#Sophie. What a stupid name. But you should definitely go read her fics anyway. Maybe leave some kudos.

[lizzy-bennet]

Sophie do you have any Whouffle (specifically 11/Clara) fic recs 👀

I got the notification for this just as I was starting to draft my third Eleven/Clara fic, so I’m taking this message as a sign that writing it is a good idea. ;)Three adorable fics I really enjoyed are That Talent for Instability, Expectations, and One for the Road.

There’s also Of Star-Touched Skin and The Doctor and Mrs. Smith. They’re from this one writer chick…I think her name’s Sophie? She’s a bit annoying, can’t stand her as a person tbh, but her fics, from what I hear, are total gems. Or maybe the term used was total trash. One can never be sure.

Edit: Stars in a Bottle completed and posted!

[no-stabbing-wednesdays]

The Conspiracy Job

I made a post about the “Eliot’s semi-famous identities” conspiracy here and @what---i-dated-a wanted a fic, which got my muse going. So, here it is, and also on AO3

An amazing version of the same concept by @copperbadge was linked in the notes and I recommend you all read that too! The Job Interview Job

The Conspiracy Job

“Oh, not again!”

The others, busy drawing up plans for their latest con, looked over at Hardison. 

“What is it?” Sophie asked.

He brought his display up on the large screen at the front of the room. 

“Someone’s just searched a bunch of Eliot’s old aliases, all at the same time.”

Parker frowned as she looked at the screen. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Eliot was on his feet immediately, concern clear on his face.

“Who is it? CIA? FBI? KGB? Mossad?”

“Give me a second,” Hardison said. “No, I don’t think so. They’re not being flagged on any databases. Someone’s just googling them.”

Eliot relaxed slightly and rolled his eyes. “It’s not those damn conspiracy forums, is it? I thought you got rid of those.”

“I did! They haven’t posted anything, they’re just looking. Oh, they’re here in Portland.”

Eliot tensed again at that, but Hardison shook his head.

“Relax, man. It’s a family house; a couple of dentists and a fifteen year old. If they post anything I’ll take it down, nothing to worry about.”

On the other side of Portland, Julia stepped into her friend Marcie’s bedroom and her eyes widened as she took in the scene before her. Marcie was connecting red threads between grainy, printed-out images on her corkboard and empty bottles of Gatorade littered the desk.

“You have to cool it with this, dude.”

Marcie turned to face her, her hair a mess and her eyes red from lack of sleep, and Julia sighed.

“You look like freaking Charlie Kelly!”

“There’s something here, Jules. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s a couple of athletes and a singer who happen to look similar. It’s hardly the scoop of the century.”

“Look similar? Look similar? Julia, they are completely identical! There are exactly three possibilities.” She held up three fingers in her friend’s face as she counted them off. “Triplets, clones or one ridiculously talented guy.”

“Okaaay, and which one do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” Marcie answered, turning back to her board. “Triplets? Why would they have different names and hide it? One guy? He’d have to be able to sing and play guitar, baseball and hockey. Why wouldn’t you own up to having that kind of talent? Why go to different places with different names? Clones? I’m leaning clones.”

“Clones? Come on, Marcie.” 

“It’s the most logical explanation.”

“You think someone cloned a human being just to create a one-hit-wonder country singer and some short lived athletes?”

Marcie shrugged. “It could be a trial run or an experiment or something. And you remember that anything I ever said on the forums would mysteriously vanish? I went to look after Jacques Labert turned up and every single forum post was gone! Every one! Doesn’t that sound like a government conspiracy to you?”

“It’s weird,” Julia admitted. “But I think you might be taking this a little too far. If the government were making clones, why would they let them get famous so people could discover it?”

“But they weren’t that famous. Think about it, what were the chances that someone would connect them? There were only ever a couple of us posting on the forums. If I hadn’t happened to be visiting my uncle in Palmerston when Roy Chappell was playing and then gone to Saddle and Spurs for my birthday, I’d never have known.” 

Her eyes widened as a horrifying thought occurred to her . “Then Jacques Labert turned up in my city! What if I’m the connection?”

She swung back to the board and began to write her own name. Julia grabbed her hand.

“Marcie! You’re not the center of a government conspiracy! Besides, who’s this fourth guy again?” She asked, tapping one of the photos in the corner. “You didn’t have anything to do with him, did you?”

“No,” Marcie conceded. “And I told you about him, remember? He’s an animal rights activist who was on the news in San Lorenzo a couple of years ago, talking about dog fights in the Presidential Palace. And he’s Canadian. That’s why it’s so exciting that, after almost two years of nothing new, Jacques Labert, Canadian hockey player, suddenly appears. Was the guy on the news Jacques Labert? If there really is more than one of them in the first place!”

Julia grimaced, increasingly worried about Marcie’s obsession with this wild conspiracy. “He was on the news where?”

“San Lorenzo. It’s this tiny European country. Here look.” Marcie sat at her desk, tapped the name into Google and turned her laptop towards Julia. 

Julia scrolled through a few pictures of the idyllic Mediterranean island, then stopped suddenly and pointed at one of them. 

“Wait, who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s Rebecca Ibañez. It’s a tragic story,” Marcie explained, as she clicked on the link and showed her some clearer pictures. “A couple of years ago, the same time maybe-Jacques Labert was there, there was an election and her fiancé won. But, just as the results were announced, supporters of the former president tried to assassinate him and Rebecca stepped in front and took the bullet for him.”

“She was assassinated?”

“Yes, isn’t it awful?”

Julia shook her head. “She can’t have been.”

“What?”

“She’s my brother Zachary’s acting teacher.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I went to see his play last week and I met her. Her name’s Sophie Devereaux and she’s definitely not dead.”

Marcie looked at her in amazement, a grin breaking out across her face . “And she was in San Lorenzo at the same time as Jacques-Roy-Kenneth! There might be even more to this than I thought!”

Julia, almost as invested as Marcie now that her brother’s odd director was mixed up in this, pulled up a chair and looked on excitedly as her friend brought up another google search. 

Back at the Brewpub, the crew were working out the kinks in their plan while waiting for any sign of the internet sleuth trying to share their ideas about Eliot’s multiple identities.

When the computer pinged again, they all turned to see which of his aliases had been flagged this time, only for their eyes to widen in horror as the search term flashed on the screen.

“Rebecca Ibañez” “Sophie Devereaux”

Sophie gave a gasp that almost turned into a choke. “Wha- wha- what?”

Eliot turned to Hardison, furious. “Oh sure, just dentists and a teenager! Fix. This.”

“I’m trying!” Hardison said. “I can’t find any connections to anything. They look clean.”

“Then look harder!”

Wait, I have something. It’s the kid’s computer.”

“Who’s the kid?” Nate asked.

Hardison pulled up a Facebook page. “Marcie Taylor. She’s a sophomore. She used to post on those stupid Eliot forums that I had to take down every week after Memphis. It was pretty harmless, but I’ve no idea why she’s suddenly looking at Sophie’s aliases.”

He scrolled down the page looking for any kind of hint, when Sophie called out to him to stop.

“Who’s that with her? She looks familiar.”

A few more clicks and Hardison had a name.

“Julia Gutmann. She’s in the same class.”

Gutmann?” Sophie groaned. “I know why she’s familiar. That’s Zachary’s little sister.”

“Zachary? Your acting student Zachary?” Nate asked disbelievingly.

“Yes, she came to our play last week.”

Nate shook his head. “I told you to use an alias at that theater.”

“But I wanted to do this as me,” Sophie protested.

Eliot turned back to Hardison. “So, let me get this straight. The aliases and digital trail that you set up to be uncrackable by international governmental organizations are about to be blown apart by a couple of high schoolers?”

Hardison glowered at him. “They’re only looking at old aliases and they were all burnt when we had to leave Boston anyway. It’s not that bad.”

“Sophie’s still using Sophie,” Eliot argued, nearly yelling now. “And I was only just Jacques Labert and in this city. Now they’ve tied me and her together. How did they even do that? That’s way more than some fifteen year old girls should be able to accomplish on Google.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t panic. They were looking at photos of San Lorenzo. That’s how they found a picture of Sophie."

Sophie glared at him.

"Hey!" he protested. "You're the one who jumped in front of the cameras! I can't control the entire internet you know, and I think the people of San Lorenzo would have noticed if every image of their martyred heroine suddenly vanished.

“It’s just bad luck that Julia had met you. But why were they looking at…” Hardison groaned. “They found that video of Eliot and the puppy somehow.”

“Why didn’t you take that down?” Eliot snapped.

“It’s a thirty second feature on the news from two years ago in a country smaller than Iceland! It wasn’t my top priority!”

“Dammit, Hardison!”

“So, our cover’s going to get blown by kids?” Parker asked, incredulously. 

“No,” Nate insisted. “Well, maybe. But we can manage this. Hardison, don't let them post anything. Sophie, call Zachary. Let’s go steal ourselves some silence.”

[yes-i-have-thoughts]

Revenge is a Fool’s Errand

You guys know that surprise I was talking about around the beginning of the month? Here it is: a TWF fic based on an AU!

Sophie usually isn't one for keeping journals. When one gets practically pushed at her, however, she decides-fuck it. Why not? It's a decision she will not regret; as when her life falls apart and the supernatural come knocking, it's one of the few anchoring things she has left.

(TW: MEDICINE/PILL MENTION)

I barely remember my father. That is the worst possible way to start a story recount, oh my god. Let's try that again! Hi, my name is Sophie. I'm eighteen years old. I live with my mom, Rosemary, and our cats; Pickles (Fucking stupid name, I know, you don't have to tell me that. Apparently eight-year-old me named her that) and Bugs Bunny (who names a cat Bugs Bunny? My dad, apparently). I'm female. She/her. Probably not cisgender. Definitely not straight. Basics. Remember the basics. Rule of thumb for any writer. My English teacher drilled that into me. My English teacher was also a bitch so I'm never bringing her up again. Fuck's sake. Focus, Sophie. Where was I? Right, right. My father. Jack Walten.

Jack Walten went missing eight years ago. I get a headache remembering the day. The police hate me for that. Keep trying to drag it out of my mouth until I'm in tears because it hurts so bad. What's so important about that day now, anyway? Eight years ago. What happened eight years ago... I was home from school. Pickles was following me around, as she always does, so I picked her up and carried her to the living room to read a book and snuggle her against her will. The TV was on. People on the screen were arguing. Children characters. Very annoying. Mom was talking to someone, I think she was on the phone. She must have hung up at one point because it rang a few minutes later. I remember she mentioned dad's name, so I finally released Pickles from her snuggle prison and went to the kitchen to see what was up. Mom hung up the phone and jumped when she found me behind her. I remember she put a hand over her heart. "You love to give me heart attacks, don't you, honey?" "It's what I'm good at!" I'd said with a grin. (I still do sometimes. Freak her out by sneaking up on her, I mean.) "Well, sneaky boo." She ruffled my hair. "Your dad's gonna be working late tonight." "Aw man, again?" I whined. "I know, honey, I'm not happy about it either." She'd given me a pitying smile. "But he's working with uncle Felix to get things at the restaurant started." "So I can go soon?" I asked eagerly. Mom sighed with fake exasperation. "Yes, you'll be the first one in, just as we promised. You and your friends." (I think she said friends there. I'm a little fuzzy on that fact. Give me a break, the headache's already starting to pound.) That was enough to make me happy and I went back to reading. That's it. That's all I remember happened the day my dad vanished off the face of the earth. I don't think he ever came back home; and mom got a funny look on her face when I used to ask about it. Maybe he got into a car accident. I remember people said there was a car crash that night, so you know... God, my head hurts. I'm tired of all the sudden questions. Why now? What changed? I'm gonna get some water.

Screw what happened eight years ago. Screw returning this book to the police. This is my journal now. Que se jodan. Si esos bastardos azules quieren tanto este libro, pueden venir a buscarlo. Now don't worry, whoever reads this besides myself, I won't write in Spanish for all of it. Or most of it. Just some of it. When I say something mom won't like, as I did above, or something. Chances are good someone else besides me is gonna read this anyway so I should go back to the beginning. Again. God, this recount's gonna be a mess. I'm writing in pen, I can't even correct any mistakes. Might as well rip out the pages at this point. Get a grip, Sophie. So you already know about me, whoever you are. Not all about me, but enough. You know about mom, you obviously already know about dad if you're reading this, our cats aren't important... What else should I put here? Maybe my pill schedule. It'd do me good to write it down anyway. Let's see here...

Two doses each day Mon-Sun Half at 8 AM (or whenever I wake up), half at 8 PM Take with water, avoid using heavy machinery or driving soon after dosage (not a problem, I can't drive anyway)

I never realized how weird the dosage was until I wrote it down. Wow. What're these even for? The doctor only talked to my mom about them, all she said to me was they're for my headaches. Feels more to me like they're causing them. Like-this morning, after I took the first half, I couldn't remember any of yesterday for a good hour. Thank god I'm almost out of school. They've been screwing me over in that regard for years. What else. What else what else what else... I guess I should talk about dad some more. It's why people will read this, after all. From what I've been told, he was a kind man. Very against violence. He adopted Bugs by up and bringing him home. I remember that night, actually-him coming home with a little furball in his arms, mom getting angry at him, me petting said furball with two other people... Why were there two other people? Where they my friends? Not important. I remember he had a friend-Felix. He used to come around often, though I haven't seen him here since dad disappeared. Usually now I go over there after school or when I have time, since I'm not sure he has any other friends. It's kind of pathetic, really. Mom calls him a 'self-made outcast', though she also sounds really angry when she says it so I don't think it was all just him. Dad met Felix when he was younger, they founded something together, the thing closed down after maybe a year...That's it. That's all I can remember. Headache's really throbbing now. I think I'm gonna stop writing. See you next time, uh...Me.