#and you just tell them the consequences of letting anyone unauthorized know what it is

[leniisreallycool]

I don't wanna tell people my social security number. That's supposed to be a secret and if I tell anyone I'll spontaneously combust

[ask-carmenpondiego]

Chapter 18: The Devil in the Details

M paced around his room which was fairly sparse of furniture. He already burnt through a solid pack of cigarettes since returning from his test run of the chronoskimmer and was well into his second pack. He pulled out his phone and patched through to the main computer, 079 pulling its face up on the screen. “Oh wonderful. You managed to spread my reach to your tiny slip of a mobile device. Could you make it any more cramped in here?” M growled, “I will stuff your stuck up assface into an ipod shuffle or worse if you keep it up. I need to go over the schematics on where I went.” The ai sighed as if it had something pressing that it was being pulled away from. It didnt. 079 pulled up the data code from the testing, giving a strong impression of if it had a body, it would be checking a watch and tapping its foot. M poured over the info and triple checked the details. “Everything is fucking correct for this world’s info. What the fuck happened that lead to that?!” 079 swirled its hair into a turban and had images of fortune telling items around its face “You know, I would tell you but I’ll give a little trivia factoid instead: I actually cannot see into the future. I’m a computer, not a psychic. I don’t even have a clue on what you even saw.” Red letters spelling CANCELLED were stamped across the turbaned ai face before returning to normal, wiping away the letters with a digital rag. “Yer no fuckin help.” M tossed the phone onto his bed and opened his window, leaning on the sill. “Perhaps what you saw was not what you saw?” 079 called out, muffled since the screen was face down against the comforter. M’s tentacle reached over and set it upright. “Elaborate.” M looked over his shoulder at his phone. “What you saw in one perspective was perhaps not the full story and you may have missed some key points. Ultimately, time will only tell. Its unadvisable to return to a time that you already visited, much less a time where current you and other you occupy the same time space. Time paradoxes still exist, you know.” M hissed at it through gritted teeth, “Yes I know time paradoxes still fucking exist! But HOW do I fucking change the event if I don’t know what fucking causes it?!” The phone was silent for a moment, “I’m sorry, was that rhetorical? I can’t quite understand the fragile folly of organic semi-intelligent beings. You could just let it happen rather than attempt to fix it and possibly bring about the resulting event faster.” M hung his head and flicked the cigarette butt out the window, “How the hell do you figure that?”

“I don’t. Again, I’m just a computer. I don’t give one iota of interest in what you do. Anything you do is your own fault in itself. In your words: I don’t give a shit.”

M ran his dark hands through his orange hair, “I’m going to have to tell Red.. can I even tell Red?” He points to the phone accusingly, “You just had to tell me that any fucking action I take could make it fucking happen faster! Now I can’t even fucking warn anyone!” In a very bored flat tone, 079 replied, “Oh no. I warned you against possible consequences for your actions that may or may not happen. What ever shall I do?”

“Report this to the TVA director, this is exactly what they have been looking for.” A small time desk jockey was reading a print-out of the timeline, noticing a new unauthorized time jump. He handed the print-out to a passing official who nodded and took the file containing the report. A short trip down the hall the official knocked on the director’s door, and entered upon permission. The director reviewed the file and started dialing the phone next to them. On the other end, a gentleman in a dark grey suit answered, thick files littered his desk from the MIB, ACME, SCP Foundation, United Nations Global Occult Coalition (UNGOC), G.R.U. Division Psychotronics (GRU-P), Earth Protection Force (EPF), Department of External Security (DXS), Federal Bureau of Control (FBC), Federal Bureau of Intervention(FBI), Federal Investigation Bureau(FIB), Foundation for Law and Government(FLAG), International Affairs Agency(IAA), the Wander Society and various other Interpol including Canterlot Royal Guard and Equestria’s global protection unit, all involving Carmen Pondiego and her VILE team.

The gentleman added the Time Variance Authority (TVA) file to his stack. “I see and this new variance is the confirmed beginning to our little thief problem? Understood. …..No, no. We already have eyes and ears on the entire group…… Oh yes, we have our contingency plan all set and planted, we just need to knock that first domino to put a bit of pressure on the situation…. Yes, just keep an eye on that variance timeline and let me know of any further splits or deviance… No, no, Thank YOU, Director. May prosperity raine upon you. Good bye.” A second gentleman with an umbrella hanging on his arm by the hook, seemingly a lower rank, stood in front of him. “Sir? If it has been confirmed for the beginning of the situation, then shouldn’t we eliminate the entirety as soon as possible? I mean, look how many unnaturals she has under her power. The reports say she gains more within a year or so and so does her reach.” The man at the desk tidies up and stacks the files and sets them aside. “No. There is a small chance this is the one who will lose it all and becomes a regular citizen again. We need to see if this time skip triggers anything. We have the safeguards in place. They just need to have the nerve to do what is demanded of them if the time comes. For now, we wait and gather more evidence against this Carmen Pondiego and her VILE team.”

A small red jet circles and lands on a dusty dirt patch outside a fortress ruin on an island on a lake by the southside mountains of Siberia. The fortress, once called Por-Bazhyn, sat undisturbed for many a year, though it currently looked like it was all filled in with dirt. The jet opens to let out its passengers, a few agents and Carmen. They headed to the main entrance and stopped just shy of the opening. Carmen looks at the blueprints and looks at a smaller opening about three yards to the side, “This is where we would typically enter but there had been damage to the interior entranceway further in where it just gives us a dead end. We’ll need to divert to the servants entrance over there.”

Once inside, they descend multiple flights to underground caverns and tunnels. Using their map, the group makes their way through twists and mazes, finally getting to a small open room with a deep drop in the center, the other side of the room was a chest, the walls were rough chiseled and some carvings have been broken away by time. The drop was just large enough that even an olympic jumper could not simply jump across. There used to be a rope bridge but has since rotted away.

Carmen nodded to Kiros who sank his claws into the wall and tested the weight of the grip. He then scaled across the chasm, making slight hand and footholds with his claws and hooked a line at the halfway mark and continued to cross the rest of the way, securing the line with a large pillar. Carmen and Lekir hook up their harnesses and attached the safety line before following exactly where Kiros had set his claws. Slowly making their way across, the girls didnt dare look down, Ninoga, staying on the entrance side of the room, was able to look down and see sharp staligmites growing up from the bottom of the chasm. “Nothing like an old fashioned temple heist with deadly drop offs for hobbies, huh?” Carmen chuckled, breathing hard as she hasn’t rock climbed in quite a while. Lekir shook her head, “You and I have different views on hobbies, I swear..” Ninoga tilted his head, “I thought we were getting things for a cure for Waldo?”

“We are, I was just saying this harkens back to when I was doing this for fun.” Carmen clarified, reaching the ledge. Lekir followed close behind as Carmen opened her pack to grab the extra rope and harness sets. She walked to the chiseled out shelf that holds the chest and checks for traps before picking up the chest which was surprisingly light. She frowned as she placed it near the harness set she was going to wrap it in and looked at the lock. The remains of the lock were already breaking away in her gloved hand in a pile of rusty dust. Kiros peers over, “Whats wrong?” Carmen shakes her head, “Its lighter than I expected..” Lekir comes over, shining her flashlight over for extra light since the room was very dimly lit by their larger lights they brought. “Well, we know we aren’t looking for coins and jewels, maybe it only holds a jar or something?” Carmen wipes the dust off her glove with her pants and proceeds to open the chest. With a yelp from both girls, the chest snapped back with a large set of teeth and a tentacle like tongue. They managed to scramble back out of chomping range just in time to see a red electric bolt shoot the chest from the side, blasting it into the wall with a crunch. Ninoga had sent the blast and called over “You guys ok?! I didn’t hit you, did I?” Carmen was catching her breath as Lekir waved over, “We’re good! Thanks!” Kiros was picking the broken pieces of wood apart, finding some meaty bits. “Should we save some for M as a snack?” He chuckled. “He’s gonna be sour he missed out on this.” He searches a bit more before finding a small scroll. “Here, I found something in the deep center.” Carmen reached for it, inspecting the type of parchment. “This is hide… its a rabbit hide!” She laughed, “Its the rabbit in the chest! So this is already the next clue.. This is awesome. Let’s get this back to HQ so we can figure out the next stop.” The girls carefully made their way back across the wall, having the two dragon types as watchers in case one of them fell, they could hoist them back up easily. They both made it without incident, with Kiros packing away some of the meat before scaling the wall, taking up the equipment he had set for the safety line.

After packing up the climbing equipment, the team made their way out of the tunnels and chambers and back towards the jet. They were met by a small group of militarized officials standing between them and their escape ride. The officials carried old looking bladed weapons as well as rods and had armored horses. The horses suddenly charged at the Agents, making the four scatter. One of the officials threw what looked like a bolas towards Kiros to which Lekir slid in and deflected with an ice spear she created, sending the bolas right back at the official, making him fall off the horse. The horse was startled and started to run with the official’s leg still stuck in a stirrup. Ninoga sent two officials flying with a good tail swipe while the last had gotten off of his horse to fight Carmen with close hand to hand combat. That didnt last long since Kiros picked him up from behind, tossing him to the wall as Lekir sent a smear of ice to hold him there like glue. Carmen was only a little cut up but she confirmed with a smile, they still have the loot.

They all piled back into the jet and set off to HQ, a fifth official that held back out of sight had made a call, “They have escaped. We could not detain them. I am sorry but we have failed to secure the scroll…. Sir? Please we will not fail again.. please no!” The official started begging before dark green vivianite crystals rapidly grew and speared through his body at all angles, severing organs and leaving nothing but shreds of flesh and bones between the multitudes of shards.

When they returned, Carmen was holding her torn red coat and had some cuts on her arms and side. Wally rushed up to her and held her close, making her wince, “Oh my Light! I’m glad you’re ok! I heard over the coms you needed a med kit! Do you need a hospital?!” Carmen pried him off, chuckling, “Nothing I’m not used to. This is why we train. I just got a few scrapes from some bladed guards. I just need some antibacterial gel and gauze. Its nothing! I don’t think these will even scar up.” Lekir laughs, “She’s the squishy out of all of us technically!” She slaps Carmen’s plush ass as if to demonstrate her plushness. The mare blushes and sighs about needing to sew her fabric coat yet again.

Asta nudged Wally’s arm a bit and he perked up as he remembered. “Oh! While you were gone, I went ahead and got you something. They didn’t have your bright red but maybe you will like this darker scarlet shade.” He handed her a box to which she took to the dinner table. Opening it, she grinned and chuckled as she lifted a brand new leather coat, a sleeker, lighter weighted design and had custom pockets on the inner lining and in the sleeves. She tried it on, wincing slightly as she moved, but overall had it on and it had fit perfectly. It even had a split back where her tail was able to freely peek out. She popped the collar and laid it bad down with ease and stuck her hands in every pocket she could find. “This is beautiful!! Thank you so much!!” She wrapped her arms around Wally and kissed him deeply. “Asta helped me with the sizing. She had to raid your closet for the right size. Now sadly they didn’t have a hat to match, so its just the coat for now.” He confessed, but she chuckled and put her hat onto his head. “Hats can be another time. Those can be a tough find anyway. But this is wonderful, thank you…oh! We also have good news! The chest had the next clue in it so we can go right to the duck that will lead us to the eggs! We’re almost there! We almost have you cured!”

Wally’s smile fell a split second as a worried look flashed. “I’m sure we will before it gets too bad.” M hung back and watched everything like a hawk, looking for any sign of the cause of such hatred he had seen on future Carmen’s face. It bothered him more than he expected, he wanted to say he didn’t care much about any of this just like 079 clearly stated as its own opinion. What M did find was that he was more attached to the whole team but moreso Carmen. As they joked, one thing was right, the majority of the team could handle a bullet or two and heal the next day. But Carmen was full mortal flesh and blood, no special powers, she couldn’t even use regular unicorn magic. Yet she dove into dangerous situations all the time with no regard for her own safety, as if she were one of them regardless of all the planning she does to keep everyone safe during their missions. And that bothered him even more since his test run.

He watched as she patched herself up all carefree, he puffed on his cigarette as he broods. It gnawed at his thoughts, he severely wanted both to go back to the future to figure it out but knew 079 had a very glaring and valid point. He thought about slipping off to the mech lab to tinker a bit more on the pod, seeing if he can alter something so its just not a time machine. He needed a distraction and his previous conversation of traveling to other universes may prove to be just the right project to give him that distraction.

A distraction did come to him, just in the form he didn’t expect. Carmen’s waterbottle was clear glass, yet the liquid had the absolute faintest blue glow, easily missed by casual glances. Perhaps 079 was right with his perception. He just needed more proof. He slinked off towards Carmen’s office as she laughed and had happy conversations with the others. She opened the scroll and showed the others. “Lets see what this thing says.” She laid it out on the table next to the coat box and tilted her head. Everyone gathered around for a view. “Is it supposed to be mostly blank?” The hide was indeed mostly blank, the bottom had a mountain ridge and a river and sporadic spots on the upper part that were either ink or tiny holes burnt through with a few sketch lines dashed in going a single direction. Otherwise it was very blank.

“Perhaps its a type of morse code?” Kiros rubbed his chin, Asta shook her head, “No, that was invented in the Amareicas in the 1830’s. And its not cuneiform.. the holes almost look like star alignments yet I dont recognize the placements but the other dots aren’t stars.” Carmen looked up and saw that M wasn’t there. She excused herself and went to search for him, finding him in her office, searching drawers and shelves.

“M, what’s going on? You’ve barely been around and more moody than usual since working on the chronoskimmer.” She inquired, setting her bottle on her desk as he was searching underneath for hidden compartments. He peeked up with a glare and his eyes darted to the water bottle and back to her, “Nice, acting stupid and oblivious right to my fuckin face.” Carmen furrowed her brow and lowered her ears, “Excuse me? But I have absolutely no idea what the hell you are going on about and I deserve an explanation for your behavior!” He stands and leans on the desk between them and whips the bottle across the room, smashing it against the wall. “THAT is what is going on. You have been way too easy going when it comes to your own safety, your cycles have been more intense, your pain tolerance is way too fucking high for a normal fucking pony, and your water always has a familiar blue glow to it. You’ve been fucking microdosing that fucking zydrate this whole fucking time! Now tell me where the rest of it is so I can fucking destroy it, you fucking junkhead!” She snarled at him and slapped his face to which he snapped his hand out and gripped her hair, slamming her head to the desk, “Don’t you FUCKING act all offended. Now I don’t give a fuck what withdrawal you suffer. Tonight you get clean for good and you never get high again. If you don’t listen to me out of fuckin fear, then at least do the fuckin curtesy of telling my brother that your so called happiness is a fucking lie. Fuck knows he deserves to hear the fuckin truth.” He growled as she struggled against his grip on her head as he held her down. “I will NOT let you go down a drug bender and do something you fucking regret!” She blinks and stops struggling for a moment, “What did you say?” She asked. His voice had a hint of unusual worry that she had caught. “I said I will not let you..”

“Yeah I heard that but you sound like you know something I dont..” He lets her up and avoids looking at her both out of fury and confrontation. “I’m not telling you. You are not supposed to know.”

She rubbed her head and walked around the desk, gripping his arm to turn him towards her, “Fuck that, you don’t get to assault me, accuse me of being a brainless addict AND withhold important information from me! Now tell me what you know!” He growls and grips both her arms, squeezing one of the deep cuts by accident, making her yelp. “I FUCKING CAN’T.”

“Why the hell not?!”

“Because I don’t know what fucking causes it!”

“It can’t be that bad. We’ve dealt with pretty bad shit.”

He shakes her a bit, “I saw you fucking die, okay?! It’s that fucking bad!”

The color drains from her face and she steps back from his grip. “When.. how?”

He sighs and puts one hand on his hip, the other running through his hair stressfully. “Three years, shot in Times Square.”

She let the information sink in, both hands on her hips, looking at the floor. She sighs and nods after a few silent moments, “Okay. Luckily the future is not set in stone. Let’s ban Times Square from our destinations. I’ll secure those guns my sister gave as a gift into the vault, far back so its hard to get them. And I really wish you didn’t smash my water. That was the last of the zydrate I had and boy, I could sure use some after that bomb you just dropped.” She looked at him, all coldly somber and turned to walk out of her office and back to the rest of the team. “We need your help to crack the riddle on that hide we brought back. Clean up your mess and join us when you’re done. I’m going to ice this bump on my head now and pour myself a stiff drink.”

[ververa]

heeello, I have a request!! Can you write a Leonore Osgood x Reader where the reader is her seamstress? ✨💗Something where Leonore starts to order more dresses as an excuse to see her more often and flirts with her at every good opportunity. I think Leonore is a very confident woman, so she may have taken the initiative to kiss the reader as soon as she thought she had a chance, not being able to withstand a rejection

thank you and sorry if I made mistakes, I'm not very good at writing in english :/

ps. I love your blog💖

“Beyond The Wildest Dreams”

A/N: Thank you so much for this request!!! I had a lot of fun writing it 🤗😅 It's longer than I intended and it's only a few of all the ideas I had for this fic 🙈 So, I actually may write a 2nd part or since I have a few requests for Lenore I may combine them

Anyways I kinda feel like it's not exactly what you wanted, but I hope you will enjoy it!! 😇

Also many thanks to @misssmephisto who always supports me and who helped me a lot with this fic!!! 💜💖💜💖💜

Lenore Osgood x fem!reader

Word count: ~5k

The moment you saw Lenore Osgoode for the first time the whole world simply stopped existing. People around you, models, photographers, former and possibly new clients, even your nervousness - caused by the very first fashion show of yours, was long forgotten, as you watched the gorgeous blonde taking a seat at the audience, right in the first row. She didn't quite fit with the rest. She was fabulous.  No other in the room stood a chance with her. Self confidence radiated from every fibre of her body, not to mention that one look was enough to tell she was an enthusiast of refined style. She was with no doubt upper class. Her outfit itself indicated that she was one of those filthy rich people. Normally you tried to stay away from them, not feeling well in their company, yet this one time you were ready to make an exception. Who could ever blame you? Lenore truly distinguished herself and looked absolutely stunning dressed in a long, red dress and a mink coat. 

She was beautiful and tall - you could put on her whatever you would want to and it would drape perfectly, only adding to her captivating charm. But clothes were more than that - for you at least. It wasn’t just about materials draping nicely or the person looking good. You considered clothes to be a person’s second skin. A layer supposed to not only cover all the imperfections, but also hide their dark secrets and sins, at the same time giving out a hint of their attitude. And that particular approach of yours combined with your skills made you an exceptional designer and  a wonderful seamstress. On the other hand though, it made you misunderstood by many people - especially your fellows - which seemed to be the dark, less nice side of your profession, but you didn’t care about it at all. You were too busy, positively bedeviled with work, to spare your precious time to think about it.

As your eyes set on Lenore you immediately knew that you wanted nothing more, but to dress her up in all the finest materials you could get. Tailor her clothes to fit whatever was her guilt, to match the darkest parts of her soul. You looked her up and down, for what felt like a hundredth time that evening, and still you couldn’t get enough. You were ready and highly likely to come up with yet another project just like that. You knew for sure it would be something different. It had to be special, exclusive, hand-selected, designed just for her and as spectacular as the woman appeared to be.

The images of Lenore in taffeta and silk kept crossing your vivid imagination. You were just having some debate with yourself on what colour would suit her best, though much to your dismay you were brought back to reality by one of the assistants working there with you.

“Miss Y/L/N, we have a little problem backstage”

You turned towards the young man, resigning from watching the blonde and reluctantly giving your full attention to the man. 

“I’m coming” you nodded and - after glancing at Lenore one more time - you followed him to find out what kind of problem he was talking about.

~~~~

Lenore sat and watched, but she didn’t even bother to pretend she was interested. She had a sense that being there was just a waste of time. And as a worldly woman that she beyond any doubt was - she hated wasting her time, especially in places like that.  Shabby and tasteless. Full of inelegant, crude people who tended to get above themselves way too often, while in reality they had absolutely no idea what true sophistication and fashionability were. They came there to watch the show, but it had nothing to do with them being interested in fashion. It was just another way of exposing their self-importance. Lenore knew it better than anyone, but that was all right with her. She used to be like them too, though she no longer needed to prove anything to anyone. That's why for her being there was more like a torture.

If it hadn’t been for her impulsive and capricious decision to fire her tailor she wouldn’t even think of attending such a ridiculous event like a fashion show in a small, prospectless town. What could she possibly see there? Nothing. Those were simple people, not accustomed with high standards and clearly not ready for any fashion revolutions. Lenore hadn’t expected anything spectacular. There was no use in getting her hopes up, since she was there only because she needed a new seamstress. Enjoying the show was far from probable and she was well aware of it. Yet she went and stayed there. Fairly sick to death, but determined, hoping that if she put up with all the inconveniences, she would manage to find what she was looking for. 

Cheap clothes and shoddy jewellery - was all she got to see for the first hour or so and that was enough to drive her crazy. Lenore wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Those people's taste or rather lack of it - cried to heaven. Calling something like that a fashion show appeared to be some barbarous jape. And at that point Lenore was fed up and ready to leave. It was so naive of her to envisage witnessing something groundbreaking, but there was still one more line of clothes supposed to be walked out - and that was it. A real breakthrough. Something out of the ordinary. Something that Lenore wanted, but didn’t know it before.

She watched - suddenly interested in everything that was happening on the runway. Models walked down one after the other, then disappeared, but each one of them - presenting another outfit, left Lenore even more astonished than the previous one. 

Lenore Osgood had always been a material girl, but she felt no remorse about it. Clothes were her own kind of cakes and ale and she felt no shame choosing the perfect fabrics and jewelry that would suit her fancy, after all she had enough money to afford whatever she desired.

At that point all she wanted was that one particular line of clothes. The show wasn’t over yet, but Lenore already knew she was going to be the one to buy all those outfits. She kept waiting though - well aware that the last outfit was supposed to be the most extraordinary one. However she didn’t get to see it, as instead of the last model some man appeared on the runway - informing there was going to be a short break, because they had some problem. 

Lenore huffed. She had never been a patient person and so - obviously - she wasn’t going to wait like others.The heiress stood up, flicked her long coat and not paying any attention to people - who intently observed her every move, not even trying to be discreet- she headed out to the backstage. She couldn’t care less about the rules or the fact that unauthorized people weren’t allowed there. It did not apply to her - that was how Lenore perceived every prohibition she encountered. She had never been the one to care much for the commonly accepted norms. She simply did what she pleased, completely unbothered by the possible consequences. Even more so at that moment - she just needed to meet the designer face to face. After all it didn’t happen often that someone managed to captivate her like that.

How surprised she was when instead of a man - as she incorrectly assumed the artist to be a male - her eyes set on you - a young woman. That’s when her amazement doubled. 

At first Lenore stopped, slightly confused. She didn't speak up immediately. You weren’t there alone and she couldn't interrupt you and deprive herself of the opportunity to watch you working.

Some young, very tall and skinny woman stood there next to you. Lenore figured it must have been the model, supposed to walk down the runway as the last one. Lenore examined the woman’s body and immediately noticed that the dress she was wearing did not quite fit her - that was the problem apparently.

Lenore stood a few meters away. Not too far, so that she could see what you were doing, but still not close enough for you to notice her presence.

The blonde observed how your hand reached for some pins and then how you put a few of them in your mouth.

"I'm sorry, Y/N" the model said, sobbing

"Please, stop apologizing. Everything is alright" you mumbled, not really able to speak, because of the pins you kept between your lips.

"I destroyed the dress..."

"You didn't destroy anything. Now calm down and let me fix this little malfunction" you said, crouching behind the girl.

You took a seam ripper in one hand and held the fabric of the dress with the other. Normally seam rippers were used to help with occasional mistakes, but you were prone to experimenting with different sewing tools. Necessity is the mother of invention - you often said. And just like that, in one swift move you ripped one of the seams - only to pin it back together with pins within seconds. Except after that little operation of yours the dress became a bit looser. Not too excessively, but just enough to fit the model. 

“See? It’s fixed.” you said, proudly looking at the result of your work and zipping the dress “Now, stop crying. There’s no need to cry” you reassured.

“But I couldn’t put it on…”

“Because it was too small”

“Exactly… I-I… I need to lose weight” she said in a breaking voice.

“No” you shook your head “Clothes are supposed to fit you, not the other way. Now go”

The woman nodded and rushed out, passing by next to Lenore, who was standing there with a cigarette in her hand - shamelessly checking you out.

“I must say, that was very impressive” the heiress stated, thereby making you aware of her presence.

You quickly turned around and were instantly met by the blue eyes and probably one of the most entrancing smiles you had ever seen. There she was. One and only Lenore Osgood in the flesh. You couldn’t help the gasp - she looked even better up close.

“I… Umm… Can I help you, madam?” you asked, internally scolding yourself for taking so long to say anything.

“Actually, you can, darling”

“I’m listening” you said, trying to act as natural as possible, despite the fact the nickname she used made your heart skip a beat.

Lenore pulled at her cigarette, then smiled - obviously pleased with your answer.

“You are the one who designed those close” she stated, but with a hint of uncertainty. 

“That’s right” 

“Well then, allow me to felicitate you. It was a wonderful show - the last part at least” she stated, rolling her eyes as she remembered how sorely dull the beginning of the event was.

“Thank you” you beamed at her words.

“You are welcome, darling” her smile got even wider - making you wonder if she realized what effect that goddamn nickname had on you.

“Now, let’s say I have an offer for you. What would you say if I asked you to work for me?” she continued.

How could you say no to her? You would most likely be out of your mind if you had denied such a proposal. Her invitation was one of those you could not and definitely did not want to decline. How could you do it after she bought all the outfits from your new collection - paying even more than they were actually worth. Not to mention that working for her was what you dreamed about ever since you saw her.

That's how you found yourself standing at the door of Lenore's mansion the very next day. She wanted to know what other ideas you had and see different projects of yours, so you took your binder and sewing planner with you. As you nervously waited for someone to open and let you in, you held the items tight, pressing them to your chest - as if they were some precious treasure.

"Miss Y/L/N? Come in, Ms Osgood is waiting for you" an older woman informed, as she led you inside.

You followed, looking around - taking in every detail of the house interior and trying to memorize it. You always held to a particular belief of the house being the image of its owner's soul. Some people found it ridiculous, but in that case it was true. Lenore's house was as superior, noble and remarkable as the heiress herself.

"Y/N!" the blonde called and you turned round. You immediately stopped, when you caught the sight of her.

Lenore was slowly descending the stairs - looking as gracefully as ever. You smiled to yourself, when you realized she was wearing one of the outfits that you created. You had never felt such joy and pride seeing your previous clients wearing something that you designed. But to be fair, none of them radiated with such regality as Lenore. No one could ever match her dignity or a sense of majesty, and apparently that was what made your projects look even more exquisite.

"Is it alright if I call you by your name, dear?" Lenore asked, stopping for a moment to allow her little monkey jump from her shoulder to the shoulder of the woman who let you in.

"If I'm allowed to call you by yours" you smiled.

"Absolutely, darling" the blonde said enthusiastically, as she moved towards you. A smirk appeared on her face, indicating that she did not miss the way you blushed at the nickname. "Let's sit down, shall we?" she suggested, pointing to a spacious room, where a white sofa and armchairs stood.

You nodded, as you moved to sit in one of the armchairs.

"Would you like something to drink, Y/N?" Lenore asked.

"Just a glass of water, please"

"Darce! Bring Y/N a glass of water" she ordered, clicking her fingers.

You shifted in the armchair. The woman in front of you made you feel nervous for some reason, but you tried to act professional.

"You wanted to see my projects, so I brought my binder…" you said, a bit hesitant.

"Wonderful!” she exclaimed, grinning “May I?" she asked, as she reached out for the item.

"Of course" you passed her the binder and then observed, as she intently studied each page.

"Your water, Miss Y/L/N" the older woman said, handing you the glass.

"Thank you" you smiled, carefully taking the vessel from her.

"What a talent and creativity!" Lenore praised, glancing at you with a smirk on her face, not paying attention to the other woman.

You smiled, taking a sip of the water - hoping it would actually help with calming your nerves.

Lenore spent almost an hour on deciding which of your projects she would like to get. She obviously liked them all, but she needed her clothes to be different. She needed them to be extraordinary, fancy and expensive. And so you suggested creating something just for her.

You were a hardworking person - used to staying up late to finish sewing different outfits. You always went all out and thereby made your clients satisfied, but with Lenore you wanted more. Making her satisfied simply didn't seem enough. You wanted to impress her, blow her away. Little did you know that the heiress already was spellbound - not only by your projects, but by you yourself.

Lenore had never met anyone who delighted her so much. Such manners, such a style and sophistication. Not to mention you were so extremely accomplished for your age. All that impressed her in a way, but also fascinated her. She was truly enchanted by you. No wonder. You had a peculiar background, attitude and approach to the real world. You were a rare sample and Lenore happened to like thinking of herself as a connoisseur. She liked uncommon things. That's why she desperately wanted to have a taste of that extraordinary, magical power that radiated from you. A taste of that particular thing that made you so special. Though before she decided to do anything, she needed to make sure you would not disapprove of her. Because rejection was something Lenore didn't take well.

Lenore figured out that taking things slow was a good thing to do. She decided to warm you up a little and make sure that she actually had a chance. She didn't want her intentions to be too obvious. Lenore had always been a little skeptical of displaying any sort of affection. She'd rather play around. Yet she couldn't deny it felt sort of different with you.

Lenore loved teasing you more than anything. You always seemed so stressed and flustered whenever you would come to her house to deliver yet another outfit - and she found it adorable.

~~~~

At first you would come to her house once a week. Each time bringing with you a different dress and a few of new projects for Lenore to have a look and either go with them or tell you what she would like you to change. She rarely wanted to make any adjustments though. Lenore appreciated all of your ideas - only occasionally asking you to make a particular outfit in different colour or use another kind of fabric than you had intended to at first, but she never criticised you. As a matter of fact, she was always praising you. Maybe even too excessively. She complimented basically everything about you - from your creativity and ideas to the way you dressed. It appeared that she knew exactly what to say to make you blush - of which she was not only aware, but also took pride in succeeding in doing it. However, as much as you loved it, you could not quite help all the worries that clouded in your head - when you began realizing that Lenore became someone more than just your client and boss.

It had been going on for months. You grew so used to spending time with her and designing clothes for her that at some point your life turned to be all about Lenore. Everything either reminded you of her or inspired you to make another outfit that would fit her and only her taste. Lenore and even her monkey became such a huge part of your life, that you couldn't picture yourself not doing all of the things  you were doing and you definitely could not stop thinking about Lenore. To say that it scared you would be an understatement. The realization of your true feelings made you freak out completely. So much so that you did not know what to do. So much so you couldn't act the way you used to before. That's why you decided to take a break - hoping it would help you distance yourself. 

You enforced your idea immediately - as instead of informing Lenore face to face, you called her.

"Ms Osgood, I need some time off for… personal reasons" you told her.

Lenore agreed of course, though that sudden phone call took her by surprise. She knew something wasn't quite alright, when you used her full name, but she didn't ask any questions.

She kept repeating everything that had happened the past week, yet she couldn't figure out what was actually going on. You had never taken time off before and the way you called whatever was happening - "personal reasons" caused her a lot of distress. What did that even mean? Were you in trouble? Was she supposed to do something? And why was she so worried about it?

At first Lenore tried to convince herself that she didn't really care. But she did. Her little game turned into something utterly different without her even realizing it. You turned out to be far more than just her seamstress and she appreciated you for more than only your brilliant mind or skills.

Lenore truly cared about you and missed you dearly. She missed your smile and seeing you blush at her compliments. She missed listening to you talking about your projects - so passionately. 

Lenore was a grown-up and experienced woman, however she had never felt the way she felt with you. With you everything was different, new. And whatever she desired at the very beginning changed.

While you locked yourself in your apartment and lost yourself in work - as an attempt to distance from her, Lenore kept thinking of all the ways she could get closer to you. She was so desperate, so lovesick that she - the great heiress was ready to beg, even bow before for you if that was what it took.

You didn't expect Lenore to turn up at your door. It had been three days, you were sure everything was on the right track and you would manage to cure yourself of your fascination. Though, the moment you opened the door and saw Lenore in all her glory, everything came right back to you. All your feelings hit you again - that time with doubled power.

"Lenore… w-what are you doing here?"

"It's nice to see you too, Y/N" she said, passing by you - not waiting for you to invite her inside.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. How could anyone be able to make you feel so weak and yet so empowered at the same time?

Lenore walked in, then looked around your apartment. It wasn't too big, but she had to admit it was classy - you perfectly combined living space with workspace. But your flat wasn't what interested her the most. The heiress turned round to face you and offered you a cocky smile, as she took in your form. Lenore was used to seeing you in various dresses and heels, though that day you looked completely different. You were not only barefoot, but also instead of a dress, you had a white shirt and denim overalls on. Your hair was put in a messy ponytail and a measuring tape was draped around your neck - signifying that you were working.

"So, how can I help you?" you asked, not looking at Lenore.

The blonde smiled. "I was just passing by and thought I'd check on you"

"Check on me?" you repeated, raising your eyes.

"Yes" Lenore said calmly "Would you mind if I stay here for some time?"

"I-" you were about to protest, but it was too late, since Lenore sat down on one of the chairs and lit her cigarette.

"So, have you managed to resolve those personal reasons of yours?"

"Not really, I guess" you said, watching Lenore cross her legs.

The way you stared at her body didn't go unnoticed. Lenore didn't miss how flustered you got either, but she said nothing. It wasn't the right time - not just yet.

You sighed, approaching a table on which you had different materials laid. You got back to work, trying to ignore Lenore's presence. It was hard to focus on anything though. It was impossible when she was sitting there and watching you, but you kept trying anyways.

Lenore didn't speak for a few minutes. She simply enjoyed the moment - the possibility of watching you work and being around you in general.

"Is this a new project?" she asked, dragging on her cigarette.

"Actually yes. It's going to be your dress for the party that you're attending next month"

"Oh. Well, it looks nice"

You laughed at her words.

"It doesn't look like anything yet"

"I'm sure it'll be wonderful. Every project of yours is, darling"

You looked at her, not able to contain the smile caused by her compliment.

And that smile was what motivated Lenore to make the first step. 

"You know, I was thinking about you for the past few days," she began, as you focused on pinning the fabric together again.

"They don't appreciate you enough. I mean those men you're working with. They're wasting your potential. You should work for your own brand and not for theirs"

"Well…" you were about to say something, but Lenore cut you off.

"And I figured out there are two ways I could help you in"

"Yeah?" you said, but still didn't pay much attention to her words.

"Yes" Lenore stubbed her cigarette and stood up, as she continued "I could either become some kind of your patroness. This is the first option, but personally I like the second one more" she explained, as she stopped on the opposite side of the table.

"What's the second option then?" you asked, reaching for yet another pin.

"Well" Lenore smiled. You were still so oblivious "I could be your sugar momma" 

"Shit!" you cursed, as you accidentally hurt your finger with the pin "W-what?" you choked, looking at her. Your eyes were wide open, as Lenore approached you and carefully took your hand in her own. She then slowly brought the finger you had just cut to her lips and kissed it.

"I said…"

"No. I k-know what you said… I… I just…" you stuttered, not able to form any coherent sentence.

"Which option do you like better, sweetheart?" she asked in a low voice.

"I…" you gasped, staring at her lips.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak, so instead you leaned in and kissed her. You could feel how her lips formed a smirk and even though your eyes were shut at that point, you could see that damn sly smile.

"I was hoping you'd go with the second option" Lenore chuckled.

You wanted to respond to her words, but before you managed to regain the ability to think properly - Lenore lifted you up and made you sit on the table.

"Your dress…" you tried to protest, but were immediately cut off.

"I'd rather take you this time" Lenore said and captured your lips once again.

That definitely wasn't what you had expected when you accepted the job offer. You hadn't even dreamed about it. And even if you had, being so close to Lenore, feeling her warm hands on your body and her soft lips pressed against yours was beyond any wildest dreams you could ever have. 

Tag list: @midnight-lestrange, @natasha-danvers, @stopkillinglilyrabe, @welshdragonrawr, @saucy-sapphic, @yang12e, @xixxiixx, @pradababey

[jomiddlemarch]

when there is nothing left to take away

Chapter 4

The teapot was empty. Bone-dry. The plate of pastries was reduced to the last half of the last, runty one, a smear of cream, and some crumbs scattered in a shape for divination. Nina didn’t know what the hell they could mean except failure. She had opened ledgers, cross-referenced dates, sworn up and down on her grandmother’s grave and the Fjerdan constitution once she’d learned Matthias was an Fjerdan ex-pat, and four hours later, they were at an impasse. Well, she was calling it an impasse because the alternative was rather… grim.

“You are seriously telling me you are going to have me arrested for five, no six counts of violations of fiduciary trust and embezzlement and fraud if I can’t get you those documents? Tonight?” she said. Maybe saying it out loud would make Matthias Helvar realize how outrageous he was being.

“I believe we could wait until morning. Unless you are a flight risk, though I warn you, I have contacts in Fjerda, Shu-Han and Kerch who would be happy to help extradite you,” he said. He hadn’t appeared to realize anything at all in re: his accusations of nefarious activity and the attendant legal consequences and she admitted to herself she’d wasted the second to last pastry on him. She felt the impulse to ask why he couldn’t work with anyone in the Wandering Isle, if it was just that they considered him a wee, mawkish, knuckle-headed gombeen and laughed their arses off when he tried any of his extradition nonsense; she’d spent a semester abroad at the University of Leflin and couldn’t imagine any of her mates giving Matthias the time of day. It would only provide a moment’s satisfaction to spout off and she had too much on the line to risk—they might not know it, but the entire Grisha Ballet was depending on her right now, for their very existence (and pay checks with the appropriate taxes deducted.)

Nina took a deep breath, considered trying to get Kirigan on the phone, dismissed that as the equivalent of throwing gasoline on a fire and then jumping into a volcano, and strove for a professional tone, well-aware that there were crumbs on the sleeve of her blouse.

“Mr. Helvar, I’m sure we can work this out. I told you, there are documents that would resolve these issues. I simply don’t have them at hand,” she said. “I’m very happy to get them for you tomorrow.” Very happy was a stretch and after four hours, he had to know it, but she doubted he’d call her out.

“I’ll get them myself, if you’ll tell me where to obtain them,” he replied.

“That’s not possible. You wouldn’t be allowed,” she said. She’d been hoping it wouldn’t get to this point, because trying to explain Tsibeya was just going to be weird.

“I can get a warrant,” he said.

“You don’t need a warrant. You just need to let me get them for you. It’s no trouble for me to do it,” Nina said. It was a warning he would probably be completely unable to appreciate and as much as he annoyed her, she wasn’t eager to see him post unauthorized visit to Tsibeya. If he made it out in one piece, that piece might be a gibbering idiot. He had far too attractive a chin to ruin it with lots of drool.

“And let you tamper with critical evidence? Or destroy it? I think not, Miss Zenik,” he said. She could tell he was about to lose his temper and as intriguing as part of her found that (would he finally take off his suit jacket and roll up his sleeves? Would his eyes flash blue like summer lightning in the mountains or would that pale face flush most attractively?), the rest of her knew which side her zavarnoy was buttered on and more importantly, how much more she had to fear from Aleksander Kirigan’s rage and despair.

“Fine, you can come with me,” she said.

“Come with you?”

“It’s a day’s drive if we get started early and they can put us up for the night at the guest-house,” she said. “They won’t like it but they’ll do it if I ask. Nicely. Which I am prepared to do. You can follow me, we’ll caravan,” she said.

“And risk you losing me on the way? We’ll take my car,” he said.

“Stubborn much?”

“It’s non-negotiable,” he answered.

“A truck would be better,” she said, thinking of the increasingly poor road conditions and the general Ravka winter weather forecast which ranged from bleak to Little Ice Age. “You have four-wheel drive?”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” he said.

“We’re going to drive a government issued Ukaz with front-wheel drive to Tsibeya. This’ll go well,” Nina sighed. She wasn’t a woman given to sighing, but the next few days were eminently sigh-worthy. And she’d technically be working, so that put drinking, even from a discreet flask, a non-starter. She was bringing the flask anyway, even it was only for moral support.

“Oh ye of little faith,” he said, surprising her with a very small smile.

*

“I’m sure it will be fine, he said,” Nina muttered, loud enough for Matthias (he had become so in her internal monologue after the first three hours) to hear despite the howling wind, occasional lashing of snow-well-on-its-way-to-just-being-ice-pellets, and the racket he was making trying to repair the bullet-grey Ukaz currently listing on the road’s shoulder. He might have made an acerbic reply (he was given to those, she’d discovered) but that was the moment when he slipped a little and managed to spill the contents of the gas can he’d prudently brought all over his shoes, suit pants and three-seasons-old wool peacoat.

“Well, shit,” he said and Nina almost laughed, finally finding herself in agreement with him.

“We passed a motel a mile back,” she said. “Can you make it?”

“Have to, don’t we?” Matthias said. “The car is dead and we’ll freeze if we try to stay here until someone drives by.”

“No one’s going to drive by,” Nina said. “I don’t even know how that motel stays in business.”

[prorevenge]

You want to think you can threaten me with no consequences, enjoy jail time.

This is my 1st Post I ever made on here, and I have a few Stories to tell if anyone is interested, but here it is, I used to work at a Gas Station (Me being only 20 at the time, I needed a job since I was new to my area after moving from one state to another) and the job was good, the Manager....she was awesome, she was the sweetest thing before she left and the manager after was just as awesome before I moved to a new apartment, but the previous Assistant Manager when I started working there....Lets call him Richard, for obvious reasons. And lets call the 1st Manager Angel (Obviously not real name).

Richard was known to be a very hostile, creepy ass when not around the manager, and made us try to do his load of the work and blamed us for being lazy when we couldn't do it and our jobs fast enough. My Co-workers and I had brought the situation to the higher ups numerous times, and as much as she wanted us to be heard, Angel couldn't do anything, and it came to a boiling point 2 months down the line on my end.

Little fact about me, I am timid, I am autistic, and I get very VERY stressed when someone threatens me with my life. I get very very sick to my core and lack of breathing if I have to deal with that, and I used that to my advantage.

On the shift I was supposed to be working that day, I had asked my friend Cross (Not real name) if I could borrow his speaker to listen to my music, my manager said as long as I can do my job behind the register and Cross was okay with it, I can listen to my music, and I asked specifically if I can borrow it to take home for a couple days until my new Speaker came in that I brought the previous paycheck, Cross said okay, and shift change happened and Richard came in. He sees me listening to my music and he asks me to play his music from his phone on Cross' speaker, I said no, the speaker is mine for the next couple days and I don't want to be held responsible for any damage, he then whispers under his breathe for me to hear but for the cameras in the store to not pick up "I have a knife you know" and I basically in a single moment, and quickly too, came up with a way to end his BS.

​

The Revenge:

I yelled at him loud enough to him so the cameras can pick it up, knowing that he would have to say something to defend himself "Why are you threatening me with a knife?!" and I kinda had a mixture of fear if he actually had one, and determination to make this man suffer for me and my co-workers verbal abuse and sexual harassment for the past couple months. He backs away and said "Hey Hey it was just a joke, chill out" and I knew I had to do something because at that point, I said "A joke huh? Here is a good joke, have fun working alone, I quit" I walked out, called my mother who I lived with nearby, explained the situation in tears after the adrenaline and fear finished its end, and I then was told and called my Manager to explain to her the situation. I then told her that I knew he had the knife on him, because I saw a Pocketknife in the Office, and it was a custom one with his name on it.

Me and my mom after she picked me up and took me back to the store to talk with my manager, I wound up in a situation, with the Manager, the Branch Manager, and the District Manager asking about what happened, and I explained it again, calmer now, in full, and they asked if I was okay, I told them: "No, I have a guy who has been sexually harassing my other co-workers, verbally assaulting me and the others, try and threaten an autistic person who did nothing except say no to using a speaker, get threatened with a knife, I do not feel safe with him around"

​

They asked me about the speaker, I called Cross, and he confirmed I asked to borrow the speaker overnight and backed me up with what the Assistant Manager has done in the past, and at that point, police were called, they checked the cameras and heard me yelling about the knife, and after a few months, I come to learn he got fired from his last job and arrested for them finding out he was in jail for "Threatening Physical Harm to a Disabled Person" "Sexual Harassment" "Sexual Assault" and "Unauthorized Concealed Weapon"

He wanted a Speaker, he got a speaker, a few speakers on a podium who put his ass in jail about a week after

(Sorry for my formatting, I am kinda new to this and I want a place to share some of the crazy stuff I have done)

Edit: Kinda forgotten to add that the police had saw the video of me mentioning the knife

(source) story by (/u/MaxxAsura)

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (156/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place about 1000 years before 66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[1 December Age 893, Earth.]

Throughout the night, Trunks had been exploring the simulated universe in the popular arcade game Super Dragon Ball Heroes.   To the Earthlings of the 9th Century, it was just a video game about famous warriors and battles from history, but it was in fact a secret project backed by the Time Patrol.   The game world in SDBH was a scale model of the actual universe, based upon the Scroll of Eternity itself.   This provided a unique gaming experience for the unsuspecting civilians, but it also allowed Time Patrollers like Trunks to conduct research and interact with historical events without altering history.   His main objective to was to learn more about his new partner, Luffa.    So far, he had spoken to several Saiyans across time and space, and each answer he found seemed to raise a new question.

At the Hero Lab, where the SDBH game was programmed and maintained, Trunks pondered these questions over takeout food.    Dr. Leggings had cleared off her desk for the plates and napkins.    Her assistant, a girl named Anne, was fussing over the bags of food, determined to make sure everyone’s order was accounted for and properly distributed.   No one asked her to do this, but she was the type who couldn’t relax otherwise.    She still complained about it, but Trunks knew she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nearby, Beat and Note had rolled their own chairs to face one another, and they each propped their feet up on the edge of the other's seat.    He had recruited them for help on a case when they were younger, and it was strange to see them as teenagers.   He wondered if there was something more than friendship developing between them, or if they themselves were aware of it, but it seemed undignified to ask, so he let it go.    There were more important things to consider anyway.

"The main job's been accomplished, at least," Trunks said after he swallowed a bite of eggroll.    "I know where Camelia's key planets are located, and our historians can probably fill in a more complete map of the galaxy from that era.   Then we can work with Luffa to figure out the correct date and location she came from."

"You don't sound very satisfied with that, Master," Note said as she fished out a piece of shrimp from her takeout box and fed it to Beat.  

"I'm not," Trunks said.   "We thought Luffa might be from a distant civilization, but one in the present day.    Now, it's starting to look like she's from our galaxy, but eleven centuries in the past.   Maybe twelve.   The Rehval that I spoke with was the third Saiyan King with that name.    The one Luffa mentioned may have been his father or grandfather."

"Why is that bad, Trunks?" Beat asked.   He found a piece of pork in his box and passed it from his chopsticks to Note's chopsticks.    "I mean, so what if she’s from twelve centuries in the past?   You guys are the Time Patrol, after all.   If anyone can send her home, you can."

"It's not that we can't send her back," Beat, " Trunks said.   "The problem is that I'm not so sure we should.   From the start, I just assumed Luffa was from the present time, or close to it.   Without realizing it, I've shown Luffa things that will happen in her distant future.    To us, it's the past, but if we send her back with that knowledge, she could change the course of history."

"Would she?"  Note asked.    "I mean, I'm sure she's an honorable person, or Shenron wouldn't have chosen her as your ally, Master.   And now that she's seen the dangers involved with time anomalies, I'm sure she'd never tell anyone what she learned about our era."

"It's not that simple, I'm afraid," said Dr. Leggings.    She was chewing on a bone from her order of spare ribs, and Trunks couldn't help but appreciate a very faint resemblance she had to his father.   Leggings looked a lot more like his mother, particularly with the way she wore her green hair in a ponytail.    She was no warrior, but there were definite hints of Saiyan to her.    He liked this.   In his own timeline, Trunks was an only child, and the last of his father's people.   It was comforting to spend time in places like Hero Town and Toki Toki City, where he had an extended family of sorts, no matter how distant.  

"What do you mean, doctor?" Note asked.

"We've seen how even minor changes in the past can cause major changes in the present," Leggings said.   "The game world makes it easy to see, because we can jump from one time period to another very quickly, and we can reset those changes as easily as refreshing a computer.   It's not just a matter of winning a battle you were supposed to lose, or telling secrets that you aren't supposed to know about.   Luffa might change history without even realizing she's done it."

"She's right," Trunks said.   "When I first went back to the past, I tried to be careful not to make any unwanted changes.   I only wanted to warn Goku about the Cyborgs and give him the medicine for the heart virus.    But somehow he got sick about six months later than I expected.   I still have no idea why that happened.   My guess is that he was training for the Cyborgs, so he must have been in a different place than he was in my timeline, so he wasn't infected under the same circumstances."  

"You think Luffa might do something differently, now that she knows what's going to happen to the Saiyans?" Beat asked.

"She might," Trunks said.   "Luffa hates King Rehval, and now that I've met the guy, I can't say I blame her.   If I understand correctly, there's a direct throughline connecting Rehval's policies with the class system used by my grandfather on Planet Vegeta.   So she might blame Rehval for the downfall of the Saiyan race, and try to take revenge.   For that matter, she knows about the Dragon Balls on Namek.   She might be tempted to use them in the past, to try to make wishes to prevent some of the terrible things she's seen in the future."

"That'd be good, wouldn't it?" Beat asked.    

"Not for you, it wouldn't," Note said in a scolding tone.    "Son Goku is your ancestor, isn't he?   If the history of the Saiyans changes too much, then they might never send Goku to Earth, and you would never be born."

"Oh, right," Beat said.   "Maybe Luffa should stay in Toki Toki City, then."

"And that could have consequences too," Trunks said.    "Luffa might still play a role in history, however small.   Shenron may have only brought her to us because he knew the Time Patrol would eventually put her back.    But there's also the matter of her power level..."

"Power?" Anne asked.   She had already finished her meal and was busily cleaning up the discarded cartons and wrappers.     "Don't tell me that's a problem on top of everything else!"

"Yup, I'm afraid so, Anne," Trunks said.    "Luffa's done well on her missions, but she's nowhere near as powerful as what I had expected.   Now that I know what time period she's from, that makes more sense.   King Rehval told me he was the strongest Saiyan of his era, and he's a lot stronger than Luffa, but he wouldn't stand a chance against the kinds of enemies I've had to fight.   Luffa defeated the Ginyu Force, and Rehval might have handled them more easily but that's about all I could expect from either of them."  

"That's nothing you can't fix, Master!" Note said.   "I'm sure you can train Luffa just as well as you trained us!"

"I appreciate your confidence, Note," Trunks said, "but Luffa's not exactly what I'd call 'teachable'.   Besides, she seems to have improved dramatically on her own.   Even she doesn't understand how she's doing it, but she may catch up before too long.   But if she returns to her own time with all that extra strength, then that could mess up history too.    And if she has to remain with us, then I'm not sure she'll be any good on future missions."

"Why not?" Beat asked.   "She's sure to get stronger."

"I thought so too, but maybe I've been taking that for granted," Trunks said.   "I'm used to dealing with Saiyans descended from Son Goku, or from my own family.    Goku and Vegeta were extraordinary fighters, even among Saiyans, but Luffa could be... Well, there's no gentle way to put this.   She might not have the same potential."

"You're not going to just fire her, are you?" Note asked.    

"Of course not," Trunks said.   "If we can't send her home, I'm sure we can find a place for her in the Time Patrol.   But we can't risk sending her on certain missions.   Towa and Mira are dangerous, and if I'm right, their raids on history's warriors are only going to get bolder.   Luffa could find herself in deep waters with no one to help her.   Shenron may have granted my wish, and maybe she is the best person for the job, but that doesn't mean I can gamble with her life.   I need more information before she goes back into the field."

"I'm sure whatever happens, it'll all work out, Trunks," Beat said.    

"You always say stuff like that," Note groaned.  

"Well, I'm right, aren't I?" Beat shrugged.    "Well, most of the time, anyway."

"This has been fun, but I should probably get moving," Trunks said.    "I need to report my findings to the Time Patrol, and maybe the Supreme Kai of Time has a fresh lead on Towa."

"You have to leave already?" Beat asked.    "But it feels like you just got here!"

"Yeah, it was beginning to feel like the old days," Note said.  

"I've missed you guys too," Trunks said.   He stood up and brushed loose grains of rice from his pants.   "You've grown up a lot while I've been away.    You too, Anne."

"I guess it's kind of childish how I keep calling you, 'Master'," Note said.   "Force of habit, I suppose."

"You're welcome to call me 'Trunks' if you want, Note.    But to be honest, it reminds me of when I was a kid.   I used to call Gohan 'Master', back when he trained me to fight the Cyborgs.   He meant a lot to me.   Hearing you say it... It's a good feeling."    

"I'll keep the Hero Switches ready in case you come back," Leggings said.    "You'll probably need to do some follow-up work to pin down an exact time for Luffa."

"Good call," Trunks said as he slung his sword over his shoulder.   "I'll probably have to bring her with me.   I'll see if I can get her to make some more of that lasagna she made for us the other day."  

"Lasagna?" Beat asked.    But Trunks vanished before he could get an answer.  

*******

[4 March, Age 850.  Toki Toki City.]

Luffa felt ridiculous doing this, but she had no other ideas for how to handle the situation.   She knew the way from her apartment to the Time Nest, and the Time Vault was unlocked and unguarded, but she had no idea what to do on her own.   Trunks had always contacted her whenever she was needed, and he always had the Scroll ready to send her on her next mission.     Without him, it seemed that the Time Vault was a useless building with a tree sticking out of the roof.    And so, her only way forward was the Supreme Kai of Time, who lived in a modest capsule house in the Time Nest, next door to the Time Vault.    Luffa felt awkward simply entering the house, and so she went back to her apartment and baked a cake.   That wouldn't make things less awkward for her, but at least there would be something to eat during her visit.    

"Luffa, Hi!" Chronoa said as she answered the knock on her door.    "Ooh, what's that?  It smells good."

"Uh, I got in a mood, so I made some cake," Luffa said, in a failed attempt to sound nonchalant.   "And I thought I should check and see if you and Trunks had any update on the search."

"Afraid not," Chronoa said.   "But perfect timing on the cake.   I just put on a pot of tea.   Come on in!"

The interior of Chronoa's house was littered with technological gizmos.    There were entire jet engines laying around the Time Nest, and it seemed that this was because those larger objects were the only ones that wouldn't fit inside.    Chronoa tossed several of them off one of the couch cushions and gestured for Luffa to take a seat.    

"I'm glad you finally came over," Chronoa said.   "I was worried that you might be having trouble fitting in with the Time Patrol."

"It's uh... it's not so bad," Luffa said.   "My roommate is kind of weird, but we get along well enough.    I've met a few people here."

"They're all a very special bunch of people," Chronoa said.   "I haven't been able to get to know them all as well as I'd like to, but they've helped me out a lot.   That goes for you too, Luffa."

"Listen, uh... I think I owe you an apology," Luffa said.   "I was in a pretty bad place right before I ended up here, and... well, I might have taken out some of my frustrations on you and your staff."

"You've had to adjust to a lot of changes very quickly, Luffa," Chronoa said.    "And we didn't exactly give you a choice about coming here.    You're entitled to get frustrated with us."

"Thanks, but... I'm a mercenary," Luffa said.   "Well, I used to be.   My parents always taught me how important it was to maintain a professional discipline around the clients.   I don't think I've lived up to my own standards."

"I don't think of the other Time Patrollers as mercenaries, Luffa," Chronoa said.   "We're a team, and we're friends.    At least, I'd like to think of you as a friend."

"Yeah, I guess so," Luffa said.   "I... Can I ask you something?"

"Sure!"

"You're a god, aren't you?   A god of time."

"That's right."

"Don't you already know how all of this turns out?"

Chronoa chuckled as she sipped her tea.  

"Did I say something wrong?" Luffa asked.

"No, I get that a lot, actually," Chronoa said.   "The short answer is: no, I don't know the future.    Not in the way you're thinking of.    I watch over time, and maintain the flow of time.   When it's necessary, I correct problems in that flow.  But I don't make time, or control it."  

"It's just... I'm kind of anxious to get back on the trail of those demons," Luffa said.   "And we've been waiting for them to make their next move, and it occurred to me that it doesn't make much sense that we have to wait.    You could jump ahead to the moment when they've already made their play."

"Well, now that's something I could do," Chronoa said.   I can travel to the future and find out when the next mission happens.   I could even take you with me so you wouldn't have to wait."

"You can?" Luffa said.

"Oh yeah!" Chronoa said.   "I can do a lot of things.   But I shouldn't do it, so I won't."

"Oh."

"It's not an arbitrary rule, either," Chronoa said.   "Most Supreme Kais are only permitted to travel forward through time, and only to observe future events.   They can't interfere, so they have to limit their use of that power.    With me, the problem is that if I skip around too much, I run the risk of upsetting the balance of my own timeline.   Things have to proceed in order.   That's what time is all about."

"I guess that makes sense," Luffa said.  "Honestly, I had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy, or you would have already done it.  But I had to ask."

"You’re right, it’s not that easy.   In fact, it's part of the reason I established the Time Patrol," Chronoa said.   "For millions of years, keeping watch over the flow of time was pretty simple.  I just had to keep Tokitoki fed and watered, give him plenty of enrichment.   But as the universe grows older, it becomes more complex.    Once, there was no Supreme Kai of Time.   We didn't even need one.   But then we did, and now we've reached a point where I need a whole staff to help maintain things.   If I could just jump back and forth in time any way I wanted, maybe I could do the whole thing alone.   But it’s more satisfying this way, with all of you.”

"Why mortals?   Why not get other Kais to do this work?" Luffa asked.  

"Because there aren't enough of us, for one thing," Chronoa said.    "We come from a place called the 'World Core'.    There aren't many Core People, and few of us ever achieve the rank of Kai.    Fewer still ascend to the status of Grand Kai, and even fewer make it to Supreme Kai.   There used to be seven Supreme Kais in this universe, including me.   These days, there's only three."

"Is three enough?" Luffa asked.

"For now, it'll have to be," Chronoa said.   "Besides, I've found that mortals are very dedicated and resourceful.   To say nothing of all the technology they produce..."

She reached for an end table and picked up a machine that looked vaguely like a can opener combined with an alarm clock.    Luffa expected her to use the device, but instead Chronoa simply admired its surfaces.  

"So what's all this stuff for, anyway?" Luffa asked, gesturing to the assortment of similar gadgets that lay in every direction.  

"Nothing in particular," Chronoa said.   "I just find their designs fascinating.   The electronics, the cogwheels, the little blinking lights.   It's helpful for contemplating the nature of time."

"If you say so," Luffa said.    

"Without time, everything would happen all at once," Chronoa explained.  "Birth, death, creation, destruction, none of that would mean anything without the passage of time to separate those moments.   The oven you used to bake this cake.   Without time, there would be no need for it.   Cooking would be meaningless.    You can't preheat an oven or leave a cake inside for seven hours, not when there's no hours."

"S-seven hours?" Luffa asked, but Chronoa paid no mind.    

"Mixing the ingredients would be pointless, too.    Even the pan you put it in, it would be unnecessary, because there could be no cause or effect.    There could be no hunger, because there would be no time for you to become hungry."    

"That's why you like these tools, then?"  Luffa asked.   "Their functions remind you of the flow of time?"

"Yes, that's one way of looking at it," Chronoa said.     She picked up another object that had a handle connected to a transparent dome on wheels.   Inside the dome were several colorful plastic balls, which bounced around inside as Chronoa pushed it along the floor.  

"What does that thing do?" Luffa asked.  

"Oh, this is just a child's toy," Chronoa said.   "Same idea though."

"Okay..."   Luffa decided this was as good a time as any to serve the cake.   It was yellow with chocolate frosting, a recipe which suited her aesthetics, though she had no idea what flavor “yellow” was supposed to be.    She wondered if “yellow” was a kind of fruit, like the oranges used to make the juice she had discovered while shopping.

 "Very impressive," Chronoa said as she took a bite.   "You must have turned the oven up to full power for this."

"Uh, not exactly," Luffa said nervously.   She was beginning to get the impression that Chronoa had no idea how cooking worked.  "Jayncho found a recipe, and they had everything I needed in the Industrial District.   I've been using my downtime to get a handle on Earth cuisine."

"That's great!   You know... when we figure out how to get you home, Luffa, you wouldn't have to stay there.    You could come back for missions."  

"Huh?"

"We have a lot of Patrollers who still live on Earth, in their own native eras.    Mostly ranging from Age 850 to 1050, but there are a few exceptions, like Trunks."

"Well, that's nice and all," Luffa said, "but I don't know that it would work for me..."

"Do you have any family?"

Luffa hesitated before answering.    "No," she said.   "It's just me." To explain further would require her to reveal that she knew she was from the distant past, and she wasn't ready to divulge that just yet.   She wasn't sure she ever would be.   But somehow, sitting in Chronoa's home, sharing snacks with her while they watched the view outside her window, Luffa felt like she could trust her.

She just wouldn't trust her today.  Not yet.   Like Chronoa had said, these things had to happen in the proper order.

"Have you heard of ‘Providence,’ Chronoa?" Luffa asked.

"I know the term, if that's what you mean." she said with her mouth full.  

"My... a friend of mine, she believed in a divine plan.  I just wondered if you, or one of the other Kais, had any connection to that."

"Are you religious yourself, Luffa?"

"Not really.   But I've known people who were.   You wouldn't know a god with nine eyes, by any chance, would you?"

"No, I can't say that I do," Chronoa said.  

"What about Beerus?"

"Oh, well that's different," Chronoa said.   "You see-- Wait, what was that?"

She put her plate on the coffee table and stood up, as though looking for something beyond the walls of her house.    

"What is it?" Luffa asked.  Her own senses picked up nothing out of the ordinary. 

"Something's wrong," Chronoa said.    "We need to go to the Time Vault."

"Is it Towa and Mira?" Luffa asked.  

"I'm not sure," Chronoa said, “but I think it could be."

Luffa punched her right hand with her left as she stood up from the sofa.   At last, it seemed like her waiting was over.

*******

[24 December, Age 762.   Planet Namek.]

The Namekian Dragon Balls were ordinary stones.   Two wishes had been granted, but they petrified upon the death of their creator, Guru.   When Frieza arrived to discover this predicament, he was furious.    So furious, that he wasted no time in destroying the objects of his wrath.    Within minutes, Krillin, Vegeta, and the Namekian child, Dende, were all dead.    Piccolo, newly resurrected by the Dragon Balls, joined the battle, but far too later to do any good.   Gohan was next, and then the only one left was Goku.    

"Who... are you?" Frieza asked, as Goku cradled his dead son in his arms.     "Never mind.   I don't need to know."

Goku followed the others soon after. 

*******

[4 March, Age 850.    Toki Toki City.]

"It has to be Towa," Chronoa said.   She had the Scroll of Eternity unfurled on the great octagonal table in the Time Vault.    Luffa watched over her shoulder, while Tokitoki flapped his wings and hooted overhead.    

"This looks like the same day as the Ginyu Force battle I was just in," Luffa said. 

"It is," Chronoa said.  "This new temporal change takes place thirty-seven minutes after you left.    Towa must have decided it was the last place we would expect her to strike.   I didn't think she was prepared to try her energy stealing techniques on someone as powerful as Frieza."

Luffa had never actually seen Frieza before.    Until now, she had only heard about him.   During her previous mission, the Ginyu Force and Vegeta had spoken of him as being present on Namek, but occupied elsewhere.   Before that, she had heard about Frieza's conquest and destruction of the Saiyan homeworld from the Toki Toki City historian, Dewar.    Dewar had said that Frieza was a clansman of his own species, and now that Luffa could see Frieza in the mystical images generated by the Scroll, she could see the resemblance.   Mostly, Frieza had purple colorations wherever Dewar had blue, and Frieza didn't bother wearing clothes.   He was a white-skinned, muscular humanoid with no hair and three-toed feet.    A long, thick tail waved behind him.  The purple aura from Towa's magic seemed to suit his cruel, indifferent expression.  

"Looks like it's the same story as before," Luffa said.    "Frieza got a power boost and he overwhelmed these guys too quickly, so I'll have to step in and balance the scales."

"It's not that simple," Chronoa warned.   "Frieza is far more powerful than anyone you've faced so far."

"He can't swap bodies like Captain Ginyu, can he?" Luffa asked.    

"No, but--"

"Well then, this should be a lot more straightforward," Luffa said,  She held up her hands and began cracking her knuckles.  

"Wait," Chronoa said.   "Luffa, I really think we should hold off on this until Trunks gets back."

"What for?" Luffa asked.   "I'm the one who has to go on these missions, and I'm ready right now.   With any luck, those miserable demons will still be there, and I can pick up where I left off."

"You don't know what you're dealing with, Luffa," Chronoa warned.  "Every time you've come back from these missions, you've been badly hurt.    Fighting Frieza is one thing.   If he hurts you, you can be automatically recalled to the Time Nest before you die.   But if Towa decides to step in, that might not work.   She's already threatened you, and there's a lot we don't know about her temporal manipulation abilities."

"Then it's time we found out," Luffa insisted.   "I don't know what kind of Saiyans you have working for you in the Time Patrol, but I'm the kind that doesn't back down from a challenge.    I think your pet Dragon noticed that, and maybe that's why he brought me here to help you out."

"There's more at stake here than whatever chip you have on your shoulder, Luffa," Chronoa said.  "I can tell you're out to prove something.   I don't know what, but I won't risk your life like this."

"And what happens if they try to alter history somewhere else while we're waiting around?" Luffa asked.   "We need to address this sooner rather than later.   And no matter what we do, it's going to be me who ends up going.   You know I'm right, Supreme Kai of Time.    I wouldn't be here if I weren't."  

Chronoa regarded her for a moment, then looked back at the Scroll.    "All right, we'll try it your way," she said.   "But I'll be watching, and at the first sign of trouble, I'm pulling you out of there."

"Thanks," Luffa said.   "I was thinking about making a grab for the Scroll, but I didn’t want to upset you.   I've never fought a god before, and I didn't want to make things awkward between us.”

"Uh... sure.   Well, promise me that you’ll keep that in mind if I have to bring you back from the mission early," Chronoa said.   "If you can't handle Frieza, then you definitely don't need to be picking fights with me."

Luffa smiled as she picked up the Scroll, and then she was gone.

NEXT: 「F」

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 118

SYNOPSIS: When Fergus and Murtagh entered the Common Area there is pandemonium everywhere but Section cannot find the source of the breach. Murtagh heads off to Med Lab unaware that Fergus has been summoned to the Perch.

Chapter 117  and all other chapters can be found at…  https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

THANK YOU  to all who have been reading my story about all of the machinations that happen in Section One. Jamie and Claire are still in Med Lab, Fergus and Murtagh have found out some interesting Intel and Dougal's brother is keeping tabs on the happenings with the Riding Dragons' mission. As a consequence of finding the Intel on Jamie all hell has broken out and the chaos is escalating in Section. Thankfully next chapter we will see how Jamie and Claire are faring. Thanks for your observations on the previous chapter and for your kind words. I really appreciate that you are engaged in this story as much as I am.

  CHAPTER 118 When Fergus and Murtagh finally entered the Common Area there was pandemonium everywhere and it looked as if all hell had broken out. They shared a look realizing that they were the cause of the commotion. The two friends' innocuous adventure had turned into an all-out circus as Comm. Was crowded with Operatives running around trying to locate the intruder. Orders were flying every which way as everyone tried to find the source of the breach.  "Have we localized?" "I think I've got something around Segment 35." "The upper levels are clear ... Send security there." Fergus looked very worried as he knew they wouldn't find anything but he still quickly made his way to his station as if he had never been missing and seamlessly eased back into his tactical role while Murtagh slipped away over to Munitions. Wanting to know if there was any chance that Tactical had found anything to link Murtagh and him to the problem Fergus asked, "The depth of the breach?"  His co-worker, Marsali MacKimmie looked over at him and replied. "We don't know everything yet, but we do know whoever it is may have tried to tap into restricted files."  "What's the contingency?"  "I don't know yet." ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ A short while later Murtagh Fitzgibbons crossed over the Common Area and moved to stand beside Fergus and the other tactical operatives who ignored him and kept on working. As he listened to the confusion going on, Murtagh's expression inferred that he had no idea what all the excitement was about, but in actual fact he surveyed the happenings trying to think of a way to offset the uproar they had caused. If Operations found out that he and Fergus were in fact responsible for the chaos that now ensued then there would be recriminations for the both of them.  "Hey. What's going on? " He inquired nonchalantly. "Someone broke deep level security," one of the tactical operatives replied. "There could be a hostile loose within Section." He kept up the charade and asked, "Do they know who?" "No but Tech's all over six and seven. I've never seen it like this before. " Marsali replied. "What can I do?"  Fergus watched the interaction with the technicians and couldn't believe Murtagh had uttered those words. His eyes conveyed that very message as he said, "Stay out of the way." His buddy didn't reply to Fergus' veiled response for his gaze caught the movement of three figures entering the Common Area. He looked across to see two operatives enter with a cuffed Gavin Hayes between them, then he darted his eyes to see a furious Operations storm into the Common Area as well. By the thunderous look on his leader's face, Murtagh just knew that Madeline and Operations' meeting with Colum had not gone well and now to top it off, Section had a security breach which he and Fergus were responsible for. Dougal Mackenzie was in no mood for rational thought. Someone was going to pay for the extra pressure on Section One and it appeared that someone was a hapless Hayes who was merely doing his job.  The shackled operative looked incredulous as to why he had been escorted here. The two operatives marched him up before the head of Section and Gavin Hayes looked up to see an enraged look on Operations' face. He tried to explain the situation while trying to keep the panic from his voice.

"I didn't do anything! I was just responding to the alarm. "  Unfortunately, Dougal Mackenzie wasn't buying his explanation. He was livid. "You were in a closed zone! You must have been viewing unauthorized Intel. "  "No, I wasn't! The doors just snapped shut when we went in search of the intruder. " Operations ignored him and gave orders to the operatives escorting Hayes. "Take him to the White Room." "But I didn't do anything," he protested as they took him away. " Ask Lesley ... he will verify for me. I was just doing my job. " Operations glared over at Murtagh and Fergus before stalking back to his office. The two men shook in their boots as the look he gave them indicated that no one was immune from suspicion including them and that he was determined to get to the bottom of the breach. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ A while later Fergus walked over to Munitions with his mind churning out a dozen possibilities of what would happen to them if Operations and Madeline found out that they were the intruders and especially if they discovered they had accessed Jamie's classified file and the information it contained. He was dejected and fearful for the consequences. Approaching his friend's station where he was busy going over an inventory the young techie uttered worriedly, "Murtagh, I've got to talk to you." "Yeah?" What's wrong, amigo? " "Do you think Operations knows we were responsible?" He looked up hearing the fear in his buddy's voice. "Nah ... he may suspect but there's no proof." "But what if Joe Abernathy tells them he saw us ... hmm? What then? "  "Then I guess we face the music." In almost a whisper Fergus then leaned in and asked, "What do you think will happen with Gavin Hayes?" "I don't know, but if he's with Madeline my guess is that he's not having fun." Fergus suddenly felt bile rise in his throat.He'd been against searching for Jamie's records in the first place. They'd had one mishap after another which any healthy person would have realized was a bad omen for them, but Murtagh had insisted and now an innocent operative may very well be terminated because of them. That thought weighed heavily on his mind. "That's all I've been able to think about since they took Hayes away," Fergus admonished glaring at his friend, gesticulating with a raised voice. "This is all your fault Murtagh Fitzgibbons! This will be the ace up our sleeves you said ... something to hold over Operations ... our trump card! "  Fearful that someone would overhear their conversation; Murtagh glanced up looking each way to see if anyone was in earshot as Fergus began to rant about their escapades. "Keep your voice down. Are you nuts? Not here and not now. " Lowering his voice Fergus asked gloomily, "What are we going to do?" "I'll let you know." "When?" He replied looking like he had misgivings.  Looking around to see if anyone was watching, Murtagh pulled down his screen. "I need to check up on Jamie and Claire again first, but I'll get back to you ... okay?"  A little placated, but not totally convinced he replied. "Okay."  "In the meantime, pull yourself together Fergus. Remember, there is nothing that points to us breaching Section ... Nothing! "  He was not that convinced but nevertheless Fergus tried to be more composed although inside he was a bundle of nerves. He gave his buddy a quick glance then walked despondently away back to his post. His thoughts as usual were dark. Murtagh had got them into serious trouble this time but he wouldn't let him take all the blame if indeed they were found out. Murtagh had said to pull himself together and he would try to do that or else Operations would become suspicious. In the past when something like this had occurred, Section's Leader had called for a general inquiry. He would certainly do it again unless he was convinced otherwise. Maybe ... just maybe ... he could think of a plausible scenario that would get them off the hook.  He hastened his step to set an idea in motion.  In Operations' Why ... "Are you positive he had nothing to do with the breach?" Operations listened as his second in command gave her report from the White Room where Gavin Hayes had been interrogated. "I see." His face was grim as he severed his connection with Madeline. She'd just reported in that Gavin Hayes was in the clear after all, and that his account of the situation had been verified by Keith Lesley. Now unfortunately he was left with a problem. He was already furious with the meeting they'd had earlier with Colum and now he had the added problem of a suspected breach and no clues as to who it could be. There was much on his mind. Who was responsible for setting off the alarm? Was there an intruder inside Section One or was it a false alarm? Although concerns about the breach were his primary objective, so too were the problems that Colum's visit had caused. Who could be responsible for the Intel he had about Jamie and Claire? … Was someone sending communiqués to him at Oversight?  This had been a very trying day.  Dougal stood up and went to peer down into the hub of Section at the operatives who were busily trying to find whoever was responsible. He glared down from the Perch and happened to notice the spirited discussion between Fergus and Murtagh. The two men seemed to be arguing which was unusual. It was obvious that Fergus Claudel was very nervous about something and was not himself. Suddenly it dawned on him. Could they have had something to do with the security breach but had decided to remain silent? 

Operations studied both operatives' faces remembering that Madeline had said she'd seen the two prior to their meeting with Colum in Committee. 

Was it possible that they had been up to something untoward? Murtagh often tested the waters thinking he and Madeline were not aware of what he was doing. If they were responsible for the breach ... what were they looking for and why? Perhaps Fitzgibbons had been trying to access personal files on Claire or Jamie. The retrieval mission could have whetted his curiosity. He wouldn't put it past him to try and do that especially considering how close he was to Claire and Jamie too, for that matter. The head of Section One observed them more closely and saw the quick glance Fergus had exchanged with the older operative before leaving Munitions so he watched as Section's technical expert walked back across the floor of the Common Area to his station. 

Had Fergus assisted Murtagh in one of his harebrained schemes and now it had backfired on them to cause the chaos in Section? Or more importantly ... Had he been wrong in his beliefs and they really were responsible for sending Intel to Colum? There was only one way to find out. He would get to the bottom of this before Madeline had a chance to question either Fitzgibbons or Claudel. Dougal Mackenzie believed that it would be easy to trip up Section's computer genius to see if he had been involved. He depressed his intercom button.  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

When Murtagh had crossed the main floor of Section, he'd hesitated for a moment thinking about his conversation with Fergus and what had taken place in Systems. Although his friend was worried, he had a far more important matter to attend to first for his mind was pre-occupied with the fate of Claire and Jamie in Medical. Despite this, before turning down the corridor towards Med Lab, he looked back at Technical where his buddy and the other technicians were still busily working.  He wondered if what he and Fergus had attempted to do was all worth it. Perhaps he should have listened to his friend but he was hell bent on finding the information on Jamie for their personal gain. Fergus had been well within his rights to berate him as all hell had broken out because of their little adventure. He knew what they were doing was risky but what he'd done on the mission was risky too. The adrenalin had kept pumping in his veins since his return to Section and he was still on a high about Jamie and Claire's rescue. Finding his Intel seemed like a piece of cake after what the team had gone through on the retrieval mission. He should have realized that being in Section One was profoundly different than being on a mission but his pride had gotten in the way. Consequently, they had stumbled over one obstacle after another in their quest to find Jamie's Intel and the surprise information concerning his relationship to Operations and Colum Mackenzie. Fergus' concerns were valid and he should have listened to his friend but he'd refused to do so thinking that he was invincible. The two friends had tried their best but had just fallen short at the last hurdle. Had it not been for that alarm going off, then they would have been home and hosed even though they had no Intel to barter with. Now Fergus was worried that they would be put into abeyance and it was all his fault. He had to admit that he was a sixty-year-old hippy who had never grown up. He should have known better than to involve his friend in his harebrained schemes and with the wisdom of hindsight he would have done things differently. Now the two of them could be in serious trouble if Operations were to call for a general inquiry unless he or Fergus could come up with a plan. Smiling to himself he was confident that his computer savvy friend would be sure to think of a way to spread the situation and take the heat off of them without his help. Fergus was after all; Section One's top computer expert and he would be able to come up with a number of plausible reasons why the alarm went off.  Turning the corner, Murtagh left the problems of Systems behind and made his way to Med Lab to see how Jamie and Claire were faring. His gait quickened as he neared his destination unaware of what was to occur in his absence and that Fergus would be summoned to the Perch. Knowing that it had been over twenty-four hours he was eager to know if Jamie was out of the woods and he was keen to see for himself how his Sugar was coping. Dr Johnson should also know by now how the two patients were and what their prognosis was. In no time, despite all the scenarios of his thought processes, Murtagh was finally at Med Lab and entered through the glass doors. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ "Fergus!" Operations' gruff voice suddenly blared from the intercom. He looked up at the sound of Dougal Mackenzie's stern directive. It was commonplace for Section's leader to be abrupt in his summons to the Perch but Fergus saw that he was glaring down at his station. That ... was a bad omen. With a feeling of unease, he responded, trying to keep his voice steady as he replied. "Yes sir?"  "I need to see you in my office."   ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ Nervously he got up, and like a dead man walking made his way to the Perch. His mind was at sixes and sevens as to what Operations could want although he suspected it was something to do with the breach in the restricted area. Had Dougal managed to find out that he and Murtagh were involved in the breach after all? Had he spoken to Abernathy or did he just want to see if Tactical had been able to find something?  Fergus knew he would have to muster enough Dutch courage to face his leader's inquisition especially if he suspected them of being involved. It was highly probable that Operations had heard from Joe Abernathy although Murtagh seemed to think not. Fergus feared that he may have reported that he'd found them in a restricted area. He also worried about the ramifications of his bald lie. That in itself was a certain abeyance issue. Murtagh and he were lucky that Abernathy hadn't pressed the issue about who had given him clearance, but it was still at the back of his mind that he may very well have to face the music about the incident especially as he'd said he had clearance from Operations to be there. Why, oh why had he gone along with his friend's harebrained idea? After all the trials and tribulations that Murtagh and he had encountered in their quest to find Intel on Jamie, which his friend was adamant they needed but had failed to gain, he certainly hoped that that the gods of favor were finally smiling on him and that the two of them weren't skating on thin ice and drowning quicker than a lead weight. They'd had one mishap after another with the worst culminating in the phantom breach which was now using up Section's vital resources and all for naught as it had been a wild goose chase. He hoped he could think of something to stop the investigation and appease Operations at the same time.  Standing on the threshold of Operations' office Fergus composed himself for whatever may come, and remembering Murtagh's parting words to him.  

“ Pull yourself together Claudel. Remember, there is nothing that points to us breaching Section ... Nothing! "   ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ Fergus entered the Perch under the guise of bravado and feigned confidence but also with trepidation of his fate. He stood silently before speaking. "You wanted to see me?" "Come in."  Operations watched his tactical technician but to his surprise he seemed more composed than before. "The security breach is unresolved. You wouldn't know what happened in that sector would you Fergus? " "Who me?" "Yes ... you. Madeline said she saw you and Murtagh Fitzgibbons in that vicinity earlier. Why was that? " Fergus stumbled over his words caught by surprise by his leader's frankness. He'd completely forgotten that they had run into Madeline when she exited the elevator and he trembled in his boots in fear of what she had told Operations about seeing them in the corridor.

"We ... we were ... heading back to the Common Area."  "What was Murtagh doing with you?" His heart began to pound. This was it. This was the time that Operations would want an explanation.  He had to think fast and replied with conviction suddenly remembering his friend's reply to Madeline. "Murtagh was stretching his legs. He wanted to clear his head and we went for a walk, but somehow, we lost our bearings while talking. With all that had happened with Jamie and Claire ... and the mission and everything ... "His voice trailed off and Fergus hoped that his superior would have some leniency in thinking that this was indeed what could have happened.  Operations studied the young techie's face looking for any body language that would alert to his bluffing. He saw none. "Well ... if I hear that you and Murtagh Fitzgibbons were somewhere without authorization then I will have no recourse than to place you both in abeyance. Is that understood? " "Yes sir. It was an honest mistake. " "Well don't make another one." "Of course." Dougal Mackenzie paced back and forth inside the Perch and Fergus watched as he stopped then turned back towards him. "Rest assured ... I  will  get to the bottom of this breach. There's going to be a general inquiry. " Knowing that would involve invasive testing which could be their downfall fall Fergus brashly asked, "Do you think that is necessary?" Section One's leader heard the assertiveness in his technician's voice. His eyebrow rose as he stared him down. "You don't approve?" "I think it's premature sir."  The IT specialist was clutching at straws to come up with a plausible reason that would appease Operations' inquisitiveness to his statement. Trying to diffuse the situation he put forward an idea of ​​diversion but the only thing he could think of was, "I'm checking to see if there has been a malfunction in the door mechanism that triggered the alarm. I'm running down that possibility now. It could be as simple as that. "  Looking intensely at Fergus he wondered if he may have read the conversation between Murtagh and him incorrectly. That room can only be accessed by Level 5 operatives "It's possible." Operations answered thinking out loud.  Pushing his advantage and gaining in confidence Fergus then asked, "Did Gavin Hayes and Keith Lesley or the other operatives find any evidence of any intruders?" "No ..." "And neither have we. There is no evidence of any intruder in Section despite the alarm. " Operations' mouth twitched at his reply while his pale gaze narrowed slightly. "And your point?" "Then is a general inquiry necessary sir, considering that they all have found nothing? There have been no casualties. Everything seems to be contained. Perhaps we should pull back until I see if there was a malfunction after all. " "What are you getting at Claudel?" "We might be chasing our tails and all for nothing. An inquiry will be time consuming and Section One is on the edge right now. We have to be careful not to stretch our resources to something that may or may not have credence. "  Section's leader was incredulous at his audacity. He moved to scrutinize his wall monitor then cast an icy glare at the young man. "You aren't going to tell me what to do are you?" Fergus managed a weak smile. "No sir ... but we are coming up empty every time. My theory is worth a shot before implementing a full-scale inquiry. " Operations thought long and hard about what he had said. He glanced down at the operatives in tactical still frantically trying to find where or who was in breach but apparently to no avail. Without looking at Fergus, he gave sanction to his explanation.

"Very well. You may go. " He breathed a sigh of relief at being dismissed. "Thank you, sir. I'll let you know of my findings. " Turning, Fergus made his way down the stairs and beat a hasty retreat from an inquisition that he had managed to diffuse ... for the time being. Murtagh would be so proud when he told him what had transpired in the Perch. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ to be continued Friday 8 th May

[campchitaquamemories]

What are your top 10 Queliot moments?

Nonny, thank you so much for waiting patiently for this one! 

I was just going to write out a list (after I got done being EXTREMELY stumped because- you expect me to just pick 10??! Rude.) but then I realized that I just hit 600 followers (what?!), and I wanted to do something a bit more to say thank you to all of you for putting up with me while I’m on my bullshit. So I went back through my favorite episodes and made some gifs for you, too! 

Here you go. Hope you like it!!

Gigi’s Top 10 Queliot Moments (YMMV):

10. This is from 1x03, Consequences of Advanced Spellcasting, and… it’s such a great breathing space. This whole episode, the Eliot + Quentin sideplot to retrieve the book was a delight, and it only happened because Eliot is so far gone on this boy. He could have taken literally any of the Physical Kids with him, but no, he’s got a crush on the super cute nerd that just moved in and so it HAS to be Q that comes with him. Eliot is highkey flirting with Quentin here, both as emotional support, and - I will maintain until my dying day - if Kady hadn’t blown the hinges off that door he was planning to make a move on Q that afternoon.

9. I have so many feelings???? This is from 2x01, Knight of Crowns. Things are complex interpersonally between the whole gang right now, but out of everyone parting ways with Eliot, Q is who we get to see saying goodbye. Eliot is actually high king now, and he’s not any less depressed, or damaged emotionally or mentally. It didn’t immediately fix him like he wanted (much like how magic didn’t immediately fix Quentin, but that’s a meta for another time), and now he’s staring down being all that and an unknown future ruling this frankly odd kingdom (from books he apparently never bothered to read? El, baby. SMH.) potentially for the rest of his life without his friends. The two of them are so tender, Q initially leaning against Eliot to provide support, and then he doesn’t hesitate even a moment when Eliot asks for a hug. What at that point could be the very last hug he ever gets from Quentin in this lifetime. There is such a depth of feeling here between the two of them and I’m so glad the show gave us this (in S2! I’m!).

8.  1x11, Remedial Battle Magic. Look at our babies and how happy they are?! I know they’re drunk on wine and emotions and about to seriously fuck their friendships up, but have they ever gotten a moment to breathe and be happy in each other’s presence since this? They haven’t. It’s been arguments and recriminations and quests and beasts and averting world-ending disasters since they woke up from this night. So I treasure this moment of soft smiles and touches (even Margo, I am not opposed to Marqueliot in this list at all). And of course, the threesome it is leading up to, and all of the implications and interpretations of that night that they take forward into the series with them.

7. “I’m trying to tell you, you are not alone here.” From 1x02, The Source of Magic, this bonding scene has always felt very profound to me. These two boys have literally known each other, what, less than a week now? And here is Eliot “feelings are for other people” Waugh, opening up about his past traumas to try and connect with Quentin. The only other person we’ve ever seen him do this with is Mike - Eliot’s other love interest - and we know he told Margo during their Trials. This is Q confessing his biggest fear - that if he loses magic, he will lose his tenuous hold on his mental health - and Eliot reciprocating that confession: inducting Q into the very, very select circle of Eliot’s confidantes. This is each of them accepting some measure of comfort from the presence and understanding of the other, and a moment that underpins their entire relationship from this moment forward.

6. I’m cheating with this one, but I wanted to show both sides of this dynamic, and Quentin and Eliot have not had a chance to fight for their relationship together in the main timeline yet, so these will have to work for now. The first gif is from 4x06, A Timeline and Place, and the second is from 3x13, Will You Play With Me? It’s so, so important to see these moments - even if our boys are dumb and they don’t start fighting until the very last second - when they are willing to lay down everything, and burn down the world for each other. Quentin will NOT let the Monster kill Eliot’s body, and Eliot will NOT let Quentin throw away his future to play jailer to a sociopathic child-god. When push comes to shove, they will choose each other every time. Now if we could only get them to do that when the stakes aren’t life and death, am I right?

5. Another moment from 2x01, Knight of Crowns. This coronation scene is just… Remember that they are fractured leading up to this: we’re coming right off of the fall out from the threesome, and Eliot has been spiraling for episodes now. But then we get this super tender declaration from Quentin: “So, destiny is– it’s bullshit…. For what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be a really good king.” And Eliot’s eyes just, light up, his whole face lifts. Because here is someone who believes in him, wholly and truly. Even after everything they just fucked up together, and separately, Q (someonee good and true) has faith in Eliot, and it’s infectious. They’re both looking at each other here like no one else exists in the world, like nothing is important in this moment except each other. And thats?? Beautiful?!

4. I fucking love this shot. Q kicking over those tiles and then saying “Oops.” is a whole-ass mood. Okay, so this is obviously from 3x05, A Life in the Day, and I could easily have made and entire top 10 list of JUST moments from this sequence because it’s all SO AMAZING. The beauty of all life, amiright? But this moment is so important to me. Making a conscious choice, every day to choose this quest and choose each other takes a toll. Ask anyone you know who’s been in a committed relationship for years. Sometimes it’s just fucking hard. They’ve been at this for so long that their clothes from Earth (which, I’ll remind you, they were still wearing at their 1 year anniversary) have worn thin, and they’re wearing traditional Fillorian garb. This was supposed to be over years ago, but they’re still going.  And Q is struggling. And Eliot is struggling. And they argue, but neither of them walks away. I always have to stop and pause at this part of the episode, because this is so domestic and realistic that it makes me cry. And if I start crying here, I’m useless for the rest of the sequence once we get to Arielle and Teddy.

3. 1x01, Unauthorized Magic. So, so many people have talked about Q and El’s first meeting, how Eliot spread himself out on the Brakebills sign elegantly and Quentin’s one bisexual braincell shorted out to the point where, for a moment, he couldn’t even words. But I so rarely see people talk about this moment, when Quentin asks Eliot if he’s hallucinating. This look, right here, is so soft, and sweet. I’m sure Eliot gets hit on all the time, and he was 100% flirting with Quentin when he jumped off that sign and gave him an “I could eat you up” once over. But this is the moment Eliot decided that Margo needed to know about the cute new boy who thought Eliot was exactly the kind of person he would dream into existence, if he made those kinds of decisions. Right here. The beginning of it all.

2. Back to 3x05, A Life in the Day, and if you’re surprised this is my #2 moment you must be new here. This is a kiss that has been brewing for a long time. One not rooted in emotion bottles, and not one that can be passed off as being too drunk to know what you’re doing. Quentin sets his cup down, and starts to say something, but ends up finishing his thought with this kiss. It’s short, but not tentative, and Eliot is… look at his face. He’s surprised, because he’s pretty sure they fucked up their chances at this a season and a half ago. But Q is there and he’s not apologizing and he’s not panicking, and that gives Eliot the courage to reach out and pull Q back in. And for a little while, it’s not about the quest, it’s not about defeating a monster, it’s not about fixing anything they’ve fucked up. This is just about them. 

1. “Fifty years. Who gets that kind of proof of concept? Peaches and plums, motherfucker. I’m alive in here!” 4x05, Escape from the Happy Place.So, this scene is where I live now, my trashcan, if you will, with these dumb boys and their dumb faces. Eliot’s absolutely perfect timing, and his delight to see Quentin is just- Just beaming out of his face here. This is the first of many chances he’s going to have to set the record straight, and he does it with style. This was a declaration of love - peaches and plums - and one that only Eliot would be able to give, and only Quentin would be able to understand. Q has been so beat down and defeated this episode, like he’s walking through a world that has faded into black and white, but we can see the moment he understands and the light comes back into his eyes. “Eliot’s alive. He’s alive.”

Honorable mentions to: “I’m Team Eliot.”, “Could I maybe have Eliot back?”, “I find you, and I don’t say magic is real, but I do seduce you”, and the extended throne room scene from 3x05/4x05 - which only didn’t make the list because I couldn’t pick a single shot to slice up for a gif.

[alittleshocking]

Phillip and Shock are Disgusted and Frankly Appalled by the Miracle of Pregnancy (*) [Tell Tale Heart]

In which the title explains it all...[takes place idk some time]

@knightley--phillip

[tw -- frank discussion of abortion]

SHOCK: “So, I’m pregnant,” Shock said to Phillip as she lay in his bed, the blanket tossed artfully over her lower body. She slid her heel up the mattress, so her knee was bent, the black sheet pooling over her abdomen. She let out a huff.

Yes, Shock was pregnant, because she let men inside her body however she wanted. Usually, she was rather good about it in terms of the pull out or what not, but she had always played fast and loose. She had assumed God or whoever the fuck owed her majorly for giving her fucking cancer as a kid. Maybe she had used up all her “poor little cancer girl” tokens in the slot machine, gambling away for more time consequence free. 

Maybe it was just shitty luck. One too many times letting some dumbass come inside her.

Honestly, she didn’t even know if it was Phil’s. He was her best guess, considering he was a frequent customer, but there would be no telling without a DNA test and if Shock had anything to say about it--that wouldn’t be necessary at the end of the day.

Shock lit a cigarette, even though she knew Phil’s tight-ass roommate hated her smoking in the house. Maybe she should’ve announced this at family dinner. That would’ve been hilarious. John would’ve popped a blood vessel. Tom would’ve asked to be godfather or some shit. Of course, in this scenario, Shock convinced them all she was keeping it. Which--

“Don’t freak out, I’m not keeping it.” The cigarette wagged between her teeth as she spoke and then she took a drag, plucking it from her lips and letting the smoke drift into the air. 

PHILLIP: “Oh thank fucking God.”

He let out a breath. He’d been totally and utterly frozen the moment she’d said what she’d said, sitting up so his back was against the headboard. He’d been about to suggest they grab a drink after she lit her cigarette and then she’d spoken and Phil couldn’t hear much else.

Here was a thing Phillip Knightley knew: even the best birth control was only 99.9% effective or something. He couldn’t beat those odds.

Here was another thing: Phillip had been...how shall we say...particularly careless when it came to fucking Shock. He wasn’t normally, mind you. He was normally very careful about rubbers and all that sort of stuff, because if there was one fear Phillip had, it was some woman knocking on his door heavily pregnant and demanding he pay for a child he did not want. That’d make his father quite happy.

Not that Phil didn’t want kids eventually. Maybe. He knew he was supposed to want them — or at least supposed to want to breed like a rabbit and produce strong Order sons. 

But a kid running around from some non-approved woman was a fucking nightmare — and it’d ruin his status. Not that Order members didn’t on occasion keep side mistresses or slip up, but Phil couldn’t do that to the Knightley name. He’d already fucked up once. 

“Not that I won’t help you remove it,” said Phillip, smiling now, because that’s what he did when things got weird. “But how the hell do you even know it’s mine?” He nudged her with his leg. “Not exactly like we’ve ever been exclusive.” 

SHOCK: Shock snorted at his emphatic response. She’d wanted to elicit a similar sort of reaction from him, just because she’d find it funny. And she needed funny right now.

No, Shock was not having some moral quandary over yeeting a fetus out of her uterus. She was having a monetary quandary. Since she wasn’t a citizen, she was going to have to pay out the ass for an abortion. And there was no other option. Either Shock was gonna have to prostitute herself out for a few months to gather the near 500 pounds she was gonna need (maybe more including a place to stay for the recovery after the operation) or she was gonna get it from Phil.

She knew he could afford it, which is why she had targeted him for this particular favor. Well, he was also the closest thing she had to a friend in town. They actually spent time together not having sex or doing drugs sometimes, which equaled friendship in Shock’s eyes. Which meant there was an emotional connection here she could play on too--garner his sympathy. 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re fucking me a lot more tan anyone else. Didn’t that big fancy university you went to teach you statistics?” she scoffed at him. 

PHILLIP: “You overestimate my ability to pay attention in school and do math,” fired Phil right back. 

He was quiet then, thinking about the weight of it all. He couldn’t help it. Stewing on things was part of his nature, trying to find some sort of meaning to it all. Logically he knew this would get taken care of very easily. Phil had money. He knew Shock probably came to him because she knew that he had money. He knew that he wouldn’t have said no. She didn’t need to convince him. It was something he’d do for a friend. 

The corner of his mouth tugged up. He didn’t know if he’d consider Shock a friend — just someone he was fucking. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? It wasn’t romantic, nah. Phil knew what love felt like, this big, gnawing, pulsating thing that clawed in his chest and suffocated him. He didn’t feel like that with Shock. He looked at her and he felt — he felt like high-fiving her. 

“Wow, fuck. We made a thing.” He laughed, poking Shock’s lower stomach. “There is a thing in there. That’s mental. That’s fucked. That’s straight up horror movie shit, I don’t know how women do it. Something just bloody grows inside of you for nine months all because a bloke didn’t pull out fast enough.”

He shivered a little and then for good measure, slapped a hand on Shock’s thigh.

“Alright, when do you wanna extract this thing? How does this work? Do you call ahead? Make a reservation? Just show up? I’ve no idea. Maybe I should.” He tilted his head. “For the future.”

SHOCK: Shock actually smacked his hand away. She didn’t feel like high-fiving. She felt like breaking his damn fingers, one by one. Or kneeing him in the groin. She didn’t think it was mental. It was horror movie shit. She had done a lot to keep this body: chemo and radiation mainly, though malnutrition definitely played its part. Part of her body had never really recovered from any of that. And she liked it that way. The idea of getting fat was a fucking nightmare. Especially if it wasn’t because she’d gorged herself on delicacies and sweets because she could.

It was disgusting and awful and she wanted it gone. The thought of thinking of something unauthorized growing inside of her made her feel violated. Her room was not for rent, get the fuck out squatter.

“I’ve got to make an appointment and go through some bullshit pre-screening process, probably to get convinced out of it. Don’t worry, that’s not going to happen. I’d rather die. And as soon as fucking possible. We have to go up closer to London, because there is no doctor out here in the boonies that’ll do it. Also, it’s gonna cost you 500 quid or whatever the fuck you say. And that’s just the operation. Apparently I’m gonna need to be there 48 hours before. So, add hotel on top of that. And I want the fancy shit, as mother of your bastard, I deserve the best.”

She flicked some of her blonde hair into his face. “I know you can afford it, so pony up. Oh, also, if you’re using a credit card, you’ve got to come with me.” 

PHILLIP: “Yeah, yeah.” Phil waved a hand at the mention of a hotel. He knew a place in London that was nice, but tucked out of the way, the sort of place that rich executives — and rich Order Princes — took their mistresses.

“Don’t worry, nothing but the best for my baby mama.” He reached on the side table for his phone, typed in the name of the hotel and then pulled up the website that listed all the amenities — spa, pool, lounge, gym, all that jazz — and tossed it to Shock. It was an expensive hotel, the type with a big flashy chandelier in the lobby, and if Phil didn’t already scream money, he sure as hell did now. The Knightleys were old money, basically gentry, which Shock, an American might not realize, but Phil knew she knew he knew that she knew that he was loaded. He wasn't gonna skimp out now. 

“That good enough for you? Might as well make a mini-vacation out of this whole thing.” He sighed, leaning back on the headboard. “Vacabortion. Aborcation? Something like that. Is that crass? That’s absolutely crass. Good thing we’re on the same page here.”

SHOCK: Holy shit, this was working?

For all the shit that Shock talked, she didn’t actually know if it was going to and there was a part of her that she’d never admit to, if you pried back all the rest, that was terrified. She didn’t want to go to some shady backdoor doctor, she didn’t want to turn tricks in order to afford the abortion and probably end up with some disgusting STI in exchange. Her options, outside of Phil, were unappealing and dangerous. As much as Shock liked to risk her life, it was always on her terms.

Not to mention: Shock hated hospitals and anything medical. She barely took Advil, if she could help it. Now, she was going to have to have surgery. Be strapped, helpless, to a table and dissected.

This fear lurked like a shadow against the wall, in the peripheral of Shock’s vision. Just faint enough that Shock could ignore it. 

She hadn’t panicked. She’d gotten to work.

There was this burn in her chest when Phil handed her the phone. Something that was as thick and cloying as perfume: gratitude. Shock would rather choke on it. 

Good thing Phil handed her his phone. She took it with eager hands and, despite her composure throughout this conversation, her eyes bulged wide at the sight of glittering chandeliers and a pool bigger than any she’d ever seen.

“Holy shit, that bathtub is a-maz-ing! That’ll be so great to soak in after they’ve ripped my uterus out through my vagina.” 

Shock wasn’t going to say thank you. Even if the words were on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she leaned back against the cushions and clicked the “book room” button--

“So, when are we going? You don’t have school yet, right? And if Gaston doesn’t let me off, I’ll just start a smear campaign about him.” 

PHILLIP: “I’m literally always free,” said Phil, which was somewhat of a lie. He’d have to make up a reason to tell John and Tom why he was going out of town with Shock. Maybe the reason was just as simple as he was going out of town with Shock to the Belleview — which both of them would recognize immediately — and Tom would make a big deal about it and John would roll his eyes, but Phillip could deal with that. 

He did not want a child. Not right now at least. Maybe one day. In the future. In the far future. Hopefully. Phillip hoped that one day he’d wake up and the future that was laid out for him — marry a nice well-bred Order girl, breed like a rabbit and have an army of children — would be something he realized he’d been looking for. All this youthful ennui and restlessness was just an adolescent phase. Phillip Knightley was just a bit too late in growing out, of course! He wanted to want it, wanted to duck his head down and make his parents happy, please his brothers, stay by John and Tom’s side for the rest of his days. 

He glanced back at Shock, the thoughts too heavy for even him to infuse levity in, pushing them out of mind as he browsed more of the Belleview’s amenities. 

“Next weekend? Or is during the week better for you? What would please the boss man? Like I said — and like you know — I am very flexible.” 

SHOCK: The relief was like a shock (ha) to the system with how immediate and all-encompassing it was. She hadn’t even realized how stiff she’d been until her body finally caught up and realized: damn, girl, you actually got us out of a shitty situation for once. She felt herself relax into the fluffy mattress of Phil’s bed, her body aching slightly. 

“During the week probably. Definitely can’t take off Friday/Saturday. Could leave Sunday and get back..Tuesday? Do you think there is a long recovery time for getting your uterus lining ripped out of your vagina? I mean...usually that shit takes a week, I can’t imagine it all done at once.” She gave a shudder before perking back up. “Hey, you think they’re gonna give me pain killers? Like--the good shit?”

She laughed. Awesome, if she got those, she could turn around and sell them maybe. Give Phil back at least some of the money. As much as she enjoyed having money and attention lavished on her, she didn’t like the idea of being a charity case.

“Thanks, though. Guess I owe you a really good blow job or something.”

[cursed-ice-spirits]

Rebecca’s First Year: Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Talk of the Cursed

Prev: Chapter 6

First: Chapter 1

Next: Chapter 8

“Expelliarmus!” 

The red spell hit Merula and her wand flung out of her hand, flipping to rebound the spell back at her. As she was knocked back, Rebecca reached out and snatched Merula’s wand from the air.

Merula gaped. “How’d you learn that spell already? No fair!”

“Wow!” She heard Rowan’s voice spoke up from the crowd. “That was amazing, Rebecca!”

“You know, you need to stop getting hit by your own spells,” Rebecca remarked lazily as she stared down at Merula. “Maybe you’ll win next time.”

Merula’s eyes lit with anger. “You can’t be better than me! No one can be better than me!”

“And yet, I’ve won,” Rebecca shot back, her face not twitching. “Now I think it’s best that you apologize to Ben Copper.”

“I'll never apologize to you losers and Mudbloods!” She scowls. As she continues her tirade, Rebecca’s eyes drift over her head, her eyes widening when she saw Professor Snape approaching from behind. “I'm Merula Snyde! Fourth-generation Slytherin! The greatest witch at Hogwarts! I do what I want when I want! I run this school! I—"

Snape cleared his throat and that’s all that’s needed for Merula to freeze, her voice catching in her throat. She turns around, face to face with his irritated expression. “Professor Snape!”

Snape’s eyes go right over Merula, narrowing when they landed on Rebecca. “I suspect this is your fault, Lord. Are you aware of Hogwarts’s policy on unauthorized dueling?”

Rebecca’s eye twitched but was rescued from shooting back a retort that will get house points taken away faster than she can curse by Professor Flitwick.

“Did you cast the first spell in this duel, Miss Lord?” He asks as he appears beside Snape. 

Rebecca frowned. “I didn't, no, but I punched her for calling Ben Copper that word.”

“Doing violence?” Snape said, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “I see… Well, maybe a few weeks detention will—”

“Severus,” Flitwick’s voice cuts sharply in the air. “Miss Lord only has done it to defend herself and her friends. She has done it before. Detention is not needed. As long as she doesn’t do it again, which I trust she won’t. Isn’t that right, Miss Lord?” He directs the question to her. 

“Yes Professor,” Rebecca said, looking straight at Snape. She kept her face blank but her eyes told another story. 

He sneered at her. “And I wonder where she learned the Disarming Charm, Filius.”

“Oh yes,” Rebecca said, “How scandalous that I learned the Disarming Charm before everyone else. It’s not like there’s something called extra studying.”

“She is one of my most skillful first-year students, Severus,” Flitwick said hurriedly before Snape can throw away the rule of ‘no killing students’ and murder her anyway. Although with how much he’s glaring at her, if eyes could kill, she’ll be six feet under. “It wouldn't surprise me if she had learned such spell all by herself.”

Snape clenched his jaw, looking displeased. “Regardless, it is against the rules to duel on the school grounds. Clean yourself up and meet me in the West Towers after dinner to face the consequences of your actions, Lord.”

Rebecca let out a sigh as Snape and Flitwick walked away, the crowd dissolving. Not surprised... Not surprised at all. She goes to leave herself when she feels a hand on her shoulder and turns around, her brows furrowing. 

“Ben?”

He doesn’t look at her, hand still on her shoulder, but he murmured, “I’m sorry you got in trouble because of me.”

A ball of unease forms in her stomach, even though Ben meant no harm, she’s still jumpy when it comes to physical contact that is not given by her, so she places a hand on his and slowly pushes it off, giving him a simple smile. “It wasn’t your fault, I knew what I was getting into and Snape can never be unbiased. Besides, it was definitely worth it to deck Snyde.”

This time, he laughs as Rowan pushes herself between them and links her arms with theirs, smiling at both of them.

“Come on, we’ll be late for class.”

—————

The stares don’t bother her anymore, even as she attends the next two classes before dinner. At least the attention was of her own accord and not because of her brother. 

One thing amusing about it was Snape coming into her Herbology class with Professor Sprout and getting a fucking plant thrown at him.

“You don’t get to say a mean word about my Puffs on my watch!” Sprout had shouted as Snape high-tailed out of there.

Marvelous.

It was enough to keep a smile on her face as she walked to dinner. Not even Lockwood can ruin her mood (“You look weird smiling. Stop that.” “Thanks, you do as well.”). 

Sadly it didn’t last long. Not with Snape.

Finishing dinner early, she started walking to the West Towers. She has to prepare herself for the unfair treatment she’s surely going to get, otherwise, she punches Snape as well and that will get her in trouble. Honestly, how that man is a teacher, she has no—

“Hello, Rebecca Lord.”

Rebecca jumped and turned around, hand jumping to her wand as she finds herself face to face with Penny Haywood. 

She hates the way her brain immediately jumps to ‘Pretty girl.’ It reminds her every single time that she is very very not straight. 

Blinking, she blurts out the first thing that came to mind, “Ah, so you are aware of me other than gossip and being your dorm mate.”

Wait, fuck that was not what I meant to say. That sounded rude. 

Luckily for her, Penny just giggled. “Does that surprise you?”

“Obviously,” Rebecca said, shrugging one shoulder. “You are Penny Haywood, the most popular girl in our year, and in case you were blind, the reputation that precedes me is… ”

Penny shook her head. “I disagree, Rebecca. Everyone is talking about the hero who was brave enough to stand up to the tyranny of Merula Snyde. Not to mention all the rumors surrounding your brother...”

Rebecca freezes. 

Hero. 

“Do something!! Please, Bex, please please please!!”

“I-I can’t!! I don’t know how!!”

“BEX!!”

“I’M SORRY!!”

It feels as though she was underwater, Penny’s voice muffled and distorted as she continues. “I wanted to say thank you. Hogwarts is supposed to be fun, but Merula was making it miserable for everyone. I especially appreciate how you immediately stepped in between Merula and Ben Copper and used your wits to stop her bullying.”

“I punched her in the face,” she finds herself saying.

Penny laughed. It sounded like bells— pay attention you fool. “Nobody said violence doesn’t do wonders.”

Rebecca shifted uncomfortably. She’s no hero. “Honestly, it’s what anyone would do.”

“I agree, but only you were brave enough and you were the one who did.” Penny smiled. God, she’s so pretty. Why is she so pretty? “I hope Professor Snape doesn’t punish you for your bravery and for doing what’s right.”

Penny bounced back on her heels, her smile widening. “Let me know if I can ever help you with anything, Rebecca. I know the gossip around Hogwarts, and I’m pretty good with potions if I say so myself.”

Rebecca smiled at the offer and went to reply but it fell as quickly as it came. The way Penny looked at her with admiration and awe, like she’s some sort of hero… it just rubs her wrong. 

She’s no hero. She’s far from it. Why is she looking at her like she is?

“I’ll… I’ll think about it,” her voice sounded strained, and it was obvious with the way Penny’s face immediately falls into a look of concern. 

“Is everything alright, Rebecca?”

Penny is a nice girl but she doesn’t deserve to be dragged into the roller coaster that is her life. None of them should. 

“Everything is fine,” she forces in a smile. “It’s just…” Rebecca shakes her head and shoulders her bag. “You shouldn’t rely on me, Penny Haywood. I’m no hero. I faced Snyde for my own selfish gain.”

She turns around again so Penny won’t see the look on her face. “It’s best if you stay away from me so you won’t get caught up in the roller coaster that is my life.”

Her voice sounds bitter as she walks away.

—————

Penny stares after the fellow Hufflepuff, blinking after the conversation that took place. 

That… was weird. Was… was she always like this or had Penny always overlooked her because of her loner status?

Penny knew she was a loner and preferred that, but she didn’t know Rebecca could sound this bitter… this sad. 

“Did I do something wrong?” She wonders out loud.

—————

She feels bad for turning down Penny when all she wanted was to be friends but when you consider that her ice can cover the entire school if she doesn’t restrain it with an iron fist, it’s necessary. 

Snape and Merula were at the meeting spot by the time she arrived. Rebecca felt surprised that Merula was there since she was positive the Slytherin would just get a slap on the wrist. That vanishes quickly though when she sees the look on Snape’s face.

Sighing, she readies herself and straightened her shoulders. 

“Now that Miss Lord,” he sneers when he says her name, “is here, I can discuss your punishment. Expulsion seems to be the most logical option.”

Rebecca’s face stays passive but Merula’s eyes grew wide. “I had nothing to do with it, Professor! I only defended myself when this loser attacked me!”

He frowns. “While Miss Lord indeed punched you, you have every right and maturity to walk away. However, you didn’t. Everyone saw you cast the first spell, Miss Snyde. This, however, does not excuse Lord’s behavior.”

He turns to her, black eyes boring into her eyes. “Since you arrived, you caused nothing but trouble, made a mess of my classroom, and dueled on school grounds. This, after the damage your brother did to Hogwarts. Why shouldn’t you receive the harsh punishment for your actions, Lord?”

She feels a hard prod at her shields and she freezes, then her eyes turned to steel. “I stopped Snyde from bullying me and a few others that I find myself growing a fondness for.” Which you shouldn’t, her traitorous brain tells her. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Attacking a student with your wand is against school rules—” he begins but was interrupted seconds later.

“Using Legilimency on minors not just against school rules but also illegal, but that doesn’t stop you.”

The air seems to freeze from Snape’s anger. Not even Merula speaks a word, as she seems to be intimidated by how angry he is. His eyes seem to blaze, and she averts her eyes to his chin before he can prod at her shields again. She may be an Occlumens but she’s not risking it. 

“40 points,” he says through gritted teeth, “from Hufflepuff.”

Her face doesn’t twitch.

“As I was saying before I was… interrupted,” he sends her a glare, “Expulsion is the logical punishment for dueling on school grounds. Unfortunately, our Headmaster is illogical, and believes that expulsion is unfair in this case. If either of you is caught are ever caught dueling on school grounds again, I can assure you that you will not be so lucky.”

He doesn’t even look at Merula. Typical. 

Before she can open her mouth and get herself into even more trouble, a voice speaks up. 

“Professor Snape!”

Filch comes rushing over and she shuts up, eyes analyzing as she tries to figure out why he’s here.

She doesn’t have to wait for long. 

“What is it, Mr. Filch?” Snape asked, turning his eyes away from her.

"Professor Snape, you must come with me right away. It’s about…” Filch glances at her and Merula, before lowering his voice (not that it worked, her ears are sharper from long nights of sneaking down to the kitchens in her home, listening for any noise as she steals some food) into a whisper, “The Vaults.”

Surprise explodes inside of her, but she forces herself to keep a straight face. Merula is looking at her, then at Filch, confused. She hasn’t heard and she’s going to keep it that way. 

Snape tenses and looks sharply at the two girls. “Return to your Common Rooms,” he said sharply, before rushing after Filch.

Rebecca’s sharp eyes followed them, before the rest of her body does the same. They must be talking about the Cursed Vaults.

She keeps a safe distance between her and the two men. Better off not getting caught. Jane will swoop in on her and snap at her for losing more points, not that she cared but she didn’t want another earful because she was spotted and lost even more points. 

Seeing them beside a door with ice surrounding it, Rebecca frowns and slips behind a pillar, tuning out all noise except their soft voices murmuring in the corridor.

“Who else knows about this?” Snape asked

“Only me and Mrs. Norris saw the ice, sir,” Filch responded, said cat in his arms. “I was going to report the incident to the Headmaster.”

“I will inform the Headmaster,” Snape corrects, his voice sharp. “This may have something to do with the Lord situation.”

Ice seems to drop into her stomach. 

“Is it true that the vaults are filled with gold and powerful prophecies and artefacts from before Hogwarts existed? And that’s why the Lord boy lost his mind trying to find them? He was in your house, was he not?”

Snape looked away. “Gold and powerful prophecies and nonsense like that were not the reason why he went after the Vaults. He kept claiming he can save his sister, whatever that meant. Quite unfortunately, his sister seems to be in perfect health. That’s all I know.” He shakes his head and looks at Filch. “Don’t worry about what’s inside the vaults. Worry about keeping everyone out. Look this door, and keep it guarded,” he ordered.

Rebecca presses herself against the wall and waits until the two men left before quickly leaving the area. 

Snape doesn’t know why Jacob wanted to save her but she does. She figured it out shortly before he got himself expelled.

It was because of her-

Something slammed into the center of her temple. She gasped and slammed a hand on the wall, panting heavily as her vision clouded with fog. 

How? What’s going on? Why is this happening? Why can’t she see—she can’t see she can’t see she can’t s—

A walking suit of armor, a staircase shrouded in mist, and ice — was it her ice? She can’t tell, she can never tell — encasing Hogwarts, spreading faster and faster.

The ice is here. A voice shrieks in her mind. The vault will open.

She blinked and just as quickly as it came, it disappeared. She was in the corridors again, breathing slowly, her hand still on the wall beside her. 

What was that?

It was if… something, or someone, was pushing against her—

Rebecca’s face drained of color and she looked around, checking if anyone was near her. Nobody was here.

She has some time. Wouldn’t hurt to check… right?

Slowly, she exhaled as she leaned against the wall and slid down, her legs under her. Hands on her knees, she bowed her head, slowing her breathing. 

In. Out. In. Out. 

It wasn’t the first time she’s done this. Soon, all sounds and smells disappeared from around her, and she’s pulled into her mindscape. 

She taps the tip of her toe on the ground and feels grass. Even as a girl raised in a Manor, Rebecca was always the happiest outside. Therefore, her mindscape is a forest. 

In the center of her mind was a fortress but she’s not there to look around. 

Just to take a look. She told herself as she rushed towards the forest edge. Not too long. Just a look. 

The walls surrounded the entire forest. It was covered in head to toe with vines and ivy, but it didn’t make it any less strong. She sped up, seeing something on the walls, only slowing down to a stop when she saw a hole hovering right above her head, with the stone bricks laying beneath it.

Bingo.

Too small for one of them to slip in but big enough for a Legilimens to get in and give her a vision. 

Rebecca frowned and brushed a hand over the hole, watching as the stone floated up and rebuilt itself until the hole was completely covered. 

She knows that spot. Jacob used to practice Legilimency on her after finding out he was a natural-born Legilimens, since their father was always busy with work, and he hits that same spot as the hole every single time without fail.

She is not a Seer. She knows that for certain. None of her ancestors are Seers so there’s no way it’s a Vision. It has to be something other than that. 

Is this a sign? Of her brother reaching out? To her? 

If so, she didn’t know her brother got skilled enough to…

Rebecca smacked herself. She is not here to debate about how she got that Vision. She’s just here to check and see what’s wrong.

She’ll…

She’ll find out more later.

Letting out a deep sigh, Rebecca closed her eyes again, and slowly, she pulled herself out of her mindscape, finding herself in the corridors again, right where she was last sitting. 

She jerked her head to one side, then tilted it to the other, hearing loud cracks, and rubbed her neck, before getting up, paling even more when she saw what was on her arms and legs. She was too focused on finding out what’s wrong to check but now…

Covering her arms and legs was frost, some starting to form into ice already. She let out a string of curses and checked her control, feeling dismayed when it had weakened when she was distracted by the vision. 

Placing a hand on the top of her shoulder, she brushes roughly at the frost, gritting her teeth at the stinging pains that attacked her chest immediately. It shouldn’t hurt this much but it does and she hates it. She continues to brush at it, until it was all gone and her arm was red and throbbing. 

Get it off get it off get it off—

Moving onto her other arm and legs, she refuses to let another sound to escape her mouth while she slaps away the frost and ice, even with every stabbing pain in her chest, every red patch of skin uncovered when she brushes the frost off her skin. When she’s done, Rebecca pokes distastefully at the red skin, noticing interestedly that her hands were shaking, and lets out a sigh. 

She hates this curse but she doesn’t have a choice other than to grin and bear it. Letting out a low bitter laugh, she feels a stabbing pain in her chest, pricking like needles, and she grabs at it and leans against the wall, her mask slipping off to reveal her greatest pain and despair. 

This incident only reminds her of her limited time. How much time does she have? 20 years? Maybe a few years more? What a damn joke. 

It’s not fair, she has so many things she wanted to do when she graduates. Be a dragonologist, travel the world, discover things, new and old, and so many others but she doesn’t know if she has enough time. Nobody in her family knows. It isn’t fair. 

Why did the curse decide to throw away all protocols and go to her instead?

Why did Jacob have to be so firm on believing that he can break her curse that he went mad from trying to find the Vaults?

Why—

“Oi! Rebecca!” A voice called out and she snapped on her mask again as she turned around. It was Bill Weasley. 

She blinks. “Bill, what is it?”

“Just wanna check up on you,” he said, ruffling her hair and making her freeze up. “You okay? You looked spooked earlier.”

Shit, he noticed. Rebecca looked up and saw his eyes. While the rest of him was relaxed and calm, she saw worry and concern swirling in his brown eyes. 

She forced a smile on her face and attempted to distract him with a joke. “Well when you have to face Snape and see how much he looks like a vampire, you’ll be spooked too.”

It didn’t work. He looked skeptical. “If you say so. Can I walk you back to your Common Room?”

She squinted at him. “Why? I thought students aren’t allowed in common rooms other than their own.”

“Samuel is coming this way.”

“Fuck the rules. Let’s go.”

He laughed this time and ruffled her hair again. “So I heard you dueled Merula and decked her. Nice.”

“I lost 20 points for that,” Rebecca declared as they walked. “Still no regrets.”

Even as they walked, talking about nothing in particular, Rebecca couldn’t help the sickening feeling in her stomach.

She’s cursed, she shouldn’t be hanging around them. She’ll get attached and then she’ll hurt them by leaving eventually or getting hurt herself when they stab her in the back and leave her to die. She has to distance herself eventually. That way, no one will get hurt. 

But… if her ancestors can fall in love and have friends then so can she.

She has time to watch them grow, watch them get married, and be successful before she has to perish long before any of them will.

[luna-is-a-main-now]

See You Again ch.2

When Lance opened his eyes, he was confused. Everything was a blinding white and someone was speaking, but he couldn't hear anything very clearly, like his ears were blocked up or like the person speaking was mumbling so lowly that Lance could never hope to make it out. Gradually, the white faded to gray and the voices slowly came into a bit more focus, but they were still low, quiet mutters and came in bits in pieces. Eventually he sat up, and looked around slowly, only to see an endless, very empty gray room as all the quiet voices faded to nothing. Lance was not amused.

"Hey, uh, if this is the afterlife, it seriously sucks!" He grumbled. "Can I like, die again to get to a better afterlife? How does that work? Hello? Am I the only one here?" Lance called to the endless expanse. He huffed in mild annoyance when his own voice was the only one that echoed back to him in the empty room. 

In the air in front of him, some sort of countdown started, but everything was in some foreign characters Lance couldn't make out or understand. They kept shifting, but he had no idea what any of it meant or what he should do. He was honestly hoping that he could end up at least as some kind of ghost, maybe that way he'd be able to go back, look after his team… and protect Keith from doing anything rash like he always was. He smiled fondly at the thought, as even though he was dead, he still felt all warm gooey when he remembered that Keith had told him he loved him, and how he got red when he realized he had actually said that. Lance would gladly die many more times just to see Keith flustered and shocked and soft like that all over again. Though, it would be better if he could live and make Keith feel like that every day. If anyone deserved a happy ending, Lance wholeheartedly believed it was Keith. 

"Lance McClain," a cold, calculating voice announced, suddenly snapping him out of his thoughts about Keith. "Unauthorized death. Preparing for second chance protocol in roughly twelve hours. Agent 2317 will be in shortly to provide you with the necessary information. Please wait patiently. Thank you." 

"Uhm, what? Unauthorized death? Second chance protocol? Lady, you are speaking in code here and I just want to know what's going on, thanks, that'd be great." Lance sighed, exasperated, at the voice's announcement, but of course, she never responded. “Okay, fine. I’ll sit here in this really dull looking room and wait. Sounds like loads of fun.” Lance grumbled, but pulled his feet towards him so he’d be sitting criss crossed. He put his elbow firmly on his knee and plopped his chin onto his hand and sighed loudly. He was already tired of this whole being dead situation.

Eventually, Lance heard footsteps echoing in the distance of the grayness, and when he turned to look, he saw a distinctly male figure in a fancy black and white suit, carrying a small briefcase, who was walking straight towards him. Lance stood as the figure neared him, and, when prompted, shook his hand. The man nodded, and that’s when Lance realized that he had no features at all, just a blank, paper white void where a face should have been. However, somehow, he still spoke and his voice sounded as clear and normal as any humanoid speech, albeit far too emotionless, which didn’t sit quite right with Lance.

“Hello. I am Agent 2317. I have been assigned to your case, Unauthorized Death, case number 281. Do you have any questions before we proceed?" The monotone voice put Lance on edge, but he tried his best to ignore that for the sake of finally getting some answers. 

"Uhh yeah. What is this place? What do you mean by 'unauthorized death'? What's going on?" He questioned the faceless man. 

"This is Midpoint, where souls go after death to be judged and sorted. Due to there being an infinite amount of different afterlives based on one's own religion, it can be a very lengthy process to place souls into the correct afterlife when they arrive. Therefore, souls needed a place to be stored until they are processed, and Midpoint is that place. In your case, however, you were not meant to die yet, hence, you are an Unauthorized Death. Due to this, you will be given the Second Chance Protocol, and be returned to the living world ASAP. I am the agent assigned to your case to be sure this all runs smoothly." Agent 2317 explained. 

"Oh, uh, I wasn't supposed to die? Then why did I die? Wait, don't tell me Keith was supposed to die? If I go back, will someone else die in place of me? Also, how does the Second Chance Protocol work? People know I've died, if I return that'll be all weird, won't it?" Lance interrogated the agent rapidly. "Oh and I'm calling you Tom. You seem like a Tom and I need a name if I'm gonna address you because Agent 2317 is weird, man." 

"Call me what you wish, it is of no consequence to me. As for your death, no, it wasn't supposed to occur quite yet. No one was supposed to die on that mission of yours, but sometimes mistakes happen. So no, your return will not cause any other deaths to occur in the place of your own soul." Tom waved the situation off. "Either way, the Second Chance Protocol has been known to give mortals confusion in the past when their loved ones suddenly return from the dead, but usually they're just happy to have them back. As for how it works, well, we just,” Tom pauses, and makes a vague sweeping motion with his hands, “send you back. Occasionally, for darker souls, we give them a test to see if they should go back, and if they pass, they must complete a quest in the living world. If they do not complete it, we reclaim their souls once more as punishment. However, for a lighter soul such as yours, you only have to complete a quest. Even if you fail, however, your soul will be safe, as that is the reward for being a light soul. Congratulations." Tom's monotone voice didn't seem to match up with the congratulations, but Lance was relieved either way. He'd actually get to go back. 

"Okay, so that sounds great. What's this quest or whatever I have to do?" Lance questioned, excited to get back to his team, no matter what the task may be. He just really wanted to see everyone again, especially Keith, who was probably blaming himself for Lance's death right now and that thought alone made Lance want to go back right that instant. 

"Hmm. Let's see here." Tom replied as he opened his briefcase and pulled out a tablet from the top of a stack of files. He switched it on and scrolled through it for a bit before tapping once on the screen. "Ah. It says here that the quest is still pending. They must still be looking through your memories and life to determine a quest best suited for your abilities."

"Oh. Looking through my whole life. Fantastic. So, whoever they are, they're gonna see all my cringey memories too?" Lance bit his lip in displeasure at the thought. He didn’t want anyone else to know some of the stuff he’s done impulsively. 

"Yes." Tom replied simply, uncaring. But maybe that was just the impression Lance was getting from his still completely monotone voice. Lance groaned and sat down. He wished he could just go back now and forgo this quest business, but he didn’t really want to possibly piss off anyone who could be in charge of where he ended up, either. 

"Well that's just great." Lance sighed dramatically. Some weird being gets to know all his darkest, most embarrassing secrets. Not Lance's idea of a great time, but it's not like he could do anything about it, unfortunately. 

"Ah! It's updated." Tom exclaimed, as much as could exclaim, as his voice was still a dull, even monotone. It was starting to get on Lance's nerves how monotone this dude was, even though he technically wasn't a dude. In all honesty, Lance just wanted to get back to his life already. That thought continued to repeat over and over in Lance’s mind. He didn’t care about the quest or what he had to do; he only cared about going back. "You must liberate the system Sania from Galran rule. Hm. Well shouldn't be too hard, as that's part of your goal anyways. Lucky you, most of the time the quest is meant to be very challenging." 

"Oh. That's it? Neat." Lance shrugged, not really knowing how to react when Tom gave no emotion whatsoever to react off of. The quest seemed easy enough. He’d just have to grab his team and head to Sania, kick some Galra ass and be done with it. 

"Yes." Tom shrugged slightly, then, when it beeped loudly, looked over at the timer with foreign characters on it before turning back to Lance. "Oh! More good news; your departure has also appeared to be moved up. You'll be heading for the mortal world in approximately fifteen seconds." 

"Oh sweet, thanks man. I'm excited to see my team again, kick Galra ass, fly Blue, all that good stuff." Lance smirked in anticipation. Then, Tom's tablet chimed, and the faceless man turned his attention towards it.

"Ah, your quest's terms have been revised. You must liberate system Sania alone, without contacting your team. If they happen to show up without your influence, that's fine, but you must not contact them yourself or through a third party until the quest is complete. Terribly sorry your plans will be put on hold, but on the bright side, you'll be departing to planet Armenia of the Sania system now. So long." Tom called, as the floor dropped out from under Lance's feet and everything went dark. 

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

Keith didn't think his day could get any worse. He guessed the universe had other plans for him though, because it definitely did get worse. Not only was Lance actually, really dead, no matter how much Keith wanted to deny it and say it wasn’t true when it was, but now, as Keith was numbly watching as Coran prepared Lance’s body for a traditional Altean-style funeral, his body vanished. Just suddenly shimmered away like it had never even been there. Worse still, his armor and bayard also vanished into thin air, and the only indication that Lance had ever been in the castle was the Blue Lion, who was dormant, and his untouched room. 

Keith had felt so angry and betrayed before. He was angry Lance had died, had left him. He was angry at the universe for taking him. Now, however, he just felt numb and empty. Before Keith had even realized what he was doing, he had stormed quickly away from the room where Lance's body had disappeared and now he was in Lance's empty room. It felt far too large and extremely cold, as if the room itself knew that Lance was gone and wasn't coming back. 

With a shaky sigh, Keith sat on Lance's bed. Then slowly, almost painfully, he crumpled down until he was curled up on his bed and trying desperately to hold his tears back, but soon enough he was crying, because Lance was gone. Bitterly, Keith wished it had been him instead because Lance didn't deserve this. Keith should have protected him. That was his job, as his teammate, as his friend, and he had failed. This was all his fault. He just wanted Lance back. Was that too much to ask, to hope for? Of course it was, because Keith knew; the dead do not return, no matter how much you wish they would.

At this point, Keith could hardly bring himself to care that the team was worried about him or that he had a job to do. He only cared that Lance was gone, and that his body had disappeared, and  no one knew what was happening. It didn’t feel worth it to care about anything else but that. Nothing else was more important than finding out what the hell happened to Lance and his body.

Keith’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard the door quietly slide open and closed, and when he looked up, he saw Pidge. Pidge looked very small where she stood a few feet away in Lance’s room, looking over it slowly, almost like it hurt to do so. In all honesty, she looked about as bad as Keith felt. Instinctively, Keith patted the bed as an invitation for Pidge to sit down beside him, and, within seconds, she was there, throwing her arms around Keith as her already shaky composure broke. 

“Why did he have to die? It isn't fair. I want him back, Keith, I just want him back. How are we supposed to do anything without Lance here?” She questioned in a soft, shaky voice, sounding so much smaller and younger than Keith had ever heard from her before. 

“I don't know, Pidge. I really don't know because you're right, it isn't fair. I want him back too.” Keith whispered shakily as he finally hugged Pidge back tightly, trying his best to calm her down as well as himself. It would have killed Lance to see his team like this, broken down and miserable, even over his own death. He was always trying to keep everyone safe, keep them happy despite them being in a huge, awful intergalactic war, and this would be the last thing he would want them all to go through. They were a family now, and it was definitely no secret how much Lance cared about those he called his family. 

Keith didn't know how long he and Pidge sat like that, clinging to each other for dear life while sitting on Lance's bed. What he did know, is that having someone there definitely lessened the burden of losing Lance, at least just in the smallest way possible. Knowing that he wasn't alone, that he could go to Pidge at least in this situation, made it that much more bearable. Still, Keith was certain that he wouldn't truly be okay for quite a long time to come.

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

When Lance woke up, his first thought was that everything hurts. Especially his stomach. With a sudden gasp of panic, his hands flew frantically to his stomach, only to discover that the stab wound was already fading, not even leaving the smallest scar behind. Shortly after that, his flight suit and armor began stitching itself back up, right before his eyes, until it looked brand new. He even noticed that his bayard was in his hand, untransformed and gleaming like it was also new. Lance had to admit, it was pretty cool that his gear was all nice and patched up again. On top of all that, a brand new robe-like garment with a large hood was also with him, and Lance immediately knew it was to protect his identity during the duration of his quest, so as not to directly lure Voltron here. Lance scowled at the thought as he held the robe up. Grudgingly, he put the robe on and flipped the hood up, and it hung low enough to cover his entire face, but the fabric must have been made with something high tech or magical, because Lance could see through the fabric without a problem. Guess that’s just another thing those afterlife immortal beings could do, Lance decided with a shrug.

Slowly standing up, Lance took in his surroundings. The buildings were all different shades of purple, and not a single one of them looked new. A few buildings looked like someone had thrown buckets of different colored paint on them in a fit of rage, or desperation, and it looked almost like they were trying to erase the purple. He noticed that the splashes of colors were limited to just five: Black, Red, Green, Blue, and Yellow. The colors of the Voltron lions. Lance knew that couldn't be a coincidence. They were desperate for Voltron to save them from the Galra. Too bad it was just Lance that was sent here, without even a lion to fight. 

Walking through the small alien city was a little depressing, to say the least. Many civilians looked thin, tired, and, when Lance passed, fearful. Mothers would hide their children behind them quickly, other people would duck quickly into an alleyway or building to get away from him. It was disheartening to see anyone in this state. Lance really wished he had his team. They'd be able to liberate this planet with Voltron within hours. If Lance had to do it alone, he just knew it would take weeks, at the very least. He sighed heavily as he realized just how difficult this task would be. Sneaky, scheming Tom, adding in that last minute restriction before throwing him out, Lance frowned at the thought bitterly. He felt like he was being toyed with, and it was not fun at all.

Eventually, Lance came across a part of the city that looked like a marketplace. It was fairly run-down, but there were other alien species walking about here, too, other than just him. Lance noticed that most of the time, purchases were made behind stalls or in alleyways, in hushed voices and rushed movements. Perhaps this marketplace was illegally set up and run, a way for citizens to earn money to survive, and maybe, to gather funds to try and fight back. He really hoped there was a group of freedom fighters on this planet. Maybe he would be able to work alongside them to liberate this planet faster. A tired sigh escaped him; Lance could only hope for the best in this scenario. Not to mention, he'd have to be extra careful. He didn't have anyone to watch his back, and he sure as hell didn't want to go and die… again. 

“Time to get to work, I guess.” Lance grumbled quietly to himself as he walked further into the marketplace, hoping to gather intel and form a plan so he could get done here quickly. The more time he spent here, the more time Keith and his team spent believing he was still dead. Lance really needed to fix that, and soon.

[itsbenedict]

No Driver’s License: Omakes 29.4-29.6

No Driver’s License is a Madoka Magica game I’m running for five players, using a homebrew of Yaruki Zero’s Magical Burst system. It follows five magical girls as they deal with an upheaval in the world’s magic system caused by some strange new three-eyed Incubators. They have to figure out what’s going on, who to trust, and how to put a stop to the cycle of despair.

I post session logs and omakes weekly sporadically, both as a reference for the players and for anyone who wants to follow along with the party’s misadventures.

[adventure log- read from the beginning]

[session 29]

Quick heads up- things are gonna be kind of wonky from here on out, on account of weird scheduling issues have made regular sessions infrequent, and omake side-sessions more frequent and plot-important. On top of that, the omakes kind of jump around the timeline, so... here, the omakes that were played later come chronologically before the ones played earlier, and those earlier ones are sort of big game-changers, so they’ll get their own post later.

Last time on No Driver’s License, the team defused a thorny situation at Denny’s, obtained a new ally, and were attacked by a mob of angry cats. This time... in 29.4, Sakura spies on the cannibals to get some intel about their powersets. In 29.5, nothing happens. Don’t worry about it. In 29.6, Ibara brings some food to Reiko, and finds an unexpected glimmer of hope.

29.4 (Sakura, Kimiko, Emiko)

So, Sakura wants some hard intel. They’ve got access to infinite mana to craft the magic items they’ll need to stop the cannibals, but in order to tailor their arsenal to the foe they’re facing, they need to know some more about what their enemy can do. To get that info, Sakura takes one of Makoto’s stealth amulets, and follows the cannibals after school.

Now- the Amulets of Somebody Else’s Problem only have their full effect when you are somebody else’s problem, and Sakura- as a member of the team that kidnapped Yoshe- isn’t somebody else’s problem. That said- both cannibals fail to roll high enough to notice her following them.

Sakura makes and passes some additional rolls to get in close without being noticed, thanks to Maurice, her familiar. She’s able to overhear what they’re talking about.

Sakura has no trouble taffying any witch familiars that make themselves a problem. From there, she’s able to get a decent view of Emiko as she fights the witch. The way this works is- she rolls Magic to get a sense for what Emiko’s abilities are doing. On an 11+, she succeeds and gets the exact ability description copy-pasted from the character sheet. On a 10 or less, she sees the ability in action, but doesn’t necessarily know all the specifics.

Farn helpfully compiled a google doc of everything Sakura learned from this fight:

After all this, Emiko finally manages to take down the witch... and Fumi-chan is there, to revive Kimiko.

Sakura... is having a lot of trouble keeping herself from just attacking right now, while they’re comparatively vulnerable. But... comparatively is comparatively, and if she tried anything, it’d probably go badly. She manages to hold back.

Kimiko’s back, and then... it’s Emiko’s turn to witch.

The witch this time is pretty standard- just a big giant knight in shining armor in the middle of a battlefield, for Kimiko to beat on. Here’s what Sakura manages to get on her from this fight:

And then... Emiko’s a seed, and Sakura has one more shot.

...Not feeling good, huh.

29.5 (???)

So... something happened, even though it didn’t. What didn’t happen... was probably the least fun thing that’s happened so far in No Driver’s License. Someone attempted to talk to someone else, but played the situation... exactly incorrectly, such that there was no realistic way that the person in question could’ve responded well to it. It was kind of a catastrophic social situation that was no fun for anyone at all.

Thankfully, it didn’t happen. No one even remembers it happening. The consequence of the thing happening was that it didn’t even happen, and in fact, who did it even happen to? No one knows! Because as far as anyone can tell, it didn’t actually ever happen, so, hey, don’t worry about it.

29.6 (Ibara, Reiko)

Ibara lugs the food down to the bunker, where she’s unexpectedly tackled by Takamine Mitsuki, who thought she was Seina- the only one of the group allowed in the bunker. Thankfully, she rolls well enough to avoid being knocked over and dropping the food.

Nails is there, too, and she’s skeptical of the idea of Ibara cooking. Fear of Mystery Food X wells up within her, and Ibara’s only partially successful at allaying those fears.

From there, Ibara heads to one of the furniture barricades that separates Reiko’s part of the complex from the rented-out rooms. Reiko’s about to blow her top at one of the team being there unauthorized, but Ibara leads with apologizing and offering food, so Reiko doesn’t get a full head of steam going.

Ibara assures Reiko her gem’s not in danger- but Reiko can’t exactly say the same. Hers is in dangerous condition since the bounced check incident, but she’s stable for now. She offers to buy any Grief Seeds the party might find for money, though.

Ibara lets her know that the cannibals are almost dealt with, and the families aren’t going to need to stay too much longer. Reiko... seems happy about this news, but Ibara can tell she’s sort of in a bad mood anyway? She rolls +Heart to try and get something more specific, but rolls snake eyes- the Power of Love.

Reiko really likes the food, though, so she opens up enough to... ask Ibara for help on her math homework. And... Ibara fails her real roll, because come on, Ibara hasn’t been to school in over a month, and she wasn’t exactly a model student before, either.

Ibara goes into Yukari’s whole insider trading fiasco, and they commiserate over the cops being useless. Apparently, Reiko’s mom was recently arrested- but she’s taken out predatory loans to buy lawyers to try and get her off. Again. And... Ibara puts two and two together.

Ibara produces the knife, which she indeed pocketed when Yukari wasn’t looking.

It’s about then that Reiko... realizes she isn’t angry. That she’s happy, that even though Ibara’s in her house and she’s failing math, she isn’t blowing up. Because of friendship, or something? She finds this... incredible. She barely has words.

Then Ibara heads off to deliver some food to the rest of the people in the bunker.

Ibara- getting a little spooked- tries to reassure them that cooking was her own idea, and she wanted to do it for fun, and that they wouldn’t be burdening her by eating it- just the opposite.

It’s around this point that Ibara gets a text from Homura, who is indicating that Ibara’s “variance is spiking”, meaning that something happening here has the potential to heavily affect the odds of Madoka existing.

It’s time to... examine Ibara’s wish, a little.

Well... I guess we’ll find out, huh? Because it’s around this time that Yukari calls the team together for an emergency meeting. What sort of emergency meeting? A meeting to deal with the consequences of Omakes 29.1-29.3, the contents of which we’ll explore next time.

[qqueenofhades]

the tangled web of fate we weave: iv

part iii/AO3.

The incredibly stupid (and rather terrifying) situation that Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan has presently found himself in goes like this.

Something feels off about the botched operation the instant he gets off the phone with Neville, and since Wyatt is still technically the official personnel assigned to this case, if he doesn’t want to drop it, he doesn’t have to. He stands there in the middle of the pickup curb at LAX, being jostled to every side by passing travelers, until he decides he should, if nothing else, get out of the way. Heads back to his car, stares through the windshield for a long moment, then takes out his phone again. Sorry babe, he texts Jessica. Order some pizza and invite some friends. Don’t think I’m making it home tonight.

With that, he tosses the phone into the passenger seat, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt. Jessica knew when she married a serviceman, especially one in special ops, that it would be a lot of long separations and unexplained absences, and she’s held up admirably thus far, but she has to be wondering when the buck finally stops. So is Wyatt, for that matter. They need this. They love each other a lot, but they’ve become different people during his last three deployments. A relationship can’t survive forever on Skype calls and care packages.

Putting that out of his head for now, Wyatt turns on the engine, pays the exorbitant parking charge, and rolls into downtown L.A. He can’t help wondering if he’s been outsmarted and the mark is going to turn up at the Burberry store now that a potential accomplice has given him the all-clear. But how would a relatively routine drug runner, or even mid-level member of the mob, be privy to the classified details of a Delta Force sting arranged just hours ago? Their counterintelligence is good, but not that good. And while tons of information isn’t exactly par for the course in this job, they usually at least give you a name. Even a fake one.

At that, Wyatt makes a decision. He isn’t hauling all the way back to San Diego tonight, and he’s gonna drop by Bam-Bam’s. Dave Baumgardner, given the nickname for his enthusiasm for certain parts of the job, is on leave, but he lives here. Has a nice bachelor pad in Westwood. His dad is rich, because Bam-Bam definitely does not make enough money to afford it by serving in the army, even in a specialized unit. At least Wyatt can get a second pair of eyes on this, judge if there’s actually a wrench in the spanner, or he’s just being paranoid. Everyone in their line of work knows it happens eventually.

Traffic is a crawl up 405, because aside from all the other reasons for L.A. to have terrible traffic, there’s a Los Angeles Tech Convention and some billionaire bigwig named Connor Mason is the featured attraction. Has all kind of gizmos he’s wheeling out for public display for the first time ever, so this place is Nerd Mecca. In Wyatt’s opinion, it’s bad enough they keep inventing new iPhones every year. Who needs all that?

He sighs, reminds himself not to be quite so curmudgeonly, and makes it to Westwood with only two minor road-rage incidents. Pulls up in front of Bam-Bam’s place, parks, and heads up the walk. Technically the term for what Bam-Bam is on is “paid administrative leave,” because there’s still some question about whether his actions on the Abu Dhabi mission were entirely necessary. This is, also in Wyatt’s opinion, a dog-and-pony show. The U.S. government pays David Baumgardner to kill people, and the legality isn’t something they’re concerned with except when it appears in the press. It does occur to him to wonder if this is a great place to be asking advice, but hell, he’s here now.

A few moments after his knock, Bam-Bam opens the door, holding a sweating Budweiser bottle and looking surprised. “Hey, Logan! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Complicated,” Wyatt says briefly. “You gonna let me into your beer and porn den, or what?”

Bam-Bam smirks, gives him a bro clap on the shoulder, and leads him into the kitchen, where he twists the cap off another cold Bud and hands it over. Wyatt takes a long swig, leaning against the counter, then follows Bam-Bam out to the porch. Here in an airy, comfortable suburban backyard, it feels as if he might definitely be overstating things, but no point chickening out now. As economically as he can, he explains his hunch. The fact that he can’t be sure, but this feels like a setup, and not in the right way. Bam-Bam might be trigger-happy, but he’s a good soldier. Wyatt trusts his instincts.

“Huh,” Baumgardner says, when he finishes. “That is a little weird.”

“Okay, so it isn’t just me?”

“No, that does sound off the ranch. Not even this guy’s name or who he’s supposed to be working for – ‘Ndrangheta, Yakuza, plain old Mafia, Big Pimpin’ dealing weed down in Compton?” Bam-Bam takes another slug of beer. “Who’d you piss off?”

“Nobody,” Wyatt says. “Far as I know. This all came out of nowhere. Yesterday I thought I was finally going to have a real weekend with Jess, today I’m here with… this.”

“Just send her a dick pic.” Bam-Bam finishes off the Budweiser and chucks it expertly across the lawn into the recycling. “Tide her over?”

Wyatt gives him a cold fish stare, as he doesn’t think that any woman, not even his wife, just magically needs his genitals to appear in their life. “Good thing I don’t ask you for romantic advice, you dog.”

“Whatever.” Bam-Bam shrugs. “Anyway, what are you planning to do about this?”

That catches Wyatt short. He doesn’t actually know. Critical thinking is a valued skill for a solo operative, but independent thinking, less so. A soldier follows orders, he doesn’t start yanking at threads and veering off on tangents and trying to rewrite the script, thinks he knows better than the brass and can do whatever he wants. Finally he says, “Should we call someone?” You never know. Pestering the boss could do something.

“Guess you could try? I’d call my dad, actually, but he’s at some retreat up in the Bay Area this weekend.” Bam-Bam’s rich daddy, Rick, is a defense lawyer in Orange County and makes gigabucks shielding even richer assholes from the consequences of their crimes. In other words, if there’s a big bust afoot, he might know something about it, albeit on less official channels. “Leadership development potential, or whatever.”

“Can you call him anyway?”

“Because my Delta Force buddy thinks something smells a little fishy about one of his jobs?” Bam-Bam gives Wyatt a weird look. “This is still classified, remember?”

“You don’t have to tell him it was me. Just put it in general terms.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna work. Anything else?”

Wyatt racks his brains, trying to recall the paperwork he skimmed through quickly to get to the operational summary. This is probably a cautionary tale about why you should actually read it. “I think there were initials? Dunno if it corresponded to the guy at all. G.F.? And something about an unauthorized investigation.”

“Shit.” Baumgardner’s eyes widen. “Garcia Flynn?”

“What?” That catches Wyatt off guard. “Who?”

“He works in the NSA. He’s from somewhere in former shithole-Soviet land, he’s been in Eastern Europe for most of that time. I met him a few times, actually. He’s about the one guy who could take me in a shooting contest.” Bam-Bam sounds proud of this, which Wyatt finds worrying – is this the guy they sent him into LAX to take down, solo op, civilians to every side? “Anyway, though, that’s not why I thought of him. My dad was just talking about him earlier. Apparently Flynn’s lost his marbles, and that worries people.”

“Your dad’s work colleagues? Flynn sounds like the exact kind of client they love.”

“You think anyone from Orange County is gonna defend a possible Russian mole?”

“Yeah. Probably have three on the payroll already. Is that what they think he is? A mole? How the hell is that too controversial to tell me?”

“Look, man, I don’t know. This is probably on shaky confidentiality grounds anyway, but you and I are on the same security clearance, so…” Firearms-related or otherwise, David Baumgardner has never been bound too strictly by an exacting observance of the rules. “You wanna stay and play some Halo, or go and do your fucking job?”

“Probably the latter, huh? Not all of us get to sit on our ass and stuff our face right now like you.” Wyatt slugs down the last of his beer and stands up. “Do you have anything else you can think of? Anything at all?”

Bam-Bam considers, frowning. Then he says, “I think my dad knows that tech guy who’s in town for the convention. Connor Mason. If you wanna pull rank and flash a badge at him, pull him off into some back room and scare him, he could be helpful. Not sure, though.”

“Yeah, I’ll get a last-minute ticket to that and haul the keynote speaker off the stage in front of ten thousand hyped-up nerds?” Wyatt looks at the ceiling, then blows out a breath. “Not like I got anything else to try. Thanks, buddy. Hope they let you out of the doghouse soon.”

With a quick hand-shake and bro-hug, he lets himself out, gets back in the car, and drives to the packed convention center, which involves subjecting himself to I-10 at peak evening hours and thus takes approximately eighty-one eons. It takes him several more after that to find a parking space, which is practically in Chavez Ravine, and he heads to the door and asks to speak to the security staff. It takes (more) time, but he finally gets the head honcho, introduces himself quietly as Delta Force, and says there may be a security threat that he needs to speak to Mr. Mason about. Yes, he knows that Mr. Mason is scheduled to give the kickoff speech at 7:00pm, which is nineteen minutes from now. It’s urgent.

The security guys look at each other, but after Wyatt repeats “credible security threat” a few more times, one of them slopes off to get Mason. He arrives fixing his cufflinks and the microphone pinned to his lapel – twelve minutes to go – and clearly angry at the interruption. “They said there was some bloke who wanted to talk to me? Now?”

“That’s me, Mr. Mason.” Wyatt clears his throat, with a significant look at the others ordering them to scuttle off. “This won’t take long.”

“It better not.” Mason is a bald black British guy in a very expensive suit, who has not gotten to the level of success that he has by tolerating fools. “Well?”

Wyatt checks that they’re alone. “Do you know a Garcia Flynn?”

It’s a good thing Mason wasn’t trying to take a drink, otherwise he definitely would have done a spit-take. He takes half a step backwards, as if Wyatt has turned radioactive. “I’m sorry,” he manages, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “Who did you say you were with, again?”

“I didn’t.” Wyatt takes a step of his own, in case Mason tries to bolt. “You’re the one in the hurry. Tell me what I want to know, we can make it quick. Well?”

“You’re… not…?” Mason’s eyes search Wyatt’s face, as if trying to uncover a mask, a sudden reveal. “Is this some attempt to punish me for not attending the…? I’ve told them, many times, that the work is on schedule, and…”

“What work?” Wyatt asks. “On schedule for who? Not attending the what?”

Mason’s eyes flick from side to side again. He scrutinizes Wyatt carefully, then asks all of a sudden, “Scientia potential est?”

“Is that Latin?” Wyatt is more baffled than ever. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“So you’re not.” Mason seems to have been checking something. Rather belatedly, he hitches his professional, P.T. Barnum smile back into place. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. …?”

“Smith.” Wyatt is pretty sure Mason is lying out his ass, but he’s not sure how to force him, short of tackling him and dragging him off to a broom closet for the old shock-and-awe routine Bam-Bam recommended – and that is definitely a bad idea. “You really sure you don’t know anything about Garcia Flynn? Really sure?”

“Absolutely.” Mason almost sells it, too. There’s a moment more in which they stare at each other, and then there’s a harried knock on the door.

Mason turns away to open it, and a young African-American man in a MIT sweatshirt sticks his head in, looking frazzled. “Mr. Mason, what the hell? Your cue’s in five minutes!”

“Yes, Rufus, of course. My apologies, I was unavoidably detained by G.I. Joe here.” Mason tweaks his cuffs, stares back at Wyatt, and turns on his heel with a slight, sarcastic flourish, marching out after his – assistant, aide, graduate student, whatever Rufus is. Wyatt has about five seconds to decide if he is in fact going to throw his weight around – he’s not a cop, and if he’s going to hold Mason for questioning, he needs something to, you know, actually question him about. Mason seems like a smarmy dick, but that’s not illegal. But who the crap do he and Rick Baumgardner both know that makes Garcia Flynn a potential problem for them? They’re both rich, successful corporate types. Bam-Bam said that Flynn’s in the NSA. Has he gone black hat, exploiting security loopholes in their servers and threatening to hold their trade secrets for ransom? Sophisticated cybercrime? But then why wouldn’t Mason want him taken down? Or does he, but he doesn’t want to tell Wyatt how he knows him?

Yeah. There’s something really fucking fishy going on here, it’s not just Wyatt’s imagination. As Mason and Rufus vanish down the corridor, he blows out a breath and tries to work out what to do next. He can’t tap Bam-Bam for any actual action, he’s still on leave, and that would land Wyatt’s ass in hot water right next to him. And yet again, the question remains. Action against who? It feels like kickboxing with your own shadow.

Wyatt thanks the security guys, assures them the threat has been dealt with (which is a lie, but he doesn’t know what else to say), then hikes back to his car, pulls out his phone, and scrolls down to the encrypted numbers, the ones you don’t call except on (hopefully) rare occasions. Once it’s been picked up and he’s gone through the various steps of verifying his identity, he is finally transferred to whatever Lovecraftian horror that is the NSA switchboard room, insists he has the proper clearance to three different people (you’d really think the U.S. government would be better at sharing intelligence and coordinating between departments, but nooooope) and finally, finally gets someone to tell him that yes, Garcia Flynn is an agent on active roster. As far as they know, he still is, but he has missed a scheduled check-in and reassignment. That was supposed to take place today. This afternoon, at the Tom Bradley International Terminal in LAX. At the Burberry store. He didn’t show.

At that, Wyatt feels a goose walking over his grave, as the saying goes. What the shit. He was sent to arrest – as far as Flynn’s bosses know – an agent still on his regular assignment, a fellow high-level, elite operative, but why? Someone who has been, apparently, making trouble for Rick Baumgardner and Connor Mason’s chummy corporate buddies? Mason assured Wyatt that the work was on schedule – what work? Did Wyatt just stumble into the middle of an attempt to whistleblow a whistleblower – stop Flynn before he can pull the clothes off whatever emperor he is trying to disrobe? What. The fuck.

It takes Wyatt several more minutes of cajoling, but he finally convinces the NSA lackey that he’ll try to get in contact with Flynn, put him off his guard, and see if there’s anything he can extract about this very, very puzzling situation. The lackey gives him the company phone number that they have on file for Flynn, and Wyatt jots it down on his hand. He thanks the guy, then hangs up.

Wyatt isn’t nearly stupid enough to call a potential hostile on his own government phone, especially since that could lead to him getting tracked. So he starts the car, wearily girds his loins for his – what – fourth go-round with L.A. traffic for the day, and drives off to the kind of totally reputable establishment on Sepulveda Boulevard that sells burner phones that can be bought with cash. By the time he’s done that, it’s getting quite late, and Wyatt is starving, so he makes an In-n-Out run. He scoffs it down, buys a second burger for the road, and sits in the restaurant until he’s pretty sure the traffic will only be mildly exasperating rather than hellmouth terrible. Then he trucks out, gets back in, and drives off to a deserted high school parking lot. According to the dash clock, it is 11:23 pm.

This is probably a horrible idea. The guy could be full-on, off-the-ranch insane. Or – almost more frighteningly – he couldn’t be.

Wyatt checks that the number on his hand hasn’t gotten too smudged, and dials.

Lucy is getting changed into the Walmart pajamas when she hears Flynn having a terse conversation through the door. He’s keeping his voice down, so it’s hard to make it out, but it sounds like it’s important. God, not something else, not now. This has already been the absolute hell of a day, and she just wants it to be over. Please no more.

She combs out her tangled hair and brushes her teeth with the toiletries he also got, which was nice of him. So was the rescue, if that’s what Lucy wants to call it. She had everything under control, or so she would like to think. Told Cahill five minutes, and then… well, then she was somehow changing for an evening party with his serried social set, they were telling her how great she was, and she kept swearing that she was about to make a run for it somehow. And then out of nowhere, dragging her back into the library with its mounted deer head, scaring the life out of her and yet making her never so grateful to see anyone, Flynn. He keeps doing this. Turning up, and saving her. The last several times, from situations he put her in in the first place, but still. And that car with Benjamin Cahill and company, that wasn’t him. That was something else entirely, and Lucy didn’t like it.

She clenches her hands,which briefly seem inclined to tremble, and looks at herself in the mirror. She is a little pale and wan, dark smears of washed-off makeup lingering beneath her eyes, but she still seems like her. She waits until Flynn has finished his conversation, out of her usual polite instinct not to interrupt someone else’s private business, then steps out of the bathroom. “Who was that?”

Flynn jumps, then puts down the phone, which he has been glaring at as if expecting further information, or just because he’s annoyed. “You should probably go to sleep.”

“Maybe.” Lucy folds her arms. “Who was that?”

Flynn considers her, then gets abruptly to his feet, which is a fairly imposing thing for him to do. “You aren’t working for Rittenhouse,” he says, half as a statement and half as a challenge. “Are you? Some play-pretty-and-ignorant act, some very deep cover?”

“I am not working for Rittenhouse!” Lucy bristles. “Didn’t we settle that? Would I have left with you, or just gone to take a shower, instead of – I don’t know, calling someone and tipping them off where we are?”

“I was gone for a good twenty minutes or so,” Flynn points out. “I don’t know that you didn’t call someone.”

“I didn’t. Here, check my phone if you like.” Lucy thrusts it at him. “Besides, if you really thought I might be some kind of deep-cover agent, why did you rescue me?”

Flynn opens his mouth, realizes he doesn’t have an answer, and shakes his head brusquely. He takes her phone and scrolls through it, tosses it down on the bed, and finally says, “That was a Wyatt Logan. Friend of yours?”

“For the last time, no. I have no idea what is going on with any of this!” It’s close to midnight, Lucy’s exhausted, and this day has been, to say the least, a bitch. “Do you have anything else to interrogate me about, or can I go to sleep?”

Flynn briefly looks chastened, mulls another response, and jerks his head at the bed; apparently the Emperor has given permission. Lucy marches over, turns the covers back, and crawls beneath them, determined to put up a brave front but feeling shaky and small. Why, why has her mother kept this from her? Was it for her safety? It must have been for her safety. Realized that Benjamin Cahill was up to his eyeballs in whatever bad news Rittenhouse is, and cut Lucy (and later, Amy) off for their own good. It still hurts, but at least that way, Lucy can make sense of it. When she gets back to Palo Alto, hopefully soon, she’ll call her mom and clear the air, see if there’s anything else Carol needs to tell her. Maybe she can even help Flynn with this hell-bent investigation of his. Must know firsthand how sketchy they are. Maybe put him onto a few leads.

That is Lucy’s rational historian brain at work, the part that wants to cycle the kaleidoscope pieces together and see the big picture, the best outcome. And yet, all she can think of is Henry Wallace, all the times she called him Dad, and he never gave her any reason to think that was anything but the truth. How much did he know? All this time raising another man’s daughter – did he ever resent her? Did he truly just love her that much? Lucy wants beyond anything to see him again, to know. And yet obviously, she can’t. Lucy the historian understands all this, but Lucy the daughter is broken-hearted.

She sniffs, once and then again. Can feel a wetness soaking into the pillow under her cheek, and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. There can’t be many worse places to have this breakdown. Not yet, not yet. But another tear escapes, and a third.

Lucy thinks she hears an uncomfortable cough, and isn’t sure if she wants Flynn to notice this or not. She’s not really sure that he’d have anything particularly comforting to say, since his whole attitude about this seems to be “I told you so.” Why the hell did he come after her, then? Track her all the way out to the literal Rittenhouse in the middle of nowhere, but still won’t entirely relinquish his belief that she might be in with them somehow? Ugh. What the hell. This man is beyond frustrating.

Despite herself, Lucy slips into an uneasy haze, seeing as Flynn has apparently decided that the best strategy to deal with this is to sit very still and pretend he’s a tree. Yet again, if she was thinking that he might offer any comfort or …comfort, she’s mistaken. It’s really a good thing that she didn’t actually kiss him that first night.

Satisfying as this may be, it’s still hollow, and since Lucy doesn’t have Amy’s lap to put her head in, she could at least do with some brief moment of human connection or support. But if Flynn’s not offering, she’s not asking, and pulls the covers up tighter. If Rittenhouse comes barging in here during the wee hours, it is decidedly not her fault.

When Lucy opens her eyes again, the light is grey, the room is quiet, and the clock on the bedside table reads 6:43am. Flynn has dozed off on the other bed, still dressed, the same way he slept on her shitty couch back in her apartment, and nobody has been murdered, so there’s that. Lucy still feels like she’s been hit with a hammer, and could probably sleep another six hours at least, but she’s not sure if they’re going to have to pick up and bugger off somewhere else. It’s Sunday, maybe that will help with the traffic. It’ll still be at least two hours back to the Bay Area, though. If that’s where they’re going.

Lucy groans, closes her eyes again, and steals another forty-odd minutes of precious slumber, before she’s woken by the sound of Flynn moving around. She lies still and pretends to be sleeping, until he says gruffly, “Lucy, I know you’re awake.”

Ever the charmer, her knight in shining armor. Lucy sits up slowly. She has not had a ton of time to go to the gym recently, and yesterday was the most workout she had in months; she can feel it down to her toes. “Other people say good morning.”

Flynn’s mouth twitches, as if he’s almost about to smile, until he catches himself. “You should probably get up.”

“Oh? And what have you been doing all night?”

“Thinking.” Flynn pulls off his shirt, wads it up, and tosses it on his unmade bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Lucy was about to shoot back some remark about how she can’t see that going well – if he’s going to prod her, she’s going to prod him – but she’s momentarily distracted by the sight of his torso. Broad shoulders, heavily muscled arms, and several rugged scars – whatever the majority of this man’s career has been spent doing, it is not just annoying nearly-completed PhD students in California hotel rooms. There is a small, puckered, pinkish circle that looks like a bullet wound, and a few others that look like knives. She doesn’t know how old Flynn is – maybe mid-to-late thirties, seven or eight years older than her – but he’s clearly lived a hard life. Unwelcomingly, unnecessarily, her fingers flex, and her breath hitches.

Flynn catches her looking, and his tongue flicks out briefly to touch his lips. “Yes?”

“I thought you were taking a shower,” Lucy says, as coolly as she can. “Or are you still afraid that I’ll call Rittenhouse if you turn your back on me?”

Flynn arches an eyebrow at her. This man does have a remarkably expressive face, even if it mostly is employed for various permutations of smug, sass, smirk, and son of a bitch. “What, were you planning to come in? Only room for one in there, I’m afraid.”

With that, he strides to the bathroom and shuts the door, for all the world as if he just virtuously turned her down from making a move on him – which, obviously, did not actually happen. Lucy rocks back and forth on the bed, fighting an urge to scream, then gets up, gets dressed, and wonders if she can go down to the continental breakfast by herself, or Flynn will come tearing in and terrify some yuppies. Which might be amusing, at least momentarily, but will then result in even more headache and hassle to sort out.

It takes a while, but they finally eat (though Flynn, to judge from his dark looks at the buffet tables, doesn’t think much of Holiday Inn Express’s culinary selections), check out, and head back to the car. Lucy is not enthused to see it. “Are we going home yet?”

“No.” Flynn gestures her to get in, but she doesn’t. “I couldn’t keep you safe there.”

“Who said that was your job? Can’t you call someone? Whoever you work for?” Lucy folds her arms. “Get me a protection detail, so I can go back to my life, even if someone has to babysit me? However this is ordinarily handled?”

Flynn looks frustrated that she isn’t just taking his word and following his orders. Finally he says, “It’s… last night. When Logan called. There’s been some kind of complication. He said he was supposed to arrest me, at LAX. I don’t know what’s been decided on, but first they ordered me to drop the investigation and now Rittenhouse is trying to – ”

“What? Your bosses ordered you to drop it, and you didn’t see fit to share that with me?” As if he was going to share anything. “So what, we’ve been off the grid and against orders for at least the last twenty-four hours? It was one thing to be on the run with you when you were working on some official government business, now you’re off that too, and – what? I’m supposed to just trust you and get in the car?”

“Lucy – ” Flynn looks exasperated, as if he has genuinely never considered how insane he and all his plans sound. She’s gone along with it thus far, because she didn’t really have a choice, but before they head any further away from home, off into whatever planet he lives on, she needs solid answers. “Don’t make this difficult, just – ”

“Oh, me? Me? I’m the one who should not make this difficult?” Lucy catches sight of a nice retiree couple eyeing them from the hotel portico, and waves reassuringly. She might try to run for it right now, but all her books and her computer are still in the car, and it does not seem beneath Flynn to hold them for ransom. “Either we go home, or you explain a hell of a lot more about who this Wyatt Logan person was and what he told you.”

“He – ” Flynn rolls his eyes viciously. “It’s not a conversation for right here. Get in, and I promise – I promise – ” he repeats, seeing her look deeply dubious – “we’ll drive around a bit and I’ll tell you. Yes or no?”

Lucy hesitates, then jerks the car door open and gets in with as much icy dignity as she can muster. Muttering, Flynn does the same, pulls out with only a slight grinding of the gears, and keeps to his end of the bargain in puttering around at 30mph on some residential streets. As he does, he provides her a doubtless still-very-abridged version of what he learned. Wyatt Logan is a soldier of some description, though he didn’t specify his exact branch of service. He was sent by person or person(s) unknown to arrest Flynn at LAX, which is where he was supposed to go instead of staying with Lucy. Given that Flynn’s boss told him to go there, either he didn’t know that the rendezvous had been compromised, or he did. In short, someone highly placed in the U.S. government has ordered Flynn taken off the Rittenhouse investigation, and has gone to the lengths of sending a fellow special-ops guy to apprehend him. In short, Flynn can’t trust anyone back at headquarters, or know who they’re reporting to. That’s why he can’t just call in for backup and let someone else take it from here.

Lucy stares at him. If Flynn isn’t lying about this – and lying isn’t really his way, rather brute-force application of the unvarnished truth with all the subtlety of a speeding freight train – then that, obviously, is worrisome. “Why would he call and warn you?”

Flynn shrugs. “Dumb decency. Some people have it. But he wasn’t told either, he smelled a rat, so he did some digging.”

“How did he find out it was you?”

“I’m not sure. Wouldn’t say.” Flynn flashes a grim smile. “Had to play some of it close to the vest, after all. Said that he asked a few people. I assume someone like him, it wasn’t just the local hot dog vendor. So then. Do you see the problem?”

“You’re not willing to just drop me off back home and…” Lucy has no idea what the ordinary protocol would be, it’s a little outside her area of specialty. She doesn’t want to be kidnapped by Rittenhouse again, obviously, but she also doesn’t want to be joyriding around with a possibly-ex-NSA agent who’s managed to push the envelope too far even for them. “They couldn’t have had some good reason for pulling you off the case?”

Flynn looks at her flatly. “You’ve met who I’m after. Do you think so?”

Lucy hesitates. Yes, Rittenhouse was obviously creepy, there was a Waco-compound vibe to the party, and to have all these powerful, accomplished, wealthy people suddenly swanning out of the woodwork and offering her a dream job clearly came with a major catch. But… political parties and lobbying groups and other business conglomerates might be distasteful or even unethical (shock, horror, politics are dirty) but that still doesn’t make them strictly or flagrantly illegal. “I don’t know. I need more evidence.”

“Need more evidence.” Flynn makes a derisive noise in his throat. “That’s a historian’s answer.”

“I am a historian, in case you forgot. And I need to be back to Stanford by Tuesday, I have a class to teach.”

For a moment, Flynn looks as if he can respect this commitment to professional responsibility, even if he has no intention of honoring it, himself. “Why did you want to be a historian?” he asks instead. It doesn’t sound entirely like pleasant small talk. “Though it’s better than dropping out of college to join a band.”

Lucy flushes. That is the first reference he’s made to the fact that he saved her life seven years ago. But as to his question, she isn’t even sure she remembers consciously choosing. Just that it was implicit in her mind ever since she was a little girl, that she was going to study history and follow in her mother’s footsteps. That time with Jake was the only time she came seriously close to deviating from the plan, and Flynn is the reason she returned to it. Well, indirectly, since if he hadn’t come along, she would have been six feet under for a while now. “I just… always knew that was what I was supposed to do,” she says, after a pause. “My mom was… well, she is very… she just wanted what was best for me. She pushed me a lot, and that time when… when you saved me, that was when I’d decided I was going to tell her that I could live my own life, and not just mimic hers. But when I almost died, it… it seemed like a sign. That it had been a mistake. So I continued.”

“Do you even like it?” Flynn asks. Bewilderingly. “Or is it something else she made you do?”

“Of course I like it.” Lucy stares at him. “Really. If I hated it, I wouldn’t have gotten this far, even for my mother.”

She isn’t altogether certain about that. Just because she’s not sure she could live with her mother’s disappointment, her constant remarks about how Lucy isn’t really doing everything she could be. And she – she does want this, she can’t think of anything else she wants to do with her life, and frankly, if you’d be happy doing anything else apart from getting a PhD in history, you should probably do that. But that’s odd to think about, almost unsettling. If Puff the Tragic Wagon hadn’t gone off the road, and she hadn’t almost died, and Flynn hadn’t saved her, would she have gotten to her mother’s house, told her the plan, and followed through on dropping out of Stanford and running off with Jake? Or would she have wilted at the first sight of her mother’s disapproval, called the whole thing off, and continued as normal anyway? Does she actually have it in her to defy Professor Carol Preston, who red-penned her homework assignments from the age of nine? Who used to open up her laptop and go through her college papers and just delete whatever she thought wasn’t strong enough?

Lucy starts to say something else, then stops. “What about your mom?” she says instead, not sure why she’s inviting more intimacy, but determined to learn something about this man, half guardian angel and half obnoxious, dangerous, stubborn liability. “You said she was American, but you were born in Croatia.”

“She was.” Flynn rolls to a precise halt at a stop sign, then continues. “From Texas. She worked at Lockman Industries in the aeronautics and engineering division. She was in Houston during the moon landing, actually. A very talented woman.”

Lucy glances at him. She’s always up for hearing more about talented women. “What was her name?”

“Maria.” Flynn’s mouth shapes around it as if he hasn’t said it in a while. “Maria Thompkins. She died a few years ago.”

It’s plain that he would rather not keep talking about the subject, and they drive for a few minutes, going nowhere in particular. They make a few loops around the Windsor main drag, until Flynn says, “All right, I’ll take you home. But if anything happens on the way, or when we get there, then – ”

He sounds so grumpy and yet so worried that Lucy can’t help but smile. Impulsively, she reaches out to put a hand on his where it grips the gearshift. “I’ll be fine, Garcia.”

He blinks. His fingers tense under hers, for a moment as if they might turn and take hold. She gets the sense that people don’t often call him by his first name; it’s either Flynn or Agent or something else curt and formal. He’s still looking down at her. The air feels thick. She hasn’t quite let go.

“Lucy.” It sounds half as if he was trying to say something else, and half as if it just spilled out, as if he wanted to taste it. It lilts on his tongue, he looks at her from under his eyelids, and – Lucy doesn’t know what might have been about to happen. And for that matter, doesn’t get a chance to find out.

She’s aware of a flash, a glint, from the car that’s just pulled up next to them at the stoplight. Is aware, in a horrible, too-slow way, of Flynn realizing what it is, and slamming her down. In the next, the entire world has exploded in Lucy’s ears.

Flynn spreads his arms, sacrificing the chance to go for his own gun in order to shield her, and she hears him grunt as he straight-up takes two shots. All she can think about is those scars she saw this morning, how there was at least one bullet wound, and –

At that, Lucy moves. Reaches over, half-climbs into the driver’s seat, and hits the accelerator, trying to steer with one hand and thinking madly that she has to get them to a hospital. She can barely spare a moment to look in the rearview mirror and see if they’re being followed; all her attention is for him. “Garcia?” she says frantically. “Garcia!”

He grimaces, pressing a hand to his side. It wells up red. “Shit.”

“Don’t talk. Don’t talk, all right?” Lucy looks madly from side to side. She can see a sign for an urgent care, but she isn’t sure how well-equipped they are to handle a drive-by shooting. There’s probably a proper hospital in Santa Rosa, but how bad are his wounds? She tries to look, then has to swallow hard and turn away; blood has never been her strong suit. And if they go somewhere that needs ID, if that’s the exact thing they don’t want to do –

“Lucy.” He sounds somewhat squashed; even aside from being shot, their impromptu driving arrangement is making it hard for him to breathe. “There’s… a kit. In the back. Pull over somewhere, I’ll – ”

“You think you’ll fish two bullets out of you by yourself?” Lucy snaps. “We are getting someone to take care of you!”

Flynn opens his mouth, grimaces, and stops. The left shoulder of his shirt is wet red. He looks like he might pass out, and Lucy decides to hell with it. The urgent care it is. She veers them into the parking lot, slams on the brakes, and hauls Flynn out with a considerable effort. Once she has gotten him inside to the very alarmed receptionist, Flynn is just in command of himself to grouch, but someone takes hold of him and he vanishes into the back. Lucy drops into a chair, covered in blood and shaking. What the hell. What the hell.

She doesn’t think she’s going back to Stanford today.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Z 002

Meanwhile at Master Roshi’s place, Bulma’s here!  

I wouldn’t say this is my favorite Bulma outfit, but it does look very sharp. 

Roshi and Krillin are here because this is Roshi’s house, and I guess Krillin just lives here all the time?    We never really get a clear answer on this.   Anyway, Roshi has a giant mug of beer, which is kind of odd since we never saw him drink this much before.   He had a can of beer when Goku came to become his student back in Episode 14, but that was about it.   Now it’s like “Hey, it’s DBZ, I’m gettin’ my drink on.”

Anyway, Bulma smacks the shit out of him because he couldn’t go a full minute without sexually harassing her.   Master Roshi belongs in jail.

Oh, here’s a hot update: Bulma and Yamcha are on the outs again.   Let me just break down the timeline of their relationship. 

Age 749: Bulma and Yamcha hook up.

Age 750: Yamcha leaves to train for the 21st Budokai.   Bulma gets mad at him for it and pretty much stays mad at him through the Fortuneteller Baba arc.

Age 750-753: Bulma appears to live with Master Roshi while he trains Yamcha for the 22nd Budokai. 

Age 753-756: Roshi advises Yamcha to train on his own elsewhere, and he does it.  

Age 761: Bulma is so mad at Yamcha that she neither knows nor cares where he is.

I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade, but this relationship wore on for over a decade, and they spent most of it either in separate locations or on the outs, or both at once.

Bulma asks where Launch is, and Krillin explains that she went looking for Tien years ago.   So I guess everyone just went their separate ways after the 23rd Budokai ended.    The fact that Bulma isn’t aware of Launch’s disappearance suggests that she hasn’t been to Kame House in five years either.

Anyway Goku shows up and he’s all “What up, here’s my kid.”

Everyone’s all shocked, and I don’t really know why.    Everyone talked about how hot Chi-Chi was at the 23rd Budokai.   Did they really think Goku was just gonna move in with her and this wasn’t going to happen?   No.   No, Goku knows what’s up.

They ask how old Gohan is and he has to count on his fingers before answering.  This kid is adorable.

And he wants to be a great scholar when he grows up.   Good on you, kid. 

Turtle walks up to him and he’s all “No, you can totally pet me, it’s cool,” so Gohan does and it’s great.   

Everyone worries about Gohan turning into a giant ape when the moon is full, but they can’t just come out and ask about it, because Goku doesn’t know that he used to do that before Kami removed his tail.   

They also ask if Gohan’s got any fighting talent, but Chi-Chi won’t let Goku train him because she thinks it would be a waste of time.   

Frankly, Chi-Chi has a point.   Being Goku’s son, Gohan’s bound to be a fighting prodigy whether he trains now or not.   Why not get him educated, and that way he’ll have the best of both worlds?  

Then the alien from the last episode shows up.   He calls Goku “Kakarot” and tells him he looks just like their dad.    Uh-oh.

So here’s the quick version: Grandpa Gohan found Baby Goku in the forest.   We know that part of the story.    What he never told anyone (except Master Roshi) is that Goku was inside a space capsule at the time.    Baby Goku was pretty rowdy as babies go, but then he fell and his his head, and later he recovered and became a much more good-natured boy.

Our alien visitor here introduces himself as Raditz, and fills in the gaps.   That space capsule was from the Saiyan homeworld, Planet Vegeta, and they were the ones who sent Kakarot here.   Thanks to the bump on his head, the kid forgot everything he knew about his mission and his identity, so that’s how he ended up as the Goku we know today.

Krillin doesn’t understand why the Saiyan would send a baby to Earth, so Raditz explains that the Saiyans invade planets and eradicate their native populations, so that other aliens can purchase the empty worlds as real estate.  

The planets with tougher inhabitants require adult Saiyans, but they send the infants to loser planets like Earth that’ll be easier to conquer.  

Now, a lot of what Raditz is saying here was overruled by later retcons by Akira Toriyama in the Dragon Ball Minus story, which was later adapted into the recent feature film “Dragon Ball Super: Broly”.   In that version, we find that Goku’s parents were the ones who sent Goku to Earth, because they suspected that Frieza might try to destroy them all.    Gine contacts Raditz to tell him where they sent Goku, but she never explains to him why.

Consequently, Raditz simply assumed that Kakarot was sent to Earth on an official assignment, and he simply forgot that assignment because of his bump on the head.   According to DB Minus, though, Goku never had an assignment because his trip to Earth was unauthorized.   Bardock stole the Attack Ball and sent it to Earth before anyone could find out about it.  

A lot of fans have complained about this altered premise, probably because they liked the original notion of Goku as an inversion of Superman.   He was sent to Earth to destroy it, and ended up becoming its greatest hero.   The modern version basically embraces the Superman trope, because Bardock and Gine sent Goku to Earth specifically to save him from their planet’s destruction, and for no other reason.   Bardock even picked Earth because it’s native population would be no threat to baby Kakarot, just as Jor-El predicted that Earth’s yellow sun would be beneficial to Kal-El.

Personally, I’m on board with the newer revision.   It’s not that I necessarily prefer the kinder, gentler Goku origin story, but I like the irony that Raditz is completely unaware of it.   He only knows what he’s been told, and Goku knows even less still.   He can only assume that Goku was sent here for the cruelest, most violent reasons possible, because that’s the way Raditz thinks.  

In any event, a lot of what Raditz says in this episode gets overturned later anyway.   In particular, he says that Planet Vegeta was destroyed by a meteor collision, leaving only four survivors: Himself, his two allies, and Goku.  We’ll later learn that the meteor story was a ruse, and other Saiyan survivors would be introduced over the years, though not very many. 

So why did Raditz come here, then?   Turns out there’s a planet he and his two allies plan to conquer, but they think they can use an extra set of hands.  Raditz remembered Goku, and came here to recruit him.   He thinks Goku would be thriled at the chance to kill and destroy on an alien world, but Goku’s not interested.

So Raditz considers young Gohan instead.  

I think the dub implies that Raditz would be willing to take Gohan as a substitute for Goku, but the Japanese script only refers to Gohan as a hostage.   Raditz threatens to kill the boy tomorrow, unless Goku kills 100 Earthlings and lines them up on Roshi’s island as proof of his willingness to join Raditz.   Oh, and Goku tries to fight Raditz, but he just gets clobbered in one hit.   

So, here’s the thing about Raditz.   As an individual character, he doesn’t bring a whole lot to the table, since he doesnt’ stick around for very long.    The main appeal of him, I think, is the bigger impact his presence has on the entire story.   Raditz is THE prototype for the entire Saiyan species.   Every Saiyan introduced after Raditz is based upon him in some way.    The way he talks, the way he carries himself, the talk of violence stirring Saiyan blood, etc. 

Of course, Goku’s been a Saiyan all along, but he didn’t know until just now.  Raditz stands as a monument to everything Goku could have been, but isn’t, thanks to his upbringing on Earth.   This is the other reason I like the retcons established in DB Minus and Broly.   Without them, we’re left to assume that ruthlessness is just an inborn trait of the Saiyan race, and that Goku is an exception to the rule.    But if Bardock and Gine would go out of their way to save their son the way they did, then maybe a lot of the easy cruelty Raditz preaches is just a corruption of Saiyan honor, and he pretends it’s their way when it’s nothing more than an excuse.   

What Raditz doesn’t get about Goku is that his Saiyan blood is stirred by what Raditz is saying.    Only, he’s not excited about slaughtering a bunch of innocent people; he’s excited about throwing hands with someone as strong as Raditz.   Maybe “excited” is the wrong word, since Goku admits a few times that he’s too scared by Raditz’ immense power to enjoy fighting him.   Still, Goku repeatedly defies him, despite the overwhelming odds.    That’s Goku’s own take on Saiyan pride, and Raditz is the one who’s too blind to see it.  

[chocobabyporcelain]

Noctis and his S/O running away so he doesn't have to marry Luna.

Anon… Did you just give me an excuse to write that songfic I’ve been daydreaming about? I think I love you, wow.

Also, I’m sorry this has taken so long, I’m kind of a fail at life, tbh.

Song in question; Runaway With Me from The Unauthorized Autobiography of Samantha Brown (Caleb Hyles cover, I love this man’s voice).

Tagging: @nemo-ne-impune-lacessit @itsmootothecow @insomniasix @mp938368 @ffxv-milkshake @bespectacled-girl @insomniacapples @itshaejinju @expectogladiolus @bluechocobo @airlea-sicarius @diadyn @birdsandivory @alicemoonwonderland @mandakatt @zacklover24 @eternallydaydreaming2015 @danceswithdinosaurs @valkyrieofardyn @hammerhead-goddess @1000wolflover @stopmopingstarthoping @dreamiggy @mostlyvoidpartiallysass @grumpyoldmoogle @yoitssabrinee @amicitonia @theyearofdiamonddogs @unerring-connoisseur(I tag mutuals, if you want to be added or removed from the tag list, let me know asap)

You wish you could say that the announcement of Noctis’s engagementto Lady Lunafreya had come as a shock to you, but it really hadn’t.Noct and Luna had been good friends since they were children, theyhad a bond that you could never understand, and you were okay withthat.

It took you a little while, but you’d made your peace. Noctis wasgetting married. Soon enough, you two would have to go your separateways. And that was okay. It just meant you had to take full advantageof the time you had left.

For the past couple of days, the two of you had barely left yourcomfortable spot, curled up on the sofa, binging TV shows, playingvideo games and talking. You shared memories, laughed and joked, andsimply enjoyed each other’s presence.

That’s not to say you weren’t hurting. You were losing the bestperson who had ever stepped into your life in what you perceived tobe the worst possible way. It hurt like hell, of course it did. But,while you had never met Luna, you knew she’d be good for Noctis.You knew they could be happy.

And you knew you could be happy for them. In time. Once you’dgotten over the initial hurt and inevitable bitterness, you were sureyou’d be able to smile sincerely and wish them both the best.

The point is, you were coming to terms with it. Were.

“Y’know,” Noctis held you close, an arm tucked around yourmiddle as the two of you spooned on your couch. “I’ve never beento Galahd before,” he mused.

You hummed, still focussed on the old classic movie that you insistedNoct needed to watch. One of your all time favourites.

“I’ve been through there in the car, but I’ve never beenthere.” Noct pulled his arm from around you, earning a little whineof protest that died down as he began idly twirling locks of yourhair around his fingers. “I’ve been having this… daydream, Iguess.”

You sighed. “Noct,” you whispered. You knew where this was going.You couldn’t do this.

“We have this cottage in Galahd and it’s absolutely beautiful. Alittle chilly in the winter, but it doesn’t bother us at all.”

“Noct, please.” Tears began welling in your eyes, refusing to beblinked away.

“We have a life there. A life together. It’s perfect, andonce all the drama of us running away blows over, the guys can visitus all the time. I know they’d never tell anyone where we are. We’dbe so happy.”

“Noctis!” You sat up, wiping away your tears before youdared to look at him. You sighed, shaking you head, eyebrows knittedtightly. “What are you thinking of?” you asked.

Noctis fixed you with a look that concerned you, but also warmed yourheart. A serious look that said he’d planned this all out alreadyand was waiting on your ‘yes.’

“I’m thinking of our future,” he replied. He reached out andtook your hand, lacing your fingers. “We can be happy, Y/N. If wedo this, we’re saying no. We’re saying this arrangement meansnothing to us, that we’re going to be together whether they like itor not.” Noct pulled you into his lap, holding you close andresting his forehead against yours. “We could have a perfect life,Y/N. All I want is to be with you,” he whispered.

You let out a heavy breath, still desperately trying to fight thetears. “I want that, too,” you whimpered. “But we can’t dothis.” As you pressed a kiss to his lips, you felt it all bubblingin your chest. All the emotions, all the words left unsaid, all thetears you were holding back. “I love you, Noctis,” you sobbed.“So much. You have no idea how hard it is for me to just… wishyou well and let you go.”

“So don’t!” Noctis’s voice cracked. “Y/N,” Hisshaking hands landed on your cheeks, his thumb wiping away yourtears. “I’m not trying to tie you down here, I’m just saying wecan do this!” Noct kissed you again, his hands moving fromyour face to hold you more securely around your waist, pulling youcloser. “I’m not prepared to let this end.” he whispered.

You’d stopped trying to hide it, crying openly now. You let yourhead drop onto his shoulder, sobs racking your entire body.

Noctis gently kissed your temple, running a hand through your hair ashe hushed you.

Never in your life had you been happier than you had with Noct. And,even though everything in you was screaming that you shouldn’t,couldn’t do this, something in your mind was urging you todo it. Be selfish for once.

What were you really losing if you were to run away? A family thatonly spoke to you when they needed something? A low salary job thattook everything out of you and gave nothing back?

No! You were crazy to even consider this. This wasn’t going tohappen. You’d get passed this, say goodbye, get over it and smileas the man you loved married another woman. It would be no big thing.

Except, that wasn’t strictly true. You knew watching Noctis walkaway would be your undoing. You’d keep up appearances, smilepolitely and carry on. But inside, you’d break a little more eachtime you heard his name.

If there was a chance for you two to remain together without hurtinganyone, then of course you’d take it, but this? Was this even anoption? Could you face the consequences?

“Y/N,” Noctis eased you back, his hands dropping to your hips ashe once more rested his forehead against yours. “Believe me when Isay nothing hurts me more than the thought of losing you.”

In all your years on knowing and loving Noctis, this was the firsttime you had ever seen him this open, this honest.

And that was it.

“Okay,” you whispered, tears still thick in your throat.

You sat in silence as the words sank in. Noctis’s grip on your hipstightened, though it did nothing to quell their shaking. “O-Okay?”he parroted.

“Okay,” you replied, with a sob. “Let’s do it.”

Noctis pulled you in for a searing kiss, his hands suddenly in yourhair. “Yeah,” he whispered as your broke apart. “Let’s doit!”

And so, you did.

Your whole life was wrapped up and packed into the back of Noctis’scar. A short goodbye given to your parents in a short letter. Givento Ignis in a folded note left on the dinning table of Noct’sapartment. He’d pass the message along.

Months passed you by. Weeks of living your life on the go. Living outof suitcases, eating at crappy diners, sleeping in sleazy motels. Itwas hard, but it was fun. It reminded you of old movies you used towatch, curled up on the sofa with your dad.

Yes, you missed your family, and you were sure they missed you to.But you didn’t think you’d ever been happier.

And maybe you never found that perfect cottage from Noct’sdaydreams, but maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe the bungalow you’dfound, with it’s shingled roof and tiny garden, was even moreperfect than anything either of you could dream up.

It had been almost half a year now, since you and Noctis had foundyour happy little home together, far away from the city. The tinygarden out front was now your pride and joy. Your little flowergarden, complete with a small strawberry patch.

You were there, in your little garden, tending to your flowers, whenyou were startled out of your thoughts by a sharp bark.

When you looked up, you saw a dog with black and grey fur, staring atyou almost inquisitively as he sniffed at your peonies. “Noctis,”you called through the open door of your home. “We have a visitor.”

Noctis appeared in the doorway, looking understandably pensive.

The dog bounded towards Noct, barking happily.

“Umbra?” Noctis knelt down and scratched behind the dog’s ear.“Hey, buddy. How’d you find me?” he chuckled.

Then he saw it. That familiar red notebook.

His heart was in his throat. His mind raced as he untied the bookform around Umbra’s neck, thinking of all the things she could havewritten in it.

He thumbed through the pages, locating the newest message. And hesmiled.

Of all the things she could have said.

‘I’m so happy for you.’

Beneath her message, she’d pressed a single white violet.

“Take a chance on happiness.” Noctis muttered.

“Hm?”

Noctis looked at you, sat there amongst your flower garden. Dressedin your ratty old gardening clothes, your hair slung up in a lazyponytail, stray wisps blowing with the breeze, and soil on yourcheeks, you were still the most beautiful sight in the entire world.“Language of flowers,” he said. “You should plant some whiteviolets.”

[notsoguiltykpop]

The Ghost in Apartment 1403 pt7

Reader x Namjoon

Genre: Angst, supernatural, fluff, humor

Warnings: Mentions of death, dark themes, generally kind of sad at times. If you are concerned that it may be triggering for you, please feel free to message me about it and I can let you know in more detail exactly what happens <3

Short summary;

Namjoon was a (relatively speaking) normal music producer moving up in the world–until he became a ghost. With no memory of what happened, and no idea what he’s doing still on earth, he haunts his old apartment–consequently bothering its new inhabitant (who also happens to be the only person who can see or hear him).

Part 1, 2 , 3, 4, 5, 6

Music filled the small apartment, drifting through the walls so the neighbors heard, out the window, and under the front door to where you stood. It was a lovely melody, one that sounded of longing and heartbreak, of losing something one knew they could never regain.

You were going to murder Namjoon.

You had no idea how, seeing as he was already dead and a ghost, but that didn’t change your intent as you made your way down the hallway, throwing open your bedroom door to see the spirit sitting at your keyboard. The moment you set eyes on him, his fingers could no longer play the keys, and the room fell silent.

“Excuse you, I was composing.” Namjoon snapped, turning around to see you fixing him with a glare. You blinked at him. He looked more transparent that usual for a moment, but was back to normal just as fast.

“At top volume? So all the city could hear? When the landlord comes over here because the neighbors are complaining about the noise, I’m the one who’s going to be in trouble, Namjoon. Now cut it out.”

Your room was a mess. Papers littered the floor, covered in handwritten notes and scribbled lyrics. You picked one of them up, examining it in the light.

“Do you know how boring it is to be dead?” Namjoon grumbled, looking back at your old, beaten up keyboard. “I used to make music every day. And now you want me to–what? Watch TV? I don’t want to.”

You fixed Namjoon with a blank stare. “You could at least keep the volume down.”

Namjoon shook his head. “The neighbors don’t mind. I used to play like this all the time when I was alive, they never complained.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just to give you a heads up, we’re having an exorcism next week.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow at you. “Why? Have you been possessed by a demon? I guess it would explain some things…”

“No.” You rubbed your eyes. Namjoon was impossible. “It’s to get rid of you.”

“Oh.” Namjoon suddenly fell quiet. You weren’t sure what you expecting–maybe for him to be mad? Or perhaps to be happy?–but it certainly wasn’t for Namjoon to look sad.

“I thought you wanted to move on?” You asked gently, sitting down on the edge of your bed. “You’re always complaining about being a ghost.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop existing.” Namjoon muttered, his hands hovering just above the keys. “Why next week? Why not sooner?” He asked suddenly.

“Hoseok said he knows some people who can help, but they aren’t free any day this week.” You explained. Namjoon nodded.

“Can we try something first?” He asked, and you shrugged.

“Maybe. Depends on what it is.”

“See, I was thinking. About what kind of unfinished business I might have, I mean.” Namjoon looked at you, a determination in his eyes you hadn’t seen very often. “As a producer, I made tons of music, worked with loads of people, but one thing I never did was release any of my own music.”

“Okay?” You nodded for him to continue.

“I was halfway done with my album when I died. I think that’s what I was supposed to do.”

“Release an album?” You made a face. “That might be kind of hard to do, seeing as you’re dead and all.”

Namjoon shook his head. “I can keep working on it, and publish it anonymously. As long as my music’s out there somehow, it’s fine with me.”

“So where do I come in?” You asked, knowing that you weren’t going to like whatever it was Namjoon was going to tell you.

“I can keep working on it as long as I have a laptop and the files that I saved. I finished recording everything before I died, all that’s left is mixing and editing.”

“And?” You still didn’t see what you had to do, but knew you weren’t going to get away with nothing.

“And so I need the files. Which I can’t get.” Namjoon smiled nervously at you.

“How am I supposed to get them?” You asked incredulously, seeing what he was getting at.

Namjoon waved a hand dismissively. “It’ll be easy. They’re all saved into the company servers, all you have to do is get into the building, log into a computer as me, and download the files onto a thumb drive.”

“Right, that’s all I have to do…” You muttered. “Easy…”

“So you’ll do it?” Namjoon said hopefully.

“Of course not!” You snapped, walking out of the room. Namjoons plan was insane, and you would have no part in it.

You couldn’t believe Namjoon had talked you into this. You tried to ask him why he couldn’t just float into the company and email it to himself, but he had said something about there was no way to do that without attracting too much attention.

You weren’t sure how a random stranger sneaking into the building who clearly didn’t belong would raise less suspicion, but you figured Namjoon probably knew the company better than you did.

“Sorry ma’am, but you need to have some kind of ID…” The security guard at the door held a hand up before you entered the building.

“No, you don’t.” Namjoon snorted. “Just tell them you’re here to see Park Jimin and they’ll let you in.”

You did as Namjoon instructed, and for some reason, it worked. Once you were inside and fairly sure that no one was around, you whispered to Namjoon. “Why did that work?”

“Jimin has pretty girls visit him at the office all the time.” Namjoon shrugged. You wanted to ask Namjoon if you were correct in thinking that he had just implied that you were pretty, but you could hear footsteps approaching and didn’t want to be caught apparently talking to yourself.

“The stairs are straight ahead and to the left.” Namjoon informed you as you walked. “Take them instead of the elevator. You’re less likely to run into anyone.” You were almost there when you heard someone call your name.

You turned to see Jungkook waving to you, a smile on his face. He looked entirely different from the last time you saw him. He was much more put together, his hair combed back to reveal his forehead, and wearing a blazer that made him look older.

Seeing him smile was also something completely different, and you thought that if he hadn’t called out to you, you might not have recognized him.

“Hey, Jungkook. Good to see you.” You gave him a smile, though you were internally panicking. Yoongi had made it very clear that he didn’t want you anywhere near Jungkook, and you hoped that the elder of the two wasn’t also there somewhere. “What are you doing here?”

Jungkook gave you a strange look. “I work here. The real question is, what are you doing here?”

“I uh…” You were at a loss. You were there to steal songs that belonged to the dead Kim Namjoon, who wanted to release them on the internet, and there was no way you could think of to phrase that that didn’t sound insane. “You know, to be perfectly honest I was in the area and missing Namjoon, so I decided to stop by. It’s kind of dumb, I know…”

Jungkook shook his head quickly. “Not at all. I know how it is. Sometimes I find myself in his old office when I need advice about something. Grief does weird things, and we all deal with it differently.”

You had to be honest, you liked Jungkook, which made it that much harder to lie to him. “I’m really glad you understand, thanks.”

“Since when do you work on Saturdays?” Namjoon asked Jungkook, though the younger couldn’t hear him. “You never work overtime, and not once in your life have you ever worked weekends.”

You tried to ignore Namjoon, who was being absolutely no help.

“Of course I understand. Have you ever been here before? I can give you a tour, if you’d like.” Jungkook offered, and you agreed because you had no idea what else to do.

“Since when do you give tours?” Namjoon continued. “You hate it when people you don’t know see where you work, it makes you all fidgety and weird.” Namjoon glanced at you. “Unless you have a crush on her… In which case, no. Don’t do that. We have things to do, Jungkook. I don’t have time for you to try to flirt with her!”

You really wanted to tell Namjoon to shut up, but there was no way you could do that without sounding like you were saying it to Jungkook. Namjoon sounded jealous that Jungkook was getting all of your attention, but it was something you would have to wait to teas him about until later.

“Here’s where we do all the recording, the rooms are sound-proof, so sometimes artists practice in there…”

You were on the second floor, had no idea where you were supposed to be in order to download the files you were there for, and Namjoon was sulking.

“This is Namjoons office.” You had arrived at a door that had the name Kim Namjoon in bold script by the door. It looked so formal, so fancy, it didn’t fit the purple-haired-always-complaining-very-destructive ghost that you had gotten to know.

Jungkook pulled a set of keys from his pocket, which gained Namjoons attention. “Technically, I’m not supposed to let unauthorized people in, but isn’t not like you’re going to take anything, right?” Jungkook said the words lightly, and you tried to laugh along with him. It made a horrible guilt settle in your chest.

“Of course not. And thank you, Jungkook. For showing me around and all.”

Jungkook shrugged. “In all honesty, it gave me an excuse to avoid sitting at my desk for a while, so I should thank you.”

“I knew it!” Namjoon said triumphantly. “I knew you’d never really work on a weekend.”

“Everything is just the way he left it.” Jungkook said as he opened the door. “A little dustier, maybe. Old Mr. Bang can’t quite bring himself to give the room to someone else, I think he still hopes… Anyway, I have first dibs on it, but for now it just sits here…”

“Jungkook?” You said as you walked into the office. It was nice, far nicer than what you had imagined. One wall was taken up by a bookcase, the others covered in posters and old vinyls.

“Hm?” Jungkook had wondered over to the window, opening it to let some fresh air into the dusty room.

“Can I ask for one last favor?”

Jungkook nodded as he turned around. His eyes were big and trusting, and you hated that you were about to betray that trust yet again.

“Can I have a few minutes in here alone? I know it’s a weird request, I just feel closer to him here…”

“Of course.” Jungkook said before you even finished your sentence. “Just pull the door locked when you’re done.”

You sat down at the large desk, Namjoon floating over to hover behind you. Jungkook pulled the door mostly shut behind himself when he left, and you listened as his footsteps got further away.

“Alright, Namjoon.” You opened the dusty laptop that was still plugged into the wall. “Lets do get this over with.”

A/N Idk what this fic is tbh but I do enjoy writing it. Once again I am posting without proper proofreading, so I’ll check it in the morning. I apologize for any glaringly obvious mistakes. Poor Reader just wants to be left alone, and Namjoon might get her into some major trouble if they’re not careful… Thank you for reading, and let me know what you thought of this update! <3 <3 <3