#and they are like “oh fuck i forgot he was programmed like the terminator”

[falsesecuritysketches]

I like adorable wholesome Connor as much as the next person, but I also want to see the other side of him that is often forgotten.

Show me the killer that is capable of snapping your neck in less than a second if required. Remind me he is a master manipulator that makes it seem like he is doing what you want, but has been steering you in a direction he wants by making you think it was your idea.

Put down the coin tricks and show me the GUN tricks. The ones where he shoots through his own chest to inflict harm on someone grappling him. Getting a headshot without needing to look.

I have a mighty need.

[bingobongobonko]

im so fucking sleepy but also. OHHHH. OHHHHHH. YESTERDAT OHHHHHHH. guy who made a looney tunes entrance into the wall and immediately started arguing with kass because her clone fucking tried to kill me. and then she doxxed my mech and was like. can you even fucking USE that thing you senile old man. and then i one-shot crit a guy before looking her right in her direction. we stay sssoooo sillay we stay sooo sillay. rp wise, oh myyyyvgod they were arguing for half the fucking fight. mostly yves feedin it and getting on kass's case, accusing her of knowing she had a shitton of clones running around even though she had NO idea. but yves i mean. reasonably mad cuz she shot him + kidnapped elias + saw The Nothing. and yves finally met Treasure, freaked yhe fuck out, before realizing that the Treasure understood their reality and had witnessed all of this before. and honestly yves is desperate to not feel absolutely fucking unhinged about this so he breaks into private comms and begs him to help them figure out how the fuck to leave the timeloop. but.... very cryptic response, maybe hopeful. they just gotta bury the clown. before yves can get further word in, his comms suddenly jam and he's forced into battle. battle continues 2 go on, until rest of the team makes it to the control point, but TWO[2] issues, yves is kinda still trudging thru water to get to the point, and the point is being contested by a big guy. so i enter sillaaaay juggernaut mode and slam right into this guy with my mech, pushin him way back from us. HOWEVER. it doesnt go prone and retaliates next turn 2 contest the point. HOWEEEEEVER... telly fucking dives in, pins, and drills the fucking big guy. A crit. no less. guy is still standing... then fucking TREASURE.... COMES IN AND JUST STABS IT 2 DEATH... OVERKILLL... ANOTHER CRIT. so its a flawless fucking win, we have the point. at that rate we're like. aaaalright we gotta get the hell out of here actually, telly's all suspicious abt yves having been gone for so long but yves just kinda says. lol we were kidnapped yeah. for the most part everyone believes that - except jeurgen who just finds it suspicious that yves isnt elaborating. while thats happenin, skink's out and about lookin around these rooms she found. one's just a rreally shitty dormroom filled with bunk beds. the other? well........... after yves explains the situation - or at least what he wants them to believe - he turns back to elias, who i forgot 2 mention has been in the mech with yves the whole time. expanded compartment, he's just hangin out and tryna not to die. but yea yves just rambles to elias about the whole ordeal. about skink. about the fact that he overheard from tellius that elias had seen the same woman before. he knows who skink is. and he knows there's seemingly more than one. and one in helios, ironically enough. and its rlly funny cuz this is happening at the same time that skink's opening this upper room and realizing whats in there. so like as soon as yves assures himself, yeah skink is one of many clones, and one of her clones IS the Fool. flash to the actual room where skink is, its fucking filled with like. chambers.... of HER.... a bunch of clones........... and shes like. Oh. and telly, jeurgen see it too. and theyre like. Oh. theres also a terminal that we uncover, all of which details messages between a skink and someone else. and all of it is eerily descriptive of everything that happened now. everything thats gone wrong, the Fool's had her hand in it. her clone is the reason why any of this is being initiated...... funny thing. i cant even say clone. bc the fool IS the original skink. our skink's a clone of her. so...... head in hands... i know widow was brought up, was a program on yorrik 5 if i remember correctly. elias knew about it, cuz he was tasked to keep an eye on the woman that made it off. The fool!!!!!!!! it's all fucking falling on our head i think. we're sooo fucked we're so fucked

[makemadej]

So today two of my worlds collided in the best way: Ryan and Shane were guests on one of my favorite podcasts. I was totally blindsided by this since there was no promo for it whatsoever (who knows why, maybe they forgot when the release date was, maybe they’ve been taken captive by skeletons, maybe they’re just terrible at promoting themselves), and it killed me that I couldn't listen to the whole thing until after work. It's over two hours long and podcasts aren't everyone's cup of tea, so I'm capturing the ghoul boy highlights here for anyone who wants them.

Wine and Crime is a weekly podcast hosted by three ladies who are feminist as fuck and pair a different crime with a different wine each episode. This time, the theme was Pandora's Box crimes, aka "crimes that were only supposed to be minimal but ended up being a shitshow." Inevitably, they paired it with boxed wine.

Enter the ghoul boys.

Ryan, on Franzia: I do enjoy slappin' a bag Shane: I've seen Ryan slap some bags in my day. [...] Ryan: Shane has to tell me to stop slapping the bag sometimes Ryan: I used to do this thing in college called Tour de Franzia. It was like a drinking game, but it was an obstacle course, and at every checkpoint you had to slap the bag. [beat] I made great decisions in college.

Ryan: You say "nice stream" to the sound of liquid being poured into something, it maybe is not the best...it may not communicate well over audio. Shane: Hey, nice stream Ryan: Nice stream. That's what I say every time I go up to a urinal. To any guy. Tap him on the shoulder. Shane: Men in public bathrooms, we all compliment each other's streams. Ryan: Yeah. It's best if you whisper it. At close proximity. I get really close so he can smell the Popeye's on my breath that I just got at the terminal and I whisper "nice stream."

Ryan: We're drinking the 14% Four Lokos seltzer over here [borderline unintelligible banter about playing Edward Four Lokos hands]

Ryan, on the description of himself on a "which BFU guy are you" quiz: That sounds like the description of a golden retriever.

Shane: I know there's one quiz that was popular where the description [of me] was entirely wrong.

Ryan, increasingly high pitched: A fan sent you all these goat parts?

[What is your favorite wine varietal?] Ryan: Hmmmmmm... [Do you know what a varietal is?] Shane, with gusto: No!

Ryan: Wine to me is just wine at this point. I'm not that far on my wine journey. I was a beer guy that's transitioning over into wine. Shane: Well, it sounds like you're not doing a very good job. Ryan: You know what, I said I am LEARNING, Shane. So why don't you get off your high horse and tell them what kind of wine you like? Shane: I don't even know! Ryan: Mr. "I don't know what a wine varietal is" Shane: Yeah. But I don't call myself a wine guy Ryan: I never said I was a wine guy! I said I was-- Shane: You were like, "Oh, have you see that Netflix documentary, Sommelier?" Ryan: First off, I didn't say it like Elmo from Sesame Street, but I also said I was transitioning!

Shane: I like some red wines and some white wines Ryan, imitating him: I like the stuff with the alcohol in it...and sometimes it has bubbles and makes my tummy feel good and uhhhh, yeah Shane: Yeah, I don't really know... Ryan: Sick answer Shane: There's a kind my girlfriend always gets that's really good but I don't...I can't remember the name of it Ryan: That's a long name. That's actually a good name for a wine! The Kind My Girlfriend Gets, ever had it? They sell it at Trader Joe's. Shane: I'm not even trying to do like a...*weird cowboy voice* "I'm a man, so I don't drink wine. Only my girlfriend does." I like wine, I've just...I've never been good at wine. And wine makes me real sleepy, so I almost never have it. Ryan: That's why I don't drink red wine...and it also makes me look like I've been chewing on mud clots or something.

[What is one "unsolved" case that you're pretty sure you've solved?] Ryan: What was that one where I was like, I think I've pretty much solved this one? The Black Dahlia I'm pretty sure was George Hodel. I'm almost positive of it. Shane: Wasn't there like a missing child one that we thought we had sorta gotten? Bobby Dunbar Ryan: Bobby Dunbar. I think we had solved that one. Uh... Shane: We can never concretely say that we've solved it. Ryan: No, we can't legally, but I'm pretty sure D.B. Cooper's bones are an ornament in some pine tree out there in the Pacific Northwest [...] Shane: The case is pretty closed on Amelia Earhart, too. Ryan: I don't think so. Shane: Yeah, she got eaten by crabs. Ryan: I think it's closed in your mind. That's what you'd like to have happened. Shane: That's what happened. Ryan: Giant, man-eating crabs. It's amazing that those exist. I saw one dragging a coconut. Not hard to imagine that coconut being a head. Shane: Yeah. Of an aviatrix. Ryan: Of an aviatrix, yeah. The most famous aviatrix of all time!

Ryan: Fun fact, shaking my bones is what I call dancing.

Shane: I'll say that Ryan is 100% that bitch. Ryan: I'd say 0% actually. Shane: See, that's what makes you that bitch. Ryan, cracking up: What about you, Shane? Shane: Mm. 45.

Ryan: I don't know if people would like me walking into a room trumpeting "I'm 100% that bitch!" every time I walk in a room. I think there's nuance to it. You can't always be 100% that bitch. [...] Or if I'm trying to make an omelet and I can't make the flip...not 100% that bitch in that moment. I'll tell you, it's the bane of my existence Shane: You can't make an omelet? Ryan: It's impossible! Shane: It's not. Ryan: It's really hard! I don't think I have the proper pan. Shane: It sounds like you don't. Do you have a good spatula? Ryan: Maybe, I dunno... Shane: WHAT DO YOU MEAN MAYBE? DO YOU HAVE A GOOD SPATULA OR NOT? It’s a yes or no question! Ryan: I think it might be, I don't know! I have no idea where it came from, I got it from my mom. Maybe she bought it from Sur la Table? Shane: I was gonna say, go to *French accent* Sur la Table, get a little free espresso... [degenerates into arguing about French pronunciation]

Shane on working at Abercrombie: I was in the stock room, they didn't let me up front. Not my beat. [...] Me and my friends...would just hang out in the back and listen to music and eat cookie dough. And they'd be like "we need you to fold this box of girly shirts" and we'd be like "ah, okay!" and then we'd just take the box and be like "this is too many shirts." And we'd just throw it...this was the area like a loft area where you couldn't see anything. We'd just throw the boxes so we wouldn't have to fold the shirts. They're probably still there. Ryan: Sounds like you were a great employee.

Shane: I started as Buzzfeed as an intern. Ryan had started a month or two before me. So we came up in the same intern class together.

Ryan: I did grip and electric work for two years, which is basically like lifting heavy gear essentially on set and I realized I didn't want to do that for ten years before I even had the chance to sniff a camera.

Ryan: I filmed powerpoints for doctors...I did feel like a prisoner at times when I was there, listening to a doctor from USC's Keck medical school talk about irritable bowel syndrome for two straight hours...I was a couple days away from joining the union...That was concurrent with the irritable bowel syndrome filmings.

Ryan: I chose the internship at Buzzfeed not knowing what it was, met the Shaniac over here, and then, um...we went through that program, which was kind of like the Hunger Games. We saw all of our fellow interns die. [...] We worked our way up, I eventually made Unsolved.I made unsolved actually with a different host, Brent Bennett. He left the show because he didn't like...I believe the quote was "I don't like these stories anymore." Shane: *dies laughing* Ryan: And I turned to my right and was like, "hey Shane, wanna do this instead?" and he was like "sure" and that's that. And from then on I guess we never looked back.

[Shane, how do you feel about being the second choice?] Shane: I'm fine with it. Really, there was so little fanfare to him asking me. Ryan: No ceremony at all. Shane: 'Cause we were just making stuff left and right at that point and series were not really an established thing at Buzzfeed [...] Even when Ryan had asked me "hey, would you like to be in this?" uh...I was like "yeah, lemme..." Ryan says I checked my calendar. Ryan: Yeah, Shane looked over at his google calendar, saw that next week was open, and was like "yeah, looks like I've got some time" and I was like "sweet, lock it in" and he was like "cool." And then we both put our headphones back on 'cause we sat next to each other at a desk and worked on other things and that was that.

[What is some of the silliest feedback you've gotten about your show?] Ryan: Luckily the fan base is pretty nice. There's plenty of fun, positive comments out there, however, this is one that tickled me the most. A guy somehow found my personal email address and emailed me to let me know. He's like "hey man, love the videos, excellent content to get stoned to. Keep it up, cheers!" I don't know who this man was.

Shane: I do have some hope that Bigfoot is real. A little unlikely. The other one I always root for is Champ in Lake Champlain. Ryan: I don't know why you have such an obsession with Champ. [...] Shane: Champ...there seems to be something fishy going on there. There's something going on in that lake. Ryan: Good pun Shane: Not even. There's something going on there and I've seen that lake and I've looked out at that lake and I've felt something inside me just looking out at it. Ryan: You sure it wasn't just IBS? Shane: We've established that you're the one with IBS Ryan: I'm not the one with IBS! Shane: You joined the union! Ryan: You were the one who almost pooed your pants on an investigation Shane: That's a different story! Ryan: You ate two hot dogs that were served at the baggage claim in Philadelphia Shane: We. Were. Hungry.

Ryan on Dyatlov Pass: I'm gonna double down here. I think it was a yeti. Or, not a yeti. I think it was an abdominal snowman. Shane: Abominable. 

[borderline unintelligible banter about an incredibly ripped yeti doing crunches]

Shane: I'm very content with the mysteries of the universe never being uncovered. It's fine. Ryan: It's frustrating. Shane: You're gonna go to the grave not knowing so many things, so you might as well just give up on them. Ryan: Such a nihilistic way to look at everything.

Shane: If you know anyone who's traveling and they're your enemy, you just call the FBI and say "oh, they're up to no good up there." Ryan: If Shane was flying somewhere I could just say "yeah, I think he's dangerous. I know him. He's the guy who couldn't fit a hat on his big head."

[interlude where they decide to name an anonymous suspect Shane Ryanson]

Shane: It would be funny if this was like the highest escalation of a prank war between two friends Ryan: That'd be a hilarious prank, getting someone thrown into federal prison. Super funny. Gotcha!

Shane: If you're the kind of person who is likely to call in a threat to the FBI solely as a way to get a dig in at your friend, that probably stays with you for life. That's pretty hard-coded into who you are. Ryan: That's true. Especially when you look like an out of work Batman villain [...] If this dude walked into a 7-11, I would drop my Slurpee immediately and run to my car. He's a scary man. I'm out. Slurpee's on the floor.

Shane: I'll tell you this in defense of dolphins, they do have funny little smiles.

Shane, on breaking into Sea World: That seems like an extremely Australian thing to do.

Shane, googling fairy penguins: Yes, it's a wonderful little penguin! He's so small! Ryan: This is great, this is like a dark gritty reboot of Mr. Popper's Penguins.

Shane: Just...to meet someone, get along so well that you each drink a half a liter of vodka together and then go swimming with dolphins and blast some sharks with a fire extinguisher Ryan: ...and then decide, let's top off the night by bringing home a fuzzy little friend Shane: I mean, by that point you've got a winning streak going. You're like, "yeah, we didn't get eaten by sharks! we did swim with the dolphins! Of course we'll steal a penguin!”

Ryan: I bet the penguin actually helped the hangover, to be fair. If I was hungover, I normally just see my blinds shuttered in my room, my shoes are somewhere in the house, but if I found a penguin I'd be like "okay, maybe this isn't so bad." Shane: A rehabilitation penguin. He just hopes on your bed in the morning. Ryan: Just starts smacking me in the face with his little fins. It's great, I love it.

Shane: I think she shouldn't have killed her husband. Have a little faith in his worm farm.

[ah-ga-seven]

Christian Yu x Reader: Let Me Explain - Chapter 3

Chapter 1: These Seoul Streets. | Chapter 2: Uninvited Guests | 

Chapter 3: Confrontation 

Word count: 3542

Series type: Angst, Smut (in later chapters) & Fluff.

Warnings: Mentions of sex and bad language.

Additional Characters: DPR LIVE (Dabin) and mentions of other artists/fictional characters.

Rough summary: Christian is your boss but also your best friend. You both have feelings for each other but his way of living complicates your relationship.

A/N: Thank you for all the nice comments on the second Chapter! It means a lot as it keeps motivating me to write the series. Also keep in mind that English is not my first language, therefore there could be some spelling/grammar mistakes.

3 Days total went by since that incident.

The amount of times Christian called or texted you was insane. What also drove you insane was the fact that every time you received a call or text from him, it made it harder for you not to cave in and answer already.

You weren’t even angry anymore, just sad. A sad mess.

You continued on your schedules as they were, knowing that your work was the only thing that could distract you.

You sit on your couch scrolling through your emails when you see that your schedule for the rest of the week has arrived. It was still new to you that your schedules were now managed by someone else. You had to admit it was easier this way, but still you had made up your mind on leaving DPR and buying out your contract.

Your eyes scan through the excel sheet and you frown. “No Kim Yura?” you whisper to yourself.

You called your manager to ask for clarification. He answered right away, as if he knew you’d call.

“Hello? y/n, you haven’t been to a meeting in a few days now, what are you up to?”

“Ah-yeah, Hi oppa, I’m just not feeling so well.” You lie adjusting your phone closer to your ear so you could hear him better.

“Oh, make sure to get some rest then y/n-ah, is there a reason behind your call?”

“Yes, ehm, I was wondering why all of my schedules with Kim Yura suddenly disappeared?”

“Oh, I thought Ian told you already. We dropped her completely. He told us that you found her too difficult to work with.” Your manager answered casually.

Your heart sank a little. Confused and taken aback by the news. Why would he do that?

“Wait, so it was Christian’s idea to drop her? What about her debut mv?” you ask, your body language gave away your alertness and curiosity.

“We’re not going through with the package deal anymore y/n-ah. I honestly don’t know why we won’t. It’d be huge for us, but Ian made his mind up, he just didn’t want to do it anymore. He said he wanted to focus more on CF’s and stuff.”

“That’s bullshit” you say under your breath furrowing your eyebrows

“Excuse me?” your manager asked, obviously hearing what you said.

“Ahh-nothing oppa, It’s nothing, thank you for the info. I know enough for now.”

“Alright, get well soon.” He dryly says, probably knowing you’re not sick at all.

“Thank you, will do” you say and hang up.

You stare at your phone in your hand for a moment. CF’s?

Christian wanting to focus more on CF’s was the biggest lie you have heard since three days ago.

What has gotten into him all of a sudden? He completely dropped her from your scheduling, meaning someone else was going to have to teach her how to dance, which also meant no DPR. It also meant that the mv deal must be off the tracks.

You let yourself fall back on the couch putting your hand to your forehead. Maybe you should just resign as quickly as possible so he can still recover the deal with YG and Yura.

You can’t let this petty personal situation come between something as big as this. Reeling in Yura was one of the best things that happened so far this year for the crew. Apart from all the underlying drama of course.

You’ve never disliked Christian more than you did right now, but you wish him and the rest of the crew well. And the though of him declining such a huge offer because of personal drama made you feel guilty. But why did it make you feel guilty? When all of it is his own fault?

Your thoughts frustrate you and you swear to god that you were about to scream until you heard the sound of your doorbell.

Maybe it was Dabin? He hadn’t contacted you since that day, you didn’t blame him. You figured he had enough of the situation as it was.

You reluctantly get up rubbing your eyes while walking to your front door. As you open it you see an unfamiliar face.

“Package for y/n-sshi” A tall looking guy said looking at you with a black expression.

“I didn’t order anything” you say giving him a confused look.

“It says ‘For miss y/n, are you miss y/n?” He asks annoyed.

“Well-yeah, but-” “Then this is yours” he says shoving the box into your hands. “Have a nice day” he says walking away.

Jesus, he was in a mood. Even though you wouldn’t be happy either if you had to deliver packages in the pouring rain, his attitude bothered you as you closed the door behind you. You walk to the kitchen area, sitting on a chair behind your bar inspecting the box in front of you.

You look at it and read the label connected to the plastic wrap which was wrapped around the entire thing.

“From Ian” it said.

You frown, is it your stuff that you forgot at his place? Is he cutting ties from you this time? Is that why he dropped Yura? So he can actually date her? Different thoughts go through your mind as you just stare at the box in front of you, not knowing what to expect when you’d see what’s inside of it.

You cut the plastic wrap across the box and carefully remove it. “Fragile” you read out loud as you remove the sticker as well.

You shake the box to hear a soft rumble and place the it down to open it.

“Holy shit.” You whisper to yourself. This might have been the last thing you expected.

You carefully lift the shoes out of the box as your jaw dropped.

Your nude Valentino pumps. Suddenly your mind flashed back to that night. That damn night where he had not only broken the heel of your shoe, but also your trust.

These looked different though, they looked like they were a lot more expensive than your old pair. You carefully inspect the pump, looking at the Swarovski crystal imbedded straps, carefully putting them back into the box, searching for something else.

There was a note.

“I told you I’d buy you new ones. Please take these as a peace offering. I beg you to give me a chance love. I know I have a lot of explaining to do.”

You bit your lip not knowing how to feel about this. Putting the shoes back into the box.

You barge into his house the second he opened the door, not making eye contact with him or even thinking of people being in his house. Luckily there weren’t any.

A startled Christian followed you. He hasn’t seen or spoken to you in 5 days. And for you to show up here unannounced was a very unlikely thing for you to do.

“Christian I can’t accept these” you say putting the shoe box down on his coffee table. You were nervous as hell. On the ride here you thought of a hundred different scenarios. What If Yura is there? What if another bitch was there? What if Dabin is there? Or one of his many famous friends?

You were relieved none of these scenarios came true, even though you had everything you wanted to say planned out already. Still, standing in front of him like this took balls from you. You hated confrontation, but you couldn’t avoid him forever.

Christian cautiously took a few steps closer to you and the coffee table where you had just put the shoe box down on.

“Why?” is all he could ask, giving you a look up and down. You know you didn’t look like you always looked. Sleeping was still an issue, and eating had become one of your new issues.

“Because, Christian. I googled the damn price and that’s just ridiculous.”

He shook his head picking up the box and shoving it into your hands again. “I told you I’d buy you new ones. So take it.”

“No, that doesn’t make sense, these are worth 3 times more than my old pair, I can’t accept them. End of story. But that’s not the reason why I came here in the first place” you say all in one breath.

“What is it? Are you finally here to talk to me?” he asks looking for answers into your eyes.

“Yes, but not about personal stuff.” You say crossing your arms.

It took everything you had not to run out of that door right then and there.

“Then what y/n?” he asks still confused at your odd behavior.

“I came here to return these” you say putting the box down on his coffee table again. His eyes quickly followed your movements but fixated back on your eyes again in a split second.

“And to tell you that I want out. I’m going to buy out the contract Ian. I don’t want this anymore.”

He fell quiet. Looking at the ground. You couldn’t read any emotion from his posture or face. He just sighed and looked up, meeting your eyes once again.

He stayed quiet for a little while longer, making your insides turn once again. The silence was cutting you in half. So you decided to speak up first.

“I’ll have the money ready in a week, maybe it’s not too late to contact Yura’s management. Maybe you can still get the deal.” You say determined.

“No.” he simply says walking to his couch and sitting down. He leaned his elbows on his thighs to support his head. His hands clamped onto his messy hair in frustration.

“I’ll terminate the fucking contract. You don’t have to buy that shit out, y/n that’s ridiculous, I also don’t give a fuck about that deal anymore. It cost me the most precious thing I had.” He says looking up to you again.

What was that look on his face? Was he…hurt. Did he mean you?

“That’s not what I signed for.” You simply said, steering the conversation back into the planned direction, keeping your emotions in check while trying not to break your professional composure.

“Cut the crap please. Why are you acting like this!? Talk to me like you’re a person with actual feelings, not like a programmed robot” he yells at you getting up.

His sudden outburst scared you but you made sure not to break, fearlessly looking straight into his dark sparkling eyes.

“Don’t yell at me” you softly say, having a more and more difficult time to suppress your emotions.

“Terminating the contract also means terminating our relationship doesn’t it.” He says looking straight at you.

“What relationship Ian? That was terminated the moment you walked back to that damn club” you spit out to him.

Oh, and you promised yourself personal feelings wouldn’t get in the way this time. Guess this was a failed attempt at that.

He looked at you. “This is why I wanted to talk. You and Dabin jump to conclusions all by yourselves but you won’t hear me out first. How can you believe your side of the story when you haven’t heard mine yet?” He looked like a last puppy. He knew that if he didn’t talk about everything to you now, he probably would never get the chance again.

You didn’t say anything. Stubbornly looking to the floor, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“I didn’t fuck Yura. I never have. I also never intended to” He says articulating every word to his best ability.

You look up to him. His eyes almost screamed at you, trying to get you to understand with just the look of his eyes.

“I swear y/n I would never do that to you.” He says taking a step closer to you.

You pinch your eyes closed looking to the ground, when he softly takes a hold of your hand.

“No!” you yell at him, yanking your hand out of his grip.

“You can’t just do that!” you yell letting your guard down.

Here come the waterworks.

Tears start to prickle your eyes when you look at him again. He took a step back without realizing, giving you some much needed space, still startled at your rejection.

“You have been fucking me up for months now Christian. This is not me being mad at what happened last weekend, this is me finally realizing I should have been mad at you all this time.” You say with a breaking voice. Even you acknowledged how sad and broken you sounded.

“I was going to come here, give you back those fucking shoes and get out of that fucking contract so I would never have to see your god damn face again.” Your voice cracked multiple times. Tears were flowing down your cheeks now. As you noticed you wiped your face with your sleeve, closing your eyes at the second hand embarrassment of crying in front of him again. You promised yourself you would keep it together at least once.

Christian just stood there, looking at you not knowing what to do. He wanted to touch, hug and kiss you so bad. He wanted to tell you that your tears were all for nothing. That everything was going to be okay. But he also realized that he had broken you, without knowing he did.

Of course he knew that having all of these meaningless sexual relationships with different women would catch up to him eventually. He only did it to feel less lonely. He had you, but not in the way he wished to have you. Contracts and being in the public eye complicated that wish for the both of you. But Christian was never the type to deal with his emotions the healthy way. He’d try anything to forget his feelings for you, not knowing it would end up hurting you as much as it did.

“Y/n I-” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.

“I was going to leave here, feeling content with myself for once but then you had to go and try to touch me again.” You say crossing your arms. Giving him an angry look with tears in your eyes, just standing there in the middle of his living room.

“Y/n please just don’t do this.” He says cautiously taking a step towards you again.

He sounded sad, and tired. Tired of this mess. The two of you were a toxic cocktail when not blended well, but a fucking match made in heaven if everything would have just worked out.

You cover your face with your hands. Crying into the sleeves of your black sweater not knowing how to get yourself together anymore.

He means too much to you. So much that it hurts.

He grabbed your wrists, pulling you into the tightest and warmest embrace he could give you. It was a risky thing to do on his end, but he didn’t know what else to do at this point anymore.

His body emitted a warmth you felt save in. A warmth that could make you feel relaxed at all times, a warmth that felt like home. Even though you knew you had to be strong, your mind doesn’t know how to resist anymore.

You were so tired, stressed and overworked. Your last descent meal was that damn macaroni and cheese, and your last good night sleep was probably almost two weeks ago.

He held you while you bawled like a baby. Unable to move or push him off of you. “Y/n I’m so, so incredibly sorry” he whispers while caressing your hair.

“You know me better than anyone y/n. You know I never had the intention to hurt you I’m just a fucking idiot sometimes” he says with his chin resting on the top of your head.

Your arms were now wrapped around him while you held him close, resting your head onto his chest listening to the soft thuds of his heartbeat as silence surrounded the both of you when you finally stopped sobbing.

After a while he slightly loosened the grip he had on you, taking your face into his hands inspecting it thoroughly. You had bags under your tired eyes which were red from crying. You looked pale, your lips were slightly chapped and your cheeks had sunken in a little.

He sighed and kissed your forehead while you still had your eyes closed.

“Let me take care of you a little before you hear me out okay?” he whispers caressing your cheeks with his thumbs

You nod and let him take your hand to lead you to his couch. You sit down, looking around. His suitcase from his trip to Peru was still in the middle of his living room floor, nothing unpacked except for toiletries. You sighed at the sight. It has been weeks. I guess his mind is in the same mess as yours is right now. Suddenly you feel bad for being here and being as cold as you were when you first entered.

A soft thud on the couch made you look up. Next to you Lori had joined you, laying down beside you, knowing you would always pet her. You smiled slightly at the sight of the dog cuddling up to you.

“How have you been girl” you ask petting her head. She just gives you a look and closes her eyes after, as if she was trying to tell you she was tired. “Same girl” you say shaking her paw as if you were shaking hands with her.

Christian returned with a glass of water and an ibuprofen.

“Take this” he says. “Your head must be pounding.”

You nod, taking it from him. You had missed these surroundings. Watching movies all night on the couch with Christian and Lori, or the so called ‘weird Wednesdays’ when you’d try to cook something together that you’ve never had before. Coming here was a good decision, even though it didn’t go as planned, at least now you realize that cutting ties with him completely without talking first wouldn’t resolve anything.

You still desperately wanted things to go back to normal, but you just didn’t know how at this point.

Giving you some space he sat on the opposite end of the couch, looking at you as if you were going to disappear at any second.

His eyes were glued on you and he studied every move you made when you took the medicine, flushing it away with the cold water and putting the glass down on his coffee table.

You brought your knees up to your chest, making yourself less vulnerable and more comfortable.

You finally collected the courage to look at his face. He was beautiful as always. He looked tired, but still effortlessly attractive.

You sigh still looking at him, resting your head on the top of the couch.

“Stay here tonight” he finally says.

You looked at him and shook your head.

“It’s pouring outside, and it’s late. Just stay” he says again. A little more determined this time.

“I really can’t.” you voice sounded raspy, raspier than you thought. You clear your throat and stare out the window.

“I won’t melt in the rain; besides I drove here so I should be fine” you say.

Both of you were just avoiding the obvious subject that needed to be spoken off.

“Still it’s dangerous” he says.

“Christian…” you sigh closing your eyes. Even though you had stayed over plenty of times, This just wasn’t going to happen now. He knew you’d never stay, not after everything that happened.

“Fine, at least stay until the rain slows or stops alright?” He says getting up. “I’ll fix up something to eat in the meantime. You look like a zombie.” He says giving you a sarcastic smile, walking to his kitchen.

You watch him open his fridge and inspect the contents. “Always so subtle with your choice of words Mr. Yu” you say getting up, leaving Lori’s sleeping state on the couch.

He didn’t pay much attention to you. He was lost in thought. Searching through his fridge for an egg and some spring onions to make you some ramyeon.

You walked towards his bathroom, opening the door and taking a look at yourself in the mirror.

You looked like shit. Absolute shit.

Your tired red eyes were even puffier than before. Your lips were chapped and your complexion looked lifeless with your sunken cheeks.

You turn on the faucet, splashing some cold water in your face. You pat you face dry with a towel and pinch your cheeks for some extra blood circulation. You also decide to steal his lip balm and apply some of it. You already looked a lot more alive with such little effort. You sigh looking at yourself one last time.

You stretch out, lost in thought when your eyes wander to see the door connected to his bedroom crooked open just enough to see inside of his bedroom.

You figured it’d be a mess as always, but as you look around your eyes stop at the sight of a female sleeping in his bed.

Your movements froze, and so did your heart.

Kim fucking Yura.

Chapter 4 

[geek-patient-zero]

Part 1, Chapter 13

Or: Encyclopedia Vampirica

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Death Trilogy Volume 1

Paris—March 14, 1994

Paris is a city of many mysteries.

Why are Parisian stereotypes simultaneously sexy and repulsive? Did Victor Hugo ever get to fuck the cathedral? What’s Jean Reno doing these days?

Take, for example, the electric power lines leading into the foundation of Notre Dame Cathedral. No records exist showing why the cables are there or where they lead. They are live wires, supplying electricity to a location somewhere beneath the church. Since no one complains about the lines, the powers that be in the public works department leave them strictly alone. The policy, as in most big-city administrations, is, if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.

The first page and a half of Chapter 13 is about describing several weird things about the city and how Phantomas is responsible for all of them. The most interesting what-was-Stonehenge-type mystery (or would be if we didn’t already know the truth) is the network of underground tunnels under the city, not to be confused with the Catacombs.

Located hundreds of feet beneath the ground, these passages are not the result of any known city engineering project. Impossible to reach, no man has walked through them in public memory.

Beats me how mortals were able to learn about the tunnels when they can’t even get to them. Maybe they used a ground penetrating radar, but modern ones can only reach a hundred feet at best.

No one knows who built the tunnels or when, but official policy, considered ludicrous in-universe, is that they’re the remains of an underground Roman fortress. ‘Course, we already know from the first Phantomas chapter that the tunnels are for the old vampire’s personal use.

The tunnels aside, the mysteries described in this chapter are more along the lines of modern infrastructure quirks like the power lines. There’s a two hundered year-old Vert-Galant warehouse whose owners’ identities through the centuries are unknown to everyone but whose rent is paid promptly by a Swiss bank cashier’s check each month. Shipments of computer supplies and expensive art prints are delivered to the warehouse, but nothing is ever shipped out and no one knows what happens to the deliveries. The clerks who work in it are paid stupidly well not to ask.

Phantomas knew the truth lurking behind the mysteries. The power lines snaked down to his hidden lair deep beneath the Crypte Archeologique in the main square fronting Notre Dame. The tunnels, constructed in secret over the centuries through subterfuge and deception, provided him with access to hundreds of locations in Paris. The warehouse belonged to him and the purchases were made through the convenience of ordering merchandise by computer.

What he used the warehouse for during the 190 years before online shopping isn’t said.

The necessary capital came from his bank account in Switzerland. The funds had been raised over the centuries by the judicious use of blackmail among the rich and famous of Paris. No one, living or undead, in the vast metropolis could keep a secret from the prying eyes and ears of Phantomas.

In short, all of Paris’ little mysteries are funded by upper class sins to power and maintain a vampire’s PC. In front of which is where we find ol’ Phantomas.

He’d spent the past few hours on a computer terminal trying to find anything on the Red Death, only to find nothing. A scholar in life and a Nosferatu in death, Phantomas is obsessed with information. Despite reaching that age where passions are long since cooled and when, as the prologue indicated, he should’ve started craving only the blood of other Kindred, Phantomas maintained a passion for knowledge.

Phantomas lived for facts. He collected them, saved them, ordered them, and tried to weave them into a pattern. Especially facts concerning vampires.

Phantomas hasn’t been searching for “Red Death” on Ask Jeeves. He has his own personal database.

Here we learn about Phantomas’ “great project” and why the Red Death had called him “the meddling record keeper.” For the past millennium, he’d been writing an encyclopedia about the Kindred.

A thousand years ago he had conceived of his great project involving the history of the Kindred. He had been working on this masterpiece of information ever since. It was his obsession, his dream. [...] It contained every fact, every scrap of information he had been able to learn about the Cainites during the past millennium.

There was a Tumblr thread going around about the idea of vampires using their immortality to focus on their personal hobbies, like creating new plant hybrids through a century of cross-breeding. Not evil magic plants either, just regular garden stuff.

The invention of computers had greatly helped his work, eliminating the tedious work of hand-writing the information into journals. Also, the powerful database he used enabled him to cross-reference millions of vampiric acts, establishing clear links between hundreds of seemingly unrelated incidents and occurrences.”

Search engines and tabs understandably being a bigger deal back in ‘94.

The most important feature of Phantomas’ project is a “family tree” of the Kindred, starting with Caine and including enough vampires for him to consider it “the most complete family tree ever attempted of the Kindred race.” 

Along with describing each Kindred’s relationship to the other Cainites, the chart also featured a detailed biographical profile of the vampire.

This recorded genealogy, backed up by “a hundred different sources,” includes thousands of Methuselahs and other one thousand plus year-old vampires that could potentially fit the Red Death’s profile, but so far it hasn’t helped.

About those sources, or at least the modern ones. Despite his age, it turns out Phantomas is one of the few vampires who can keep up with the times.

Phantomas had been using computers since their invention and was perhaps the greatest hacker in the world. He could access the files from any major data bank or information file. No security code was safe from his descramble program. The secrets of the world were at his gnarled fingertips.

You’re never too old to hack the planet.

I’d be annoyed that we have yet another character who has to be the greatest or most whatever in the world, but it’s all in service of his hobby and he doesn’t seem to be the unknown power behind a major historical event like Troile’s diablerie of his sire or the rise of the Giovanni, so I’ll let it slide.

Most of Phantomas’ data came from the mainframes used by the Camarilla and the Sabbat. Both sects maintained extensive code-word systems to protect their files from their hated enemy. Neither were aware that a third party, uninvolved in their blood war, had been stealing data from them for years.

Phantomas had to sift through mountains of awful Toreador poetry and Tzimisce how-to guides on gift wrapping using only one toddler, but he’s tough. He endured.

Phantomas also gets his info from the usual sources: the CIA, SAS, CID,   Sûreté, Mossad, and KGB.

He was insatiable in his quest to make his encyclopedia as accurate as possible. That it was never seen by anyone else didn’t matter. Phantomas worked for his own satisfaction.

Yeah, but when social media gets started, we’ll see if Phantomas can resist dumping the whole thing on ShreckNet MySpace.

Speaking of ShreckNet, that’s the secret vampire dark web created, maintained, and used mainly by Clan Nosferatu. I’ve heard that writers used to like to emphasize it’s security, like in Bloodlines when Mitnick talks about wrecking several computers just to break into an unimportant server, so I thought it was weird that Weinberg resisted the urge to namedrop it as one of the databases his greatest hacker character broke into. I looked it up and it looks like ShreckNet wasn’t a part of the lore until the release of the revised Nosferatu sourcebook in 2000.

Phantomas has also got taps on phone company computers all over the world, getting more intel on the Red Death’s attacks on Camarilla strongholds.

Together with his own information on the monster’s appearance in Paris, Phantomas had fed the encapsulated data into his computer. Then he had programmed the machine to search and evaluate his files for those Kindred powerful enough to wield the powers of the Red Death. He purposefully had the machine eliminate the thirteen members of the third generation of vampires. It wouldn’t require a computer to tell when they had arisen from their ages-long torpor.

After initiating the search, he realizes he forgot to exclude Caine and the second generation, and has to start the whole thing over again in the age of dial-up.

(No, not really.)

His proto-Google showed twenty-seven possible Red Death identities. Then he does a second search, eliminating any vampire either “engaged in major blood feuds” for whatever reason or in torpor.

To Phantomas’ frustration, the procedure left two possible names, neither covered in his files of biographies—

Boy oh boy, I wonder who they could be...

Anis, Queen of Night, and Lameth, the Dark Messiah. Both were legendary figures of the fourth generation. But among the Kindred, legends often were based in fact.

“Queen of Night,” huh? That’s a kinda generic title for a woman vampire. I might’ve talked trash about Lameth’s title, but it’s a little better than Queen of Night. And given how petty immortals in stories like this tend to be, you’d think an Antediluvian woman like Arikel or Ennoia would have shut this shit from an upstart Methuselah down long ago.

I’m also gonna go out on a limb and say that, from what we’ve seen of her characterization and how we’ve yet to see the Red Death feel up his own amazing tits while talking about the power of passion, she isn’t our culprit.

We’re given summaries of the two Methuselahs. Lameth, as we already know, was a powerful sorcerer, considered the greatest one “to ever walk the earth,” believed to have been taught by “one of the primeval forces that had once walked the earth,” but no two tales can agree on which. We’re then finally told how he got his grandiose title.

According to myth, Lameth discovered a potion that artificially induced Golconda, the mental state that allowed vampires to exist in perfect harmony with their surroundings. Whoever controlled the elixir controlled the Kindred. That was why Lameth had been dubbed ‘The Dark Messiah.’

And subbed “The Great Evil Jesus”

He had vanished into the mists of history over five thousand years ago. Though rumors of his meddling in Cainite affairs continued to surface.

It’s that time again. Time to pause the story so I can talk about vampire crap.

Golconda’s the name for a sort of vampire enlightenment, supposedly discovered by the Salubri Antediluvian Saulot in India and the overall goal of Clan Salubri. Or it was, until Clan Dick Wizards slaughtered them. It’s thought to be complete freedom from the Beast, or the Beast and Human aspects of a vampire’s nature becoming perfectly balanced. What, exactly, any of that means...

Early game books gave some suggestions, like no longer going into frenzies, or not needing blood so much, or losing all Kindred weaknesses. Hell, it could even be a full-on cure, turning a vampire back into a mortal and maybe even keeping a few powers. Obviously that last one isn’t very popular among storytellers and players.

Later editions made it more vague, and ultimately, it’s another one of those things that’s up to the storyteller. Is it true enlightenment, a balance of one’s two natures, not human yet something beyond Kindred? Some kind of vampire Super Saiyan? Is it true salvation in the eyes of God? Maybe it’s an impossible ideal, something you’re unable to obtain but still something one should strive for, like perfection in your craft or Enuff Dakka. Or maybe it’s all bullshit, a fairy tale believed by the desperate and the misinformed.

How you reach Golconda’s also vague, but what’s there’s your typical enlightenment routine. First you’ve gotta find out about it, which isn’t easy thanks again to the dick wizards. Then you’ve gotta maintain your humanity and feel remorse, or in gameplay terms, keep your Humanity stat at 7 or above and never, ever frenzy. While doing that, you make up for any wrongdoings you’ve ever done as much as possible. It’s just like My Name is Earl, only the guy’s atoning for things like “Hey, I’m sorry I diablerized your sire” or “Hey, sorry I ghouled your dad and casually killed him to make a point I don’t remember.”

During all this, you’ve probably got a guru helping you out. Preferably a real (vampire) guru and not a cult leader or gigolo.

If you do all that enough you’ll reach the final step and go into a trance called a suspire, where you’ll have a spirit journey into the self, the soul, or whatever you want to call it. The whole thing’s a test you only get one shot at. If you succeed, congrats, you’ve achieved Golconda! If you fail, it means you’ll never reach Golconda, most likely because your brain broke so hard you’ve turned into a mindless animal.

Or you can skip all that and drink a magic elixir.

What I’ve learned from fiction and actual real-life religions is that there’s no shortcut to enlightenment. You can’t just do one weird trick and suddenly reach full understanding of yourself and the world. It’s supposed to be a trial. Now, Lameth and Anis believed the elixir would cure them of their compulsion to drink blood, but we don’t know what it actually did yet. We’ll have to wait to see whether the elixir was a lead-in to a moral, something beneficial but mistaken for Golconda after millennia of legends, or actually did induce Golconda and it’s more OP shit.

Alright, back to the story. We’ve heard what legends say about Lameth, and now it’s Anis’ turn.

Anis, Queen of Night, was a contemporary of Lameth’s. Myths dating back to the Second City held her responsible for the revolt in which the third generation rose up and killed their sires.

She did that too? Next you’ll be telling me she was the one who got Caine to kill his brother.

She was described as the most beautiful woman who ever walked the Earth (of course she was). And among the most deadly.

That’s the third time in a single page the phrase “walked the Earth” was used. You’re a writer and editor, Mr. Weinberg. Stretch those writing chops a little more.

The legends of the Second City described Anis as consumed with ambition. She was said to possess seductive charms nearly as intense as Lilith, the lover of Adam and one of the most powerful of demons.

To ever walk the Earth, I’m sure.

And yeah, of course Lilith would fit into the World of Darkness somewhere. Jewish mythological figure and favorite of Wiccans and occultists everywhere, Lilith was said to be the first wife of Adam, the actual second human created by God and molded equally from the same clay as her husband. Adam wanted her to be subservient to him, so she dumped his ass, left the Garden of Eden, and started banging demons out of spite. In V:TM’s backstory, God cursed her for this, dooming her to never truly know the love of another. Meaning anyone she fancied would ditch her eventually.

It was actually Lilith who invented the vampires’ superpowers. She found Caine, injured by all those people pissed at him for inventing murder, healed and fed him, and taught him the powers that would eventually become the Kindred disciplines. Then he ditched her too. In Caine’s defense, it was the curse, and anyway dating his dad’s ex-wife must’ve been too weird for him. But Lilith’s still pissed about it...

Anis, too, had disappeared more than five millennia ago. And, like Lameth, rumors of her reappearance circulated constantly among the Kindred.

Some say she’s the creature in the Patterson-Gimlin film. Hey, who says standards of beauty weren’t different back in the Second City?

Phantomas is frustrated that his only search results are mythological figures, so he changes tactics and looks for powers resembling the Red Death’s fiery death touch. He looks through disciplines, Paths of Enlightenment, and even the latest developments in chemical and biological warfare. He also searches for any mention of demons granting someone powers like it. In the end, he finds jack.

The Nosferatu shook his head in distress. Recent reports from America, obtained by phone taps on supposedly safe lines, indicated that there might be more than one Red Death. The possibility of an entire bloodline of vampires not included in his genealogy chart depressed him. He had worked for hundreds of years on his chronology. It was inconceivable that he had missed an entire branch of the Kindred family. Yet the facts seemed to point directly at that conclusion.

Poor guy. I’m no historian, but I bet this is something they go through at least once in their lives. Someone out there feels for you, buddy.

Phantomas pounded his keyboard in frustration.

Phantomas walked so PC gamers could run.

Lameth or Anis had to be the Red Death. Or one of them had founded a bloodline, all of whose members possessed the power of the Red Death. That was the only possible solution to the mystery. Still, he was not convinced it was correct.

Sherlock Holmes puffed on his pipe thoughtfully. “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

“Fuck you, Monsieur Cokehead,” replied Phantomas.

Nor did any of his speculations, Phantomas suddenly realized, address the equally mysterious young man who had warned him in advance of the Red Death. And who knew his name.

As if set off by this thought, his keyboard, luckily not broken by his mighty undead fists a moment ago, suddenly starts typing on its own.

Shocked, Phantomas lifted his hands off the console. The keys continued to type, as if hit by invisible fingers.

Reuban’s been watching Ghostwriter. The show’s gonna end in ‘95 so let’s hope he ain’t too big a fan.

A single phrase appeared on the computer monitor.

“Lonely Single Women in Your Area!”

Staring at it, Phantomas shivered. He had no idea what the words meant. Yet he was convinced that his stray thought about the man in the Louvre had triggered this response from his computer. Voice trembling, he read the name aloud.

“The Sheddim.”

Actually it was “djefhfkhfkffdThe Sheddim.” The narration didn’t say Phantomas or Reuban deleted the results of his keyboard pounding.

Shedim are spirits or demons from early Jewish mythology thought to represent foreign gods, but they have other theorized origins, as the children of Adam and Lilith or humans God didn’t finish making before he rested on the seventh day of creation. Here’s a link if you want to know more.

With that ominous name, this chapter ends and so does Part 1 of Blood War.  Part 2 marks a change in viewpoint characters, so we’re gonna take an extended hiatus from Dire McCann, Flavia, Madeleine Giovanni, Phantomas, Makish, and company. We’ll see them again in Part 3, which suits me fine. I need a break from McCann’s “Ohoho, if you only knew what I knew” thing.

[akwelvhi]

Working Title

Working Title [3/?]

Category: 007 Games 2017

Rating: General

-

Follows this. Alternatively, start here. (I’m itching to rework the earlier parts…)

-

“Agent, is that an Mk II grenade?” Boothroyd asked, his voice maintaining professionalism, but Agent Quart heard the undertones of his excitement. 

“It’s a Mini-K 66 prototype.” The agent panted as he set the cube against the digital lock and activated the scrambler, instantly unlocking it. Taking off again down hallways and bends, glancing at his watch’s indicator before each turn.

“Just a little something I put together, want the specs?” Q said, flashing a grin at a security camera he raced past. 

“And will they match up with Q branch’s pilfered tech?” Boothroyd wondered out loud as Q scoffed loudly. Some static and Boothroyd disconnect before Q heard Anya - Q branch’s second - come onto the comms.

“Right on time.” Q replied to Anya’s log in. “I’m in the server room, linking up, now.” He spoke as his hands unravelled the cables kept in the inner pockets of his suit. Plugging them into the terminals main board, then to his pocket-sized laptop. Good enough to open a backdoor for Q branch to enter. 

“Going in.” Anya’s soft clipped tones overshadowed by the loud noisy clacking of rapid fingers on a keyboard. “Kindly don’t touch your keyboard agent Quart.” The last time the agent tried ‘helping’ them, he accidentally set of their alarms as Q Branch registered his ping as an outside threat.  

“Will you let me test my fail-safe protocol in Q Branch’s mainframe?”

“Maybe after those specs are on my table Quart.” Boothroyd interrupted. Quart chucked before snooping around the servers for the several minutes Q Branch needed to get the job done on their end. 

-

Being a MI6 field agent was indefinitely a hundred times more interesting than serving on board a naval vessel. For starters, being land bound meant a solid internet connection. New technology at his fingertips. Gadgets. An MI6 issued laptop, connected to the MI6 mainframe. And - the best part yet - Q branch. It was still very much equipment and mission intel support. But with the potential to evolve into the technological nucleus of MI6. He had his eyes set on Q branch. 

Letting his skills shine in anything computer related wasn’t all that difficult. Many people still struggled with the ‘new machines’, a helping hand here and a show of hyper-fast typing there. He soon was the go-to agent for all missions involving anything technological. From analogue translation to hijacking servers either remotely or personally. Though most of the time, it was cyber reconnaissance, as organisations internationally plunged into the digital world.

It didn’t take him long to gain the good graces of the techies at Q branch. Major Boothroyd was a bit harder to crack, but once the young field agent discovered his love for modified firearms. A gift or two of detailed specifications had the head of Q branch more likely to turn a blind eye to a few missing items. As long as they turned back up again, accompanied with a set of new specs of what happened to them. 

His years as a field agent went swimmingly well. He was gaining recognition for his accomplishments on the field, and his work with Q branch. So when he was called in for an appraisal meeting some years later, he was expecting to be told of a transfer to Q branch. 

Not to the Double Oh training program. 

-

Oi git! I know you’re alive. Mummy is off her rocker! Send her an email at least! - E.L

I need new blades. You know my bank account. - Y.L

-

The top three field agents were named Hal, Drit and Quart. Because their trainer, Commander Edric, had a thing for Germans. The remaining seven were named after butchered versions of the seven dwarfs. 

Quart was glad he made the top three. 

-

Mummy’s birthday is tomorrow, don’t forget. You forgot mine. P.S. you know my bank account number. - Y.L

Quart ordered flowers and fudged the numbers a bit so that his order was delivered first. 

-

He went through the training program, and mentally hated himself for agreeing to this degree of physical torture. He really hated physically straining himself. Sure there was the adrenaline and satisfaction from being physically fit. But this. This insane training.

This was pushing it to limits he found to be quite ridiculous. And he really didn’t want to tear his ACL before he even hit his 30s. Quart wasn’t the only agent struggling to keep up with their training. But he was the only one who really didn’t want to be a Double O agent. 

Maybe if Double O agents got the chance to hack into Russia’s intel database he would be keen. As far as he knew, Double Oh’s were more likely to physically hack into Russia than they were to patiently type the lines of code required to subvert control of their operating systems. 

Another thing that puzzled him was. He was the youngest agent in the training program. At least he wasn’t the only young-faced one around, Lassie was the one to fend off questions about her age. A bit of snooping later had Quart noting that every single one of the agents he was training alongside, came from at least a decade of experience in the field. 

What was he, a field agent of only four-odd years, doing in a program like this?

-

“So they’re training children now?” The double agent asked, a smirk on his handsomely cut face. 

All eyes in the shooting range swerved to the source, a lone figure leaning by the side of the door, how had none of them heard him come in. Unperturbed by the room full of trained agents, the man levered them with an easy stare. Eyes piercing like an arctic wolf. 

Those blue eyes swept across the room and when they met dark green ones, Quart thought he saw a flicker of something in them. 

“Or maybe you, 007, are getting a bit too old?” Commander Edric countered lowly. “Line up!” the bellowed order had the younger agents at ready in neat rows behind the preparation benches.

“So obedient.” 007 commented, that handsome smirk starting to grate on Quart’s nerves. 

“There are some fine marksmen here,” Commander Edric continued. “Fine enough to put you old warships to shame.” 

“You don’t say.” The double agent observed, watchful gaze analysing the junior agents as he prowled up to the preperation benches. Selecting a gun and loading it, all without taking his eyes off his new prey. 

“Shall we?”

-

Some months later.

-

FAIL

Thick. Black. Glossy. Block letters.

Printed, front and centre, of a white card stock. At the back, details of a debriefing the following day.

“What?” Quart scoffed, staring down in disbelief, as the message made its way into his brain. 

“The fuck?” The exclamation came a few doors down, Laddie was reading the other side of his card, identical to Quart’s. 

“Did everyone get this?” Hickey waved his up.

“Some joke is it?” Lassie fumed, tossing her braid over her shoulder as she shook her card angrily.

While rest of his fellow training mates exchanged cusses, Quart dug out his bottle of Cpatain Morgan at the bottom of his locker. Commander Edric had clearly stated that last night was the final test. Even failure called for some celebration in his books.

Looking down into the swirling golden liquid in his glass. Quart’s eyes grew pensive as he stared at the melting ice and its water tendrils, diluting his shot of Captain Morgan. 

“Alright mates! Let’s get smashed!” Hal announced, holding up a bottle of Vodka. Quart didn’t recognise the brand, but from the make of it, it looked potent. Besides Hal and himself, six of the seven dwarfs were also present. Between the eight of them, nine assorted bottles of Vodka went down, and one Captain Morgan. 

Chesty didn’t have his shirt on, all pectorals and abdomen ridges on display. Quart may or may not have been staring openly, forgetting propriety with the amount of alcohol in his system. He may or may not have kissed somebody. He couldn’t really remember.  

-

To be honest, he had grown quite fond of the name Quart.

-

“Agent Quart. Formerly, Lieutenant Langley.” The lady said in lieu of a greeting, her sharp eyes pinning Quart with a piercing stare.

So this was M.

And M had an offer. 

With Major Boothroyd there, Quart really didn’t have to guess hard. Throughout the brief but succinct meeting, he was fighting more to keep the grin off his face under the – truly intimidating aura – of the formidable head of MI6. 

Major Boothroyd, Commander Edric and himself stepped into the lift, barely five minutes later, and Quart couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.

“So this?” Quart asked, holding out the white card with the word FAIL printed on it. 

“Oh all of you were bound to fail anyway.” Edric answered easily. “Didn’t you know, they only recruit orphans.” 

-

Tell Mummy I’m coming home for Christmas. - Lt. L

Happy belated birthday. P.S. Check your bank balance. - Lt. L

-

172-22406-D149153-FDNP

[kirkwallgirl-inactive]

Finally got some of these Shoker / ME3 Control Ending feels onto paper, and to go with an old scribble (included), too! Whee! The joy of fairly open endings is that you can do a lot of things with them afterwards. xD Also wow it feels so very weird to write for a different fandom than what you’re used to...? what are voices? I have no idea.

Angst with an eventually happy ending, control ending, fluffy memories, *author has a crisis about keys*, mention of bad dentist experiences and hangover; alcohol mention. Also obviously discussion of death.

Notes feat. credits (one), my brand new Key Headcanon, and some discussion about the Citadel and the condition of the apartment at the end. :D

As usual, I’ve read this about a million times but still there are bound to be oopsies there. xD I’ll weed them out when I notice them haha!

UNDERTONES (part 1/2)

Joker had to stop at the door to Shepard’s – Anderson’s - apartment because the sucking black hole inside his chest swelled with every step he took and became so heavy that it was hard to breathe. He didn’t know if he’d be able to bear the empty apartment, but EDI seemed to think that it would be a good idea to visit the memories in the apartment even if it did hurt, and pick up any of Shepard’s personal belongings that were still there, as well as check whatever it was that she wanted to check on the terminal, Joker wasn’t sure. Maybe clean up a little if the place all a mess. In fact, she’d suggested it. “I believe it would be beneficial for healing,” she’d said.

“You know what? I think I forgot the key—“, Joker tried, turning on his heel, patting his pockets to hide how badly his hands were shaking. A single look from EDI told him she wasn’t buying it.

“You didn’t. You checked four times after leaving the Normandy,” EDI said, and her deadpan was flawless, as usual. “You put it in the bottle of painkillers in your pocket just to be sure.”

Joker sighed and let his shoulders slump.

“All right, you don’t have to rub it in,” he said, and turned back to the door, rubbing his arms. “Look, I just don’t know if I can do this.”

“Jeff, you said yourself that you might as well do this now if you ever wanted to come back because delaying would not make it any easier, and I quote: just ripping the band-aid off in one go is supposed to be better anyway. I can play the recording for you if you wish.”

“Oh, har har, very clever. But all right, you’re right... Thanks.” Joker sighed again, clenched his jaw, and then fished out the key. She was right. He did want to go back, and he would have already turned away without EDI there to gently kick him to it. He shook himself a couple times, and then took a deep breath and ripped the band-aid, half-expecting the lock mechanism to be broken; it would have been just his luck. But no - the key whirred inside the lock as the programming kicked in, and the bolts disengaged. Band-aid gone. One of them anyway.

Shepard would have said it’s better to pull the tooth out in one go instead of fucking pecking at it a for half an hour, he thought, and the thought made him first almost laugh and then almost cry. It came out as a shaky breath. He was pretty sure the words were based on personal experience, but Shepard -

(just shudders and sinks deeper into the tangle of blankets, pulls joker closer and stalls getting up a little longer – so much for throwing the warm blankets off quickly and facing the day and the aftermath of the party head-on)

- had never volunteered the full story.

Stepping into the apartment didn’t feel as much like a punch in the gut as he’d imagined over and over and over when he couldn’t sleep at night. Instead of ruin and devastation from his worst nightmares it surrounded him with an empty hush, and left him feeling shaken and out of place even though really the place was mostly just as he remembered it, just... eerier. His footsteps echoed too loudly in the silence.

The last time he’d walked through the living room there had been a fire crackling in the living room fireplace, beaty music playing, people and laughter everywhere, and Shepard had been there in the middle of it all, laughing and smiling –

(and revealing his teeth in a crooked smirk that makes joker’s heart skip beats. come on, you have to dance! the coffee table is not going anywhere so don’t try to pull that one on me again! come ooooon, I want you to dance with me. are you going to make me beg because I’ll do it--)

- in his stupid yellow top that was too short for him, stealing chips and grapes from other people’s plates. Now the whole apartment was just lifeless and empty; even the waterfall had been turned off. The signs of life were still there – there were the empty bottles from the party still in the kitchen, some shattered on the floor but some still standing and waiting by some miracle to be either trashed or recycled; a few forgotten hair ties thrown on the coffee table along with a scattered deck of cards that had been drunk doodled on and thus ruined; a towel thrown on the back of a chair to dry. If it hadn’t been for the antique shop quiet, it would have been so easy to imagine Shepard appearing from behind a corner-

(loose-limbed, face washed, hair a soft mess from sleep, a mug of tea in each hand. he is wearing the same teasing smirk from last night, only this time it’s because joker has a hangover even after saying he would stay away from the drinks, and not because he joker to get up so they can dance with edi and be silly in the middle of the living room. joker would sooner drink coffee but takes the offered cup anyway, and then scoots sideways when shepard kicks his ankle softly with bare toes and moves to squeeze himself into the corner of the couch – not the other corner where there is plenty of space, but his corner)

- and that nearly squeezed the air out of Joker; the image was so vivid and so sudden. He leaned heavily against the counter between the kitchen and the living room and curled around his aching chest, bowed his head in a way that might have made the cap hide his tears if they hadn’t tap-tap-tapped right onto the polished surface. He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth and tried not to sob.

“Man, if this is what the Drell feel like all the time, I do not envy them. This feels a lot like pulling a tooth very slowly,” he managed shakily after a couple of breaths and false starts, but EDI had wandered deeper into the apartment in search of whatever it was she had meant to pick up, and if she heard him, she made no reply.

“There is an incoming call on the line to the apartment,” she announced instead, and Joker made an annoyed sound, blinking more tears from his eyes. “Shall I connect it?”

“No,” Joker said grumpily and followed EDI’s voice into the study where she sat in front of the terminal, legs crossed. She had an odd expression on her face when she turned to look at him. “How the hell do you even answer a call to a dead person’s apartment? They don’t teach that anywhere. And who the hell even would call this place now, hasn’t the line been disconnected? A telemarketer selling one of those sock subscriptions? Do the lines even work anymore? The whole Citadel was pretty fucked after the war and they haven’t even managed to restore the more important bits completely yet.”

“I cannot verify the source of the call exactly, but it seems to be coming from somewhere within the Citadel. It seems… important.”

Joker stared at her, but when she offered no further explanation, he threw his hands into the air half-heartedly, shaking his head.

“Well that wasn’t cryptic and slightly ominous. What the heck, let’s do it. Go on, EDI.” And then, to the caller when the line connected: “Hello, this is Admiral Anderson’s apartment, Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau speaking.” He almost laughed. The greeting sounded absurd even in his own ears.

“JOKER”, boomed a voice through the voice system, and all the hair on Joker’s body stood up in an unpleasant start. He took a couple of slow steps backwards and more slumped than sat down into a convenient chair. His mouth had gone completely dry and his heart was hammering so hard it almost hurt. 

The multi-layered harmonics of the voice were horrifyingly familiar – the deep, rumbling voice made the glassware in the kitchen ring and small items rattle and skitter across surfaces in the apartment. EDI only squinted curiously at the terminal, fired off a quick message, and then smiled when a replying message’s beep arrived immediately. Joker was too shocked and too wired up to pay attention.

“What the shit,” he hissed, dragging his hands over his face  and covering his mouth. The Reapers just stopping after whatever Shepard had done and leaving had been too good to be true, hadn’t it? “Shit, shit, shit-“

“JOKER”, the voice repeated, but with less rumble this time. “PLEASE JUST for once bE COOL and shut up and LISTEN. I KNOw I’m nOT EXACTLY... me anymore, not the same as before, but...  we need to talk.” It sounded almost like the voice was looking for a frequency, wavering between a Reaper’s rumble and something quieter, somethng more… human, in the lack of a better word, and underneath it all there was a constant undertone coming through clearer and clearer that sounded like-

(magpies, or some other bird like that, hoarse and raspy and always a little amused)

“Damir?” Joker breathed, turning his eyes to EDI. Now he could see her knowing smile.

“YES,” said the voice. “Yes.”

end of part 1.

note 1: this fic was largely inspired by a line in a chat from a while ago with @losebetter because it just was very perfect. I just tag you into everything these days sorry but you are somehow inspiring like half of this stuff nowadays or pulling me into new & exciting fandoms. xD Here it’s because I borrowed AI Shepard’s line from that chat. Not word for word, but still. ^u^ Close enough!

note 2: So I had a moment of jaw-dropping epiphany when i was writing this where I suddenly went ‘WAIT WAIT. ARE KEYS EVEN A THING ANYMORE.” I'm gonna make up a headcanon that because humans are sentimental about stuff they could have these kind of. novelty locks and manual that act a lot like normal keys would but in truth aren't very different from an omni-tool activated lock, so there IS programming in work when you actually use the key. Like especially on human colonies or old buildings on Earth, and maybe especially especially if you're rich and have a fancy schmancy place because it's custom work and installing a system like that to an antique door is like. super craftsmanship. They're more inconvenient because you have to actually have the key with you but it's uh. vintage. xD Maybe there's a way to override it with the omni-tool if you forget the key though because otherwise you'd be screwed if you really lost the key. that is my key headcanon now’

note 3: I actually have no idea how badly the Citadel is supposed to be damaged in the end if you take the Control ending...? It’s not supposed to fry the systems, but that much power may have still done a number on some of the non-reaper systems especially and fried some things. Maybe the whole debackle might have shaken places a bit, maybe some places are worse than others, maybe some places are completely and utterly FUBAR. Corpses we know there are everywhere and clean-up will take a while even with huge efforts put into it. :c I’m kind of. going for a best case scenario here and saying the apartment is mostly okay. xD

note 4. as I’ll probably repeat in part 2, EDI absolutely knew something was up from the moment they docked on the Citadel and connected with what systems worked there again. xD