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harrysgoldenline · 3 years

Note

can you pls write an angst where y/n went to her and harry's house that they bought or something like that in Italy to try to move on and go on with her life after harry broke up with her but then she never expected that harry will be there as well with his new gf.... you can end it whatever you like!! thank you

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: idk, sad I guess? also not proof read oops sorry lol

When In Italy

It has been three months since you’ve last seen or spoken to Harry. A very abrupt change after being together for four years, with constant talk of marriage and starting a family, the break up was something either of you really expected. It started as a break of sorts, eventually turning into a complete break up after only a couple weeks in a somewhat mutual way. With Harry's career taking off in so many different ways, with acting, the new tour and more, his life had changed completely and has left him very little time for anything else.

It went from daily phone and FaceTime calls, constant text messages and flowers being delivered to nothing.

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Your best friend asked you, concern plastered all over her face, “that won’t bring up too much?”

She had been sitting with you as you finished packing up your suitcase, trying her best to give you her support as you were going to be going on a spur of the moment trip to Italy and staying at the home of you and Harry, needing the much needed getaway and disconnecting completely. Seeing different things online about him all the time didn’t make it any easier and no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, he always found his way to pop up.

“I just need a break, everything here is a reminder to.” You sigh, “I just want a change of scenery. I think it’ll be good for me.”

“I hope so…” she frowned, looking up at you with a sad smile, “please don’t just sit there in the house all alone. Go out, meet some local Italian men!”

“I’m definitely not ready for that.” You say, forcing a laugh as you close your suitcase, zipping it up and placing it on the floor by your door, “but I will really try, I promise. I will call you if I need you and you can come out?”

“Hell yeah I can.” She laughs, standing up and giving you a hug, “and you’re really going right now?”

You bite your bottom lip as your eyes fill up with tears, nodding quickly as you look at her and she quickly pulled you in a tight hug.

“You can do this.”

***

You pulled your suitcase through the front door, waving goodbye to the driver as you turned around to close the door behind you as they left you alone in the house that has so many memories inside. You pause at the door, taking a couple deep breaths as you look around and try and keep your mind at bay before walking to the guest bedroom, deciding the main bedroom was too much and the guest bedroom was already way nicer than your apartment.

After taking the time to unpack, knowing you would stay awhile, you put away your things into the various drawers and closet in the room. You keep out a swimsuit and change into it quickly, sliding a simple dress overtop before walking out onto the balcony attached to the bedroom, taking in the smell of the ocean and beautiful view, memories overwhelming your senses.

“Well don’t you look absolutely stunning.” You can practically hear him say all over again, reliving the memory as if it was actually happening, “ ‘m the luckiest man in the world.”

You remember him coming up behind you, arms tight around your waist as his head rested on your shoulder, soft kisses being pressed along your shoulder as you leaned back into him, a large smile covering both of your faces before you leaned your head back, connecting your lips before he pulled back.

“I can’t decide…” He had whispered, connecting your lips again.

“Decide what?” You had giggled, turning around to face him, arms resting around his shoulders as his came around your waist.

“If I want to get married here or have our honeymoon here.”

You shuddered slightly as the memory came back, letting out a deep breath before packing a beach bag quickly and leaving the house just as fast, taking a walk down to the private beach and settling yourself in a lounge chair. Applying your sunscreen you could almost convince yourself it was him applying it on you like he always would do, large hands massaging it into your skin.

You push the thought away as you grab your phone, playing music softly to try and distract your mind. Your fingers hovered over your different social media apps, wanting desperately to just give it a quick click, wondering if you could get any update on where he could be from his fans, posts always finding their way on your feed. Instead, you hold it down, deleting all of the various apps and throwing your phone down on your bag, grabbing your book and letting the music play, opening to the first page to try and escape into the new world.

***

After a few hours been spent peacefully on the beach, you decided to head back to the house to take a nice bubblebath and order yourself some dinner, deciding that you would go to town the next morning in order to cook some of your own meals. The walk back to the house was more enjoyable this time and you began to feel a sense of hope as you approached the house, your heart not clenching in as much pain as it originally had done when you first pulled up to the house earlier that day.

Using your keys, you unlocked the back door, locking it behind you again as soon as you got inside, making your way to the bathroom right away and letting the water fill up the bathtub, pouring in some of the fancy bubblebath that you remember buying once from your favorite boutique in town, making a mental note to stop there again tomorrow.

Discarding your clothes, you hung them up, deciding you could use it once more as a cover up after not even going into the water, and you honestly didn’t even have the energy to even think about doing laundry right now, even simply showering was too much most days so you were happy to submerge yourself simply into the warm water, eyes fluttering closed as it embraced you with it’s comfort.

You began preparing yourself a mental list of things you could do tomorrow, forcing yourself to get out of the house and keep yourself occupied after locking yourself away in your apartment the past few months, planning on taking baby steps but knowing that even starting will be more like a push off a cliff.

Pulling yourself out of the bath once finishing cleansing your body, deciding to save washing your hair for the next day, you pulled yourself out of the bath, honestly just wanting to curl up into bed and go to sleep but knowing you needed to force yourself to eat something. So, you dry off, applying some matching lotion to your body, which made you feel a sense of pride of yourself as you made small steps to take care of yourself again, thanking the air of Italy as self motivation and threw on the robe that you swear was the softest one in the world.

A sudden sound coming from the house made you jump, a hand coming over your chest to try and calm your racing heart as your mind tried to think of all of the possibilities of who could be there, or maybe it was coming outside? Or honestly at this point you thought it could be your imagination as the memories that have been flashing into your mind have been so vivid it felt like it was actually happening. Your feet softly padded on the wood flooring, making your way to what you thought was the site of the sound, feeling bile rise in your throat at the sight before you.

It was Harry there, with one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your life, laughing together.

You weren’t sure if they saw you, both of their hair wet as towels wrapped around them and it seemed like they had just got back from the beach, making you think that you must have just missed each other as you swapped positions. You slowly walk backwards, thinking of running out the back towards the beach and calling a car, leaving all of your clothes there.

You could see slightly into the master bedroom, seeing their suitcases sprawled and things laid on the couch as they chatted together, knowing they must have arrived when you were down at the beach, your presence unknown as all of your things sat seemingly hidden in the guest room which you were now desperately trying to go and hide in, but after it being too log since you been here, you accidentally ran into the wall, a photo that was hanging there crashing to the floor, glass shattering.

Two heads quickly snapped their way towards you, both pairs of eyes meeting yours as gasps left both of their lips, Harry’s face going pale as he saw you. You opened your mouth to speak, but with this being your first time seeing your partner since the breakup, no words were able to come out.

Spinning on your heel your ran back into the guest bedroom, pulling the suitcase out of the closet and messily shoving all of your clothes into it, tears stinging your eyes and unable to hold them in as they silently spilling on you cheeks, more coming as you heard the familiar steps coming your way, feeling the presence behind you and hearing the door shut softly behind you.

“Y/N?”

—————————————————————————

Part 2 anyone???

ALSO PLEASE READ THIS!!

I was wondering what people would think about me doing personalized little blurbs/imagines for people who donate to my tip jar? you could give me your name, prompt, pronouns, etc and i will write it just for you!! :) i’m trying to write more and it’s hard bc i’m a broke college student who needs to work but if people who WANT a personalized little fic with bucky or harry or something with their own name and such maybe I could do something like that? of course I will still be doing all normal requests and such but this way it’s kinda like a one time patreon for people who want to do something like that? idk please comment/send me a message/ask and let me know what you think!!!! let’s talk!

#harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles headcannon #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #harry styles writing #harry styles request #fic rec #harry styles #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles one shot

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terrxxr · 2 years

Text

Social Media, Communication, and Keeping Things Hidden on your Mobile Phone

A Guide for Children of Abusive Parents, People in Abusive Relationships, or Other Situations Where Your Privacy, Safety, and/or Health are Compromised

××ANDROID VERSION××

THE FIRST THING YOU WILL DO BEFORE ANYTHING IS DOWNLOAD DUCKDUCKGO AND PUT ANY LINK OR QUESTION I GIVE YOU INTO DUCKDUCKGO. DO NOT USE CHROME.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. Hiding Apps and Other Media

2. Communicating Privately

3. Monitoring When Your Phone is Searched

4. Safety, Emergencies, and Recording

1. Hiding Apps and Other Media

Superlock

PROS:

• Is used to store, run, and hide apps, pictures, videos, etc.

• Free with ads.

• Can also be used to store social media information.

• Icon can be changed to hide app's nature on surface level.

• Will take photos of anyone who attempts to enter the app and uses the wrong password.

CONS:

• The lock screen is not hidden or disguised. If app is opened, youre fucked.

Hide It Pro

PROS:

• Is used to store, run, and hide apps, pictures, videos, etc.

• Disguised lock screen, even if the app is found and opened, the opener will have no idea what it is.

CONS:

• You will need to install root for the hide app function to operate. How do I install root?

• Many of the plugins don't work, but honestly we didn't need them in the first place.

2. Communicating Privately

On each and every one of these apps, remember to hide them in one of the before mentioned apps.

Protonmail

PROS:

Encrypted (and password protected if you wish) emails.

CONS:

This wont hide anything illegal. Don't try it.

Online Chat Programs

Discord

PROS:

Two Factor Authetication.

If you change your password from one source, you will log yourself out on all other sources.

You can close chats, and in my experience most older adults dont know how to reopen them, but people my own age mostly do.

CONS:

No way of hiding chats if you are in an abusive relationship with somebody your age.

If you do run away, legally I am not encouraging you to run away, Discord will work with police to give them any plans you made over Discord.

PROS:

Two factor authetication.

Encrypted messaging.

If you do need to discuss something that a messaging app like discord wont protect you from, Telegram will.

CONS:

Because you can look up someones number and find their account, I recommend pairing this with TextNow.

Calling and Texting

TextNow

PROS:

Free texting service.

Needs wifi.

CONS:

Will lose number if you dont text for two weeks unless you buy the subscription (its only $5 a year, to be fair).

3. Monitoring When Your Phone Is Searched

Who touched my phone?

This app will monitor who tries and fails and succeeds to get into your phone. As well as taking pictures of and tracking the apps that are accessed and how they are used.

4. Safety, Emergencies, and Recording

Noonlight

A simple press and hold emergency app, if you are safe once you let go, put in your code, if you are not, let the timer run out or if your phone is taken, they can push the "not an emergency" button and police will still be dispatched.

#a guide for the unsafe by whackanazi #abuse #daddy issues #mommy issues #toxic household #toxic family #toxic mom #toxic dad #toxic parents #toxic relatives #toxic relationship #toxic mother #toxic #running #running away #runaway #runaway guide

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ahgaseda · 4 years

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phoenix | one

I’ll be the phoenix, leave it to me, we be flying, spread your wings behind your back, they call us phoenix, ride or die, ride or die...

summary : the clock is ticking as you recount your passionate affair with Jackson, the most wanted man in Shanghai, to the people trying desperately to catch him, but no one - including you - knows if he will risk his life to save yours.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, mentions of blood and violence, references to drug and alcohol use, graphic sexual content, self-destructive themes, potentially triggering elements involving kidnapping, arson, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

The chains rattled on the steel table. The cold cuffs wrapped around your wrists were anchored to the surface, looped through a bolt. You weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

It had been a quiet Thursday night. Nothing out of the ordinary to note. You left your apartment and went out for dinner. The steak was cooked just right. Your company of friends were lighthearted and buzzing from wine, but for once didn’t grill you about your relationship.

On the way home, you were ambushed. You put up a fight, of course, knowing all the while it was futile. The men had descended on you like thieves in the night and none of them were gentle.

Shoved into a chair and fastened to the table, you were read your rights, but by their tones, you had none. Five hours had passed since your less than legal arrest. The clock slipped past midnight a while ago. There was no telling when you would be reported missing, if at all.

Your closest friends knew you vanished from time to time. It was that good for nothing guy you dated, whisking you away to god knows where, they often jeered. Envy was ugly.

He was on your mind. He would notice your absence. Especially the empty space left in his bed.

The detective slapped a file in front of you, but the loud smack that echoed through the room did little to rouse you at this ungodly hour. He was middle-aged and the lines of his face were hard, furrowed. You wondered about the kind of people often in your current position. Gangsters, killers, and the like. You had done nothing to warrant the same treatment.

“Am I being charged with a crime?” you asked, poised and calm as you had been trained. You tossed the idea of trying to speak to them in their native tongue the moment you were booked. Your Mandarin was rudimentary and would likely get you into more trouble. “You have no right to hold me here, chained up like a criminal.”

He shot back, “You are at the center of a government investigation.”

Those words alone should have sent your heart somewhere to the pit of your stomach, but you knew better. All your life, you had been a law abiding citizen. But they treated you like you were wickedness personified.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” you replied, head held high. You dared not give them an inch. You couldn’t afford it.

He glanced at you over the rim of his glasses, eyes scathing. His reply was bitter, dripping with disdain, “Your lover has done plenty.”

You didn’t argue. It was abundantly clear you had no rights in this damned metal box. Lover; the word lingered in your mind a second or two. Yes, he was your lover. No man had loved you like him and no man ever would again.

Was he in love with you? Not even God knew the answer to that.

The detective finally took the seat across from you, in an attempt of appearing more diplomatic. His shouting and intimidation had gone nowhere.

“Tell me about your relationship with Jackson Wang.”

Your eyes fluttered. Just hearing his name made your heart spin. The boy owned you - mind, body and soul. Lacing your fingers together in front of you, you lied, “I don’t have one.”

The detective snorted. Then, he withdrew a photo from the file and placed it before you.

There you were in black and white, centered in a scope that for all you knew could have belonged to a sniper’s rifle, caught up in Jackson’s arms as he kissed you with abandon. Passion flowed freely from every inch of the photograph. It belonged on display in a gallery for twisted, ill-fated lovers.

You could still remember that day in the picture clearly, how it felt when he pushed you up against the window. The glass was frigid on your back, but did nothing to rival the heat of his body against yours.

Jackson always felt as if he carried the entirety of Hell inside him.

You lifted your gaze from the image at last and murmured, “A moment of weakness… a long time ago.”

The detective didn’t believe you for a second. He rifled through more pages in the file and fanned them out in front of you. “Phone records. Travel logs. Looks like you live in a constant moment of weakness,” he sneered. There was no doubt he resented having to share the same oxygen as you; a woman that willingly slept with the devil himself.

“I do,” you retorted, almost regretting the words when they left your tongue.

The detective raised his voice angrily, “Jackson Wang is singlehandedly running the underworld of Shanghai and is a major player in the open rebellion against the People’s Republic.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. One day you knew you would be confronted with what he was, what he had done. There were nights you lay awake, wondering if you slept in the arms of a murderer.

The detective tapped his finger on the table and the noise brought back your attention. His face was severe, red from stifling his rage. To him, you were a valuable pawn, but a pawn nonetheless. His ass was on the line. Perhaps you were the one and only chance he would get at piercing Jackson’s armor.

“I have no information to give,” you answered quietly. “I know nothing of that. Nothing.”

He had gathered that. From the months they had you under surveillance, you were never seen near any of Jackson’s businesses or his known safe houses. He went to great lengths to keep you at a distance from his work.

“Given the nature of his crimes and how viciously he runs his underlings, what would happen if we were to… leak that you were in here, singing like a canary?”

The first threat of the night. You knew it wouldn’t be the last.

You scoffed. He knows I would never betray him. It didn’t matter what Jackson did, you were loyal. Jackson had the ability to inspire loyalty in those close to him. He tolerated many, many things, but disloyalty was not one of them.

The detective lifted a brow, thinking your silence meant he had found an edge. “Have you seen what he does to his enemies?”

Your expression didn’t change. No, he made sure I never saw.

Jackson was ruthless when he took his pleasure from your body. Even more merciless when he buried his head between your thighs. You could only imagine how intensely he ran his underworld.

“Do you know nothing of what he is?” the detective exclaimed, incredulous.

He never wanted me to know, your thoughts wavered.

The world didn’t exist when you were with Jackson. Together, it was just you and him, and everyone else be damned. Every moment spent with him was a lifetime unto itself.

A spontaneous trip to Maldives. An impromptu midnight ride on his yacht in the harbor of Hong Kong. A weekend in South Korea spent locked away in a riverside cottage with only the birds to witness your sins.

Jackson had money. There was no denying that. But so did you. You had made a fortune in your line of work and from then on, no one could buy your attention or affection. Jackson was different. He didn’t shower you with designer clothes or heavy diamonds. He paid attention. Learned your interests and kept you on your toes. He understood you to be like some beautiful mystery in need of solving.

You bit your lip, tears pricking your eyes. You wanted Jackson, wanted to be safe in his arms, hidden against his chest. You loved him. God, you loved him with every fiber of your being. He had taught you how to live again. He showed you there was still a soul somewhere inside you.

Even if his own had been burned out of him.

Clearing your throat and pushing back your emotions, you asserted, “For your own safety, don’t show me anything and don’t leak that you have me in here against my will.”

The man before you bristled with wrath, jaw clenching. “For my own safety?”

You frowned. It was not your intention to anger him. You just needed to keep buying time.

The detective stood abruptly, knocking over his chair and shouting, “Is Jackson going to come for his whore?”

You winced, more so at the screeching sound of his chair scraping the ground than the unsavory words. You weren’t surprised that was how they saw you.

They had probably sent women to seduce Jackson before. Find a crack in his walls to exploit. They must have waited years for him to finally have someone he could love, someone to ultimately break him.

The detective began circling the room, like a vulture spiraling around its next meal. You weren’t afraid. There were laws in place for situations like these. At least, you hoped they still applied to you.

I have to get out, you thought. You steadied your breathing and remembered what you had been taught.

Being held captive was something you had rehearsed many times. Jackson tried to chase you off once. He didn’t want you to live in a constant state of danger because of what he was. Then, Jackson realized he had been waiting his whole life to find you - the person who completed him. And that’s when he started preparing you.

In fact, rehearsing being in police custody was one of your favorite roleplays.

You remembered being led into a tiny room, no larger than a closet. Bound to the only chair, Jackson had stormed in and treated you like a traitor. But you knew how soft he was for you, and how bad of a liar he was, and had seen through the ruse all too quickly.

Nevertheless, he wanted you to be ready for whatever the dirty cops would throw at you should the day come you were in their clutches.

“Baby, had I known you were going to tie me to a chair, I would have worn something a little more seductive,” you teased, licking your lips.

With your hands overlapped and cuffed behind your back, your shoulders were pressed to the top of the chair rather uncomfortably. Jackson skulked before you, not uttering a word. His face was shadowed, dark and menacing. All it did was turn you on.

With heat in your eyes, rather than look demure or nervous, you spread your legs.

Jackson let his gaze fall to your parted thighs, clad in black pantyhose. He had bought you the red bottom heels you were wearing and fuck, if they didn’t make your legs look longer. Without a word, he bent down before you, taking your ankle in hand and slipping off the shoe.

You watched in surprise as he tossed both shoes to the wall where they clattered loudly. No distractions, you mused, wanting to giggle.

Jackson saw your little smirk and fought a grin. You weren’t fooled by him in the least. He stalked across the room, coming to stand behind you with a hand gliding up your arm.

You shivered when his fingers found your neck.

“We have ways of making you talk, sweetheart,” he whispered darkly.

“Mm,” you hummed, breathing heavier as his hands stroked your jaw and throat. With every pass of the rough strokes of his palms, they moved further south. You sucked in a gulp of air when his fingers grasped the buttons of your blouse.

Glancing down, you watched him unfasten one button. Then another and another.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked softly, pulsing with adrenaline.

Jackson traced the pads of his fingers down the lines of your cleavage, which he already knew quite intimately, and grinned at the sight of your blood red bra. Also a gift he had bought for you. Perhaps you wore the matching panties beneath your skirt.

It went without saying that red was his color.

You shuddered when you felt his breath hot on your neck, lips brushing your ear. Your hair stood on end. Electricity prickled across your skin. His touches on your breasts were maddening, drawing senseless patterns that only served to stir a fire between your legs.

“I want you to say,” he replied venomously in your ear. “That you’re going to give me everything I want.”

You gulped, shifting in the chair. That voice was lethal, drawing you into a heady fog that almost made you forget the purpose of this roleplay in the first place. And his hands cupping your clothed breasts were even worse. Jackson had godlike hands. Long fingers. Bulging veins. Your mouth watered.

“I’m waiting,” he taunted, taking a patch of flesh on your neck between his teeth.

You quickly asked, “What is it that you want?”

Jackson squeezed your mounds, tugging down the cups of your crimson bra to expose your nipples, pinching them between his deft fingers. With how badly you squirmed on top of the chair, it was safe to say his hands alone were doing a number on you.

“Jack…,” you started, about to tap out. You needed him to soothe the ache he had created.

Jackson caressed your nipples with his thumbs, smirking at the way your chest rose and fell for breath. “Where is the money?” he growled, trying to sound vicious.

You shook your head in defiance. “I never cared about the money.”

Jackson flicked his tongue over the blemish he had made on your neck, one of his hands leaving your chest to wrap around your throat. His next question sounded more like an accusation, “Are you saying you don’t trade him your body for money?”

You snickered. “I give him my body because I love what he does with it,” you purred, snapping your jaws as if you were going to bite him in retaliation.

“Good girl,” Jackson said with a chuckle, thoroughly pleased with you.

You smiled victoriously. Whenever he said those two little words, you melted into his hands. The man could play your body like an instrument. He could draw the devil out of you like poison to dance with his own.

Jackson pressed a single chaste kiss to your temple. Then his thumb and forefinger gripped your neck, suddenly pressing to your blood flow. Your vision clouded and thrummed. The room began to fade. When you felt a hand dip between your legs and settle on your clothed sex, you knew you had passed the test and would get your reward.

You found yourself back in the present, crossing your legs beneath the steel table. It did you no good to think of Jackson and the power he had over your body. Always leaving you satisfied, shaking and screaming. He took pride in making a complete and utter mess of you, ruining you for anyone else.

The detective resumed his threats, but his voice faded into static. He offered to toss you in a cell and throw away the key. But in your mind, you were back in Jackson’s bed, naked save for his dress shirt as he told you what to expect.

“They’ll try to scare you into talking,” he said levelly, sporting only a towel around his waist after a hot shower. “If you flinch, they’ll escalate. Find your happy place and don’t give them an inch. Never let them know you’re afraid.”

You nodded, distracted by the fiery tattoo that covered the full expanse of his back. Jackson was a perpetual distraction.

“Then, they’ll switch it up. Offer you a deal. They may give you full immunity if you give me up,” Jackson continued, focusing on your face to see your reaction.

You rose to your knees, shuffling to the edge of the bed and grabbing him by the hips. Pulling him close, you pressed a kiss to his lips and crooned, “Ride or die, babe.”

Jackson rewarded you with another kiss, but pulled back the moment you tried to slip him your tongue. His expression turned grim. “Then, they might turn off the camera. Might start threatening you with pain.”

You shook your head. Being with him made you brave. “I’m not afraid of pain.”

Jackson cupped your cheek, stroking his thumb over your soft skin, and whispered, “I won’t be there to protect you, but I promise on my life… something bad will happen to them when they least expect it.”

“Just get me back to you, back to where I belong,” you told him impatiently, carding your fingers into his damp hair and teasing your tongue over his bottom lip before kissing him again. At the time, you wanted him to hush this line of conversation, wanted him to focus on the precious time spent together.

What you didn’t know was that the noose had been tightening and Jackson was setting things in motion.

For a moment, he indulged you, sucked eagerly at your tongue in his mouth and kneaded your hips in his broad hands.

Finally, he stopped you, cradling your face and staring intently into your eyes. “You need to know this,” he whispered in hushed tones. “The cops are dirty. Corrupt, every last one of them.”

You nodded your understanding and made sure never to forget it.

The door opened and you snapped out of your reverie, the detective joined by another officer that had been one of the men to participate in your violent arrest. He strode in forcefully, a phone you swiftly recognized as your own held in his hand. The device was hooked to a number of wires and receivers.

“Here, talk to your bitch,” he snapped harshly.

The officer grabbed a handful of your hair and shoved the phone to your ear.

You groaned at the stiff tug on your head and answered confusedly, “...Hello?”

“Baby,” was all Jackson said.

“I’m fine,” you spoke like a well-rehearsed robot, looking up to make eye contact with the man holding your hair in his fist. “They are treating me very well.”

The officer shouted loud enough for your lover to hear, “She’s being a very cooperative cunt, Mr. Wang.”

You bristled, practically feeling Jackson’s wrath through the phone.

“Baby girl, rest assured,” he hissed under his breath and you had never heard his voice devolve into such a growl. “They are all dead men.”

You flashed your teeth in a grin at the man gripping you so roughly and sang, “Yes, Daddy.”

The line clicked dead.

“Damn it,” the officer groaned, releasing you none too gently.

The door swung inward again, causing the man beside you to jump. Whoever had just entered was clearly a superior, because the others bowed deeply.

“Out,” said the stranger with little to no patience, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit.

You watched the two shuffle through the door, metaphorical tails tucked between their legs. It was a relief to be free of them. Though you now had a new enemy to confront.

The interrogator spoke your name in greeting, offered a warm and somewhat reassuring smile, and introduced himself, “I’m Park Jinyoung.”

“Korean,” you mulled in surprise. “What are you doing in Shanghai, Mr. Park?”

He looked barely Jackson’s age, but you already respected him more than the others because of his kind manners. He wasn’t here to play any violent games with you.

“I was about to ask you the same question, Mrs. Wang,” he retorted, pointing at the ring on your left hand.

“I’m not his wife,” you were quick to correct, overlapping your hands to hide the piece of jewelry. It was the most precious thing you owned. You sighed in relief when they hadn’t removed it during your arrest process.

Jinyoung approached and withdrew a key from his pocket, unfastening your cuffs. You caught a glimpse of the gun strapped to his hip and decided not to cross him. Once you were free, he sat down comfortably across from you, unfastening the button of his coat.

You murmured a small thank you and studied him carefully. He was a far different entity than the corrupt detectives.

“I apologize for the unsavory care that has been given to you in here,” Jinyoung said, seemingly genuine. “From what I understand, this is hour five for you.”

You nodded. “Spent the first hour being read my rights. The only word out of my mouth was lawyer. Then, no lawyer in sight, hour two they left me in here to sweat,” you told him as you rubbed your aching wrists. “I didn’t sweat.”

Jinyoung bobbed his head as you spoke, as if he was well aware of all that, adding, “And as I saw, he has already been in contact.”

You sighed. “Not long enough to get a trace.”

Given the officer’s reaction when Jackson hung up, you gathered that much.

Jinyoung smiled. He was almost amused. Opening his notebook to a blank page, he tapped his pen and said, “We both know they won’t get anything from you. You’re not going to crack.”

You tilted your head. “Are you interested in finding a way to break me, Mr. Park?”

Jinyoung was a master tactician, highly respected for his intellect. He had been watching from behind the tinted glass. Your behavior with him was a stark contrast than with the detectives. You had been trained. You were more at ease with him. Jinyoung realized he didn’t put any fear in you. And that was an advantage for him.

Jackson’s words echoed in your mind, “If someone comes in from the outside, a different agency or a different country, he or she will be the real deal. They will have been hunting me for a long time and will see you as a key to finally bringing me down.”

Jinyoung’s delayed response cut through your thoughts, “I’m more interested in how someone like you became involved in this. Level with me. How did you meet the one and only Jackson Wang?”

You shrugged. “Why do you care? It won’t help you find him.”

Jinyoung uncapped his pen, ready to write, and pressed, “Some girls are drawn to men like him. Men with violent, dangerous power.”

“I never knew about his powers,” you shot back vehemently. Was he implying you were insane for loving someone like Jackson?

“I’ve spent the greater portion of my professional career in a cat and mouse game with him,” Jinyoung confessed, trying to smooth your feathers. “Help me get to know him better.”

“You’re the mouse,” you smarted.

Jinyoung glanced up through hair straying into his eyes. With a smirk, he scribbled something at the top of his blank page and said, “Whenever you’re ready.”

You exhaled loudly.

The last of Jackson’s warnings rang in your ear. “If they’re the real deal, buy time. Get a feel for them. Figure out what it is they’re after and how they want to use you. And then, whatever you do, don’t give it to them.”

Glancing down at your nails, noticing one or two had broken in your scuffle during your shady, back alley arrest, you began, “I met him at some ritzy, overpriced hotel. It had been a shit day. Another board meeting of senior partners where no one gave a damn what I had to say. As long as our stocks came out unscathed, they didn’t care if the rest of the world was about to go to hell…”

You had been sitting at the bar, manicured nails drumming on the black marble. The bartender kept a steady flow of red wine coming your way and you sipped your glass in an attempt to clear your head of all its moral conscience.

It was a wonder you had lasted this long and you pondered how much longer you could keep going. You never imagined selling your soul to a corporation, playing with people’s lives. It had all just been numbers and math, at which you excelled, and then the corruption steadily seeped into you.

“Another crisis, Luke,” you told the bartender.

He tossed a cloth over his shoulder and retorted, “Another Tuesday, madame.”

You chortled and put the glass to your lips. “That’s the truth if I ever heard it,” you mumbled bitterly.

You saw the numbers. Numbers were your expertise. The market would crash. Much, much worse than before. Hard-working people would lose their retirements, their livelihoods. Some would never recover. Meanwhile, you and your bosses would roll in cash and the government would cut the banks a giant check to fix the disaster they had created.

Looking at your hands, you marveled how clean they looked for being so stained and filthy.

Luke glanced at the television overhead, where you had asked him to switch to the financial channel. The bell was chiming. The market had closed, deep in the red. No surprise there.

You glared at the screen. They had no idea what was coming tomorrow morning. People worked hard, but greed worked harder.

Luke turned to you, pointing at the coverage, and inquired curiously, “That kind of crisis?”

You tipped your glass toward him for more wine and nodded. “Now is the time to pull out.”

“My pull out game has never been good,” Luke quipped after topping off your drink.

You nearly spat your wine with laughter and your stomach ached. Fuck’s sake, when was the last time you laughed?

“Dammit, Luke. How am I supposed to cut in now?”

You angled to the man who had been seated a few stools down from you.

Luke held up his hands in defense, smirking with satisfaction.

The first thing you noticed about Jackson Wang was his smile. It was warm, undeniably playful, yet something about it put you at ease. Most men in your field had smiles that warned of danger or bad intentions.

Your eyes met and Jackson could see right off the bat you were unimpressed. It had been a rough day and you were in no mood to flirt. So Jackson decided to finesse, which luckily was his specialty.

Turning back to your wine and tasting it on your tongue, you tried not to steal another glance or two at the handsome man at the bar.

“Should I unload my portfolio?” Jackson asked, wanting your attention.

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye and feigned disinterest, “What’s your pleasure?”

He cocked his head and joked, “I’m surprisingly vanilla.”

You rolled your eyes and deadpanned, “In stocks.”

Jackson recognized that icy tone of a woman who did not have a single fuck to give him and knew he would need to melt you a little. You had caught his eye at the bar, but beautiful women were a commodity in his line of work.

At first he dismissed your glowing skin beneath the bar lights and your big beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears. You almost hooked him with that tight black dress and the way it hugged your every curve. And your legs, hot damn, keeping his eyes off of those had been even harder.

Then, he heard you speak. You talked with intellect and eloquence, and he was ready to hire you to narrate the rest of his life. He realized you may have some intelligence in that pretty head of yours and that snared his attention.

Because Jackson had learned long ago he was very, very easily bored. And the vapid nonsense that came out of the mouths of the girls he tended to attract with his money just didn’t cut it for him anymore.

The pursuit was on.

“Mostly gold, some silver. A few auto brands,” he replied, attempting to sound humble.

You answered expertly, “Gold and silver will bounce back in the long run. They always do. Some auto manufacturers may not survive, but just the American ones are at risk. And more than likely Uncle Sam will bail them out like last time.”

Jackson winced, but it was for effect. “Bye-bye, Cadillac.”

You chuckled.

Jackson sobered a little, frowning at the television. “Another crash, huh?”

“You didn’t hear it from me,” you whispered under your breath, sipping your wine and knowing every time you opened your mouth, you jeopardized your entire company.

In the morning, when the opening bell rang, your firm would unload all of its dirty, worthless stock to unsuspecting buyers, and the market would collapse like clockwork.

Numbers didn’t lie.

“I trust your expertise,” Jackson flirted, voice like silk.

You gave him a sideways glance, not convinced. More than likely he was just trying to get into your pants. “Most men get turned off when I speak with expertise in my field,” you said, running a hand through your hair.

Jackson shook his head and retorted, “I’m not most men.”

You giggled; how predictable. “That’s what they all say.”

But you knew now that he was right.

As the conversation went on, Jackson moved closer and closer. By the time he sat at your side, his presence was a welcome one. After another glass of wine, you started leaning into him.

You talked about everything. Topics shifted from the market to the weather to international travel and finally to your favorite subject, good food. You were never one for small talk. In fact, you hated it. But Jackson spoke like he could match your rhythm.

He didn’t shy away from more complicated discussions. He didn’t bat an eye when you challenged his opinions. He could keep up with a little verbal sparring and seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. And he never tried to dumb you down like so many men before him.

Finally, after you didn’t back away when he moved dangerously close to you, Jackson cut to the chase and teased, “Don’t act like you’re not feeling me.”

You laughed, but there was no weight behind it.

Jackson shuffled closer and murmured, “I see you.”

You blinked up at him innocently. “What do you see?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I can’t explain it, but I could try if you wanted me to.”

It had been a long time since you indulged a man to sweet talk you or romance you or even get you into bed with him. You had given up on the opposite sex not long after you began ascending the ladder at work and learned the vast majority of them were threatened by your success.

Jackson was not the least bit intimidated by you. At this point, he was a goddamn unicorn.

“Explain it to me,” you whispered slyly, realizing his lips were mere inches from yours.

Jackson moved even closer and whispered for your ears only, “You’re gravity. You’re a magnet. I can’t stop getting closer.”

You lowered your head, hiding the heat quickly rising behind your cheeks.

Jackson slipped his fingers beneath your chin and tilted you back up to meet his unwavering eyes.

It was the first time he touched you.

“I want you,” he said, a low rumble of a growl in his throat.

Your eyes flickered, faltering under how intensely he looked at you. You wanted desperately to hide how badly his words and voice affected you, and you sneered, “Does that line work?” You had to keep him on his toes in this little dance. You weren’t ready to surrender yet.

Jackson wasn’t going to let you have the upper hand anymore. He knew you were what he wanted and he was coming in for the kill. “You tell me,” he spoke, more aggressive. “You’re the first woman to hear that from me.”

You pouted when his fingers slipped from your chin, satisfied he had made his point. “You’re smooth,” came your reply, a little hesitant from the tension. “I’ll give you that.”

Jackson slouched comfortably on his bar stool and said, “I’ve flashed the watch, the rings. Most girls get very friendly once they’ve seen sparkly rocks.”

You clicked your tongue and snorted. “If you only knew how much money I make.”

Jackson tried another approach. “So I can’t buy your affections?”

With a shake of your head, you crooned, “Sadly, not for sale.”

“Fine,” Jackson said, noncommittal and rather abrupt.

You panicked. It sounded like he was about to throw in the towel. Your heart began to beat a little faster against your ribs.

Jackson gulped what was left of his drink and set the glass back down loudly on the bar. Adjusting his tie, Jackson rose to his feet and peered down at you, whispering, “Tell me you’re not feeling me and I’ll go. And you’ll never have to see me again.”

That was not a welcome thought.

At your silence, Jackson pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to Luke. “Mine and the lady’s tabs, pal,” he said, driving the last nail into the coffin.

You reached out and grabbed his sleeve without hesitation, gazing up at him with naive eyes. You had no idea then what you were getting yourself into.

“Don’t…,” you whispered bashfully, cheeks flushing again.

Jackson moved back to your side, a victorious smile on his face.

You saw his grin and chuckled, realizing you’d been beaten in the game.

Jackson cupped your cheek and leaned in with confidence, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Your lashes fluttered. He smelled good, ridiculously good. You wanted to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in.

Jackson resisted the urge to slip his hands in your hair and kiss you like he really wanted. Your skin was soft; so soft he wanted to trace his lips over every inch of you and write his name with his tongue across your body.

You managed to hold onto some semblance of self-control throughout the elevator ride. The tension was thick. The air was heavy. No words passed between either of you. And you stood at opposite corners of the elevator.

Jackson led you down the hallway, your hand tucked inside his. The moment he stopped at door 309, the two of you were on each other.

“You’ve got some nerve getting me turned on like this,” you teased, panting softly.

Jackson’s lips were on your neck, his arms around your waist. He crushed you between his body and the wall, and you couldn’t be happier. After that comment, he pulled back to look into your eyes and smirked, nipping at your lips.

You took his face in your hands and smashed your lips on his. It went without saying that you really liked kissing Jackson. It was all you wanted to do for the foreseeable future. He tasted of liquor and really bad choices.

Jackson wedged a knee between your thighs and made room for his hips to fit between. You moaned into his mouth, tempted to lock your ankles behind his back, but rather conflicted about it. Were you going to hook up with him? Your first thought was an emphatic yes.

Your hands roamed over his shoulders and back, feeling taut muscles underneath his expensive suit. He was hard like iron, thick thighs bracing you against the wall. His hands wandered too, exploring your body, finally able to touch those curves.

Despite his hold on you and your tongue down his throat, Jackson managed to pull the keycard from his back pocket and swipe it over the panel. You heard the familiar beep of the hotel door unlocking, followed by Jackson pushing it open.

Mumbling against his mouth, you grabbed his wrist and pulled, blurting, “We can’t.”

“What…,” Jackson exclaimed, his lips red. “Why?”

“Because,” you huffed, letting your head fall back against the wall in defeat. “If I go in there, we’re gonna fuck.”

The words alone made a certain something twitch in his pants. Jackson fought a chuckle and gave you a glance over. You were already disheveled and breathless, and he hadn’t even touched you yet. “Is that so?” he taunted, expression full of boyish energy.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, still at war with yourself. Then, you leaned into his chest and collided your lips back to his.

Jackson smiled against your mouth, tightening his arm around your waist and meeting the rush of your kisses. He took them to mean you changed your mind and swiped the key card again.

Hearing the chime of the door, you grabbed the lapel of his suit with both hands and broke away. “No, we can’t.”

Jackson laughed, amused by you. “Okay. Okay,” he relented.

“Sorry, but…,” you trailed, still trapped in his arms. “I’ve never fucked anyone I just met.”

“Me neither,” he replied softly.

You cocked a brow. No one gave a damn if men had sex with every human that passed their sight. For that reason, you were inclined to believe him.

Jackson pulled the door closed and pressed the sweetest of kisses to your lips. When he stopped, your eyes fluttered open and you peered up at him.

“Gravity,” was all he said, chuckling to himself.

Yeah, you felt it, too.

Running your fingers into his hair and tugging gently, you ordered, “Keep kissing me.”

Jackson didn’t need to be told twice.

The rushed, hurried kisses were over. Now that the two of you weren’t sprinting to the bedroom, you could focus on how your tongues danced in each other’s mouths. Jackson stroked a hand down your thigh and hooked your leg over his hip, needing to be as close as humanly possible to you.

When his lips moved back to your neck, you rolled your eyes and the catch in your breath almost sent him to his knees.

“Can I take you to breakfast in the morning?” he asked between kisses.

“Yes,” you replied, fingers pressed to his shoulders.

Jackson proceeded to suck a mark of possession beneath your ear. “And dinner tomorrow evening?”

You were out of your mind, insane with lust and desire. Sweat was beginning to gather beneath your dress, courtesy of the fire burning inside him. “Absolutely.”

Jackson licked the bruise he was making, tasting your skin. “How about the day after that?”

You groaned in frustration. He was making it fucking impossible. “And the day after that. Just don’t stop kissing me,” you whined, bringing his face back to yours for another kiss.

You blinked your eyes rapidly, dismayed to find you weren’t in Jackson’s arms, but still caged inside the grey room. Grasping the ring on your left hand, you spun it around - a nervous tick, but it was vaguely comforting. The ring had been a gift on your first anniversary. Inscribed along the inside of the band were the words, never stop kissing me.

It was the closest Jackson had ever come to confessing his love for you. Slipping the ring on your finger, the finger generally reserved for wedding vows, Jackson had said, “So every man knows you’re spoken for.”

Jinyoung let his gaze fall from your face to your hands, noting how you turned the gold band around your finger to soothe yourself. It was human nature, to cling to something sentimental when under duress.

You noticed where his eyes had fallen and quickly covered your hand. His expression was one of scrutiny and belied interest, and you deflected, “Alright, I told you how we met. Makeout session included. Tell me what you hope to get from that.”

Jinyoung replied without hesitation, “I want to catch him. I want to put him away forever.”

A bitter taste filled your mouth. “I will never help you do that.”

“You already are.”

You blinked.

Jinyoung leaned back in his chair, at ease when he explained, “I can keep you here indefinitely. We wait for him to crawl out of his hole.”

You shook your head vehemently. “He won’t.”

“He won’t trade his life for yours,” Jinyoung questioned, seemingly shocked.

“He…,” you paused with indecision. “I don’t know.”

The cold, hard truth was, you didn’t. There was a part of Jackson’s life he never shared with you. The life that was centered around his powers.

But you knew Jackson took great pride in what he had built. He came from nothing, was told his whole life he would never amount to anything, and he had destroyed all the odds stacked against him. He not only beat the game, he changed it forever.

“You’re in here, ready to give up everything for him,” Jinyoung’s voice faded into the background.

“Am I?” you questioned, lost in your memories.

The first time Jackson made love to you, he revealed himself to you and said something that was burned into your mind forever. The two of you were naked, exposed and vulnerable to the other. So many little nothings had been spoken while endless promises and vows were written into each other’s skin.

Then, in a moment of stillness, Jackson cradled your face and drowned himself in your eyes. He called your name and you stared up at him, hinged on his every word.

“Do you know what they say,” he breathed, chest heaving. “About playing with fire?”

“Are you going to burn me?” you asked him innocently.

“I burn everything I touch,” Jackson told you, filling with sadness. “And only I survive.”

“I’ll be your Phoenix then,” you whispered, bringing your fingers to rake teasingly down his back over the tattoo of the immortal firebird inked into his skin.

Jackson smiled and shifted on top of you to take you again. “You are the closest I will ever get to heaven…”

And you watched in disbelief as the dark brown of his irises turned to scorching red.

Jinyoung called your name. He knew you were somewhere far away in your head.

You blinked through oncoming tears.

“Do you know what he is? Do you have any idea what he’s done? Do you even know what they call him?”

You heard the rumors and read the headlines, just like everyone else. He wasn’t the only one; these men with strange powers. Some said they were harbingers of the end times.

“The Phoenix,” you interjected.

Jinyoung frowned in contempt.

“Because he burns everything and everyone in his path,” you finally confessed. Whatever gets in his way.

“One day, he’ll raze cities to the ground.” Jinyoung’s tongue was a razor. “Did you think you wouldn’t get burned?”

I asked for it, you admitted to yourself. I fell in love with the villain.

Reaching down to pick up the photo still on the table of you swept up in Jackson’s arms, you sighed in acceptance of fate, “Moth to the flame.”

Somewhere out in the night, as Shanghai finally drifted to sleep, Jackson sat in the backseat of his tinted car, gripping the phone so tight he was sure it would snap at any minute.

There would be hell to pay for those that had taken you. Jackson already identified each of them. But in the meantime, he could only sit and think. Getting revenge was easy. Getting you back was considerably harder.

He had to stay ahead of the game. They took you for a purpose. You wouldn’t roll on him, Jackson was sure of that. You would never give them the satisfaction. But they would try to use you as leverage and Jackson couldn’t risk everything he had built. It would make the entire city fall down on top of him.

If he tried to rescue you, then the whole world would know he had a weakness and you would never be safe again for as long as you lived. If he didn’t, then the corrupt cops could put you in the hands of enemies that were much worse to make a bloody example of you.

Jackson grit his teeth. He knew this day would come, when he would finally have to confront his feelings for you. He swore to never let his heart out of its cage, but it had escaped and fled to the palm of your hand. There was a reason he never told you he loved you.

He couldn’t admit it to himself. Love was meant only for humans.

“What do I fucking do?” he cried out in his mother tongue, wringing his hands before hiding his face behind them. He needed you in his arms, needed to hold you again.

But he would lose everything.

The phone chimed and Jackson opened the text.

Call it off. Or she drowns first.

Jackson shook with rage and opened his hand, irises turning crimson as flames appeared on his palm. Then, he closed his fist, snuffing them out.

next chapter →

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

#got7 fanfiction #jackson wang #got7 smut #jackson smut #jackson wang smut #got7 fanfic #got7 fic #got7 au #jackson wang fanfiction #jackson wang fanfic #jackson wang fic #jackson wang au #got7 scenario #got7 reaction #got7 imagine

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come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years

Text

//the first spring. miya atsumu//

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: none

Notes: i’m so sorry for not updating at my normal time today 😭😭 here’s a new series to make up for it!

PART I. II. III. IV.

There was something about the season that breathed a new life into Atsumu Miya. Maybe it was the gentle breeze that carried the faintest whiffs of the approaching summer. Perhaps it was grass that was finally regaining its color after being buried under a heavy layer of snow. Each year, each spring, was new and exciting and it brought a whole new set of opportunities and experiences.

He just didn’t expect his new experience to be you.

But there you were, fingers laced with his, swinging his hand cutely between your bodies. Your eyes were trained on the path ahead, but there was a smile on your face, that same smile that made his heart do a little backflip in his chest the very first time he saw it. The same smile that still brought those nervous butterflies to his stomach.

At the start of the year, if someone had told him that he’d be hopelessly head over heels in love with some random girl from his brother’s shop, he would’ve snorted and asked what game you were playing, but much to his dismay, that’s exactly what happened. It was still new, still fresh, much like the season itself, but that’s what made it as beautiful as it did.

It had been so long since he had entered a relationship, but something about this one, just felt different. There was a feeling surrounding it that had his breath catching in his throat every time you look at him. It had his heart beating a little faster every time he saw your name come across the phone of his screen, trying to conceal his small smile to avoid the teasing remarks from his brother. Each time Atsumu would get to relish in the feeling of his head spinning as he listened to you talk about all of the things you loved.

“Hey, ‘mu?” You ask, gently squeezing his hand to bring his attention back towards you.

He hums softly, casting his gaze down towards you. “What’s up, princess?”

Your free hand reaches up towards his hair, plucking something from the soft blonde strands. “You have cherry blossom petals in your hair.”

He watches as you let the little petals flitter down towards the ground on their release, collecting amongst all of the others that had covered the edges of the path, steadily growing denser as the trees became more populated. Everywhere around you, there were people shaded beneath the branches, taking pictures, laughter carrying through the air as light as feathers. The two of you could’ve stopped long ago. There had been plenty of open spots away from the crowds, plenty of spots that would’ve been absolutely perfect for a picnic. But, none of them had the same feeling that this one spot in particular had. It was a longer walk and a bit of a hassle to get there, but it was worth it, every single time.

Atsumu tugs your hand gently, bringing your eyes back up to his face. “This way, princess.” He starts leading you towards a thicket of trees, away from the rest of the park visitors.

“Why? Are you going to take me into the woods so you can kill me?” You joke.

Your boyfriend stops in his tracks and turns to look at you, confusion scrunching his brows. “I thought that was obvious.” Your face must’ve reflected about a thousand different layers of shock, because he just laughed, patting the top of your head teasingly. “Come on, princess. What do you take me for? A serial killer? I just have someplace special that I want to show you. It’s at the top of this hill. I promise that you won’t regret it.”

You nod slightly, letting Atsumu take the lead into the woods. The trek was anything but easy. The steep slope was only made more difficult by the damp soil that had your shoes covered in a thick layer of mud. Tree limbs had fallen and had never been cleared, leaving you to either find a way around or risk tearing a hole in your leggings. Logs or large rocks that blocked your path were combatted by Atsumu’s hands on your waist to lift you up and over the obstacles.

But he had been right. The sight had left you stuck in your tracks before you even got there. At the top of the hill was another cherry blossom tree, not unlike all of the others in the park, but this one was older, a thicker trunk and fuller branches stretching towards the sky. The sun was lost behind all of the pink petals.

“Beautiful, yeah?”

“How did you find this place?”

“My parents would bring me and ‘Samu here to take embarrassing family photos every year when we were little.” He winced a little at all of the memories of the stiff khaki pants and the uncomfortable polo shirts, posing in awkward stances next to his brother.

You turn to look at him, a small smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. “Guess I’ll have to ask Osamu about those next time I’m in the shop.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“We’ll see how this date goes,” you say, patting his chest lightly before walking the last stretch up to the top of the hill. Atsumu has to jog to catch up with you, his long legs making it an easy task. He pulls you back to him by the tail of your shirt, holding you firmly against his chest.

“This will be the best date you’ve ever had, princess, and I promise that each one will be better than the last,” he whispers, the gentle tenor of his voice tickling your ears, the warmth of his body filling you with a sense of comfort that you never thought you’d get to experience through another person.

“I’m going to hold you to that, ‘mu.”

His hands trace up your form until they’re resting on your shoulders. He gives them a tender squeeze before letting his hand find its place back in yours. “By all means, princess, please do.” Atsumu places his backpack down on the ground, laying out a blanket on the ground and pulling out the lunches that had been packed. He had gone and picked up your favorites from his Osamu’s shop, so maybe the presentation of the neatly shaped onigiri would make up for the fact that he hadn’t actually made lunch like he said he would.

As hours passed and lunches had been consumed, your back slowly found itself a home against his chest, your head leaning lazily against his shoulder, fingers twiddling with his own. The few rays of sun that managed to fight their way through the boughs bounced off your being, casting a gentle glow over your form that left Atsumu feeling like he had reached cloud nine.

Spring was a season full of new beginnings and new stories. Life flourished so beautifully in the soft sunlight that finally broke through the clouds of bleak winter days. Birds sang new melodies, trees were once again able to stretch their leaves towards the brilliant blue of the sky. Flowers were able to bloom and children were able to race through the grass, splashing in the puddles of the spring rains, covering their clothes in mud and stains of every shape and size. But, spring also let new romances come to light. Somewhere on a hill, underneath a cherry blossom tree that was hidden away from the eyes of onlookers, a young couple shared their beginning. A first kiss that would leave cheeks flushed and hearts pounding, breathless smiles as lips were reconnected for a second and maybe even a third.

It was hidden away under those branches that Miya Atsumu found a new fascination for spring and a new love for the feeling of your lips on his.

{taglist: @nicka-nell @moncymonce}

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #miya #atsumu #miya x reader #haikyuu imagines #atsumu miya #fake fics by shitty #but i make them a reality #this will probably be the new thursday thing when we aren't doing trt #cherry blossoms and the other atrocities of spring #imagines #x reader #fluff #miya twins

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pcttrailsidereader · 3 years

Text

14 Lessons from theTrail

As the 2021 hiking season is well underway, the time is right to share wisdom from seasoned veterans of the trail. Brett Fisher (Backtrack) – http://www.wanderabout.org/ – suggested that the five lessons from the PCT as articulated by Anna (North Star) and Chris (Shutterbug) – http://wanderingthewild.com/ – along with the five more added by Bobcat – http://roamingbobcat.wordpress.com/ – and finished off with his own four, would be worthy of publishing. I agreed. Reflection is such an important part of the PCT experience.

These 14 lessons are a powerful reminder to each of us long distance hikers. I love the positive spirit reflected in their words. You may have your own to add and you may take issue with some (I’m still chewing on #8) … please let us know.

Brett ‘Backtrack’ Fisher

North Star and Shutterbug noted that their thru hike of the Pacific Crest Trail taught them many things. Here are five of the most important lessons they learned on the trail.

1) Senses awaken in nature. After years of living in a city, our minds subconsciously created filters to deal with the contant jumble of sensory information. It was thrilling to remove those mental filters and reawaken our senses in the great outdoors. The crack of a distant twig alerted us to an elk, almost hidden in the forest. We could smell day hikers’ deodorant and laundry detergent from several feet away. Our eyes tracked the subtle movements of a soaring hawk adjusting to shifting air currents. The longer we lived in the wild, the sharper our senses became.

2) People are good. On the trail, day hikers and trail angels gave us encouragement, kudos, and tasty food. Other thru hikers shared our joy during good times, and cheered us up during harder moments. Crews of volunteers labored to maintain the trail. The people we met in the small towns along the PCT were incredibly friendly and accommodating. Strangers went out of their way to give us rides, find us rooms, and some even offered us their homes for a night. The kindness and generosity we received went beyond anything we could have expected. We saw the fundamental goodness of people during our thru hike.

3) Hike your own hike. Hikers often tell each other to “Hike your own hike” (HYOH), recognizing a wide variety of backpacking preferences. We knew this phrase before starting the Pacific Crest Trail, but its meaning really sank in with a few hundred miles under our feet. HYOH worked for us in many small ways, such as our hiking pace — we walked slower than most thru hikers so we could take more pictures. But we also realized HYOH applied to larger life choices, such as our decision to continue hiking long trails, rather than immediately returning to desk jobs. To Hike Your Own Hike is to allow yourself to do what works best for you and your passions, and to support others in doing what works for them. The result is greater happiness for everyone.

4) Fewer possessions is freeing. We found that the less we had, the happier we were. Each possession was not only physical weight to carry, but also mental weight. Carrying just one set of clothes meant no decisions about what to wear in the morning. Instead of carrying chairs, which could break or get left behind, we sat on the ground or on logs. Taking only the food we needed made meal choices simple. We didn’t bring bowls and plates, all of which we’d have to clean. Rather we ate right from our pot. With less items to think and fret about, our minds could relax and be open to all the beauty around us. The simple lifestyle is truly freeing.

5) Wilderness is home. As the weeks passed, we became more and more comfortable living in the desert, the mountains, and the forest. A primal part of us came to the forefront. Fresh air, clean water, and open space surrounded us and sustained us. As our relationship with the wilderness deepened, we felt more at home there than we did in civilization. We had not expected this, but it turned out to be one of the most powerful aspects of the hike.

Photo Credit: Rees Hughes

These are the five added by Bobcat.

6) Joy is our natural state. On the trail life is reduced to its most basic necessities: water, food, sleep, shelter, safety from the elements and natural beauty. Because our minds are freed from having to handle what Northstar and Shutterbug call the constant jumble of sensory information, we are open to tackle deeper and deeper levels of thought. Because the trail is so long, at some point we run out of things to ponder, analyze, consider or solve. When that happens, the void that is left seems to immediately be filled with a sense of joy and peace. So, at our most basic level, underneath it all, this must be our natural state.

7) Life is a mirror (you get what you give). I have experienced this more than once on the trail: If I approach the road in a joyful and optimist state, I wait for a hitch less than five minutes; if I approach it with a bad attitude, it will be a long while before I get picked up. The kindness and generosity we received as hikers I believe is in direct correlation to our own state of open-mindedness. The opposite is true also. Fear attracts scary situation. People who feared bears had bear encounters. I started the trail worried about poisonous plants and managed to get poison oak on one leg and poodle-dog-bush on the other. When I became grateful for the cortisone cream two generous hikers gave me, the oozy mess cleared up over night.

8) All you need is love and gratitude. Somewhere in the first few hundred miles of the trail, I became so frustrated with my UV water purifier and so jacked up on iodine that I stopped using any sort of water treatment. Instead, I held the water to my heart and told it, sincerely, “I love you, please don’t make me sick, thank you”. The method proved excellent the whole trail, including with that one batch of “bear pooh water” (see “I believe in angels”). Inspired by my success, I also used this method as sunscreen (I love you Sun, please don’t burn me, thank you), bug-repellent (I love you spider, please stay off my tarp, thank you) and holographic deck (I love you trail, could I get a shady spot, mosquito free, by some water, thank you). Seriously, it works. Try it for yourself.

9) Freedom is an intrinsic quality. Before I left, a good friend told me that the PCT would likely be the one place where I could find enough space to accommodate my humongous need for freedom. All former thru-hikers I have met mention “freedom” as the greatest gift they received from the trail. All that fresh air, clean water and open space seeps into your soul and sticks. I think freedom is always in us, but sometimes our vision of it is clouded. Once we touch that quality within us, it remains wherever the end of the trail finds us. Some of us continue to wander, travel, explore or hike; others return to former lives and jobs from an expanded perspective. In all cases, you can take the hiker off the trail, but not the trail out of the hiker.

10) Laugh it off. Never mind great truths and life-changing discoveries; we know nothing. Any labeled identity we create for ourselves will be destroyed as soon as it’s uttered. I once wrote that my feet hurt, the next day my feet stopped hurting. I once wrote that I preferred solitude, the next day I found myself hiking with a small group of fun people and loving it. I once was very upset at the thought of no-longer being a “thru-hiker”. I think we all feel that way. That is in part why we seek the company of other thru-hikers post-trail. Am I still a hiker if I’m not hiking? Who cares! Each experience is worth its weight in gold. I think it’s important to not take ourselves too seriously and as Dacia so eloquently put, to get out of our own way, learn to surf the wave, revel in the power of it, and let it all come together.

Photo credit: Jim Peacock

And the final four from Backtrack.

11) It’s not a race. Lightweight, a hiker who hadn’t yet escaped the vortex at Casa de Luna, started a list in the Anderson’s trail register, “How To Win the PCT.” First on the list: Be the last to Canada. If you’re hiking northbound that is. Hiking a long trail is not a competition. There aren’t winners and losers. All of us get there only one step at a time.

12) It’s not about the miles, but what happens between the miles. I heard this from my daughter, Dances With Lizards, the only member of Team No Hurries to get to Canada this year. Maybe this is a variation of “the journey is the destination.” We live between the miles. Not in how many miles we’ve walked today, all week, or the whole hiking season.

13) It is what it is. It’s 105 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s 18 miles to water. There’s a thunderstorm right on top of us. The snake ate the rabbit babies. I am very hungry. It isn’t good and it isn’t bad. It is what it is and has no need for meaning. I take a break in the shade in the heat of the day. I carry 4 liters of water. I hunker down from the rain and lightning and watch the display. A snake’s got to eat, too. I eat some food. It is what it is, now and in this moment.

14) There’s pain but that doesn’t mean there is suffering. A day hiker descending Mount Whitney says to me, “Are we having fun yet?” I am huffing and puffing and legs burning on the way up and pant out, “I think we do this for other reasons than fun.” Walking on blisters hurts. Legs and knees and ankles and feet sometimes ache, and sometimes all ache at the same time. Sometimes I am very hungry. Sometimes I smell very bad and so do all my companions. My socks have holes in them. Yet, I laugh at the pain and discomfort. We laugh together. There is joy out here on this trail. Between every step and every mile.

15) add yours here …

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starring-movies · 4 years

Text

Killing Eve: Episode Analysis

*SPOILERS*

Season 3, Episode 5 - Are You from Pinner? [Part 1]

This episode, like S3E4, follows a comletely different format to all the other episodes, as it focuses solely on Villanelle’s time with her family in Grizmet and doesn’t include any other storylines from any of the other characters in the series.

We begin with Villanelle’s arrival at Grizmet, where we get a scene of a huge logging truck beeping it’s horn at a completely oblivious Villanelle, as she’s walking along listening to music. This lack of awareness in her surroundings is highly unusual for Villanelle, who’s success in her profession hinges on her being constantly alert and highly astute. Previously the only other instance where we have seen Villanelle not being on top form; is in S2E4, when she takes drugs and almost kills a girl for no reason, after she thought Eve had lost interest in her. Making the point of showing us how she’s not as alert as usual, displays how Villanelle is distracted and not able to focus at the thought (and pressure) of being reunited with her family.

Villanelle also has her hair out, illustrating how she’s willing to open, and immerse herself, into her family that she’s going to be reunited with.

On arriving at the family home, Villanelle enters the house and examines the kitchen. She looks at all the little mundane objects like the sugar bowl, the food cooking on the stove and some knitting supplies. As Villanelle’s looking at these things, we can see that she’s considering what her life could have looked like, and how different it would have looked, if she hadn’t been left at the orphanage.

After Villanelle has met most of the members of her family (she’s yet to meet her mother, Tatiana), we see her sitting in Bor’ka’s bedroom as she talks to him about the best foods to eat in the various countries that Elton John has visited. When asked about Vienna, Villanelle tells Bor’ka that there is “great ice cream in Vienna”, which is a nice little reference to the very first scene of the whole series, when we first meet Villanelle eating ice cream in Vienna after a kill.

During her conversation with Bor’ka, Villanelle puts on some red heart glasses with pink-ish coloured lenses in them, an accessory that Elton John is famous for wearing. We get a shot of her looking at her family with the glasses on, as well as a shot of her view of her family through the pink lenses of the glasses. In the first shot of Villanelle as she looks at her family with the glasses on; through the imagery of this shot we are shown how Villanelle is watching her family with literal ‘heart eyes’ - just like the apron she wears at the end of the episode, she is putting her whole heart out and offering it to her family to try and find the place of belonging she has been looking for.

Similarly in the shot of Villanelle’s point of view through the tinted lenses, we are shown how Villanelle is watching her family through literal ‘rose-coloured glasses’, the definition of this idiom is “a happy or positive attitude that fails to notice negative things”). In this way, through the chosen imagery in both of these shots, we are being shown how Villanelle is letting herself be carried away by her heart, now she thinks she’s found her family and finally found a place where she feels that she belongs - she is looking at her family unrealistically and putting an impossible optimism them for what she hopes to gain from her visit home.

As soon as Villanelle finds out that her mother, Tatiana, has arrived home, we see one of the only times Villanelle has been in pure terror and distress. Villanelle fully panics when she finds out Tatiana is back and she frantically runs around the living room, trying to find a way out. The only other time we have seen Villanelle display this level of anxiety was in S1E2 when she being held prisoner by Julian and was incredibly weak after being stabbed by Eve.

As Villanelle is running around trying to escape, ‘Bumble Bee’ by LaVern Baker is played over the scene. The lyrics that can be heard are:

“I'm gonna have to put you down,

You been treating me like a clown,

You know you've hurt me once before,

You'll never hurt me anymore,

Shoo-ee, you hurt me like a bee,

A bumble bee, a evil bumble bee”

Although we haven’t been told yet what happened between Villanelle and her mother, the lyrics of the song accurately reflect what is soon revealed to us. The lyrics of the song, together with the information that we are later given - that Tatiana was a terrible mother to Villanelle, who she thought had “a darkness” - is the reason for the frantic panic that Villanelle reacts with, when she realises that she has to confront her mother again after all this time. When Bor’ka says that “mum” is home, Villanelle suddenly remembers how her mother “hurt [her] once before”, and most likely how she doesn’t want her to “hurt [her] anymore”.

When Tatiana enters the house she drops her shopping bags, she walks over to Villanelle to hug her and then starts crying, calling Villanelle “my Oksana”. It’s left fairly ambiguously as to whether this emotional reaction from Tatiana was genuine. However, the three separate close-up shots that follow the hug, suggest that Tatiana was not being genuine.

We are shown two shots of Knick-Knacks on bookcases and one shot of some family pictures on the wall. Interestingly, within these three shots, there are a total of four framed photos of Tatiana on her own, with no-one else in the pictures with her. The choice to show shots of the Knick-Knacks suggest that Tatiana is not being sincere, as we are being shown how she attempts to hide her “darkness” by putting on this facade of being a good wife and mother, which we (and Villanelle) later see starts to slip.

The individual photos of Tatiana also suggest that she is not reacting genuinely to seeing Villanelle, as we can see that she’s clearly a narcissist and so makes as effort to put out a particular image of herself - in this case she’s putting on a show for the other members of her family, so that she can maintain the image that she’s spent so long building up: the loving mother who was forced to give up her child and is finally being reunited with her, after thinking she was dead for all thee years.

It’s further shown how Tatiana tried to bury her old life and start a fresh one (she started again by getting a new husband, a new house and new children), when Pyotr brings the photo album with the childhood pictures of Villanelle. He brings out the album and says that he found it “in back of loft”. Tatiana has plenty of family photos in the house, and a great number of them are of herself; so to not have any pictures up of Villanelle, and the fact that the album was found pushed away in the back of the loft, shows how she tried to hide away any remnants of Villanelle after she left her at the orphanage.

Even more notable is that there is no pictures of Tatiana’s husband, Villanelle’s father, anywhere. As Villanelle is looking through the photo album she says “where is Dad? There has to be one of him before he died”. Again it’s been heavily emphasised that there’s a lot of photos in the house, and there’s even quite a few pictures of Villanelle even though they were hidden away. So for there so be absolutely no pictures at all of the father, it’s insinuated that Tatiana and the father’s relationship wasn’t good before he died, or it wouldn’t be out of the realms of possibility to assume she’s lying and the father left her - or perhaps even, given that Tatiana has a darkness akin to Villanelle’s own darkness, that she killed her husband.

Following Tatiana’s arrival back home and her reunion with Villanelle, she says to Villanelle, “I used to like dressing up and you always wanted my clothes, so I would make costume from old curtains for you”. By Tatiana saying this, it is implying that this is where Villanelle began her love of clothes and dressing up in different disguises.

The next scene we get, is of the whole family playing a card came, called Mafia/Werewolf, together. Fyodor accuses Villanelle of being Bor’ka’s ‘killer’ in the game, but he gets it wrong and Tatiana reveals that she was in fact the ‘killer’. Villanelle is the literal ‘killer’, however in the game it’s Tatiana, which signifies how Tatiana actually has more darkness than Villanelle, but she tries to conceal it.

The card Tatiana holds up is also the Queen of clubs, which further emphasises how she is the queen/matriarch of the household.

In this scene, we also get our first glimpse at Tatiana’s cruelty. Bor’ka says “mum you murdered me”, and Tatiana replied that “I had no choice Bor’ka” and he says that “you could have murdered the others”. He’s right, why would she choose to ‘murder’ Bor’ka when he’s the youngest one playing and is still only a child; she picks on him unnecessarily, just like how she picks on him at the Harvest Festival by telling him that he was “stupid and embarrassed her”.

We are also shown the complete control and power that Tatiana, being a narcissist and as the matriarch, has over the family - she only needs to say “eh” and tap on the table while Pyotr and Fyodor are arguing, to get them to stop.

Tatiana’s narcissism is additionally shown, when she makes her speech to the rest of the family. She says “I like to make speech. This night is very, very special for me. My girl, my little girl”. Tatiana’s repeated use of the personal pronouns “I” and “me”, demonstrate how her focus is all on herself, not on Villanelle or the rest of the family, but on how important and special this is for herself.

The scene continues to give us another instance of dancing, which Villanelle is uncomfortable with, just like in S3E1 with Maria. However unlike with Maria, where Villanelle just sort of stands and looks at Maria, while she’s trying to dance with her, Villanelle actually makes an attempt to partake in the dancing with her family.

She gets up with them and bobs up and down a bit, and we even see her start to sing the chorus of ‘Crocodile Rock’ by Elton John, with them before the scene cuts. Although she’s clearly uncomfortable, the fact that Villanelle makes a conscious effort to dance with her family, shows us how much effort and how desperately she wants to belong in the family. However, the fact that she’s still uncomfortable and it’s still not coming naturally foretells how although she is trying, this still isn’t the right fit for her or what she’s looking for.

Going onto the next scene, we see Pyotr taking his anger out on an old sofa and Villanelle comes to visit him. She’s wearing a mostly black outfit and has her hair up now, unlike the day before when she arrived; her appearance is reflecting how she’s closed herself off more now, and to show that she’s focused (like when she’s on a job). Villanelle is focused because she uses the day to speak to each of the members of the family, to find more information about what happened in the time while she wasn’t there and also to find out more information about her mother.

While Villanelle is speaking to Pyotr she says “you always wanted to be a firefighter, right?” and Pyotr says to her “you remember”. As Tatiana said earlier, that “the orphanage phone me and say you burn place down”, it’s most likely that Villanelle burned down the orphanage in the hope that her brother (who she knew wanted to be a firefighter) would come with the fire brigade to the orphanage to put out the fire; and in turn, come and find her there as well and rescue her.

The description that Villanelle’s gives to Pyotr of her father, that he was “funny, strong, taught me how to fight”; just like Tatiana and the clothes, we can see that Villanelle has taken these characteristics from her father: Villanelle tells Gabriel in S2E1 “yes, I am funny”, later on in this episode Yula’s friend says “she’s funny” and it’s clear that she’s strong and can fight.

Pyotr goes on to ask Villanelle “how they say we die”, and she replies only by saying “car crash” - another foreshadowing for the end of the episode. Villanelle’s family may not have died from an actual “car crash” when the orphanage told her they did, but they do end up dying at the end of the episode because her visit to her family was a metaphorical “car crash”.

In the next scene, when Pyotr and Villanelle are eating golubtsy, Pyotr says that “she’s [Tatiana] not a bad woman, people here say she is saint” and Villanelle says that “people here don’t know her”. This confirms what had up until this point just been alluded to, that Tatiana got a new husband, a new family and a new house (presumably in a different town) to try and hide her previous life and create a new image for herself.

*TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2 OF ‘ARE YOU FROM PINNER? Episode Analysis’*

You can read my previous Killing Eve posts here:-

First Introduction to Villanelle

First Introduction to Eve

S1, E1 - Nice Face

S1, E2 - I’ll Deal With Him Later

S1, E3 - Don’t I Know You?

S1, E4 - Sorry Baby

S1, E5 - I Have a Thing about Bathrooms

S1, E6 - Take Me to the Hole!

S1, E7 - I Don’t Want to Be Free

S1, E8 - God, I’m Tired

S2, E1 - Do You Know How to Dispose of a Body?

S2, E2 - Nice and Neat

S2, E3 - The Hungry Caterpillar

S2, E4 - Desperate Times

S2, E5 - Smell Ya Later

S2, E6 - I Hope You Like Missionary!

S2, E7 - Wide Awake

S2, E8 - You’re Mine

S3, E1 - Slowly Slowly Catchy Monkey

S3, E2 - Management Sucks

S3, E3 - Meetings Have Biscuits

S3, E4 - Still Got It

S3, E5 - Are You From Pinner? [Part 2]

S3, E6 - End of Game

S3, E7 - Beautiful Monster

S3, E8 - Are You Leading or Am I? [Part 1]

——————————————————————————

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raccoonhearteyes · 4 years

Text

Clarke vs. The Hot Customer

Meanwhile in DC, CIA Agent Lexa Woods and NSA Agent Anya Forrest sit across the desk with Homeland Security General Indra Beckman.

Beckman starts, “Last night at 18:00, CIA operative Costia Daniels was killed in action. Before her death, she sent the entire Intersect Project to a civilian, a top-secret mission known only among those with the highest clearance in the CIA. The project consisted of every CIA mission and intel since the CIA’s founding in 1947. All contained in a supercomputer. The goal was for the intel to be downloaded into the human brain. While it has yet to be tested, it would give the agency’s top agents every piece of information necessary to complete their missions, without having to read every file, look through every photo, and analyze every document. This project is now in the inbox of one Clarke Griffin. As I’m sure you can guess, this is not ideal. The recipient’s unsecured g-mail means that every terrorist and their mother can track who it went to. And they will go after them without hesitation in order to get their hands on our intelligence.”

“Why did she send it to a civilian instead of a CIA contact?” Anya asks.

“We don’t know. As far as we can tell, she’s just some random college dropout. She works at a Buy-More. Your job is to find Clarke Griffin, find out what she knows, and download the e-mail yourselves so our nation’s secrets are not floating around in the head of some idiot civilian.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clarke wakes up on her bedroom floor to the blaring alarm on her nightstand. She’s groggy, and doesn’t quite remember why she apparently passed out on the floor instead of changing into pajamas and climbing into her bed.

Slowly, the memories of last night trickle in. She remembers a hot pocket, going to her room to play video games, and… an e-mail from Costia? That can’t be right. They haven’t spoken in years… But she distinctly remembers getting an e-mail from her, then a bunch of weird pictures, and that’s it.

She goes over to her computer to try and reread the email, but the thing won’t turn on. It seems to be fried from the inside. “Great, so not only did Costia ruin my life, she sent me a computer virus that destroyed my computer?” Clarke wonders.

Clarke’s still a little woozy from the unending strobe light of incomprehensible images her brain was exposed to the night before, so she skips breakfast, and thanks her past self for not even changing out of her work clothes so she can just walk right out the door and head to the Buy-More.

Raven is sitting at the Nerd Herd help desk waiting for her.

“You never logged on to LoL last night,” Raven complains. “Yeah, I got a weird e-mail from Costia and it torpedoed my computer.”

“I’m sorry what? Costia? Costia Daniels? The one that ruined your life and got you stuck working at a Buy-More with me?”

“The one and only.”

“What did she want?”

“I don’t know. It was a weird e-mail. It spazzed through a bunch of images and then fried my hard drive.”

“What a bitch.” “Yup.”

It’s a slow day at the Buy-More so Raven and Clarke spend most of the day chit chatting about nothing, planning their next video game all-nighter, and talking about starting their own electronics company to beat out the Buy-More. It’s an idea they’ve talked about for years, but is nothing more than a pipe dream. Neither of them have the capital to get that thing off the ground. No matter how many engineering degrees Raven collects. Eventually they fall into a game of “Guess what that customer is thinking.”

“I am going to hoard this for when the nuclear apocalypse hits us and toilet paper is scarce,” Raven says about the guy with 100 rolls of toilet paper and nothing else in his cart.

“I need a copy of Die Hard for every TV in my house,” Clarke gruffs about the old many with 8 copies of Die Hard in his basket.

The two are so enthralled in their game that they hardly notice a customer approach the help desk.

In a high-pitched valley girl voice, Clarke says, “I’m getting this video camera so I can finally make a sex tape with my boyfriend!” Raven laughs way harder than Clarke thinks the joke earned, but then the customer clears her throat and Clarke whirls around. The customer raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Um… I… did you? That wasn’t… Hi, welcome to the Nerd Herd. How can I help you?”

Clarke chokes on her tongue a little when she realizes just how beautiful the customer is. She’s wearing tight fitting jeans, a tank top, and an unbuttoned flannel over her shirt. Clarke’s gaydar lightly pings in the back of her mind. Her hair is a mane of curly brown locks. She has a pair of sunglasses perched on the top of her head, and the greenest eyes Clarke has ever seen. When her gaze flicks back up to make eye contact, there’s something… intense about the way this girl looks at her.

“I’ve been having phone troubles. It doesn’t seem to be receiving calls.”

“Can I have a name for the intake form?”

“Lexa.”

“Well Lexa, I’ll see what I can do.”

Clarke fiddles around with the phone, looking for external damage or immediately obvious reasons for malfunction. When she finds nothing evident, she tells Lexa, “It must be something internal, I’ll take it to the back and see what’s going on. Come back in about an hour, and it should be all set.”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you…” Lexa pauses waiting for a name

“Clarke.”

“Thank you, Clarke. I’ll see you in an hour.”

As Lexa turns to walk away, Clarke stares at her ass and says a quiet, “Bye Lexa.”

“HEY CLARKE! You telling this customer goodbye or are you announcing that you’re bi?” Raven says a little too loudly for it to not be intentional.

Lexa turns to flash a smile at Clarke, and Clarke turns to Raven and says, “Reyes, I will kill you in your sleep.”

An hour spent tinkering in the repair shop, and the phone is back to fully functional. Clarke waits at the help desk for Lexa to return. This time she ensures that she’s not mid-game so she doesn’t embarrass herself a second time in front of this customer. She most certainly notices when Lexa walks into the store. This time, the flannel is tied around her waist and Clarke stares at the tattoo curling around her bicep. Then she stares at the biceps themselves and considers tracing the lines with her tongue. Scolding herself for being just as big of a perv as fellow Nerd Herders Jasper and Monty, she smiles and pointedly does not stray from making eye contact. Lexa is less successful as she sneaks a peek down Clarke’s shirt that may have one or two fewer buttons done up this time around.

“What’s the verdict doc?” Lexa asks, leaning into Clarke’s space at the counter.

“All fixed,” Clarke smiles.

“How do I know it works?”

Clarke grins, “Aha, watch this.”

She digs her own phone out of her pocket and dials a number. She waits a few seconds until the phone in Lexa’s hand starts to vibrate and “NERD HERD HOTTIE” pops up on the screen.

“See? Good as new”

“Thank you, Clarke. I really appreciate it,” Lexa says, and turns to leave the store. Clarke’s bubble of hope pops as she watches her walk away. But then, after a few steps, Lexa picks up her phone, scrolls through a screen and lifts the phone to her ear.

A few feet behind her, Clarke’s phone buzzes on the counter. She answers.

“Do you want to get dinner tonight?” Lexa asks.

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They agree to meet at Grounders at 7:00. Lexa arrives 15 minutes early and waits at the entrance. She’s wearing a green button up, tight grey pants, and her hair is done up in a neat braid. She has a stun gun tucked into her jacket, a knife hidden in each boot, and a blade laced within the braid. But this is supposed to look like a first date, not a mission, so she tries to make herself look nervous by shifting her weight from one leg to the other, and gets ready to flirt some information out of her mark.

Clarke steps out of an Uber at 7:06 wearing a light blue sundress that makes her look even more like a ray of sunshine. It’s a stark contrast from the unisex Nerd Herd uniform, and Lexa can’t help but give her a once over. Twice maybe thrice if she’s being completely honest. “I thought you might have changed your mind,” Lexa confesses, looking at her watch.

“Of course not! Just bad LA traffic,” Clarke replies and leads them into the restaurant.

Conversation is easy. They make each other laugh. The waitress comes over three times in 45 minutes before either of them have even glanced at the menu. Lexa assures the waitress that they do, in fact, know how to read, and a few minutes later they actually order their food. Neither can stop themselves from long looks and bashful smiles. Clarke learns that Lexa just moved to town and is still looking for the right fit job. They talk about their childhoods and interests. Eventually, they stumble on the topic of whether or not it’s weird that Lexa asked out her phone repair woman. Clarke immediately reddens at the memory of the first words Lexa heard her say. Clarke apologizes for her having to overhear the game she plays with Raven at the Buy-More.

“Speaking of which, how does a girl as beautiful and smart as you end up working for the Nerd Herd?” Lexa asks incredulously.

“That’s kind of a long story. The spark notes version is that I am one semester shy of a computer science degree at Stanford. My senior year, my former best friend and roommate Costia framed me for cheating and got me kicked out of school. No explanation. Since then I haven’t really had the drive to finish the degree. Or trust anyone. I’ve really just been surviving ever since. No sense in living when everything you loved is gone, right? Sorry, that was probably a little heavy for a first date…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Lexa assures. The name Costia did not go unnoticed, so Lexa presses on, “What ever happened to that Costia girl?”

“The funny thing is I haven’t really thought about her in a few years, but the last two days it’s been at nagging in my mind. I actually got an e-mail from her yesterday, but all it contained was a virus that fried my computer,” Clarke shrugs.

The waiter interrupts to fill their wine glasses, and Lexa’s opportunity to press more about this e-mail vanishes as Clarke switches the subject completely, and they fall back into easy conversation, longing and somewhat thirsty looks, and grinning at each other.

Lexa pays their check while Clarke runs to the bathroom, and they have decided that 3 hours taking up this restaurant’s table is probably long enough. Yes, it’s a mission, but Lexa is genuinely enjoying talking to this girl. She’s sweet and funny, and looks damn good in that dress.

“Can I drive you home?” Lexa asks.

The drive is a comfortable silence. Lexa’s hand rests on Clarke’s knee and mindlessly draws patterns on her thigh until Clarke intertwines their fingers. The drive ends too quickly as they pull up to the complex where Clarke lives.

Lexa walks Clarke to her door. Clarke’s walk slows to a crawl, trying to prolong her time with Lexa as much as possible. But the trip from the car to the stoop is only so long, so she settles for pretending to struggle to find her keys. God she wants to kiss her. She wants to kiss her so badly she hasn’t listened to a word Lexa has said because she can’t think about anything else. Lexa pauses in front of the door, and shuffles a bit closer to Clarke.

“Goodnight, Clarke”, she says as she leans in. Clarke closes her eyes in anticipation, and then feels Lexa’s lips land just left of the mark. Lexa places a chaste kiss on the corner of Clarke’s mouth, then turns to walk away. She turns back with a wink and a wave as Clarke unlocks her front door, and melts to a puddle once she’s crossed the threshold.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lexa paces outside the front of the Buy-More while on the phone with the General. “Beckman, she’s just a normal girl. She hasn’t done anything wrong. I don’t even think the e-mail made it to her. She said she hasn’t heard from Costia since college!” “Agent Woods, Daniels was one of our top agents. There must be a reason she sent it to her. Now, go find out if she’s just a really good liar, or if she’s actually as innocent as you seem to think.” She hangs up without a greeting or dismissal.

Lexa tries to shake off the conversation, and walks through the Buy-More doors to go find Clarke, who at the moment is helping someone pick out a blender. Lexa pretends to be interested in a video camera and presses random buttons while waiting for Clarke to be free.

“Looking at cameras for our sex tape?” Clarke asks with a cheeky grin.

Lexa rolls her eyes and replies, “No, I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to say hi. I had fun last night.”

Clarke lights up with a goofy grin and thinks about how she didn’t kiss her last night. Clarke eyes her lips, and catches Lexa doing the same. She does a quick scan of the floor, hoping to confirm that no manager is there to catch her making out with a girl while on the clock. She’s made it almost a full 360 when it happens.

She sees a man standing in the DVD section. He doesn’t look that much different than a normal customer, but once she sees the scar on his neck, images flash before her eyes. The scar. The man’s name, and seven different aliases. A Russian Prison manifest. A rank within Russian Intelligence operations. They flash before her eyes in rapid succession, pulling the information to the forefront of her brain, and making her a little dizzy with the completely unconscious recall of information she doesn’t remember learning in the first place. The images stop and her eyes refocus

“Lexa, this is going to sound crazy, but that man in the DVDs section is a Russian spy and he

is armed to kill. Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do.”

Clarke watches Lexa’s eyes widen in alarm. “Holy shit, you downloaded it.”

“What?”

“The Intersect.” “The what?” “I have to get you out of here.”

Lexa grabs Clarke’s hand and pulls her towards the back of the store.

“Lexa, what is going on.” She doesn’t answer. Instead she goes into the breakroom, punches a series of numbers into the vending machine, and watches the machine slide to the right to reveal a passageway. Lexa pulls Clarke through, ignoring her questions and utter shock at what is going on. Clarke is led down some stairs into a conference room with screens taking up a full wall, a wall full of weapons, and a video conference call happening at the table in the center. An angry looking Asian woman sits at the table talking to the screen with a black woman with more medals on her military coat than Clarke knew existed.

Lexa interrupts their conversation with, “She’s the Intersect.”

“She what?”

“She’s the Intersect. She downloaded it. She just recognized a Russian operative upstairs.”

The other women in the room and on the screen look shocked and horrified.

“So it works?” the woman on the screen asks. “WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON. WHERE AM I? WHAT IS THE INTERSECT? WHY IS THERE A SECRET BASE IN THE BUY-MORE? WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?” Clarke yells, finally getting Lexa’s attention.

Lexa starts, “My name is Lexa Woods. I work for the CIA.”

“Anya Forrest, Colonel in the NSA.”

“And I’m General Indra Beckman, head of Homeland Security”

Clarke begins to laugh hysterically. “Did Raven put you up to this? She always goes WAY TOO BIG or way too small for pranks. Jeezus how much did she spend on this?!” She wanders the base touching weapons, poking screens, and searching for a hidden camera.

“This isn’t a joke, Miss Griffin,” Beckman interrupts.

The tone sobers Clarke immediately.

Beckman continues, “Three days ago, CIA operative Costia Daniels sent you an email. That email contained every secret the CIA has in what was called the Intersect Project. That information is now in your head. Until a new Intersect can be built, the CIA and NSA’s number one priority will be protecting you.”

“I’m sorry, what now?” Clarke asks.

“You will assist in missions as needed.”

Clarke is, again, much too stunned to grasp anything that was just said. Instead, she asks every question that has run through her mind since she thought she was about to kiss Lexa at work to the current moment. Costia was CIA? Why did she send it to me? How does it work? Can I get it removed? You’re sure this isn’t an over the top prank? Costia is dead?

Lexa, Anya, and Beckman patiently answer every question Clarke has. For the most part, they are very understanding of the barrage of questions. The questions continue for about thirty minutes, but eventually die down. This is real. Clarke will be working with the CIA. Other countries will try to find the Intersect, so she is in danger. She is now their most important asset, and they will protect her at all costs. She doesn’t really have a choice in this.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Clarke states. “We know, but your country is calling,” Beckman answers.

General Beckman hangs up the call, Anya goes back to cleaning an enormous gun, Lexa starts to organize files, and Clarke… Clarke sits at the table staring at her hands. Deep in thought, and too stunned to form coherent thoughts. After ten minutes, she takes a deep breath and addresses Lexa.

“So that date then?”

Lexa reads the implied question and answers, “Was part of my mission to find out what you knew.”

“Ah.”

“Clarke.”

“I don’t know why I thought it was anything else. No one that model hot dates a girl from the Nerd Herd. Is that like a requirement for spy work?”

Lexa cocks her head like a confused puppy.

Clarke glances between Anya and Lexa, and waggles her fingers between the two of them. “You know, the mind-blowing hotness? I mean, it works. Girl that looks like you asks me to jump off the roof and I’d probably do it without asking any follow up questions. Of course it was all fake. You’re probably straight. Really deluded myself into this one. Big yikes.”

Anya looks up from the barrel of her gun and chuffs, “Definitely not straight”

Lexa blushes but doesn’t disagree with Anya. Instead she addresses Clarke directly. “You do realize that we will need to continue dating, right?”

Clarke continues rambling to herself about being an idiot for thinking a girl like Lexa was into her, but then the content of Lexa’s question sinks in. Her brain jolts like a record scratch. “Huh?”

“It’s the perfect cover for why I’m suddenly in your life and may suddenly vanish from it. I can keep a close eye on you when you’re not at work, and it won’t seem suspicious if I stay over. During the day, Anya will work at the Buy More with you.”

Clarke still hasn’t wrapped her head around “continue dating” so instead asks, “I’m dead, right? That Russian operative in DVDs killed me and I’m bleeding out on the Buy-More floor, right? Because there is no way the US government just asked me to fake date a bombshell agent for the safety of our country.”

Anya finishes reassembling her gun, looks up at the newly christened fake couple, and says, “Believe it, babe.”

#clexa #chuck au #lexa #clarke griffin #chapter 2 #slow burn #fake dating #clexa chuck au #cia #formatting is a bitch going from word to this #anyone have recs for how its not?

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notgonnarememberthis · 3 years

Text

find your way (back to me) - chapter two

The reception for this fic was so fucking sweet, this really went beyond what I expected I honestly just thought this would be a self service fic but it hit off so well. Honestly, wrote the next chapter to cope with the anxiety of being home and general holiday stress so I hope y’all enjoy it. And thank y’all for all the sweet comments they mean the fucking world to me.

Jessica tries not to let the sigh escape her throat, she really does. But when Gil comes in arms loaded with gifts it probably took him weeks to save for she can’t help it.

She can afford literally anything he wanted to buy for her or the kids and then some, but she resisted.

If not to see the proud little grin on his face when he knows he absolutely nailed the gift that the recipient never even knew they wanted.

He’s quite good at knowing what people never knew they needed.

She invites him in, nonetheless, taking some of the load off, only with a little chiding that he still shouldn’t carry so much. It has only been a few months since his injury. He needs to give his body time to heal.

Malcolm and Ainsley would arrive soon, hopefully carrying something that wasn’t a twist-on. But for now she would enjoy Gil’s company. His warmth wards off the cold that always seemed to linger in the hollow rooms. His smile lights up even the darkest corners as she leans into his embrace. He pulls out old records that collected dust for years, grabbing her hand and swinging her around the room with more grace than anyone would expect.

They don’t even notice when the children arrive. Only when Gil spins her and she nearly runs straight into Malcolm do they realize they are no longer alone. The laughter catches the air like a flame, spreading across the room with an infectious glee that most of them had not known for far too long. Gil pulls Ainsley in next, taking her as his next partner.

She almost bursts with joy when Malcolm takes her hand to dance without hesitation. His movements are still but he is letting go, allowing himself to enjoy the small moments in life that don’t revolve around homicide.

She’s so proud that she feels tears building behind her eyes.

The music fades and the silence takes over, no longer as deafening but rather content.

Jessica startles awake to a loud crash. Immediately she regrets opening her eyes as pain rips through her head. She reaches up to feel where it hurts but something is holding her down.

It takes a few seconds for the world to come into focus, once it does she wishes desperately for the peace of the dream. Her hands are zip tied to the chair she’s sitting in, her neck and head both ache like nobody’s business. She shuffles through her mind to try to remember what the hell happened. There was a crash, then her world was spinning, she checked on Adolpho… Oh god, Adolpho.

A soft sob of realization takes over her. What happened between the crash and now? How the hell did she get here? She was on her way to a meeting for becoming the head of Eve’s charity in her honor.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Fake sincerity drips from a figure previously hidden by the shadows. She stiffens, suddenly all too aware of her situation. She holds still, as if that would help, if she wouldn’t move they wouldn’t see her. If she closes her eyes she can open them again to the warmth and happiness radiating from her family. “Sorry for the mess, had to improvise.” The shadow gestures absentmindedly.

“Who are you?” Her voice rasps painfully. She wonders how long exactly she was out for.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. I’m much more interested in you.” He comes closer, enough for her to recognize that he’s wearing a mask. “Jessica Whitly, my you are a sob story if there ever was one.” He walks across the room, footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. “Disgraced daughter of the Miltons, married to a serial killer, and dated another socialite exposed to be heading a dubious business,” he sighs. “Truly Shakespearian, have you thought about selling the rights to your story?”

“Are you done?” She tries not to let her voice waver, her fear shakes just beneath the surface, but she’s not running or hiding now. Malcolm and Gil will find her. She just needs to stall as long as she possibly can.

“Hardly.” The venomous glee sends a chill down her spine. He tilts his head in a way that flashes her back as if she were in Claremont all this time. “Just killing time until our guest arrives.”

“I can give you all the money you want, just let me go.” The bark of a laugh makes her jump, immediately regretting the sudden movement as pain pierces her skull yet again.

“I don’t want your money. It can all burn for all I give a shit.”

“What do you want then?” She pleads.

Even with the mask she can feel his deadly grin, like a cat taunting it’s prey just before it pounces. “You.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gil checks his phone yet again, waiting for Malcolm’s text. He told JT to get Ainsley and get both of them back to the precinct immediately. He almost wishes he’d done it for himself, having them in his sight would be a hell of a lot more comforting right now especially as he stares at the lieu of pictures scattered across his desk.

He trusts JT, though. He’s getting them here as fast as he possibly can with two out of three of the most stubborn people he’s ever met in the back of his car. No doubt they have hundreds of questions that poor JT doesn’t even know the answer to, he’s simply following orders and right now they’re on a strict need to know basis.

Colette will lock Malcolm down as soon as he arrives. He’ll be able to loosen the reigns, but only a little. He’ll be lucky to leave without Dani or JT personally handcuffed to him. Hell, Gil will be lucky if she doesn’t choose him to be handcuffed to Malcolm.

He hears the door to his office open and he feels the lump in his throat develop once again.

“Why are the FBI here?” “Why did I just get pulled out of work and rushed here?” “Why isn’t mom answering my calls?” “Why did we get escorted here by two more cop cars?”

The two siblings speak simultaneously and he sighs raising a hand to stop them. He braces himself delivering the news as impersonally as he could to the two people he basically watched grow up. “You’re both familiar with the kidnappings and murders in Boston?” They nodded, going to talk again but he stopped them with a pointed stare. “This morning there was an accident, one of the cars matched the plates of the car Agent Swanson has been tracking for that case.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Ainsley asks, fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve, it’s a nervous tick he’s known since she was 12. Her mother tried to break the habit but was never really successful.

“The other driver was Adolpho.” Ainsley’s eyes widen, she looks to Malcolm who only nods solemnly. “He died on impact.”

“Oh my god.” Malcolm reaches over, squeezing her hand. He watches the younger man straighten, preparing himself for the next blow. He’s all too familiar with the practices and knows that Gil has more to deliver to them. He nods, silently telling him to continue.

“We found this in the backseat of the car.” He turns the photo of Jessica’s phone to them and watches as the dots connect in both of their heads. “We also found blood on the back window that we believe is your mother’s.”

“You believe?” Ainsley’s voice cracks for the first time that he’s heard in years. Even after Paul Lazar, even after Endicott Ainsley didn’t waver. “What do you mean you believe is hers? Where is she?”

“You think the killer took her.” Malcolm whispers. Almost as if he says it too loud, it will make it true. His hands fly to his eyes sucking in a breath when Gil nods in confirmation. He knows it’s his way of trying to keep tears back, just long enough to keep his head from going into full meltdown and instead switching to investigator. “Dani found CCTV footage of the wreck. The suspect’s car redlight, crashing into Adolpho without even slowing down. The man climbs out of the car and goes out of frame. A couple minutes later an ambulance shows up, another man helps your mother into the back and they drive off.”

“Shouldn’t she be fine then? We just need to find out want hospital they took her to. She’s probably logged as a Jane Doe if she doesn’t have her purse either. She probably hit her head and she’s confused or unconscious and we need to-”

“Ainsley.” Malcolm’s tone stops her. He’s already read Gil’s expression, knowing what’s coming next.

“The ambulance on the scene was reported stolen just an hour before the wreck.” He watches as Ainsley’s face crumples, despite her best attempts to hold it together. Malcolm pulls her into a loose hug, rubbing her back in comfort. He can tell only by the slightly uneven breaths that Malcolm is crying as well.

His eyes sting and every fatherly instinct wants him to go to them and hug them. Tell them everything will be fine just like he did 20 years ago. He gives them time to settle again, determination overpowering their shock and grief. “What can we do?”

“Right now, stay in sight. I’ve already got the FBI pressing hard enough on this pushing for a clean end but I don’t think that’ll be the case. Something doesn’t feel right. I’m assigning each of you an officer and if either of you tries to shake them or go off on your own I’m putting you in a holding cell.” He raises a brow at the two of them. “Understand?”

“Yes.” They answer in unison. Gil tries not to think about the two kids, hardened too young. With only each other and their mother to hold onto in the storm that raged around them. Now with one less thing anchoring them to this earth.

“Let’s get to work.” XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The clanging of metal pulls Jessica’s attention from the deep abyss she allowed herself to sink into. The man had long left with the promise of the “guest” lingering over her head. She busied herself praying to every deity that she could think of that Malcolm, Ainsley, Gil, all of them were safe. She stopped believing in God long ago but her desperation outweighs her beliefs right now.

Different, slower footsteps shamble in front of her. This man looks younger, his physique, at least. He places something down against the wall before dragging a chair in front of her. She feels bile rise in the back of her throat when the something against the wall groans in pain. The man shuffles back over to the body, lifting it with ease yet again and placing it in the chair across from her. He secures the wrists individually to the chair before standing behind it. She stares at him for a moment, she swears his movements almost seem hesitant.

The static of a radio starting up breaks the relative silence. “Take off his hood.” She recognizes the voice of the man who was taunting her earlier. The other figure does as he says, removing the bag from over the tied up man’s head. Fearful bloodshot eyes meet hers. “This is Tommy Moore. He is a resident at Montgomery and from what I hear? He will make a promising young surgeon one day.” She swallows hard trying to calm the nerves building up in her stomach. “Do you know who she is Tommy?” The poor boy can only get out a whimper. Her heart sinks when she hears the sound of a gun cocking from behind him. “Answer me!”

“Y-yes.” He chokes out. “I saw her on the news. She was looking for a missing girl o-on Christmas.”

“Do you think she would choose your life over her own?” Tommy bows his head sobbing openly. “Please don’t do this.”

“Let him go.” She begs.

“Well would you Mrs. Whitly?” The sentence cuts deep. “Would you choose your life over his?” She closes her eyes, a few tears sliding down her cheeks. She thinks of Malcolm and Ainsley, no idea of where she was. She thinks of Gil, pouring everything he has into finding her. She even thinks of Martin, the horrid man who no doubt has caused this somehow in some way.

And then she thinks of her dream. She holds onto the smell of Gil’s cologne surrounding her as they spin around her living room, the sound of Ainsley’s laugh bouncing off of the walls as Gil dips her, Malcolm’s smile brighter than she remembers it being in so very long. And she hopes they forgive her. “No.”

The silence feels as if it stretches for hours. She waits for the gunshots. She waits for the pain and then the utter nothingness of death. “Perhaps you didn’t understand my question. Would you die so that Tommy here can live?”

“Yes, I would.” The boy cries only get louder, mixed with tragedy and relief. She almost wants to cry with him.

“No!” The voice roars and they hear something from the other room crash. “You’re doing this wrong!” Another stretch of silence, this one even longer than the last. “You would rather die, so that he can live?!” Tommy looks at her, finally, and the realization strikes her. His eyes looked familiar, the same shade as Martin’s. His curly, unkempt hair even the shade so similar she’d assume he was a relative had she not known Martin had no other family. Everything was a subconscious push so that she’d choose her own life over his. This was a losing game.

“I choose his life over mine.” She says with more anger than before. She wouldn’t fall for this game. Even if it meant her own she wouldn’t put an innocent life on the line. She hopes for her children’s sake that they find her eventually. She hopes that they find peace.

“Shoot him.”

“What?” The man with a gun asks before either of them could.

“Shoot him!” The shot makes her ears pop. She never knew a gun could be that loud. Blood hits her face causing her to flinch, watching in horror as the boy slumps forwards. A cry rips through her throat as she struggles against the bonds tying her down.

“Why?!” She screams. “Why did you do that?!” She folds over on herself trying to contain the panic threatening to swallow her whole. Every fiber of her wants to fight back, to fight her way back to her family. Her head screeches in pain, spots flashing in front of her eyes. It only seems to get more intense though as her world tilts and spins with an effort to stay awake.

“You chose wrong.”

#gil arroyo x jessica whitly #jessica whitly x gil arroyo #gilssica #gil arroyo #jessica whitly #malcolm bright #Ainsley Whitly #prodigal son #prodigal son au #kidnapping au #find your way (back to me)#find your way (back to me) chapter two #fanfic #notgonnarememberthis fics

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iam-kenough · 4 years

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Will you ever notice me? Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Summary: During they wandering in deep snowstorm, man from van der Linde gang found odd looking girl and Dutch decides to take her to camp to see if she can be any use, leading life of outlaw with them. Quickly, new girl develops feelings towards Arthur, but he sees her just as a kid…and she won’t take that! It’s an original character story that starts in the place where Arthur, Dutch and Micah were supposed to first meet with Sadie. Instead she’s already with them.

Authors notes: It’s another chapter and you can find the rest of chapters on my blog if you want to read more of my fanfiction. Hope you gonna enjoy it. Word count: 2558 Chapter 9 Arthur woke up and he wasn't ready to open his eyes. Discovering it was all a dream was more than possible and he still wanted to linger on sweet, sweet fantasy. Iris stirred right next to him and he opened her eyes. He was her big spoon as she was sleeping in his arms. Now he reminded himself. He had her not only once but few times since she discovered it's fun. She was hot for him all night and he needed to be proud of himself. He was a real gentelman down here but he couldn't say that eating her out wasn't something amazing. He had never done that before, just knew it's really nice and he almost forgot about it, because Mary was too nice and well-raised to do such things. They usually had sex without any light too. Thinking about all of it made Arthur realise that for the first time in many years he woke up with morning wood. His eyes almost got back to his skull when she stirred again, rubbing her ass against it. He needed to go away. Do something proper. So Arthur decided to have a bath and shave his face while she still slept. He didn't know he wanted to face anyone from camp, but her and for one second he was thinking of running away from here to be alone with Iris. - You ugly bastard - he muttered to himself in the mirror, shaving right after he scrubbed his body making sure he's clean and fresh for what was coming this night. It was before midday and he was already thinking in what position they gonna do it first. He decided he gonna let her choose. - Morning - he heard voice behind his back and small hand caressing his bicep. - Ain't you the sweetest morning girl - he murmured and caressed her arm back. - I've got something for you - she smiled at him shyly - you need to swallow it without any questions - she said as she showed him spoon of something that was green and had strong herbal smell. - What's that? - Arthur asked, his brows rasing. - A medicine - she replied mysteriously - I said you can't ask, cowboy. You still should rest in your bed after what happened to you. - Told him the same as soon as I saw him - said Dutch, sitting near them and lighting up a cigarette. - Are you gonna in bed with me? - Arthur joked which made her blush. - Mr Morgan! - she scolded - just eat it. And drink this! - Iris handed him a cup of gold tea with honey. - And what's that? - he said, his face twisting in disgust when he tasted herbal paste on his tongue - is it also disgusting? - Oh, I can have it if you don't want it, Arthur - Dutch chimed in, knowing what a treat Iris has. - He's gonna drink this down despite the fact liking it, Dutch. It's for his health. Arthur didn't wanna argue about it and he started to drink. It was surprisingly good. - It's tea? - Yes, with honey. Is it good? - It's actually amazing. Never had that before. - Now you gonna have it quite often - Iris patted his head. She still didn't tell him she knew his sick. She decided to surprise him with results rather than promises. - No idea what I did to deserve that but thank you - Arthur smiled at Iris with small sparks in his eyes. Arthur Morgan would never admit he liked when she cared for him, even at the start of their relationship. At first she just shared food with him if she had anything extra and she asked him if he slept good. Now will at that extra care that he gained he felt amazing. He was starving for affection. With that thought he also started smoking a cigarette. - No way, Mister - she said and took it away, putting it out with her shoe. She also grabbed pack from Arthur's hand and quickly hid it behind her back. - Huh? - If I'm gonna see you smoking a cigarette even once again, we gonna have war and I promise that. - Ah, those women, ain't I right, son? One night of sharing bed and they think they own us. - Fuck you, Dutch - she said without any hesitation, causing Arthur to cough. They all knew he did it to cover ugly laughing - you not gonna give him any of those either - Iris's lips became thin, white line immediately. - What is it all about, huh? - Arthur tried to catch up - I feel like I missed something? - Just...just do what I ask you, and Arthur? I just want you stop smoking, drink that and have your medicine everyday. It's not bad thing to ask for after all what happened? Arthur was surprised. He was smoking since he was young, around 20 years now. He thought that it's gonna be difficult to quit, but seeing Iris's face made him to want at least to try. He was sure he haven't tell anyone but Dutch and Hosea about his condition, not even calling it by names but using metaphors and context, so her harsh reactions on him having a cigarette was weird. But she couldn't know. He nodded slowly and seeing sign of relief on her face was a gift. They first sex this night was something else. It wasn't only something new to experience, at least for Iris, but it showed how badly Arthur Morgan fell for her. He realised he wanted to do nothing but that, now, tomorrow and in ten years. Even if it made pervert out of him. First steps were stressful but as soon as Iris got relaxed she showed Arthur her true side. Which was being young, horny woman. Arthur almost doubted he's gonna be enough for her, with his extremely low stamina but at the same time he was oh so happy. It turned him on to know she was getting wet every time he touched her while they were naked. He was nibbling on her neck, on her breasts and on her nipples. It was third time they changed position this night. They started missionary but as soon he found out she's even more frivolous than he could expect, he decided he's gonna give her the most naughty sex he could think of. Iris was riding Arthur's dick, with her eyes shut and mouth open. Her breasts was bouncing, up and down and it was almost hipnotising to him, all he was thinking about now was her fast paces. He couldn't hold himself back and as soon as she started moaning and trembling, having an orgasm he pulled out and wanked himself at her breasts. - Oh God - she moaned. - Jesus- he groaned. Iris fell at his side, landing on her back. It was probably the nicest feeling she didn't know she could feel. - How was I? - she asked, looking at Arthur, as he tried to ease his breathing. - Look at me, darlin' and you gonna know - he leaned on his elbow to look at her. Iris didn't respond, just blushed and covered herself with blanket. - Aren't you a naughty girl, eh? - he whispered in low voice to her ear, causing shivers running down her spine. And from this night it was like this everyday, as soon as they got to bed Arthur did everything to make love to her the best way he could. To devour her. But it wasn't only in bed, he did everything to catch her off guard anytime he could. At some point he was sure there wasn't place they didn't fuck at. His tent, her tent, leaning against the tree or doggy style, bending Iris against rock or a log while they were away from camp to hunt. He was horny as hell and it was new to him to desire someone's body this much. He loved to talk dirty to her ear and calling her hot names muttered under his breath. Iris was caring about him every day, feeding him with herbs, tea with honey and her love. Where he was there was her, to hold on his arm, or caress his cheek. They were finally happy, together and at peace. But life was life, not a fairytale and it all started to fade. As soon as she discovered Arthur's lungs are better now and he doesn't need to be looked after this much it has loosen their ties. Iris also discovered that loving him is hard thing somehow, Arthur didn't like doing nothing much more than sex, he wasn't talking much. Everytime there was a question he wouldn't answer they ended up fucking. At first they were glued to each other and it lasted weeks but soon Arthur started disappearing, not saying about him getting back to bed at night. She reminded herself as he once told her, that life normal person who sleeps everyday in the same place wasn't for him. Iris tied to be considerate. She was aware that this hot romance will become more balanced with time. But then, she remembered about person who tried to make Arthur regular, obedient man. Mary. Something hit her out of the blue to search for clues as she was sitting in Arthur's tent while he was away again. At first it felt really bad to lurk through his belonging and she was looking around if no one will discover it. They wouldn't mind since everyone knew already that Iris Rhiannon and Arthur Morgan were a thing. But it felt bad to do so anyway and being caught red handed. In a wooden frame hidden under his bed was photo of Mary, her portrait. It looked like Arthur had it for a long time but he wasn't keeping it under the bed all the time, it wasn't dusted. It meant he was probably looking at this photograph before his sleep every day and it hurt her a bit. She could understand that although it was hard to understand. But she tried to stay cool and be true to her words which was promise of loving him even if she and Arthur are gonna be only friends. She put the photograph away but then she felt something under her fingertips. A piece of paper? She looked under the bed again and in the darkest corner he discovered an envelope. But not one, it was almost a hundred of them. Letters from Mary to Arthur Morgan. But they could write all of them in the past, right? Deep breath. Arthur probably keeps them to remember his past and that's okay, you not gonna read it, Iris. Another deep breath. Checking one wouldn't hurt anyone, right? Iris picked the one that look the most recent to her, looking at the ink and paper condition. Her heart dropped low and loud as she saw all the words in front of her. He was seeing her. All the time. Arthur even was with Mary right now. But it wouldn't be that bad if he only helped her with few things, however it appeared like he still was her obedient dog. And there was only thing Iris didn't know if she gonna ever forgive. Him lying to her instead of facing consequences as break-up. Anger? No. Fury? Maybe. She couldn't tell. High pitched sound was getting louder and louder, ringing in her ear. Her pupils became bigger, pumped with adrenaline as she threw letters back under his bed. Without any thinking she just grabbed a horse and got away, galloping through the night. Mrs Grimshaw was right telling girls not to wander alone, she was telling it over and over. Gunshot rang in Iris's ears as she looked at her stomach as it become red, flushing down with blood. Someone shot her. Doctor's office smelled like alcohol and formaline. Iris's didn't mind though. It was one of those weird but pleasant smells. Just like smoke or freshly cut grass. - What a time we have to shot and rob a lady, eh? - Person who did that was surely disappointed, doc. They did it for one dollar and fifty cents. But you are right, it's a wild world. Doctor gave her a gaze with a faint smile. - Am I gonna live? I've been shot before but I don't like that look of yours. - You gonna, miss. You had great luck to survive shot considered lethal. - But? - Excuse me? -There is always a but, especially when it comes to human health. So what is mine? - I menaged to make you safe and sound and it gonna heal properly...- man suddenly grabbed her hand - but because of how much blood you lost you couldn't keep the baby. I don't think you could have any more of them thanks to person who did that to you. A...baby? It felt like doctor was talking to a stranger, not her. You can't have any more of them. It wasn't only the fact she just lost her baby not knowing about being pregnant in first place. She lost ability every woman around her had. Iris was to you to think about children, she never did. But now...It was Arthur's baby and she didn't know she would keep it or if she was able to take reponsibility for it. But it felt bad. Now she didn't had any good reason for some man to love her in the future. Love...This word was weird. She used it not a long time ago to describe her feelings towards Arthur. Future? Why would anyone be with her in the future? She couldn't imagine it anyway. Not after her first love disappearing just like that. When she was sitting in the camp it seemed like people were talking to her. But she couldn't listen through that ringing in her ears. Her eyes were quite empty too. From that day it was just like that. Like a timelapse. She was sitting, not moving, not eating and life around were going on and on, people were walking around, trying to get to her. But they couldn't. -Iris? Hey! - it was Dutch's voice. It seemed to be far away though. But it wasn't important now. So I walked into the haze And a million dirty waves Now I see you lying there Like a lilo losing air, air Black rocks and the shoreline surf Still dead summer I cannot bear And I wipe the sand from my eyes The Spanish Sahara, the place that you'd wanna Leave the horror here (...)I'm the fury in your head, I'm the fury in your bed, I'm the ghost in the back of your head

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original character #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x female character #arthur morgan romance #arthur morgan angst #arthur morgan smutt #rdr2 #rdr2 oc #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years

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Documentation Gathering, Sanitization, and Storage: an excerpt from "A Public Service"

[Yesterday, we published my review of Tim Schwartz's new guide for whistleblowers, A Public Service: Whistleblowing, Disclosure and Anonymity; today, I'm delighted to include this generous excerpt from Schwartz's book. Schwartz is an activist whom I've had the pleasure of working with and I'm delighted to help him get this book into the hands of the people who need to read it. -Cory]

Collection

As you collect documents and bring new information to light, be aware that you are in an escalating digital arms race. There will always be new ways that data forensics can identify you, or uncover information based on data that you inadvertently leave in your files, or data that is retained in logs noting who has accessed what files on what network. Recently it was discovered that noise from electrical grids can be used to quite accurately pinpoint when, and potentially where, an audio recording was made. The best way to win this war—or at least to avoid becoming collateral damage—is to work outside the standard methods and find partners who have experience.

Of course, the actual collection of documents has changed dramatically over the years. In 1969, Daniel Ellsberg systematically removed documents, including the Pentagon Papers, from the RAND Corporation in his briefcase, taking them to an advertising agency where he (sometimes with the help of his 13-year-old son) photocopied them, one page at a time. Though this took enormous courage and psychological stamina—and in 1969 all that copying was certainly time-consuming and undoubtedly tiresome—it was also technologically straightforward and relatively safe. As long as the guards didn’t stop and check his briefcase, and as long as no one saw him remove and return the reports, Ellsberg could duplicate the papers undetected.

If Ellsberg was trying to do the same thing in 2019 with physical documents, he would have to be sure there weren’t cameras looking over his shoulder. He would have to make sure that the documents themselves didn’t have watermarks that would lead back to him. And he would have to make sure that the copying method didn’t log his activity. If Ellsberg’s 21st-century counterpart were to take digital documents, there would be many more potential technological risks and traps to avoid along the way.

Take Notes

Before you start collecting documents or even trying to tell anyone about the wrongs you want to expose, start documenting what you see. Jesselyn Radack, who heads the Whistleblower and Source Protection Program at ExposeFacts and has worked with Thomas Drake and Edward Snowden, says the first step is to “just keep your own little record at home in a little notebook.” This should be a notebook where you methodically record everything pertinent to the wrongs you want to expose: everything that you see, everything that you hear, and everything that you say. Do this as often as you can, the same day that incidents occur. Note the time and date of each occurrence. Above all, your notes should always include any complaints you raise and to whom, as well as any retaliation against you for doing so.

This approach to notetaking played a critical role in the big Russian sports doping scandal in 2016. Grigory Rodchenkov, the whistleblower and former doctor of the Russian Olympic team, took incredibly detailed contemporaneous notes that became compelling evidence. The notes included Rodchenkov’s interactions with Russian coaches, officials, and athletes, such as how and when he provided performance-enhancing drugs to athletes, and how the doping was hidden from Olympic observers and their drug tests. Aside from all of these incriminating notes, as the New York Times reported, Rodchenkov also noted his daily activities details such as “6:30, I took a shower, had a smoke, got ready, had hot cereal and farmer’s cheese at breakfast.” These seemingly trivial details helped convince the judges to allow the journal to be considered credible evidence in the court case.

The technology you use to take notes can either help or hinder those who might seek to access and/or destroy any information you have, depending upon your situation. You can use a physical notebook, good old pen and paper, or notes on an anonymous laptop or tablet. But be sure to stay away from making entries at work or on your personal computer unless you are highly technically confident of your computer’s security.

“Documentation is very important,” says Debra Katz, founding partner of Katz, Marshall & Banks, LLP and the lawyer who represented Christine Blasey Ford when she was called to testify during the Kavanaugh confirmation hearings. “We increasingly have people who show up with videotapes of harassment. I’ve had clients who’ve had their iPhone rolling as their employer, predictably, would come in and do back massages or make sexual remarks.” Logs of text messages on phones or even recordings of interactions can be crucial to demonstrating that harassment is taking place. Save logs of all of your conversations and interactions, because you never know how they might prove useful later on.

The text messages sent by Mike Isabella and partners to Chloe Caras (who was also represented by Debra Katz) were used as evidence in the lawsuit that eventually took down Mike Isabella Concepts restaurants for sexual harassment. If you are going to attempt to record interactions as evidence, be sure that you are aware of the relevant recording laws. In some states and countries, you must inform the other party that you are recording and you must obtain their consent to be recorded. These laws are collectively known as two-party consent laws. Do more research into your context before you start shooting video or recording audio as documentation. You don’t want your evidence thrown out of court. You don’t want to be sued for releasing the recording. The Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press is a good place to learn more about two-party consent laws in the United States.

Recommended Collection Approach

In New York City in 1953, a newspaper boy was finishing his day, jingling his coins around, when he noticed that one nickel felt lighter than the rest. When he dropped the coin on the floor, it split open, revealing a tiny photograph with numbers. This turned out to be microfilm that was destined for Soviet spy Reino Hayhanen. In 1957, Hayhanen defected to the U.S., where he exposed the spycraft of the Soviets to the FBI. This included the use of microfilm and dead drops for communication. Though this example may seem far from the world of computers and smartphones, taking photos of documents with microfilm is much safer than taking the actual documents, in the same way taking a digital photo is safer than copying the digital document. In such a case, there is far less potential for a log of the interaction.

The current best way to gather information is by taking pictures of documents or computer screens using a pseudonymous digital device. This method effectively circumvents all of the normal digital surveillance systems that might come into play when you copy data off of a network or onto a USB stick (e.g., logs of the copying or digital watermarking). It also circumvents any logging software that may be installed on your computer. Company or government tracking software can record the actions of taking screenshots or other mouse and keyboard actions. Evidence from one of these loggers was used by the FBI against Terry Albury, an FBI field agent who was sent to jail for disclosing classified information to The Intercept. In an affidavit in support of the search warrant, the FBI cited a number of facts, including that Albury had “conducted cut and paste activity” while viewing one of the classified documents. This fact could only have been gathered by latent logging software installed on his computer or built into a viewing program. By skipping digital copying or screenshotting, and instead simply taking a picture of the computer screen, you can circumvent some of these monitoring systems. Of course, if you are logged in and have a document open, you should assume that there is a log of the access as well.

Keep these tips in mind:

Only use a pseudonymous device for taking photos; never use your personal or work device.

Use a small tablet with Wi-Fi turned off instead of a phone; this way there will be no location information stored as metadata in the photos.

Make sure the photos don’t have any identifying information in them; this could be your hand, your reflection on the computer screen, images of your office, or other identifying information or marks on your computer screen.

Be sure to check the images afterwards for any metadata or accidental information captured, and make sure to sanitize the images if necessary.

Audio and video recordings can potentially replace taking photos, but these types of files can be harder to sanitize.

Be sure there aren’t video cameras that could capture you in the act of taking photos.

Microdots

Do not trust printers. Color laser jet printers and copiers embed metadata in the documents that they print in the form of microdots, which are patterns of tiny yellow dots that are almost invisible to the naked eye. These dots encode information, similar to QR codes. This includes the printer’s serial number, the time and date, the network address, and potentially other information. This data can be used to pinpoint when and where documents were printed, and potentially by whom. If you want to find out more on the topic, research the terms “printer steganography” and “machine identification code.”

Regular and enhanced image of a printed page from an HP Color LaserJet 3700 showing yellow microdots. Photography by Florian Heise, Druckerchannel.de, in the public domain via Wikimedia Commons.

Copying Digital Files

It is nearly impossible to copy files to a USB stick without leaving a trace, particularly if you are using log-in credentials at work or on a company device. Computers and networks are built to track and log file access, transfers, and printing. Do not try to make a digital transfer or to copy information onto a USB stick at work unless you can be positive that this process isn’t being logged somewhere. Use the Tails operating system, or a computer that is offline, when you copy data.

If you must copy digital files, be sure to collect all your information as anonymously as possible: use a shared computer at work (not your own). Do not use your own login credentials. Also, consider your physical location. It is best not to attempt this in your own office, for instance. Gathering information in the office will become even less viable as technology and employee surveillance software evolves.

Aside from the issues around copying digital files, some sensitive documents (particularly from government agencies) come with “phone home” beacons embedded in them or with digital rights management built in, making it impossible to view or print documents if you aren’t logged in. This could be a remote image or link embedded in a document, such that when you view the document, the image pings back to a server owned by the government or creator of the document. This allows the creator to see the IP address and potentially more information about you as a viewer. Microsoft files such as Word documents have been known to have “locating beacons” placed within them. PDFs may also include this type of beacon, though Adobe now tries to notify users before documents call a remote server. To combat this type of tracking, either convert a document to a safe format such as plain text with the command line, or view a document on a computer that is “air-gapped,” meaning that it is not connected to the internet. Make it impossible for your adversary to know you have the documents.

Uniqueness and Backflushing

If you are one of a limited number of individuals with access to the information you are releasing, then no matter how careful you are, it will be easy to trace you. This was the case with Reality Winner. In the criminal complaint filed against Winner, the FBI noted that only six individuals had accessed the document that was disclosed to The Intercept. When this document showed up on the website, the FBI had six individuals to start investigating, including Winner. Her unique trail quickly made her the most likely suspect. One way to combat uniqueness is by increasing the number of individuals who have access to a document before it is released.

Danielle Brian, executive director of the Project on Government Oversight, described a method that has been in use in D.C. for years: “backflushing.” Before disclosing a document, send it through official channels to as many legitimate places as possible. For example, include the document in a report and send the report to other departments. This makes it so others have the document as well, vastly reducing the uniqueness of your connection to the document. When you disclose the information later on, it will not be clear that you were in any way connected to it.

Another way to combat uniqueness is by gathering the data through a shared digital account, e.g., if someone else is logged into a computer and you copy a file while they are logged in, the document-gathering will be connected to them, not you. Of course, this should be done carefully and ethically, so as not to inadvertently cast blame on someone else. If possible, it’s better to hijack a shared network account. So consider how unique the connection between the information and your identity might be. There is protection to be gained by hiding in the crowd.

Theft and Misfiling

Corporations sometimes lash back at whistleblowers by filing criminal charges for theft of company property. So be aware that by taking documents off company property, you may open yourself up to a legal battle. This was one reason that SOC, a government security contractor, gave for firing Jennifer Glover, a security guard who had been sexually assaulted and harassed at work. Her termination letter stated that Glover had used her smartphone to take a photograph of the daily schedule, an act that they viewed as justifying her termination.

As an alternative to taking physical or digital documents, consider the misfiling technique. Hide copies of documents at work, either by misnaming digital files or by storing physical copies or USB sticks somewhere at work. In the future, you can “stumble upon” the copies, providing investigators with the information. They, not you, would then be removing property from company premises. The bottom line is that it might be helpful to have a backup copy of any important material stashed somewhere at work.

Sanitization

Sanitization is the process of removing, concealing, or cleaning up information in documents before you give them to someone else. Whether the documents you’re dealing with are physical or digital, images or videos, the same general process applies: you should overwrite, obscure, or remove any sensitive information. This process is ubiquitous the world over in redacting classified material to prepare it for release to the public. When attempting this, imagine that you are in a heist film: be meticulous, wear gloves, wipe down surfaces to remove fingerprints, and don’t leave anything that contains your DNA.

For those who are trying to disclose information, the process of sanitization is a little more complex, but there are two goals: 1) the removal of any information that could identify you, such as fingerprints, email addresses, or unique watermarks on documents; and 2) the removal of sensitive information that might harm someone else or have undue consequences if released, such as any company or government secrets or any personally identifiable information. This is where ethics and judgment come into play. Who would be harmed if this information were released? You don’t want to accidentally victimize (or revictimize) a colleague, accidentally reveal personal information that could compromise one’s reputation, or put a field agent in harm’s way.

To sanitize physical items with nonporous surfaces, such as USB sticks or hard drives, wipe them down with a cleaning product and towel. Paper documents and other porous surfaces are more difficult to sanitize. There are a number of techniques for attempting this, but most involve using an eraser and potentially a cornstarch mixture to remove any oils left by fingerprints. If you are providing someone with a device such as a hard drive, remove any serial numbers or identifying information that would make that product traceable, and of course, be sure to pay cash when buying any hardware that you might use. If you must provide physical documents, redact them first with a black marker or white-out and then photocopy them, providing a redacted copy instead of the original.

For digital documents, the process of sanitization can be broken down into two strategies: 1) redaction, the process of obfuscating information within a document; and 2) metadata removal, the process of deleting identifying traces from the document.

Text

Any text-based document (rich text files, DOC and DOCX formats, CSVs, Microsoft Excel files, PowerPoint files, Adobe InDesign files, etc.) should first be converted to a PDF. This can be done on most computers with either “print to PDF” or “export to PDF” functionality. The PDF should then be opened, and each page should be exported as an image and then redacted in image-editing software. Draw black boxes over areas of sensitive or identifying information in the images. Note: If you try to redact the documents from within the PDF, it will be done in layers, leaving the actual data underneath the black boxes. This will not technically remove the sensitive information. Similarly, it is important to use only image formats that do not include layers. If layers are included, someone can later remove the redaction layer and see the sensitive information underneath. JPG is a great image format to use, as it cannot save layers. After all of the images have been edited, they should be either recombined into a new PDF using a PDF viewer or given to someone as a set of images.

An alternative option is to use PDF Redact Tools, which automates those processes for you. It is currently available on Linux or macOS and comes bundled inside the Tails operating system.

Images

Images should be redacted just the same as text documents. Save them in a format without layers such as a JPG. Draw black boxes over any portions that need to be removed, then save them.

Video and Audio

Redaction of video and audio files can be a bit trickier, but the same basic process of obfuscating information applies. For videos, open them in a video editing program and either delete portions of the video or add black boxes over sensitive pieces. Then export the edited video. Audio files should be edited in an audio editor (Audacity is a good free choice), and portions of the recordings can be deleted or replaced with a standard sine wave tone (like a censorship bleep).

Remember, though, that there may be other information in audio and video recordings that isn’t obvious at first glance. Is there background noise or imagery that can be analyzed to determine the time and place it was taken? Are there reflections or other subtle pieces of data that could compromise you or someone else? Be very careful when it comes to audio and video, because so much information is contained in each file that it can be hard to think of every single thing that should be redacted.

Metadata Removal

Of course, if you are simply trying to get a video out, but trying to make it less obvious who it was shot by, removing the underlying capture information might be all that’s needed. This is where removing metadata comes into play.

Example of image meta data created by an iPhone

The image above is just a selection of the metadata produced by one photo taken with a smartphone. The metadata contains the model of the phone, the time it was taken, and possibly the location of the phone at the time of capture (if GPS location was enabled). This data needs to be removed if you are trying to make the photo, video, or any other type of file untraceable.

Before anything else, check the filename for anything that could identify you or your means of creating the image. If you have any doubt—rename it.

All digital files inherently contain some distinct information that identifies them: filename, creation date and time, last modified date and time, and file size. Some digital file formats contain even more information. Microsoft Word documents, for example, are known for automatically saving additional metadata, such as the authors who worked on the document and the names and locations of the computers where the file was saved. Unfortunately, with these documents and particularly with proprietary file formats, it might be difficult or near-impossible to remove all pieces of metadata. Instead, convert proprietary formats to simple open-source formats that have consistent metadata formatting.

Some file formats use standard data wrappers to store metadata, such as EXIF (exchangeable image file format) or XMP (Extensible Metadata Platform). These are used for almost all image formats and PDFs. By converting other documents into these formats, it becomes much easier to delete metadata and know that it is really gone.

To actually remove metadata from an image, a PDF, or a video file, open it with its corresponding editing software and look for options such as “Properties,” “Inspector,” or “Document Inspector.” This should open up a dialog with a list of all of the metadata fields and entries. Delete them all. You will also want to research format-specific metadata removal methods for specific file types. Audio and video files, such as MP3s or MP4s, for example, can have proprietary ID3 tags embedded within them—such as PRIV frames—that make it near impossible to know if they have been sanitized.

Alternatively, a number of applications can scrub metadata from particular file formats. Several applications can remove EXIF data from images, but the Android application “EZ UnEXIF Free (EXIF Remover)” is especially useful for those communicating via an anonymous smartphone or tablet. This application removes all EXIF data, including geolocation, from photos taken with an Android device.

The Metadata Anonymisation Toolkit (MAT) provides a simple interface for stripping metadata from a number of formats, including PNG, JPEG, PDF, MP3, and Microsoft Office Document formats. MAT comes installed on Tails. However, MAT currently hasn’t been updated since January 2016, essentially making it abandonware. Fortunately, MAT2, the replacement for MAT, is under active development and currently in beta. This is a great tool that can be used to sanitize a variety of files, but please check on its current development status online before using it.

Storage

Be cautious about where you store documentation. Never store documentation at work, unless you are following the misfiling method mentioned previously. You may feel that your desk or office is a safe space, but it isn’t. You can consider storing documents at home, but this is an obvious choice for all concerned. In many cases, those who are trying to disclose information have had their houses ransacked and searched by their adversaries, both legally and illegally. If a subpoena is filed, information in your home will not be protected.

A good strategy is to either store documents outside your home or office or give a backup copy of what you will be revealing to a trusted person for safekeeping. Daniel Ellsberg gave a copy of a classified nuclear study to his brother, who hid the documents under a large gas stove in a garbage dump. Unfortunately, while this protected them for a while, the documents were ultimately destroyed by water damage, and Ellsberg spent years trying to reconstitute the information they contained. Instead of your brother, choose a lawyer. In the United States, information stored with your attorney may be protected from search and seizure through attorney-client privilege. Of course, there are exceptions to this, which was the case in the raid on the office of President Trump’s former attorney Michael Cohen. If investigators can make the case that attorney-client privilege is being used “in furtherance of a contemplated or ongoing crime or fraud,” then they will be able to search a lawyer’s office under the crime-fraud exception.

All digital documentation should be stored on either encrypted USB drives or on an encrypted pseudonymous device, such as an encrypted tablet or a Tails USB drive. Documents should never be stored in the cloud or on a personal computer or device.

https://boingboing.net/2020/01/09/documentation-gathering-sanit.html

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zoe-graham-photography · 3 years

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Who Are You Project: Planning

Write about you!

To first talk about who I am as a person you must know some things about me that need explaining before I truly talk about who I am.

{This is where I get really stressed out, I don’t write about myself a lot, but I could sit and tell you loads about myself. I suppose that’s a good start I will tell you about my story in life first then I can describe myself. I have a rather weird personality I think it mostly comes from my struggles through life, you see I have been diagnosed with sever anxiety and depression for the past 6 years, there are many ways that I cope with these things, and its what most people would say about me is I have a unique style but that’s mainly to combat my mental issues, my anxiety is revolved around social situations which is probably weird to hear since I can go to college and other things but this is only because I have trained my mind not to freak out too much by focusing on one thing at a time it is how I can still work in groups as well if my mind is distracted by some task I can get through those situations I would usually panic and hide in a corner about, in no sense does it mean I don’t have anxiety it just means I have found a way to deal with it without being medicated. You see with my depression I don’t have a combat to that apart from dressing and styling my hair for myself I don’t pay attention to weather unless really needed but even then I still dress for me with the addition to weather for my sole benefit, if I feel I look good I can forget everything else, this is also why I have trouble thinking of the defining of who I am because I don’t really know who I am anymore, I live my life being something I don’t define as me because if I did I wouldn’t leave the house, I wouldn’t be where I am today.}

Now that I have told you about why this is hard for me lets talk about who I truly am. I see myself as not much an insignificant character in my own story, I get overwhelmed by slight things like crowds and being given too much at once (related to work), I also don’t see myself as worth saving and it shows through sometimes as a few people have said I put others needs before my own needs too much sometimes. There are only a few things I truly know about myself and that my life has been tough but I have survived so far so I can keep going, I found my escape from the bad times were through creative things like music, painting, photography and at one point hairdressing. People say I am bubbly and witty but really that’s the mask that I have put in place for others to see, so they couldn’t see underneath at the broken soul I have. I have always helped others with anything from their relationships or just in general, I am always trying to help others more than I help myself.

So to sum myself up as to who I am as a person is this; I am someone who doesn’t truly believe in herself because she has struggled her whole life but still she believes in others and wants them to see their full potential so she helps them as much as she can, she doesn’t let others see her struggles because she believes she has to fight her own battles without any help. She finds ways to escape the feelings and this is how people see her but its all a mask and a way to stop people from worrying about her, she has no self-esteem really and can be emotionally unstable at times. I talk about myself in third person when writing this because I like to keep that side of myself hidden for the most part so to me its more like a split personality but in truth its who I really am not the mask I hold in place in front of others.

Planning on how I will show my story in my self-portrait.

For my self-portrait I was thinking of making a layered photo to convey everything I want to show about myself, with how I hide how I feel under a mask in front of others but inside I am screaming, so in sense I will be layering two photos of me in different states and then another layer with words I feel describe me and words that others describe me as, I have done something like this before for a video project from my last course but I didn’t get to finish the project unfortunately due to lock-down.

(I am have finished this project now I have access to the software I have added a link here to give another sense of who I am as it was about who I am and my struggles with depression. be aware triggering content in this video, you also have to be 18+ and logged into YouTube to view it here is the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xd7Av2FAHjY )

As I went into above the story, I will be telling in my images will be about what I hide in public and it will be really focused on the emotional struggle within me.

Visual clues I will use will be the layered-up images with the words that I will be adding in.

Planning on what my location and object will be.

I have already decided that I will be doing for my location shot a mystery woodland shot like what is in my research but I will be doing a portrait layout but the idea is similar I will be in it at a distance maybe with some motion blur on me as well.

My object was something I struggled with as what I had at first was a bit too deep for me to fully do as it would be too tempting for me (not getting into why) but I have a couple of ideas now from writing about me I have a necklace that I got to remind myself to keep going and not to give up that I could use and there is also this small fluffy bunny teddy key-ring you might have seen me with a couple of times I use texture as a calming agent so fluff or soft things help when I am starting to freak out and have a panic attack. I might combine both together the bunny and the necklace either I take the photo with them both or do a double exposure image with them. I also had an idea of having the necklace on when taking photos of it and I could do this and add the bunny in to see how it looks but depending what it looks like I may not use it.

What will link my three images together

Feelings are a key element, but I am also linking together these images by wearing one outfit for all three images this being a white floral dress that will give another key into the link about the fact I use how I dress to get myself through the day.

#whoami #whoareyou #preproduction

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mintchocolateleaves · 5 years

Text

Match-Made (1/4)

Summary: Whilst spying on David one day, trying to come up with new ways to break him, Max, Nikki and Neil come to realise that the man is... married? But - of course not. There's no way that could be true. It's - it's David. Who would marry him? It seems like they're going to have to figure it out.

A/N: Y’all know I started to watch camp-camp, and this is the product of that. Hope you all enjoy. If formatting decides to fuck itself up, then here’s the AO3 link.

It had been just another one of those boring days at camp trying to keep themselves entertained. Skipping out on awful camp activities with poor, crappy resources, and trying to come up with an adventure of their own was nothing short from normal for them.

Nikki had wanted something more fun, Neil had wanted something a little less mind-numbing, and quite honestly, Max just wanted out.

Any time away from David and that overbearing intensity would be a godsend, and so leaving behind the god-awful cross-stitching camp hadn’t been a difficult decision to make.

Sure, they’d have to deal with David’s poor attempts at scolding them later, but they were going to have to hear it whether they disappeared for the day or not. The counsellor had a habit of calling them out on every ‘inappropriate’ thing. For swearing, for being mean, or cruel, or whatever else fell outside of overbearingly happy children.

Newsflash David, you’re telling kids to stop being fucking kids.

Either way, they just needed to get away from him for a while. To be in a David-free zone for just a little longer than the eight hours they slept.

“I miss Saturdays,” Nikki said, finally, as if the day had been cancelled. As if it wasn’t Monday, and they hadn’t only just had the weekend to themselves. “We always get to go into the forest on Saturdays.”

Well, technically they were in the forest now – all the fucking time, really, since they were stuck at this shitty camp – but they were allowed to roam a little further during the weekends.

“We go into the forest all the week,” Neil said, tone bordering on a whine, “I want it to be Saturday so I can go on a computer without someone telling me I’m being antisocial.”

Max shrugs his head, jumps over a log in the pathway and says, “You know why you guys miss Saturdays so much?”

He phrases it by a question, but really, he doesn’t want them to offer any answers. He just wants his friends to wait for the answer, to anticipate the scheme that might be forming in his head.

“I just said why I missed Saturdays,” Nikki says.

“Because the adults don’t have to spend all their time with us,” Max says. “Because we’re not stuck doing shitty activities, and the counsellors leave us the fuck alone as long as we’re not murdering each other.”

Nikki nods emphatically, and for a moment, it’s almost possible to see the memories of last weekend swimming through her eyes. Possible to see how they’d been left alone for a full day until she tried to throw Space-kid across the lake in the mechanised sling-shot she’d had Neil help her make.

“There’s no way we can stop that though,” Neil says after a while, and from the way his nose scrunches, it’s clear that the boy has spent time trying to figure out ways to achieve more computer time, but so far, has come up short. “We’re lucky we only have to do five days a week of activities.”

That’s alright, Max is more of the diabolical genius of the three of them anyway.

“I didn’t sign up for any of these shitty activities,” Max says, “and I’m sick to shit of being forced to do them.”

“…Revolution time?”

A sigh. “No Nikki, we tried that last week, it didn’t work.”

“Part two could be better though.”

Max appreciates the thought, honestly, he does. But the last time they revolted, he’s ended up shirtless, fighting back against the man and his other camp mates, because they’d all thought Erid a better leader than him.

Fuck that noise.

“What we need,” he continues, “is to find a way to make the counsellors agree to leave us alone.”

Nikki’s eyes shine, and she jumps forward as she realises what he means. She shakes his shoulders back and forth, ignoring the scowl she receives as Max tries to push her back. “We change the calendar so that every day is Saturday!”

Well – uh, not exactly what he meant, but the sentiment kind of stands. Sure, why the fuck not.

“Make every day Saturday.”

Neil, always the one who questions the plans, says, “I doubt we can just convince people that every day is Saturday.”

Fuck, honestly, Max thinks that they probably could if they came up with a crazy enough story about inter-dimensional time travel, and Groundhog Day. David would probably buy it, because the man’s a fucking idiot.

Convincing Gwen that the day was just repeating itself wouldn’t be so easy though. What with how often she read those werewolf fanfictions on her phone all the time, she’d go onto her email searching for any updates and immediately know the truth.

Maybe if they found a way to commandeer her phone so she wouldn’t be able to search things all day…?

He needs to stop.

“That’s a mindfuck that can wait,” Max says, “but we so could. No, we get them to leave us alone through blackmail.”

If it were anyone else but the kids at camp, talk of blackmail would be met with horror, or confusion. But here, at Camp freaking Campbell, he receives two looks of equal contemplation, considering how easy such a task would be.

It all comes down to blackmailing three people, essentially.

Quartermaster, who they kind of… don’t really need to? He tends to stick to himself, which is always good because Max is pretty sure that the man is a fucking sociopath.

Gwen, who – well, she doesn’t really care enough about the camp, so it’ll be really easy to blackmail her. They can find something easily enough – it’s always simple to narrow down what she cares about, since she doesn’t feign caring about other things.

The person who’ll be the hardest, will be David.

“Does David even have anything that we could blackmail him with though?” Nikki asks, “he’s like, so shiny and bright.”

Max scowls. “Someone like him, is bound to have some things he’s keeping secret from us.”

He still doesn’t believe that someone like that, someone so bright and happy, doesn’t keep things hidden beneath a layer of faux optimism. He’s probably got some fucked up secret that they just need to figure out.

“Maybe,” Neil says, “but it’s David.”

Max crosses his arms as if to say, he doesn’t care. Their new task of the day, is to spy on David and find a way to blackmail and ruin his life. And oh yeah, get the whole Saturday being every day thing put in place.

Honestly, just messing with David seems like it could have been the initial plan, but the others are more likely to help out if there’s a clear reason behind it.

…Well.

Actually, fuck that, he probably could have just said it. Nikki loves anything chaotic, and Max is pretty sure that Neil is still outraged over the lack of a proper lab at the camp.

“We’re going to find a way to fucking blackmail David guys,” Max says, crossing his arms. “And when we do, every day, will be fucking Saturday.”

Which leads them to now, using the other campers as a distraction, some early set disaster as a distraction, so that they can clearly search the counsellors cabin. The place has fucking air con in here.

Max resists the urge to cut the wires of the air con and puts it in mind for later instead. Why the fuck do the counsellors get to be chilled during the evenings when the rest of them are stuck in fucking tents?

Yeah, there’s a bit of a imbalance in the way they’re being treated, and Max isn’t blind to it. This is exactly why he rebels against the man.

“I ask to watch TV and I get told I’m not taking advantage of nature and my surroundings,” Neil says, as he pushes the button, the screen flicking on, greeting them with grey static.

The sound of static is like a bursting explosion, and Max leans forward, past Neil to shut the TV off before anyone hears, before the sound can give them away.

“We’re meant to be being stealthy Neil,” Nikki says, and from her, it seems almost hypocritical. Although – well, she is okay at being stealthy sometimes, he supposes.

“I don’t understand why the sound was turned up so high though,” Neil says. He pauses, “I mean, your hearing doesn’t go that bad by twenty.”

Who knows, Max thinks. His twenties are an entire lifetime away and he’s not really thinking about the quality of his hearing.

“Right,” Max says. “But we’re here for blackmail material, not a hearing test Neil, jeez.”

Neil just gives him a look, and says nothing.

But nah, loud TV isn’t a blackmail opportunity. Max reckons that Gwen turns it up so high so she can block out the sound of the camp when she’s not got to deal with them – or even to just block out David.

“Who cares,” Nikki says, and points towards the drawers by each bedside. It’s easy to tell whose side of the room is which based by which side has more sentimental crap in it.

David’s side has a photograph of the camp that’d been taken at the beginning of the summer, everyone lined up and pretending that they were happy to be in the photograph. It’s such a fake photo, but still the man has it framed, on the drawer, beside his alarm clock.

Gwen’s side doesn’t have an alarm clock, but maybe that’s because she’s sane and not a horrible morning person like David is. Always waking them up at ungodly times when quite frankly, he’d much rather they all get to sleep in.

“Nothing blackmail-y yet though,” Nikki says. With little regard for personal space, she pulls open the drawers, rifling through in a way not unlike a raccoon going through the trash.

“We’ll find something,” Max promises, standing beside her to peer into the drawers. Sometimes Nikki overlooks things that aren’t cool, or dangerous, and Max wants to make sure they don’t overlook anything.

“You keep saying that,” Neil says, “but what if we don’t find any blackmail material?”

Max pauses. Considers it. Then:

“We’ll make blackmail material then.”

Neil nods his head, as if this is perfectly logical, and not simply a dick move. Whatever, they want their Saturdays and there’s nothing else to do in this fucked up excuse for a camp anyway.

Max goes to open his mouth, pauses. Then, with the urgency of a thief knowing there’s a cop nearby, he grabs the sleeves of both Nikki and Neil, shoving his friends down and under David’s bed.

Hitting his head as he shuffles under, Neil lets out a small groan. Max resists the urge to tell him to shut the fuck up, since he also, should be shutting the fuck up.

Footsteps echo as the cabin doors swing open. Except, it doesn’t really swing open, but rather, is thrust open with far more energy than necessarily. David then, because Gwen would never open the door with such energy.

David’s voice follows suit.

For some reason, there is a hint of stress – not unhappiness, but an urgency that he shows sometimes, whenever there’s a task he wants to start but they’ve hit time delays. Which is strange, because Max hasn’t ever thought of David as someone who knows what urgency means.

“Of course, I didn’t forget,” David calls, and then, after the door closes, his voice quieter: “Oh dang, I can’t believe I forgot to pick up the flowers.”

Flowers?

Max shares a look between his friends. David doesn’t usually pick up flowers, but rather, heads into the meadows to pick his own. He’d done it when they’d heard one of the women in town were ill, and another time when he’d –

Oh god, he’s totally got a date, right?

David’s a fucking romantic like that, of course he’d want to give someone flowers. God, even if they don’t have any

Their camp counsellor grabs his phone from his pockets, dials a number and holds it up to his ears. It’s impossible to hear the dial tone from under the bed, so Max reckons he’s going to have to find a way to infer everything from just David’s side of the conversation.

Not that it’s very difficult to do. David doesn’t really hide conversations.

“Oh hi Mr. Foster, it’s David, from Camp Campbell.” There’s a pause, and then, sheepishly, as he rubs the back of his neck, “yeah, I completely forgot the pick up for the bouquet was yesterday, I was caught up with activities–”

Another pause.

“You didn’t hold the bouquet back even the extra da–” David runs a hand through wispy red hair, “yeah, I know you don’t hold them back for customers who don’t pick them up but this is me – you did my wedd-”

Max has to slap a hand over Nikki’s mouth to stop the noise that builds against her tongue. Beside him, Neil leans up to pinch himself. David having had a wedding implies marriage – and who the fuck would marry that asshole?

“No, I know. I know. Can I get a bouquet made quickly then?” Another pause. “I understand it’s extra, but it’ll be our anniversary, and I–”

For a moment, there is silence. Then, a long, relieved silence is breathed into the air, almost like a dying gasp, almost like a gulp of someone who’s forgotten how to inhale.

“You’re the best sir,” David says, “-yeah, if you still have those lilac peonies that we had at the wedding, I just know she’ll love them. Yeah, thanks sir. I’ll pick them up tomorrow morning. No delays this time.”

The phone call must end, because David slips it back into his pocket, takes a moment to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt.

“That’s all dealt with then,” he says, “now back to today’s activities!”

Max can hardly keep himself quiet for the time it takes David to leave the cabin. He doesn’t know how the others manage it. They wait until the door is closed again, until they hear footsteps fade away into nothingness.

Then, slowly, the three campers slide out from under the bed.

“What the fuck was that?” Max says.

“David never mentioned being married before,” Nikki says, “I wonder if his wife knows how to fight a bear! I’d only marry someone who could fight a bear.”

Neil doesn’t say anything. When Max looks at him, the boy shrugs his shoulders, as if there are no words to decipher how the knowledge has thrown him.

“No, but seriously,” Max continues, crossing his arms. “Who the fuck would marry David?”

It looks like they’re going to have to find out.

#camp camp #cc david #cc max #cc neil #cc nikki #cc gwen #gwenvid #mywriting #fic: match-made #this fuckin thing exists now I guess - hope y'all enjoy it? but who knows #I just found the concept fun

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newsiegirlscout · 5 years

Text

Day-Glow Sonata

If you thought I was dead, you must be sorely disappointed! Presenting: a rare-pair so rare there is only one person who ships it, and that is me!! Bonus points for finding the five songs referenced throughout.

If there was one thing Dressy Killman had learned from her years at Jerome Horwitz, it’s that even what you thought was concrete had the possibility to change at a second. As a result, she’d learned to always live in the present. When there was no real rhyme or rhythm to what would happen one moment, they’d loved, and they’d laughed, and they’d seen that it was good.

But when they’d finally graduated the sixth grade, and her mother had presented her happily with the admission letter for McCracken Middle, the school of the arts, Dressy had cried.

Then, one day near the end of eighth grade, she’d locked eyes with one misbegotten member looking even lonelier than she was, somehow. Dressy approached the table and asked if the spot were free, and the ginger smiled and patted the stool next to her. From that day forth, Dressy and Other Sophie were inseparable, both inside and outside of the arts classroom.

*******************************************************************************************

For weeks, the two had chatted aimlessly about nothing in subsistence, Dressy carrying on most of the conversation and Other Sophie nodding or shaking her head in response.While to some, it seemed as if she talked little, the truth was, Other Sophie said quite a bit if you knew how to listen.

“Did you catch that new episode of All the Single Ladies?” Dressy asked excitedly, echoing it with a melody of the last two words, “Who do you think is going to win? My chocolate coins are on Lad Myrabill--the ladies always go for the British accent, and she and him are so cute together!”

Other Sophie smiled and shook her head slightly. Withdrawing her phone, she brought up her photo album and tapped on the cast, zooming in on a man in the background with curly brown hair and thick glasses.

“Nooo,” Dressy scoffed playfully, “No way, he’s just barely hanging on, and you know she had like three extra carnations last season!”

The ginger scrolled to a screenshot of the bachelorette gazing at the man while on a date with another, then to a side-by-side comparison with the girl giggling at a similar lopsided smile from each of the men. Dressy raised an eyebrow, and Other Sophie grinned and continued with half a dozen more of her comparisons and details, ending with a screenshot of a scientific journal with two lines highlighted.

“Of a selection of otherwise-identical men, women in the study generally found brown-haired men the most handsome, followed by black-haired men, red-headed men, and lastly, blonde men.”

“Women typically find ‘nerdier’ men cuter and more attractive than others.”

Dressy looked up, and Other Sophie adjusted her glasses intentionally with a cute laugh.

The hipster gave her classmate a friendly punch in the shoulder.

“Well, we’ll see who’s right about that at the end of the quarter….nerd.”

*****************************

Other Sophie was right. Of course she was.

Dressy herself had gotten little sleep the night before, and the last week had been more than a little difficult when she couldn’t find the focus for anything, but her thoughts still ran a mile a minute. Long story short, it wasn’t exactly easy to put aside your own problems to work on Shakespeare’s, especially when a new dilemma surfaced every few minutes to block out everything else like a LightNote pop-up reminding you to log in.

Art, though? Art was easy, and she did her best to stay upbeat, if just for that forty minutes. That said, the day after the finale had been a day when she reminded herself she should have known better than to try and deceive a girl who saw everything quietly.

When Other Sophie saw her, her green eyes widened with compassion and she slid her phone across the table, putting her hand on her shoulder. The current image was a screenshot of passive-aggressive fanart depicting Lad Myrabill and the Single Lady herself hand-in-hand. The timid girl hummed a note of question when Dressy looked up, and she shook her head.

“No, this week has just been really arduous--arduous!” she said, echoing herself in song with a wheezing chuckle, “I mean, I guess it sorta has to do with MyraBelle, but also not really?”

Other Sophie, from some hidden pocket of her bookbag or another, took out a hairbrush emblazoned with a lavender star and Dressy, without any real idea of the events, turned around as her friend brushed her disheveled curls out with gentle, tranquilizing strokes. A few minutes later, she received a tap on the shoulder and looked back to be handed a glittery purple pen. A sheet of notebook paper was slid down to her, an array of dots present. While Other Sophie softly clipped a bow ornamented with musical notes into Dressy’s hair, the hipster tapped her pen against the paper reflexively a few times before connecting two of the dots down from the top.

Her friend leaned over and vertically connected the box to the top corner, but when Dressy connected the upper two dots, trying to close the box, Other Sophie kept the horizontal upper chain going. Finally, Dressy managed to chase her into a corner and neatly initial a box, only to look back and see that, in her convoluted pursuit, she’d managed to capture four other boxes, as compared to Other Sophie’s three….and there were no more profitable moves to be made.

“Oh my gosh! I’m victorious--victorious!” she cheered. Other Sophie gave her a hug

And the world

Stopped.

Somehow, in the lanky girl’s embrace, there was more love and comfort and hope than there was in the gauziest of arias, the sweetest chirp of morning larks, and all Dressy could think was that she wanted to stop, to step away, but at the same time, to live in this moment forever, to never break away again, to be with Other Sophie forever and wake up next to her and watch the sun sparkle off her hair and sing and make breakfast for her and--

The bell rang, and the chagrined choralist broke apart and gave her best friendly smile to Other Sophie, her face almost as red as her hair.

*************************************************************************

The sleepover was a bad decision to begin with, but as anyone who’d attended Melvin Sneedly Elementary could tell you, even when the smartest could be kind of an idiot sometimes.

It became a worse decision at the fact that it was at Jessica’s house, and that even her slight discomfort at Other Sophie’s invitation of Dressy couldn’t deter her enthusiasm for the inevitable probability of Truth or Dare. Somehow during the night, she had scooted over a little too close to her friend; Sophie One raised an eyebrow, but if she noticed anything out-of-odds, she didn’t say a word.

The twelve-ounce bottle spun, and the capped end came to rest a few inches to Jessica’s right, the flipped end between Dressy and Sophie One. The prima donna flicked the bottle with one neatly-manicured fingernail, only to have it skew a few inches to her left. Sighing, she leaned down and adjusted the bottle’s position for a minute longer than necessary before sighing and physically pointing the bottle’s capped end to herself.

“Okay, weird hippie girl--truth, or darr?” she said exasperatedly.

“I’ll tell the truth…” she sang back warily.

“Tell me, who’s been fooling you!” Jessica demanded with malicious delight, “Who do you like?”

Dressy rolled her eyes, “That can’t be original. You must have asked that a million times.”

“Like, I asssssssssk…..but no one ever answers, or, at least not, honestly.”

“How can you tell?”

“‘Cuuuuuuz, they act like it’s no big deal if they answer, and then they get all red and really quiet all of a sudden, and they ask stupid questions to keep stalling.”

Dressy giggled. “Alright, then. I actually--actually!--don’t mind questions like this, since love is really a beautiful thing that I don’t think anyone should be embarrassed about. I don’t really have a crush, so give me a second to think--”

And as she mentally flipped through all the prettiest girls in her classes, somehow, like a LightNote log-in notice, her thoughts sprang to purple glittery gel pens, to lavender stars and musical-noted bows, to freckles and red-rimmed glasses, to mint-colored jumpers and warm embraces and the scent of peaches in spring and.

She was crimson, trying hard, maybe too hard, to avoid Other Sophie’s confused gaze and focusing intently on the bottle and cursing how a twelve-ounce Spite could lead to all this.

“Oh no.” she whispered.

*******************************************************************************************

George and Harold would know what to do. George and Harold always knew what to do, somehow--from finding a solution to the crocobat infestations to navigating the Doom Dome, even when their ideas were wrong, they ended up working anyway.

Therefore, running halfway across Piqua to find the fail-safe wingmen made perfect sense.

Still only a few inches taller than many half her age, she vaulted the fence guarding the entrance between the Beard and Hutchins yards only to stumble, get caught halfway over, kick her way back across, and fall rather painfully to the yard, the gate swinging open lazily in the slight Spring breeze behind her. She stood up and dusted herself off, looking….for what? For two teenage boys to be sitting in a treehouse drawing comics and laughing over acronyms adding up to bathroom jokes? For the firefly-lit lantern to still be blazing in the window while the same two boys, heading into high school, invited her up the rope ladder and gave her a cookie shaped like a dinosaur?

But she looked up, and the lantern still glowed in the dim evening light, the misfits of her elementary-school career shadowed against the treehouse walls, yelling and laughing at whatever mishaps on their gaming tablet were causing each other so much contorted concentration.

Everything stays, right where you left it, after all.

She had planned to knock on the floor of their treehouse to at least give some warning, but she tripped on the second rung of the rope ladder, which ended up toppling their lantern into George’s very startled hands.

“Speak, friend, and enter.” he said, looking out and offering his hand to the girl, “Oh, hey, Dressy! It’s been forever!”

“Uh….need some help?” Harold asked, appearing behind him in an instant as he saw her foot snarled.

“I’ve just been ensnared--ensnared!” she sang, reaching for the higher ladder rungs and pulling herself free, “Can I come in?”

The blond rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Well, uh, we only have the two Switch controllers….”

“It’s fine, I was actually wondering if you might be able to help me with something?” she asked, not sure how they would have deduced her wanting to play video games when she had only realized they’d had them a minute ago.

“As long as it’s not homework”, George said with an air of finality, “We’ll do our best, as varied a scale as that may be.”

“For example”, Harold continued, “If you need help with finding the funniest way to exact revenge on someone? We’re your guys. Seeing what happens when you microwave soap? We’re also your guys.”

“Figuring out how to clean that microwave?” George countered, “We’re kinda your guys.”

“My mom is getting a new microwave.”

“I owe you a Hot Pocket.”

“Guys, guys!” Dressy called, “There’s a girl.”

The duo of discord looked at each other as a quacking sound of confusion was heard.

“A girl I like.”

The two grinned and looked at each other with big eyes.

“Awwwwwwww,” they chorused.

“What’s her name?”

“Is she nice?”

“Can she do anything? Like knitting, or air guitar, or baking?”

“Is she a vampire?”

“Does she like music?”

She held out her hand to halt them.

“It’s….Other Sophie”, she admitted with a blush and fidgeting with the glitter pen in her pocket, “And, I was wondering how I could get her to like me as much as I like her?”

George sat down patted a spot on the floor near him and his friend.

“I’m gonna be honest, Dressy, love is kind of whack and you can’t do a thing about it, but I think I can get something together if you tell us a little more about her.”

*******************************************************************************************

They’d listened thoughtfully, until at last she finished and George started tossing a baseball into the air and thinking.

“Alright, I have an idea, and, I’m not sure if it will work.” he said, “And if it doesn’t, I don’t know what to say other than that it will be worth it and she’ll probably like it a lot; but there’s no opt-out because, well, most of my and Harold’s plans are a one-in-a-million shot and you have to be a crazy bastard to think about doing them, but for these crazy bastards, you always get results, and those results always lead to something.”

And he detailed his ploy emphatically, gesticulating and diagramming along the way and ending with rummaging through their drawing desk for a minute or two before retrieving a set of two softly-glowing jelly bracelets, both in verdant green. He handed them both to her and took her hand.

“The second one’s for Other Sophie.” he said with a crooked smile, “Good luck.”

*******************************************************************************************

Piqua had only a single karaoke soda bar to its name, but it couldn’t be said that Alpacapella was down on its luck by any means. Of all the forever-surprisingly intricate performances it had seen, most of them from any single artist were from Dressy Killman; therefore, it was no surprise to anyone when she walked in and stood against the upper-level ornate gate, watching the others from above and rubbing a quarter reflexively between her fingers.

The bar was vibrant with energy, and her heart pounded against her chest as the lyrics to the last song (Judging by the few scattered lines she consciously heard and the melody she was tapping her hands along to, Dressy identified it as “All the Things She Said”) faded out, replaced by the applause of the other patrons.

For a few fleeting seconds, she thought of leaving, letting everything stay the same when all she could taste is the moment, and all she could see is her light….

But sooner or later, it’s over, after all. And besides, in all her years, she’d never once turned down a show.

The hipster slid down the spiraling staircase, and the group of hesitating kids and teenagers alike in the line quickly made way for her as she took a deep breath and moved up to the stage. All at once, she caught a glimpse of a duo thumbs-up and the lights dimmed. The bar gasped quietly, and the opening verse softly cued in, gentle and slow.

Her bracelet glowed.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Another band, the same color as her own, lit up and she calmed.

“This is for the girl who always makes me feel bubbly when I see her.” she said, for once being patient enough to wait for the lyrical verses. The white text lettered in on-screen, but she didn’t see it.

“I’ve been awake for awhile now,

You’ve got me feeling like a child now

‘Cause every time I see your bubbly face,

I start to feel just a bit displaced.”

********************************************************************

At the balcony, Jessica signaled for her signature Shirley Temple.

“Other Sophie” she said suddenly, “Look, I haven’t seen you in for-evarr, so here’s some advice--have I mentioned yet that you’re totally and completely helpless when it comes to looking for detail? Like, Sophie One? Sophie One picked up that cameo in Comet’s Magical Battle Against Evil, AND she totally remembers how many cherries are in a good drink. But you? You wouldn’t know someone liked you if they stood up and sang your favorite song.”

Sophie One nodded, but gave her friend an apologetic smile.

Conveniently, this was exactly the same time the lights dimmed and Dressy began her serenade. Other Sophie flushed a cherry-blossom pink, but it didn’t take much attention to detail to see the sparkle in her eyes and the hearts practically fluttering around her head.

*******************************************************************************************

“It starts in my toes, and I crinkle my nose

Wherever it goes, I always know

That you make me smile,

Please, stay for a while now

Just take your time, wherever you go.”

Dressy had heard the lyrics to this song a hundred times, and definitely not because Other Sophie had once texted her one star-dappled evening that she loved that song. With what little impromptu rhyming and syllabic attention she had, she decided to change the next verse ever-so-slightly, just to see if Other Sophie picked up on it.

“You don’t have to say another word,

I understand everything I’ve heard,

You saved me once when I was done for-or,

You give me feelings that I adore.”

*******************************************************************************************

Jessica gasped, and Other Sophie shrugged off the inevitable question.

“Oh. My. Harrrr, you have to go down there!” she squealed, “That is the cutest thing, and I’m telling you now, if you don’t go see her, I’m marrying you two.”

She had already left halfway through the sentence.

*******************************************************************************************

The glow of her wrist reflected off the beads around her neck, and sure, she’d known Dressy had a lovely voice, but this, this was a serenade Other Sophie wanted to listen to forever and never look back, and all she could think was all that she wanted to leave, to clap politely at the end and play dumb like Dressy was no more than her best friend, but at the same time, to live in this moment forever, to never break away again, to be with Dressy and wake up next to her and watch her play crosswords and listen to her sing in the kitchen and make breakfast for her and--

She was blushing, and Dressy was blushing, and all at once, she was on stage next to her and the chorus started and the lovesick look in Dressy’s eyes hugged her close and told her she didn’t have to do a thing if she didn’t want to, but the ginger cleared her throat, ready, at least, to be with her sensational angel for this minute.

“And it starts in my toes, makes me crinkle my nose,

Wherever it goes, I always know,

That you’ll make me smile,

Please, stay for a while now,

Just take your time, wherever you go.”

Dressy held up her hand and Other Sophie gave a last nod and laced her fingers with hers, the jelly bracelets glowing against one another. The song cut short, and the world fell back to the hipster, convinced that they could not just be friends, that her companion would forever act wary by her side and speak of her gesture in hushed giggles, that just once, nothing had gone right--

And Other Sophie twirled her back and kissed her with a soft “mwah!” and the world stopped.

#tetocu #the epic tales of captain underpants #cu epic tales #dressy killman #other sophie #dressilyn #? that's my pair name #other sophie x dressy #dressy x other sophie #waffles to go

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