt Romney advocated doubling the size of our Guantanamo concentration camp. They both advocated torture, calling it “enhanced interrogation” which elicited a comment from Ron Paul about the term sounding very much like Newspeak, George Orwell’s definition of misleading doubletalk. He was, of course, right on the mark.

Candidate Duncan Hunter agreed with the necessity of torture, as did Tom Tancredo, who expressed a desire for “24” torture expert Jack Bauer to handle the gory details. The crowd greeted each advocacy for torture with cheers, laughter, and thunderous applause. John McCain, who might be presumed to know a little about the practice, protested against it. Which met with absolute silence. The bloodthirsty crowd, these Republicans. Which might explain more than a little about our newfound standing in the world.

The most interesting aspect about all this is that in every legitimate poll taken after the debate, there was one unqualified winner – though you’d never know it if your only source of information was the controlled mainstream media. Ron Paul won the debate hands down. The next candidates weren’t even close.

The media’s assessment? Ron Paul barely registered in the polls! The winners? Your choice of Romney or Giuliani. And if either wins the race for President, I guess we can expect a building boom of more Guantanamo and maybe a new reality TV show based on water-boarding and other forms of “enhanced interrogation”. At least until the American people lose their indifference and regain their sanity.

Speaking of polls, by the way, be wary of accepting the results of any poll. I would tend to believe the polls mentioned above regarding Ron Paul. They were taken from numerous sources, many not subject to absolute media control, and they all confirmed each other’s results. The polls taken exclusively by the controlled media can, for the most part, be considered their usual exercises in influencing public opinion in a predetermined direction.

Most of the time, it works, and you can’t completely blame those who answer such polls for their answers. Not when their sole sources of information do little but provide manufactured news. Polls become irrelevant when based entirely on tainted information. The media has learned this quite well.

Disinformation has become the media’s stock in trade. You may think the media’s obligation is to report the truth and keep you informed. Sorry, Charlie. You’ve been taken again. The media’s primary purpose is to make a profit. That’s right. Advertising profits drive the media. Nothing else. They have no obligation to tell you the truth about anything. Remember Don Imus? His employers were loyal for a good ten seconds. When advertisers pulled their ads, he was gone.

Getting back to the media’s news manipulation, consider the Iraq war – the most censored war in history. American TV viewers see pictures of smoke and hear bombs going off in the distance. They see pictures of American soldiers kicking doors in. In fact, they see so many doors being kicked in that prospective recruits are led to believe that their military careers will consist entirely of kicking doors in.

But the Arab world sees a different picture. They see the closeups of what the American bombs have done. The total destruction of their homes and way of life. The horrible effects of our depleted uranium weapons (perhaps the biggest unreported war crime ever) and the innocent men, women, and children are blown to bits and left to die.

Show a few of those pictures in the American media, and the war might come to a halt. But Americans aren’t allowed to know such things. They’re not even allowed to see the remains of their servicemen killed in action. Nobody bags. No caskets. Might upset someone. Speaking of which, they’re not even allowed to know how many have given their lives!

As of today, the official count of American war dead in Iraq is 3444. According to the controlled media. Do you believe that number? Or do you count yourself among those who believe that our government routinely lies about almost everything?

The 3444 number might be considered correct, as long as you didn’t count any number of additional categories. That number does not include an exceptionally high number of deaths by accidents and suicides. It doesn’t include the deaths of private contractors, journalists, deaths in foreign hospitals and other non-combat related deaths. I understand that if a wounded serviceman is transported to our base in Germany for treatment, and he happens to die seconds or minutes after the plane leaves the ground, his death is not counted either. You can’t imagine the number of deaths that would fall into that category alone.

Many deaths aren’t reported, and I’ve seen a recent report indicating that only about 10% of military deaths are reported at all. Which would mean that our proxy war in Iraq may have cost some 34,000 lives, not the 3400 we are told. We’ll probably never know the truth, but the larger number seems more credible. Perhaps an investigation could be made – over here, not in Iraq – of County Clerk’s offices in every county in the country, or where ever such records are kept, of all bodies returned from Iraq. And Afghanistan. And wherever the next war breaks out.

One more example of how the controlled media controls events. You may remember an incident in 2004 where 4 American contractors were killed in Iraq, their bodies mutilated and dragged through the streets. Just as an aside, what do you think of when you hear the word contractor? A roofing contractor? Electrical contractors? We have another fine example of Orwell’s Newspeak. I remember reading at the time that these 4 “contractors” – in this case meaning very well paid, heavily armed mercenaries – were sent by American occupation chief Paul Bremer to kill the mayor of Fallujah. Word of the plot got out and the contractors paid the price.

Incidentally, some contractors are security personnel and other actual contractors. They’re not all mercenaries. Thanks to the Media, it’s hard to tell anymore who is who. At any rate, the latest government figures show at least 917 contractors killed in Iraq and more than 12,000 wounded in battle. Latest reports indicate 146 contract workers killed in the first 3 months of 2007. Funny, I don’t recall reading or hearing about that in our “free” media.

I can’t attest to the validity of the Bremer/contractor connection, but their deaths resulted in the destruction of Fallujah, home to some 300,000 Iraqis. Three-quarters of all buildings were destroyed or heavily damaged by the US assault in November 2004. Hospitals were targeted first, then mosques, schools, electrical and water treatment facilities. Reports of the US military using chemical and napalm-like weapons were widespread.

Charred and half-eaten corpses littered the streets. At least 6,000 Iraqis were killed. The US military claimed “at least” 600. (There’s that 10% figure again. Our beloved government, of course, has more than a little experience in manipulating numbers). But 600 or 6,000, the collective punishment inflicted upon Fallujah by the Bush administration was one of the greatest war crimes of all times. It will never be forgotten. Or forgiven. Too bad you didn’t hear about it.

As to the media reports of this atrocity, you may have seen some American soldiers kicking down a few doors. Nothing more. Sometimes when you have little better to do, check out some of the stories about Fallujah from people who were there. They’re unbelievable and they’re true. Thanks to our “free” press, it was something minor that never happened. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss. This time, however, it may come with a price.

Our actions in Fallujah led to another incident. You may recall the attempted assassination by our military of Italian journalist Giuliana Sgrena in March 2005. (“unfortunate incident” or “mistaken identity” as misinformed by our “Free” press). Held for a month by Iraqi insurgents, she was being driven to freedom when the attempt occurred, wounding Sgrena and killing Italian Secret Service agent Nicola Calipari, who gave his life trying to protect her. We denied the assassination charge, of course. Don’t we always? But the outraged citizens of Italy where agent Calipari was quite popular, had a different opinion.

Giuliana Sgrena was reportedly writing a story about Fallujah – what really happened there. As such, she found herself on the endangered species list of journalists who risk their lives in pursuit of the truth. 92 journalists have been killed in Iraq since March 2003. In 2006, about 11 percent died in combat incidents. Worldwide, the leading cause of journalists deaths was murder.

Thanks to the reality revising functions of our press, most Americans haven’t a clue as to what really happened in Fallujah. I’ve only just barely touched on some of the details above. Perhaps the truth will come out in the forthcoming war crimes trials many are hoping for.

In the meantime – as another little example of media manipulation, consider the periodic Bin Laden videos which magically appear whenever the government needs a compelling diversion. Since Bin Laden apparently died of kidney failure in December 2001, his latest videotaped Fatwa can be disregarded. Bad news for John McCain who still plans to chase Bin Laden down, even to the gates of Hell. Sorry, John. You’ll have to find another boogeyman.

I keep looking for a little sign saying CIA Productions on those videos. Haven’t seen it yet. Incidentally, did you know that our government has no documented evidence tying Bin Laden to 9/11? Not a shred. Not a single sheet of paper. What we do know, is that his name was given as the perpetrator, even as the World Trade Center burned. Which means we should double the salary of everybody in the FBI for doing some fantastic instant investigative work. Or that Mr. Bin Laden was selected as the designated villain some time in advance of the actual incident.

But enough about 9/11. There’s a ton of information out there about it. Some of it quite good. At this point, the only thing absolutely certain is that the government’s version of events is little more than an exercise in creative fiction. Maybe the truth will come out in the above-mentioned war crimes trials.

Examples of Reality Revision abound in every area of everyday life. Forget phony wars on phantom terrorists. There are terrorists of another kind, motivated by greed and power and the desire to manipulate and control every aspect of your lives. Examples are endless, but let’s consider just one or two more.

Consider how the media presents questionable evidence as fact. The weekly health scare, for example. You’re constantly bombarded with dire warnings about the deadly dangers of – believe it or not – Vitamins. Do you take vitamin C? Quick, throw it away. Maybe your hair will fall out. Vitamin E? What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know that Vitamin E causes high blood pressure? And acne? And ingrown toenails? How about Echinacea? Doesn’t work. Throwing your money away. Get rid of it. Now.

Whenever I hear the latest health warning, I wonder which pharmaceutical company sponsored it. What usually happens is that a few weeks later, the “warning” is downplayed or dismissed – unreported, of course. You never hear about how the test was conducted on only a handful of people – who had tried everything else with no success. People who might be real basket cases, given minute, guaranteed unworkable amounts of something – for the express purpose of “proving” very questionable results.

Many people hearing about the scare will discard the supplements in question – give up whatever protection they afforded, possibly acquire a resulting illness, visit their accommodating doctor, and start taking a prescription drug. And then another prescription drug, for the side-effects of the first one. And maybe a third drug after that. Maybe forever.

Mission accomplished! A little reality revision and you have a new, lucrative prospect perfectly programmed to contribute to a drug company’s obscene bottom line.

Of course, the FDA will protect you, won’t they? The drugs they push have to be beneficial, don’t they? Think again. The function of the FDA is to protect the interests of the drug companies, not the misguided consumer. Peer-reviewed published studies reveal that FDA-approved prescription drugs kill some 100,000 Americans every year, and injure over 2 million more. Other realistic estimates put the death rate at over 200,000. Every year.

I think I’ll take my chances with a few vitamin supplements. You have the freedom – so far – of doing the same. Just ask your doctor for nutrition and supplement recommendations. When he or she stops laughing, you’ll be advised that vitamins don’t work. That all evidence that they do is merely anecdotal. And that, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take this prescription drug today. In fact, you had better head down to your friendly drug store post haste.

I was once employed as a real estate broker – so long ago, that women had yet to take over the industry. Yes, there really was such a time. I remember how I used to feel just after selling a property, to be advised by my buyer that he just had to have his attorney review the contract before he could sign it.

I would mentally start the search for another buyer because chances were the attorney would kill the deal. Why? What if you recommended something, and your advice led to problems? What if you bought a house and the roof leaked or the plumbing had to be replaced, or any number of other potential disasters? What if something went wrong? Who would you blame? Your lawyer!

My point: consider the source of any advice you get. Especially any nutritional advice you get or don’t get from your doctor, who received a grand total of one-hour instruction in the subject in all his years of training. Consider the fact that he actually can’t recommend any natural supplements unless he is a naturopathic doctor. What if he recommended a specific vitamin instead of the prescribed drug for your condition? What if your condition worsened? What if you died? Who would your family sue? Your doctor, that’s who!

Try to ask advice only from those qualified to give it, and don’t take anything at face value.Take every bit of advice, no matter what it is, with a grain of salt. Several grains. In fact, so many grains that it could cause high blood pressure – another myth that I plan to demolish in another article.

One more example of reality manipulation – an extremely important one – and then I’ll leave you to pondering what kind of future you can realistically expect. What do you know about the forthcoming North American Union? Probably very little, since it has been all but completely ignored in the mainstream press.

When the North American Union goes into effect you will wake up one day to find that you are no longer an American citizen, because America will have ceased to exist. The plan is to completely eliminate the borders of Canada and Mexico and to surrender individual national sovereignty. The Constitution (what’s left of it now) would no longer exist. The Supreme Court would be subservient to a new Court of Justice. The dollar would be worthless, to be replaced by something called the amero.

Sound far fetched? This treasonous travesty has been in the works since March 23, 2005. It is spelled out in the Security and Prosperity Partnership of North America, and it’s being created by a governmental regulation process that effectively bypasses Congressional approval or the necessity for any kind of referendum or popular vote.

This is perhaps the greatest betrayal of the American people of all time – and a subject hardly worthy of mention by our obedient controlled press. Thank God for the internet, where you can still find a modicum of truth. Check out stopthenorthamericanunion.com one of the better sites giving quite a bit of good information about the impending disaster. Or just Google North American Union for about 92 million references to this freedom-grabbing monstrosity. Interesting, isn’t it? How Google can turn up 92 million references when your TV talking heads and local news rags refuse to mention it at all.

Can’t see writing a hundred-page warning of what to expect, so I won’t go into any greater detail here. I’m afraid we’ll all find out soon enough, sometime within the next 3 years, when it is due to go completely into effect. Unless, by some miracle, we can find a way to stop it. If you discover a way, let me know. I’ll pass it on.