#small snap sound effect for moving around as a place holder. but knowing myself it will probably stay

[bwobgames]

Small tour of the place

or at least all the unlocked areas

[roscgcld]

DAYDREAMING!AU || new reality

;request: rn i’m obsessed with your writing & the daydreaming!reader<33 but i also love angst so what would happen if she ended up getting really hurt protecting another student - hope that wasn’t too weird.. again, i love your writing !!

note: ahaha, i am glad that a lot of people enjoy my daydreaming!reader works; she is also one of my babies as well >< and originally i wasn't going to do this cause i had no idea on what to write - but i had managed to layout a rocky plan before i got some bursts of inspiration lol. ended up becoming too loud though ><” I am sorry for that~

pronouns: she/her

daydreaming!reader masterlist

“There is a chance that she will never wake up from this.”

Shoko gave the others in the room a concerned glance as she glanced up from her tablet, hating how silent it was besides the quiet beeping of the machines around the occupied bed. Laying in the bed was Y/N, a breathing tube carefully inserted into her mouth with the ventilator beside her being the only thing that’s keeping her oxygen levels normal. “The amount of damage she took was quite large. And even though she had managed to regulate quite a strong barrier of Curse Energy around her at all times, it wasn’t enough to brace her for the impact of her being slammed into the build.”

The mission shouldn’t have ended this way - the first and second year students were sent on a mission to deal with a few Finger Bearers that had appeared in the city due to the lack of sorcerers on duty at the time. They were under the care of a few First Grade sorcerers, all hand-picked by Yaga-sensei to ensure the safety of the kids.

However, things rarely go to plan in the jujutsu world.

Yaga-sensei sighs softly as he leans back into his seat, his eyes glancing over at his student that was clearly battling to stay alive. Guilt started to eat him from the inside out, since this was technically his fault. Sure, everyone knows that there is no way that you can go on a mission without enduring some casualties. But the fact is that this was not what he had expected for the outcome to be.. “I am going to kill them myself.”

“G-Gojo-san!” Ijichi hissed out as he glances over at the white haired shaman in the room with wide eyes, the man having been leaning against the wall opposite from the hospital bed with his arms crossed over his chest. His head was tipped forward with an almost too casual expression on his face, yet anyone can tell the barely suppressed anger that lurked underneath. An anger that was only a few moments away from exploding. “You can’t - don’t say things like that!”

“And you expect me to sit back as they failed to save the children?” Gojo asks in a loud voice, effectively squashing whatever confidence Ijichi had built up inside of him. The hand that was resting arm tightened, the veins at the back of his pale hands started to protrude out as Gojo’s anger started to show itself. “I need a good explanation on how their incompetency put our student in this state. 5 First Grades against 3 Special Grade Curses? With 7 talented students by their side and they still can’t handle it? Give me a fucking break.”

“Not everyone can be like you, Satoru.” Yaga-sensei finally mumbles out as he rests his forehead into his hand, fingers pinching at the space between his eyes tiredly. “If anything, it was my fault. I had underestimated the brains of the Finger Bearers, and because of that, all my calculations were wrong. I put retrieving the fingers over numbers. So if you want to find someone to be angry to, the blame is on me.”

The room went quiet after Yaga’s explanation, both Ijichi and Shoko sharing a caution look before casting a glance over at the blindfolded man. After a few tensed moments Gojo pushed himself off the wall and walked out of the hospital room without another word, closing the door behind him quietly; a stark contrast to his usual habit of either slamming the shoji doors too hard, or leaving it open completely.

That out of character move definitely had Shoko sighing in concern. “That idiot...I hope he’s not going to do anything stupid.” She mumbles softly before she turned back to face the young girl laying on the bed, quietly reaching over to brush her fingers through the soft strands that had fallen over Y/N sleeping face. “You better wake up soon, sweetheart...I worry that this might finally push him over the edge.”

Occupying each seat outside of the small waiting area in the infirmary were the other students; wounds bandaged, yet their anxiety was palpable in the air. They had heard what had happened, yet were sheild by the other sorcerers who had called for back-up. Last they heard of Y/N was a scream before what sounded like a building collasping. “Do you think Y/N-senpai is alright?”

Yuji was the first one who dared to break the silence, glancing up from his clenched hands before him to glance at the others. “I mean...it must have been bad, since she was charted off as soon as back up arrived.” Yuji mutters softly as he tightened his fingers together, trying to stop them from shaking. He felt awful - if only he had spared a few seconds to glance over at his senpai, maybe she wouldn’t be in the condition she’s in now. “It’s not every day you’re rushed straight to Ieiri-sensei’s office...”

“...If there is one idiot who can pull through, it’ll be her,” Maki mumbles out quietly after awhile, looking away from her kouhai to stare down at the wooden floors of the building they were in. “Even if it’s bad, she always pulls through it...there is no reason why she can’t do it this time.” She mutters softly just as a pair of footsteps came towards them, causing everyone to look up at the approaching figure. 

Gojo paused when he spotted the others, the question they wanted to ask was clear as day. And for once, Gojo wished that he was able to reassure them like he always does. For him to be able to put up the act that everything was alright, that everyone will be okay. 

But he knew that it’ll do no justice if he did. “Is she...is she alright?”

The question that fell from Yuta’s mouth was left hanging in the air for a few moments, the sliver of hope they had moments ago slowly dimming with each passing moment. Quietly Gojo slipped his hands into his pockets, his blindfolded eyes downcast; too scared to see their reactions. For once, he wished that he was not the one to break the news to the students. “Y/N-chan...might not recovery from this.”

His words sent shock waves through the students, yet he balled his fists up in his pockets to continue with what he had to say. “She hit her head too hard...and if she was not subconsciously protecting herself with Cursed Energy all the time, the impact would have caused her skull to crack in two on impact. But it still took a lot out of her person, and Shoko said that-”

The sound of a metal chair being thrown backwards echoed across the room, causing Gojo to look up just in time to see Yuta standing up with wide eyes as he hastily tried to calm his friend. “Maki, you need to calm down.” He tried to reason with the girl, who had her backed turn to the group, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket. “This isn’t your fault-” Yuta tried to reason, only to pause when Maki just silently started to walk away, leaving with no more but a loud slam of the main door that echoed down the hallway once more. 

For a few moments no one said anything else, yet the first one to move was Megumi; who turned to face his sensei. “Can we visit her?” He mumbled out quietly, to which Gojo just glanced over at him with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Usually people talk to someone who is in a coma. Might jolt them awake or give them encouragement to fight harder...I am sure Y/N-senpai will get lonely if no one visited her..”

“Why not?” Gojo said after a few moments of thought, giving his students what he hope was a reassuring smile as he turns a little; nodding down the hallway. “Shoko managed to stabalise her condition. Just make sure to sanatise your hands at the door.”

Quietly the group of students followed behind their silent sensei, keeping close to one another as if they were trying to give each other comfort. The walk to the room seemed too far, the door seeming to grow further and further away from them with each step. It was if it was trying to stop them from seeing the truth; yet they didn’t stop. Yet soon they found themselves standing before the smooth door; the single grey name plaque with her name written in black resting in the silver plaque holder. “Right, here we are.”

After everyone was handed a blob of hand sanitiser and had wiped it onto their skin, the small group entered after a quiet knock to the door. “Y/N-chan, I’ve returned with the others...minus one, that is.” Gojo hummed out in delight as he made his way towards the bed, a silent gesture for the others to do the same. “You know Maki-chan though. Once she finishes beating herself up, she’ll come running back. She always does~”

Quietly the others made their way into the room, eyes scanning over the beeping machines and many wires connected to the sleeping girl. “Y/N...senpai..” Nobara mumbles out in shock, her eyes resting the ventilator; not believing that a girl that was bounding about the college earlier today now needed help to do something as simple as breathing. “No way...there is...”

A warm hand rest on the top of her head, Megumi quietly giving her a form of comfort whilst his wide eyes stared at the bed before him in shock. No one dared take a step forward, like they were standing on the other side of a fragile glass bridge that was moments away from breaking. “Y/N..”

Gojo felt the hole started to eat inside of him as he watches how his students were staring at their fellow classmate in shock. Quietly he settled down in the only seat at the corner of the room, watching from the shadows at how the others will react to seeing her in such a state. The first person to snap out of it was Yuta, who quietly places a hand on Toge’s shoulders before giving it a light squeeze. “Shall we go and say hello?” 

Quietly Yuta made his way towards the bed, only to hesitate one step away from grabbing onto her hand. He stared at the frail hand, a simple IV needle carefully taped on the back of her palm for a few moments; a clear look of uncertainty on his face. Yet he took a deep breath, and with a trembling hand, carefully took Y/N’s cold hand in his. “I...Hi, Y/N...” Yuta mumbles quietly into the hospital room, voice barely heard over the constant beeping of the heart monitor. “Sorry...we took awhile to visit...and sorry that Maki isn’t here...I am sure she’ll drop by when she is ready though.”

The only response he got was the sound of the steady beep of the heart monitor, to which he just tighten his grip ever so slightly on Y/N’s unmoving hand. He could hear the soft giggle that Y/N would let out at his words, and if he felt tears welling up in his eyes as he hears her voice bouncing around inside his head.

“It’s alright, Yuta-san! I am sure you were busy before that. And I know Maki-chan will come after you leave - but you didn’t hear that secret from me~”

The silence of the hospital room made Yuta sick to the stomach, the idea that he might never hear Y/N’s voice again started to really sink in. Her usually warm and familiar touch felt cold and lifeless, causing Yuta to carefully tuck her hand underneath her hospital blanket; as if he was trying to warm it up once more. “I...I am going to go grab her favourite stuffed animal from her room. I am sure she’d love to have something of comfort whilst she’s here...if you’ll excuse me.”

Without another word Yuta just walked out of the room quietly, Yuji being the only one turning to watch his senpai leave with a look of concern. Out of everyone Yuji was definitely the one who seemed to be able to hold himself together the most, so it was no surprise when he was the one that went next. “Yo, Y/N-senpai,” Yuji greeted quietly as he walked towards the hospital bed, easily dodging all the wires and such. After all, this wasn’t his first time visiting someone he cares for in the hospital. “Can you hear me? I hope you can - or not Fushiguro might lecture me for being loud.”

The other sorcerer couldn’t even find his voice whilst Yuji continues on; his voice soft yet soothing as he looks down at his senpai with nothing more but a soft smile. “I know you’re trying your hardest go come back to us, and you’d probably tell us that we’re not the ones to blame. That you’re a big girl now, and things like this happen all the time.” Yuji continues, the only indication to his change of mood was the slight quiver that was hard to hide. Yet Yuji continued on anyway. “I hope you know we miss you...and we’re worried sick that you’re in the state you are now. But I know that you need some time to rest up, and soon you’ll be back on your feet again, right? ‘Cause..b-because that’s how you’ve always been.”

Silence enveloped the room once more, with Yuji just not sure on what else to say to her as he stared at her pale face. The other three in the room sort of just huddled together, all of them unsure of what to say to her. They weren’t the best with emotional words - beside Toge, who usually doesn’t use words at all - so asking them to keep their tone in check whilst referring to their unconscious classmate is a little too much for them.

So after awhile Yuji decided to lead them out of the hospital room, giving Gojo a parting smile before he closes the door behind him. Leaving him alone as he stared at the slumbering figure of his student as he rests his elbows on his parted knees. Quietly he rests his head in his hands, eyes closed as he tried to push back the light migraine that was coming on. He hates that it is his duty to break the news to the others - her parents, her elders. Heck, he has to give a call to Nanami and Utahime to tell them the bad news. 

If it was anything else, he wound be more than excited to blow their phones up. But this? He wishes that the duty was handed to someone else - because he himself doesn’t even believe that this was happening in the first place. 

He wishes that this was all just a terrible nightmare.

Maki quietly pushed the window open as she climbed in from the roof, the doors of halls of the infirmary long going silent; cicadas chirping away in the night sky. Maki quietly stuffed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, eyes racking over Y/N’s sleeping form, to the amount of machines that were working by her side to make sure that she’s alive. “Hey, idiot...I’ve arrived.”

Quietly she made her way towards Y/N’s bedside, her eyes clouding over with an unreadable emotion. If she was being honest, she didn’t know how to react right now. On one hand, she was pissed - she is pissed off because she could have done something to help Y/N. Maybe if she was just faster, just a bit more aware, maybe if she was training to try harder. Maybe if she can just try harder-

A loud slap sounded across the room, Maki having pulled her hand out of her pocket to slap across her cheek hard to snap out of the spiraling thoughts. The burning sting on her cheek reminded her to return to reality before she started to trash the room out of anger, something that she and Y/N had been working on for some time now. Y/N would always say, “You should never turn to anger and violence to deal with your issues!”

Maki wonders what her reaction would be if she had saw Maki slapping herself so hard that there was a light handprint on the side of her cheek. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”

With a tired sigh Maki settled down in the seat that Gojo had occupied earlier in the day, keeping her eyes on the steady heart monitor; her eyes following the spike that indicates the faint heartbeat of Y/N. “Who the hell knew that it took an entire building to really get you hurt.” Maki sigh as she tore her eyes away from the screen, looking down at her boots quietly; examining all the scuffs and scratches on marring the smooth leather. “Call me stupid, but I really thought that it’d take more than that. Remember when you had jumped out the window of the 10th floor and left with no more but a bruise? You were crying about it ‘cause you couldn’t wear dresses for about 2 weeks.”

Maki let out a tired laugh at the memory of finding Yuta trying to reassure a crying Y/N when she found the bruise on her knee; Yuta just patting her head with the most amused look on his face whilst she cried her eyes out at the idea that she can’t wear her cute dresses until it cleared up. “Imagine what will happen when you wake up from this? God, that is going to be a pain.”

A soft sigh left Maki’s lips as she glances over at the stuffed sheep that Yuta had brought from her room; along with a few more random stuffed animals that surrounded her head like a halo. This caused her to smile sadly as she rests her head on her shoulder, watching her for a few minutes without saying anything. Maki had always been bad with words and emotions; with all the things she had gone through when she was younger. Wording how she feels and emotions are not Maki’s favourite thing to deal with, since she wants to keep this badass, strong woman front she has on all the time to prove something to her elders.

“You better wake up from this, or not I am going to kick your ass.” Maki mutters after a few moments, getting up with a tired sigh before she casts her another glance at Y/N. Without missing a beat, she reaches over to brush strands of hair away from her face, warm hand resting on her head for a few moments before she places a few parting pats on her head; something she had always done when she needs to leave for a mission or a meeting outside of school. 

“‘Night, brat. Wake up soon, okay?” Maki mutters, and with a final sigh she made her way towards the window she climbed in once more, quietly shutting it behind her after she hauled herself over the railing. It was only in the dead of the night that Maki quietly lets her tears fall, biting her lip hard to stop whatever sounds that were threatening to leave her lips. 

Because at the end of the day she is stubborn, and refuses to believe that this might be her new reality.

A week had passed since the day that the others found out that Y/N had fallen into a coma of a sorts, and everyone would visit at least once just to see if there is any sight of change. That there might be a sign that she was going to wake up soon. And there were slight changes; a few days after she had been admitted she was allowed to get off the ventilator and rely on oxygen instead. But she was still in bad shape.

Nanami tries to make time to drop by to visit as well, coming over to quietly read pages of the book that he was reading. Whenever Y/N was sick, she would call Nanami over the phone and ask if the man can read to her; something about how she finds comfort in his voice that puts her at ease. And since Ieiri had encouraged them to talk to her more for stimulation, Nanami takes the time to read to her after a long day of work. It brought him some comfort as well, listening to the constant beeping of the heart monitor and the humming of the other machines around her.

Gojo would sometimes drop by as well, only to berate Nanami for his ‘boring’ book choices; and an unconscious Y/N has to endure two adults arguing about book choices and how Gojo’s titles are definitely not appropriate to even bring onto school grounds.

Besides the occasional argument, sometimes Gojo will prop his phone up against a vase of flowers that Yuji brings so that Utahime can FaceTime him; the students from the Kyoto side being able to see and talk to the slumbering Y/N. For the most part, everyone was shocked that she was in the state she was in; having never expected such a bright and talkative person can fall into such a state.

The most distraught one was definitely Todo, who had almost jumped out of his seat and make a full on dash towards Tokyo if it wasn’t for Noritoshi and Mai joining together to restrain the man, along with Principal Gakuganji threating to hold him back from their planned trip to Tokyo the following week that had him calming down.

But barely - the man is still more than ready to just up and run across the country just so he can be closer to his ‘beloved Y/N-chan’.

Every day, without fail, Toge will come into her hospital room with a new accessory to pull her hair back into; carefully brushing her hair out and applying dry shampoo so it wasn’t greasy to the touch. Once he was satisifed he’d carefully style her hair back so it didn’t get in the way of her checkups, taking his time with everything so he gets to spend more time with her. He doesn’t say much, he usually finds that doesn’t whenever he is around her; so he takes his time when he does her hair in hopes that she can feel that he is there for her.

Yuta and Megumi will find time after classes to go and visit her together, telling her about everything that had happened whilst she is asleep. Sometimes Nobara will visit as well, must for the most time she’d come alone in the evening after dinner to just rant to her about everything that she found annoying that happened over the day. Nobara usually stay until Ieiri comes to kick her out, hoping that Maki might come in as well to visit Y/N.

But Maki never does - yet everyone knows that Maki finds the time in her day to go and visit her like everyone else. However, no one dared to ask her how or when she does it. They’ve accepted that it was probably a sensitive subject to her, and that it’s off limits to ask her unless you want her to ignore you for the rest of the day. Gojo had learnt it the hard way when he had teased her, only to be thrown out the window of their classroom by an annoyed Maki.

Even his Infinity is no match for that woman’s wrath.

Days soon led into weeks, with slow but not so encouraging signs of improvement from the young girl. The elders of her clan and her parents had visited the college as soon as they can, and had kept tabs with every single thing that is going on with her. There was no denying the fear of her suddenly relapsing once more, and soon it will become too much for her parents to bear. The idea of keeping Y/N around, knowing that she is in so much pain, just for their selfish want of keeping her alive was a reality they want to avoid. 

The once vibrant and lively campus soon turned gloomy; the hallways of the school quiet without the familiar sound of bunny-themed slippers running across its worn-out flooring. The chime of a familiar giggle was missing in the air, along with a dreamy voice that just never seems to stop; no matter what time of the day it is. There were days where the others forget that Y/N was not there to make dinner for the night, or she wasn’t there when they want to ask her opinion about something. Her room, which once served as a sanctuary for the students who can’t sleep at night, now became too painful to even walk past on certain days.

Yet everyone tried their hardest to go on with their days, knowing that it was what Y/N wanted them to do. If they were to allow their grief to consume them whole, they knew the delicate routine they had rebuilt would crumble before them. And if there is one thing they can do to keep Y/N’s memory alive, is to live their lives to the fullest. To try and cherish each and every day, no matter how painful reality is without her by their side.

They have to try, for her sake.

It wasn’t until a month passed when Yuta had came running into the lunch hall, looking like he had seen a ghost as he tried to catch his breath. “Okkotsu-senpai?” Megumi asks in concern as he looks over at the older man, putting his tray down to try and give his panting senpai a hand. “Are you-” He asked, only to have Yuta put a hand up to stop him as he took a few deep gulps of air.

“A-Awake...Y/N...Y/N is awake.”

Within a few seconds the students were sprinting across campus, none of them believing what Yuta had said until they have see it for themselves. What is usually a 10 minute walk from the lunch hall took about four minutes with them sprinting, possibly annoying half of the cleaners of the school that they were breaking the no running rule. Yet they didn’t stop even at their annoyed outcries, the simple wooden door of the infirmary almost coming off its hinges at how hard Maki had thrown it open.

Maki was the one who pushed the hospital room door open, causing the people in the room to jump in shock. Including Y/N, who had let out a soft squeak of shock; her voice hoarse from not using it for so long. The others blinked in shock at the sight of Y/N’s bright eyes meeting theirs at the doorway, ones that blinked before she gave them the biggest smile she can muster.

“H-Hi.” Y/N mumbles softly, to which Nanami just gave her a rare smile as he gently rubs her back, Gojo smirking softly as he recorded the reactions of the others by the door. He had gotten over the shock a few moments ago. “Don’t strain yourself, Y/N-chan. Remember what Ieiri-sensei said about straining your voice.” The blonde man hummed before he turned his blue eyes over at the shocked students as well. “And that goes to you too. If you all stress her out, I am not against tossing you all out.”

Y/N made a noise and turned to try and reassure the older man, not noticing how the others were staring at her in shock. The first person to move was Maki, whose eyes look suspicious wet as she stormed into the room. “I am going to kill you.” She growled out loudly, to which Y/N jumped before she held her arms out for protection; feeling a shiver of fear go up her spine. Yet before she can make a move to stop her, Maki suddenly wrapped her up in a hug, the arms that Y/N held out to try and pacify her angry classmate freezing from the unnatural reaction from Maki.

Y/N blinks for a few moments before she smiles softly and wraps Maki up in her arms as well, gently patting her head as Maki silently wets her shoulder with her tears. “I know.” Y/N mumbles out softly before her eyes met the others, giving them a soft smile as she gently gestures to the others to enter her room. Soon there was just a huge ball of crying teenagers hugging one another on Y/N’s hospital bed; Gojo and Nanami having moved aside to give them more space for their reunion as they watched on from the other side of the room. “Should we stop them?”

“Nah, we might get murdered if we try.” Gojo said with a hum as he grins over the sound of intelligible crying, looking over at Nanami who had a ghost of a smile on his lips at the sight. “Besides, this is great content. I never had a video of Maki crying before.” Gojo admitted, to which Nanami’s smile dropped as he looked over at him in annoyance. 

“Why am I not surprised at all?”

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform

[asset35-maya]

CALYPSO 🐚 ☕️

Part 1 & Part 2

Part 3/3:

Nines froze as the human’s body melded to his. Gavin kept his eyes shut and his lips moving. Then what he’d been bracing for finally came.

Pain.

Sweet glorious pain, blossoming everywhere Nines gripped his body. Gavin was sure that his lips would bruise under the pressure of the reciprocal kiss… that his rib cage would shatter if Nines held him any tighter… that his lungs would burst if they didn’t fill with air soon…

A wolf-whistle broke through the stunned silence in the yard.

Gavin pulled back, light-headed from the rush of oxygen and drain of adrenaline. He didn’t fall though. Didn’t even move an inch. Strong arms and a heated gaze kept him pinned.

//

\\

“Of all the things in the world… why coffee?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Gavin tucked his head into the crook of Nines’ neck, cuddling closer.

“Hmm… I think weird working hours made me actually need the caffeine… but the bean snobbery just came with the rest of my superiority complexes.”

Nines laughed. It was more of an exhale than an actual laugh, but Gavin was thankful for it nonetheless.

“And you?”

Nines kissed his forehead, prolonging his answer as much as he could before finally relenting with a sigh.

“The reason you’re asking… is because running a café is just about the last thing you’d expect an android like me to be doing. And… that’s your answer. That’s exactly why I wanted it.”

“To subvert expectations…?”

“To not be the terrible thing I was meant to be.”

Gavin’s breath hitched at the depth of emotion in Nines’ voice. He didn’t dare look up to meet his eye and settled for pressing his lips to the razor-sharp jawline.

“I dunno what kinda code runs through you, but believe me when I say you don’t have it in you to be… terrible.”

Nines scoffed at that.

“How can you say that after all the shit you’ve seen me do.”

“I can say that after all the shit I’ve seen others do. Fifteen years on the job, remember? I can vouch that righteous anger is one of the least terrible things out there.”

When Nines didn’t respond, Gavin decided to move the ship out of uncharted waters. He propped himself up on an elbow and ran a hand down the android’s smooth chest.

“In fact, I think it’s downright sexy.”

That did the trick. Nines pressed Gavin into the mattress with a low growl and rolled over him, clamping his mouth over his throat. Their hips aligned and the conversation ended.

//

\\

“Ralph tried hard but the machine is not working. Ralph is stuck.”

“Move. Let me see.”

Gavin took the filter holder and disconnected it from the espresso machine with a firm tug. He leapt away in shock as water came rushing out. That was absolutely not supposed to happen.

“Er… I’ll get a mechanic friend to take a look later. Why don’t you go check on inventory?”

Ralph shuffled away with a thoroughly sceptical look in his eye. Gavin sighed openly once the android was out of earshot.

The café was in shambles.

The vandals may have gotten as good as they gave… but they’d left their mark. Even with insurance, there was no way such a new establishment could financially recover from a setback like that.

Nines said nothing but seethed with his usual brand of silent, impotent rage.

Unable to bear the slammed car doors and dismissive grunts any longer, Gavin had taken a solo day off to come down to the Calypso and see what could be done.

Not much, without a boatload of money, it seemed.

He sat down with a sigh and Ralph brought over a cup of coffee. Black. A pour-over. He set a bowl of runny eggs and a small basket of bread down on the table too.

Gavin looked up in surprise. Ralph shrugged.

“Nines is telling Ralph that you left without breakfast. Ralph’s equipment is all broken so Ralph just made something simple.”

Touched beyond words, Gavin motioned for Ralph to sit down with him instead of scurrying off into the shadows as per his usual habit.

He took a sip of the hand-poured drip coffee and broke a piece of the bread, dragging it through the eggs, European style. It was utterly homely and reminded of him of some bygone era that he’d needlessly bypassed. He looked up and met Ralph’s mildly unsettling stare.

“So… why the name Calypso? There’s nothing beach-themed or Caribbean about the place.”

“Nines chose it. After the Greek goddess.”

“Huh. And she was the goddess of coffee? Did they even have coffee back in those Hercules Orgy Olympics days?”

“She is a sea nymph. She detained the mythic hero Odysseus on her island for seven years.”

Gavin’s brows furrowed as he swallowed a mouthful of fresh bread.

“Did you bake this?”

“Yes. Ralph is baking daily. Ralph does it first thing in the morning at five. It is very calming to knead the dough and hear the birdsong.”

“It’s phcking delicious. Leavened perfectly. Now back to the name. This goddess nymph creature. She doesn’t sound very nice. She trapped this hero dude, right? Reminds me of my ex. Why name this pretty café after her?”

“Ralph can only imagine that Nines’ fascination with Calypso is the ambiguity of her nature. She can seduce and manipulate, but she can also heal. She is neither good nor evil.”

Gavin drained his coffee and sank back in his chair contemplatively.

“What do you think she is, Ralph?”

Ralph’s LED flickered and his eyes dipped to the table. He knew what Gavin was asking.

“Calypso is immortal. Calypso cannot help but fall in love with every sailor who lands on her shores. Calypso dreams of an eternal husband but lets Odysseus go when it’s clear he wishes to return to his wife. Well, maybe only when the Gods commands her to… but she releases him without harm!”

Gavin waited. Ralph’s head snapped up and he spoke in a short burst.

“Calypso is mythical. It does not matter what she is. Nines is real. Nines is good. Very good. Honest and honourable! Ralph will do anything for Nines!”

Gavin leaned back in his chair with the satisfied smile of an experienced police negotiator who’d gotten exactly where he wanted to.

//

\\

“What the hell is this? Where did you get so much money from?”

Nines’ amber LED cycled furiously as he took in the sight of the restored café. Ralph was humming to himself as he proudly polished the knobs of their repaired espresso machine.

Gavin led Nines by the hand to look at the repainted walls… the new furniture… the new crockery replacing what had been smashed…

“How…?”

“Oh I just embodied my inner Gen Z and tapped into the power of social justice.”

Nines looked thoroughly nonplussed.

“Crowdfunding, baby. I set up a link and Ralph told everyone on Twitter what happened to him and the café. Well, showed them, more like.”

Nines looked up at the ceiling and his LED slowly returned to a calm blue as he understood… but when he looked back down, his expression wasn’t any less troubled.

“Okay I just saw it. Edited footage from his optical units and a tearful testimonial. Ethically questionable, but clever.”

“Super effective. We overshot our target by a couple hundred bucks.”

“Hmm. People are kind.”

“Yes. They’ve actually done more for you. Look. Connor gave me this earlier today.”

Gavin reached into his jacket and produced an envelope. Nines’ eyes widened as he spotted the official seals of the Mayor’s office, the Manfred Estate and New Jericho.

“Someone started a petition… to let you back behind the helm of the Calypso. It really took off. I don’t know how you didn’t hear-”

“I muted any mentions of myself and the other RKs from showing up in my newsfeed.”

“Then this makes for a good surprise.”

Gavin gently pushed the envelope into the android’s hands and watched him open it with a precise fingernail flicked under the wax. He scanned the contents of the letter in a split second and let it fall through his fingers.

Without warning, he scooped Gavin up and set him down on a polished table for a deep kiss of even deeper gratitude. Ralph turned his back on them with a bashful giggle.

//

\\

“Baby.”

Nines didn’t respond.

“Hey baby?”

“Hmm...”

There was an intensity to the grumble that had Gavin second-guessing whether to persist. Being Nines’ lover didn’t exempt him from the consequences of asking stupid questions.

“Your thoughts are fucking loud. Just say whatever you want to.”

“Oh. Um… I was actually wondering… I mean, you don’t have to tell me… but like why… um…”

“Why haven’t I turned my badge in yet?”

“Yeah…”

Nines turned on his side and brushed the back of his hand over Gavin’s cheek. The intimate gesture sent a thrill through the human despite how much more intimate they’d just been in the recent past.

“Because I haven’t decided what to do next.”

Gavin’s brows knitted together.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you going to take back your business?”

Nines’ wan smile told him all he needed to know.

“Why?”

“It’s doing really well in Ralph’s hands. He’s capable. He’s creative. And I don’t think it’s fair for me to go back and get in his way all of a sudden.”

“He needs you.”

“He absolutely doesn’t. It’s his café. You helped him get back on his feet and he’s going to be fiiiiine without me.”

“Is it because you don’t wanna be her anymore?”

Nines scrunched his nose up in confusion.

“Who?”

“Calypso. The siren who trapped the Oddball.”

That earned Gavin a heartfelt laugh.

“Odysseus, Gavin.”

“Yeah. You were like Calypso and now you’re letting go of the coffeeshop because you figured it wasn’t meant to be!”

Nines frowned and pretended to check the human for a temperature. Gavin swatted his hands away with mock petulance.

“Fine, I’m probably way off the mark. You tell me what the deal is then!”

Arms snaked around his waist and pulled him flush against the android’s defined chest. Lips brushed the shell of his ear and when Nines spoke next, it was in the huskiest of undertones.

“I’m Odysseus. Not Calypso.”

The realisation was painfully obvious in hindsight.

“I’m the one who’s stuck on an endless journey home. I’ve faced a hundred artificial trials and tribulations. I’ve been a puppet at the hands of false gods. I answer existential questions to prove my self-worth every single day.”

Nines paused to gauge Gavin’s reaction. When he received none, he pressed a brief kiss to the human’s bare shoulder before continuing.

“It’s been a long journey. But not a pointless one. Every metaphorical island I’ve visited has granted me something. From literally running into Ralph in an old building… to defending our turf from other stray androids… getting ourselves off the street… setting up a café from scratch… being arrested on opening day… ending up on the police force with you…”

Gavin recognised that as his cue to squirm around in Nines’ arms and peck him on the lips.

“So who’s Cyclops?”

“What?”

“The story’s starting to come back to me now. Your boy Oddy fought a one-eyed monster on one of the islands he went to. Who’s the Cyclops in your story?”

Nines huffed another breathy laugh.

“Markus, probably. Connor is definitely Helios.”

“Who’s your wife?”

“Definitely not you.”

Gavin elbowed him in the ribs. An action that had more repercussions on him than Nines.

“So which island are you off to next?”

“I have no idea. But it doesn’t matter. I might already be home.”

[thegoodprincess]

Together We Are Apart, but Apart We Are Together | KTH Ch. 6

Author: thegoodprincess

Pairing: Kim Taehyung | Original Female Character

Genre: romance, fantasy, action, forbidden love, human KTH | angel of death OC, supernatural au

Word Count: 2.6k [series, ongoing]

Rating: N/A

Warnings: None

Summary: After admiring a handsome boy from afar, an Angel of Death reluctantly rescues him from his own demise. As a result of going against her better judgment she inadvertently invites him into her world.

Together We Are Apart, but Apart We Are Together

Chapter 6. Name For a Face

“Tigers die and leave their skins; people die and leave their names.” - Japanese Proverb

While I was awaiting his return, I finished up the remainder of my tea. It had gone a bit cold since it was first poured. Nevertheless, I still drank it, savoring the sweet flavor as it slid down my throat. I decided to lay down on the sofa to rest my sore body. Sinking down into the cushions and staring blankly up at the ceiling, I wondered if I should have went to retrieve the boy’s wallet instead of Malachi. I didn’t want his willingness to help to be misinterpreted as him enabling my own foolish actions. Otherwise he would have been just as much at fault, if we were to find ourselves in the midst of chaos. He had always been eager to assist with whatever trouble I had found myself in, ready to bare the burden with open arms. It sometimes felt like he was too loyal to me, like he was just blindly complying to my wishes. I didn't want him to help me because he felt he had to, but because he wanted to. In turn it made me feel guilty about how I treated Malachi, as if I was exploiting the nature of our friendship.

Lost in the guilt-ridden thoughts of my conscience, it hadn’t even occurred to me that I had closed my eyes. I had fully intended to stay awake until Malachi returned, so I reluctantly opened them. However, I found it to be a struggle to keep them that way. Fatigue was starting to set in as I tried desperately to blink the sleepiness out of my eyes. The calming effect of the rose tea paired with the soothing sound of the logs crackling in the fire created a comfortable ambiance for me to relax to. Eventually my limbs began to feel heavy and my breathing slowed enough for me to finally lose the battle against the Sandman. Just like that, I readily drifted off into the unconscious.

It felt like Malachi was gone for quite some time before I was awoken by a small crashing noise that emanated from in front of the fireplace. Looking drowsily in the direction of the sound, I squinted to faintly make out Malachi readjusting a drying rack I had set close to the fire to dry the boy’s clothes. Through blurred vision I saw him carefully hang the articles back into their positions on the bars, spreading them out to ensure they dried properly.

“That damn thing needs to be moved. Why would she set that cursed thing right there? Stupid human boy and his stupid human clothes. What if I had fallen into the fire and burned my as—,” he whisper-yelled to himself irritated before he realized he had woken me up. “My apologies, I did not mean to wake you.” He bowed his head embarrassed of his crude outburst. I stretched and yawned, feeling the muscles in my back strain from the movement before sitting up. “It’s fine,” I waved my hand with blithe disregard for his unnecessary apology. “How long were you gone? I fell asleep waiting for you.”

“Not long.”

I rubbed the delicate skin around my eyes to get a better view of him. That’s when I took in his whole figure. Looking towards his legs I noticed that his pants were thoroughly soaked all the way up to his shins, from no doubt trudging around in the snow. “Oh my gosh, are you okay? You’re soaked. Here sit in front of the fire to warm up.” I quickly scrambled off the sofa and offered him my seat.

“I can assure you I am quite alright. I am nowhere in the condition you were in earlier tonight.” He assured with a sincere smile while taking a seat next to me. I awkwardly sat back down again.

Suddenly remembering why he left, I anxiously inquired, “Did you find it?”

“Yes.” He simply answered pulling it from his robe. The leather of the wallet was cold and stiff from getting wet. “And it did not take me long, it was just buried deeper than we originally thought. The snow has picked up quite a bit since we last left.” I held the wallet not ready to open it as he continued. “I also disposed of the gun and the patch of ice he fell through, you will be pleased to know it froze back over.”

“That’s good. No evidence. Do you think the old man will report the boy’s involvement.”

“No. I already took care of it.” I furrowed my brows confused. “I took the liberty of tracking him down and wiping his memory.” Malachi explained.

“Oh. Thank you. I didn’t even need to ask.”

“Yes. Well, you are lucky I am the best,” Malachi facetiously boasted. I rolled my eyes.

“What about the gun man?”

“Did I wipe his memory? No, I want him to live with the guilt until it consumes him.” The expression in Malachi’s eyes turned unnervingly dark. “And I doubt he will anonymously report the boy’s death. Not unless he wants to involve himself with the authorities or worse get caught by them. He will probably try to go about living his life as if nothing ever happened.”

“That’s horrible. But it’s good for us, I guess. Less of a mess to clean up. Not that I haven’t already jeopardized enough for us as it is.” I ashamedly spoke looking down at the floor.

“You are too hard on yourself.” He frowned concerned.

“I have to be. I can’t make mistakes. Especially when they effect those I cherish most.” I said looking purposefully at him.

“Ha, even a divine being such as yourself is allowed to make mistakes. And for as long as you allow me, I will always be there by your side to help you fix what is considered broken. Even if that means going against the rules of our nature.”

“Yes, but you said, if the consequences were dire then I was to take respons—,”.

Malachi promptly held a hand up to stop me, “I am well aware of what I said. However, if your actions do not bode well, I will still remain faithful to you, and only you.” He chided. He then took a second to soften his voice before continuing, “Allow me to clarify. It is my choice, and I choose to help you not because I feel it is my duty to do so, but because I want to help you. Why will you not understand that? We are as thick as thieves, even when that means cheating death,” he quipped. And with that he chastely kissed my forehead to put my guilty thoughts at ease.

I decided to steer the conversation away from my self-scrutiny, and brought our attention back to the wallet in my hands, “Did you look in it?” Immediately after the question left my mouth, adrenaline started to surge through my veins. I was well aware of the spike in my heart rate and the perspiration gathering on the nape of my neck.

“No, I thought I would let you do the honors.”

“Oh. Okay.” Nervous, I turned the wallet over in my quivering hands and reveled in the feeling of physically holding the piece of leather. The movement made it hard to undo the snap closure, and my slightly sweaty palms were doing me no favors as they slid against the leathery texture. Finally after a brief struggle I was able to open it.

There inside his wallet were some clear card holders with one containing a card with a small picture of him. Holding it closer to my face I realized it was his driver’s license. To the right of his picture, in printed text was the one thing on my mind that I had been wondering for months, his name. “His name is… Kim Taehyung,” I read aloud smiling. “Taehyung.” I repeated again letting the two syllables roll around in my mouth. I wanted to keep repeating his name like a mantra, giddy with excitement that I finally knew it.

“Well, now that you know the human’s name, I would advise you check on him. Speaking of which, I am surprised to not find you with him now. Why is that?” He eyed me suspiciously.

“I was waiting for you. He’s safe in my bed. I could hear the steady pace of his heartbeat from out hear.” This was a half truth, I also wanted to avoid the temptation of staring at his sleeping form. “You, however, were out there in the snow looking for something I needed, cold and alone. I was worried.” I may have been preoccupied with the probability of the boy’s, no Taehyung’s, life; but that didn’t mean I was any less concerned about Malachi’s wellbeing.

“Ah, so you do care,” he teasingly joked.

“Of course I care about you. You’re my friend.”

“As are you.”

“Thank you.” I sweetly hummed the sentiment for the fifth time tonight.

He nodded as to convey that it wasn’t a problem. “It was my pleasure little bird.” He patted me on the head. “You should check on the boy and get some rest.” He nodded towards my bedroom door.

“I will. I suggest taking a warm bath before bed. Goodnight Malachi.”

“Thank you for the recommendation. Goodnight my dear.” He said as he got up and walked towards the bathroom.

After Malachi had left to run a bath for himself, I decided to put out the fire. I could instantly feel the temperature of the room drop several degrees. While blowing out the last candle, I looked towards the window. Through the glass I was able to clearly make out the moon. Its light that penetrated from outside was more than enough for Malachi to see when he came out to go to bed. As I made my way over to my bedroom door I counted my steps until I reached it. I walked with one foot directly in front of the other with my arms out to the sides of me, as if I was walking on a balance beam. I know I must have looked somewhat silly, but it was all in an effort to prolong the inevitable, as well as simultaneously calm my nerves. I ultimately didn’t want to seem too eager to see Taehyung. Finally reaching my door I briefly hesitated before turning the knob. I then walked through the threshold and quietly closed the door. Once the lock softly clicked into place, I leaned my head against the wood and took a few slow breaths in order to prepare myself. I didn’t want to look in his direction just yet because I knew once I saw him it would be difficult to look away.

Over on my bedside table was a candle that I wished to light. Using the moonlight, I repeated my odd ritual from earlier, deliberately looking straight at the floor as I made my way over. Except this time I made sure to walk with normal footing. I would have been mortified if I had tripped and potentially disturbed his sleep.

Placing Taehyung’s wallet on the table, I opened the drawer and blindly felt around for a box of matches. After a few failed attempts, I finally grabbed ahold of one. I plucked one match from the container and struck it against the side of the box. Not wanting the flame to go out, I quickly touched it to the tip of the candle wick and flicked the used match to put it out. Almost immediately my senses were flooded with the rich earthy musk of amber and sandalwood. Closing my eyes, I took a brief moment to appreciate the comforting aroma. The candle’s flickering light intimately lit up the small area around my bed causing our shadows to bounce on the wall. I then leisurely turned my head and saw him.

Tucked into my silk sheets, he laid flat on his back with his whole body, from the neck down, hidden under the blankets. I watched him sleep peacefully as I sat on the floor and knelt near the side of my bed. From under the silky blankets, I could make out the subtle yet steady rise and fall of his chest. If I listened close enough I could hear the sound of his soft inhales and exhales. Continuing my gaze upwards, it landed on his neck and the pretty curve of his jaw. From there I was met with the sight of his beautiful face, his expression passive. Slumber had made his features look innocent. The moles that were on his cheek, lip, and under his eye reminded me of the stars that sparsely dusted the sky on a cloudy night. They somewhat reminded me of a constellation and it briefly dawned on me that if I were to connect them, would I be any closer to navigating my zealous yet enigmatic feelings for him.

Against my pillows his head rested delicately. His hair was almost fully dry. A few locks in the front of his head curled around his face, while the rest fell elegantly onto the pillow like a halo. Its golden hues were complimented by the iridescent pearly sheen of my pillow case, and the sight created a picturesque scene worth committing to memory. I couldn’t help but be enamored by him. He looked otherworldly, almost like an angel. He could have very well been one of the ones that I had come across when I visited Heaven from time to time.

Finally able to touch his face in a way that wasn’t correlated to life threatening peril, I gently brushed my knuckles against his cheek and tenderly traced his jawline with my fingertips in curious fascination. Mesmerized by the feeling of the suppleness of his warm to the touch skin, I pondered how I got so lucky as to be this close to him, while also being able to reach out and touch him. It was almost intoxicating. And what was even better, is that now I had his name to go along with his face.

“So your name is Tae-hyung.” I whispered each syllable slowly more to myself than him, dramatically emphasizing the pronunciation of both. I smiled at the new found knowledge. “It suits you.”

Not long after admiring his sleeping form, I began to feel like my conscious reality was fraying around its edges. Walking a few feet on my knees to the end of my bed, I took a cotton blanket slewn messily over the end of the bed post and draped it over my shoulders. In my drowsy state I placed a gentle kiss against Taehyung’s forehead. I then turned to blow out the candle after my rash display of affection, but saw something that I thought was peculiar out of the corner of my eye. For what felt like a split second I could have sworn I had seen a brief flash of very faint light emitting from around his head in the dim candle light. However, I attributed it to being a trick of the light, after all I was exhausted and my blurry tired vision wasn’t the most reliable at this exact moment.

Taking one last longing look at his face in the moonlight after blowing out the candle [as if this would be the last time I saw him], I rested my head against my arm and was lulled to sleep by the rhythm of his calm breathing, hopeful for whatever tomorrow brought us.

[victoria-daydreams]

Something’s Gotta Give

Chapter Two: The Stairwell Encounter

Chapter Three: Tea for Two

Summary: An invitation for a cup of tea makes for delightful conversation between Livia and Booker.

Today was a Saturday, a rather unremarkable one at that.

But at least today was one of the rare days that I had time on my hand to do one of my hobbies. Painting. Jars of paint of every shade were littered all around the sheet covered floor and a canvas on an easel stood in front of me in my living room while the record player softly played ‘Sweet Life’ by Frank Ocean in the background. A soft breeze blew through the navy blue drapes of my living room window just as I finished the outline of my sketch.

Leaning over, I reached for my palette and paint brush and with long, deft strokes I began adding in the color to the square-shaped face outline I drew. I lightly dabbed one of my thinner brushes into the black paint and gently applied it to the painting, for a shadow effect on the man's face. Flexing my fingers, I could feel a cramp forming in my hand so I set aside my palette and brush onto a table close to me. I slid off my stool and went around collecting my paint jars off the floor and lined them back up in their basket.

I walked back over to my window and watched as cars drove by on the busy street and as people went about their day, running errands or just enjoying the sunny day. Stretching my arms out above my head, I let out a yawn and shifted my head from side to side, the bones in my neck popping with a satisfying crack.

"A cup of tea sounds good right about now," I thought aloud.

Just as I was about to turn around I noticed a familiar figure holding a bag of groceries and walking hurriedly towards the building.

I ducked my head underneath the window. "Booker!" I called, he stopped mid-stride and looked around in confusion. "Booker!" I called again, this time he looked in my direction. Grinning widely, I waved my hand at him to which he gave a reserved wave back before he continued on his way back to his apartment.

Bringing my head back inside, I scurried over to my door, hoping to catch him before he goes inside his apartment and disappeared again for days on end. I unlocked my door and snatched it open just in time to see the back of Booker entering his flat.

"Wait!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the empty corridor. He slightly turned his body to face me and I let out a breathless laugh, happy that I caught him in the nick of time. "Join me for a cup of tea?" I asked, a hopeful look on my face. "I was just about to brew some," I explained, stepping out into the corridor while keeping a hold of my doorknob.

A hesitant look came over Booker's face at my offer, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he nervously eyed my apartment through the small gap of my door.

"Don't feel obligated Booker," I stated, sensing his discomfort. "But, if you do come by, it'll be for one cup, I promise," I continued, walking backwards into my apartment. "And then you won't hear from me for a week," I finished, now smiling as I imitated zipping my lips.

Closing the door behind me, I walked over to my record player and lifted the needle off of the vinyl and grabbed the disc, sliding it back into its cover. My fingers ran along the spines of multiple vinyl covers before stopping on a random jazz compilation vinyl, pulling the vinyl from the shelf I slid the disc out. Carefully, I placed it on the spindle, set the needle at the edge and adjusted the volume before I shut the lid.

I smiled to myself as the sound of a saxophone emitted from the record player before spinning myself around on the ball of my foot and heading towards my small kitchen. I grabbed my electric kettle and it filled it with water and the sound of two knocks on my door echoed throughout the apartment.

The smile on my face grew tenfold.

"It's open!" I yelled, as I moved over to the hutch cupboard that stored my mugs and tea bags.

From behind me, I could hear the door slowly creaking open and I glanced over shoulder to see Booker step inside, his eyes squinting at the sunbeams illuminating the room.

"Does he live in the dark?" I thought.

Booker's eyes fell on me and I flashed him a warm smile, "You came!" I chirped, plopping a tea bag into each mug. "Come, have a seat at the table!" I insisted, turning the kettle on.

With heavy footsteps Booker made his way to the kitchen table, the sound of chair dragging across the floor floated into my ear.

"You're an artist?" Booker questioned, and my eyes widened at the surprising softness of his tone.

Not to mention, the fact that he finally spoke to me today.

I turned around and leaned back against the cupboard, "Depends on who you ask," I answered, shrugging my shoulder. "I'm a photographer, but I like to consider myself an artist," I informed, folding my arms against my chest.

"I thought you were a painter,"

"What gave you that impression?"

"Well, for starters, you have paint on your clothes...and on your face," he commented dryly. I looked down at my white tee shirt and olive green jumpsuit, which were indeed covered in paint. "There's also an easel near the window, it's hard not to make such an assumption," he added, and there was the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

I placed a hand on my forehead, "How I could I forget?" I wondered, letting out a light laugh and shaking my head. And then, that's when it hit me. "Wait a minute!" I gasped, staring at Booker in awe. "You just made a joke in my presence," I pointed out, a grin on my face.

Suddenly, a series of loud beeps blared from behind me telling me that our water was ready. I grabbed the kettle from its stand and poured the boiling water into the mugs, watching the colors bleed from the tea leaves and mixing with the water.

"I couldn't help but notice that you're American," Booker spoke up.

I laughed, "What gave me away?" I quipped, placing the kettle down on. "Was it the accent?" I questioned, a smile on my face as I looked back.

"An American in Paris,"

"Except we're not in Paris," I retorted, and Booker chuckled. "And there's no singing or dancing," I added, picking up both of our mugs and placing one in front Booker and then the other mug where I would be sitting.

I moved over to the fridge and pulled open the door to grab a carafe of milk before closing the door with my hip. Walking back over to the cupboard, I grabbed the canister of sugar and then slid into the chair across from Booker, placing the milk and sugar down on the table.

I crossed my legs one over the other, "If you don't mind me asking," I began, as we waited for our tea to steep. "Why do you spend so much time alone?" I asked, my tone gentle.

Booker ran a hand through his hair, "Would you believe me if I said I was introvert?" He asked back, now rubbing his neck.

"No," I answered bluntly, with a chuckle and shaking my head. "I'm an introvert Booker, and even I don't like spending that much by myself," I quipped, and his lips twitched up into an amused smirk. "The way you carry on reminds me of a reclusive Victorian widow," I teased, resting my chin on my knuckles.

Booker's eyes lit up in mirth, "That is...a very unique characterization of me," he stated, letting out a chuckle which then morphed into a laugh.

A good hearty laugh.

I felt my own lips quirk up into a smile before I started to laugh quietly myself. I couldn't quite believe it, I made Booker laugh, I mean really laugh. A warm feeling suddenly came over me, as if a fire was lit inside of me and I found myself wanting to hear more of the delightful sound.

"What do you know? I finally got a laugh out of you!" I commented, a proud smile on my face.

"That you did Livia," he replied breathlessly. Booker shook his head and glanced down at the still steaming tea, softly tapping his fingers against the table. "You know, I don't think I met someone who's quite driven to befriend a stranger like you have,” Booker stated, looking up from his mug.

"And I don't think I've met someone who's so unwilling to have a friend, or at the very least just someone to talk to," I retorted, grabbing a spoon from the holder on the table.

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't deserve the luxury of having friends," Booker responded, his tone tinged with bitterness as he slipped back into his familiar solemn expression.

"Nonsense!" I shot back. "Friends aren't a luxury Booker, they're a necessity!" I argued, placing my hand on top of his without thinking. Booker's eyes darted to my hand covering his own, quickly I removed it. "Sorry," I apologized, placing my hands in my lap and lowering my gaze.

"It's a wonder, that with a bright, cheery personality like yours, a man would even think to cheat on you," Booker commented, my head snapped up at the statement, my eyes nearly bulging out from their sockets. I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, trying to figure out how to respond. "Yes, I heard your conversation a couple of days ago," he stated, answering my silent question. "It's not like you were quiet about it,” Booker added, placing two fingers on his temple.

"Well I didn't think I would have an audience on the stairwell,” I replied, yanking my tea bag out with more force than necessary.

A smirk grew on his face, "I proved you wrong though," Booker pointed out, with a slight shrug.

My brow arched, "Proved me wrong about what?" I questioned, pouring milk into my tea.

"That I wasn't passed out."

I paused momentarily before looking up from the creamy colored liquid. "Booker, there may be hope for you yet," I suggested, mirroring his smirk.

"You say that now until you tire of me," Booker protested softly.

I shook my head, "Never." I disagreed, still smiling. "Same time Monday?" I questioned, picking up my mug.

Picture you upon my knee Just tea for two And two for tea Just me for you And you for me alone

Chapter Four: A Frightful Dinner

[joanofsnarrrk]

Fic: Bad Girls Do It Well (Uncharted) - 10,000 words

SUMMARY: Chloe has never considered herself a particularly sentimental person (perish the thought!), but certain memories, certain snapshots in time have an inconvenient way of sticking with a person. After all, only two things have remained constant in her life, amidst the chaos, the adventure, and the danger: music and photography. And...perhaps adopted family along the way? Nope, no, absolutely not. Her sentimentality must have *some* limits, surely

So after actual MONTHS, I’m thrilled to have finally finished this! Awhile ago, Sony put out playlists on Spotify for the characters of Uncharted: the Lost Legacy (they were awesome!). Chloe's was particularly inspiring, and after finishing the game, I found myself really attached to the idea that using a camera to document her adventures was something she's done since the beginning. Please enjoy Bad Girls Do It Well (title from M.I.A.’s “Bad Girls”)!

Can also be found on AO3 - Fanfiction

Oklahoma, 2002 - Nate

I said to the man, “Are you trying to tempt me Because I come from the land of plenty?” And he said, “Do you come from a land down under?”

—Men at Work “Down Under”

“Would you put that away, and give me a hand?” Nate grits out, clearly not amused by this as much as she is.

“And miss out on this view?” Chloe bites her lower lip as she watches his boxerbrief-clad backside through the lens of her camera. He audibly groans at the sound of the lens shutter, and she’s powerless against her smirk turning into a full on grin. “Unlikely.”

She imagines he would throw her an exasperated look right about now, but as it is, he’s crouched on top of a radiator, toes gripping around the edges, while his unclothed torso—along with the rest of his upper body—is dangling outside the window of their fourth story hotel room.

She watches as he contorts himself unnaturally in an attempt to retrieve one of his Para 9’s that was accidently thrown onto the fire escape during what Chloe is referring to as a particularly enthusiastic bit of foreplay. Not wanting to further encourage the suspicions of the front desk manager with patron complaints of an unregistered firearm, Nate lunged after the gun almost immediately, nary a second thought to his own livelihood.

Initially, she had protested, but after watching him writhe about, his muscles extending and contracting every time he moved, she had to admit it was far more entertaining than whatever she could pull up on the telly.

She lets him struggle a moment more before snapping a particularly gratifying shot and adds, “If you consider me your moral support—and you very well should—then I am absolutely lending a hand.”

He ignores her, focusing all of his attention on retrieving the blasted weapon, fingers splayed in the hopes of extending just a few more centimeters. “Almost…got it.”

He flashes her a huge grin once he’s back inside, twirling the Para 9 in his right hand like he’s Steve McQueen, rather than the bloke who was just hanging out of the window in his underpants. It would be absolutely embarrassing if it weren’t so endearing.

“Are you impressed, or what?” he wants to know.

Chloe considers commemorating the moment on film, but suddenly, she really likes the idea of keeping it to herself. Something she can chide herself for being overly sentimental about later. She sets the camera on the table next to her armchair, careful not to knock over the radio, which is providing ambience in the form of 104.5’s eighties at eleven.

(“Is this your guys’ national anthem?” Nate had asked last night once they had collapsed onto the bed. “Down Under” was playing then, too.

“Mmm, yes,” Chloe hums with laughter, her hand tracing aimlessly on his stomach, her head resting comfortably on his chest. “We praise the Queen and country and the musical genius of Colin Hay.”)

In response to Nate, she makes a show of fanning herself dramatically. “Whew! You certainly had me—and the residents of Tulsa who bared witness to your little show—hot and bothered.”

Much to her delight, he rolls his eyes before turning his attention to the desk next to the radiator, the same one he had just vacated. His shoulder holsters (as well as his shirt) are draped haphazardly over the accompanying chair, and he carefully places the firearm back into its holder, snapping it closed.

“You’re a piece of work, y’know that?” he says with his back to her. She can hear the amusement in his voice, but she’s more interested in the patchwork of scars stretched across the broad expanse of his back.

“I distinctly recall there being less complaints where my behavior’s concerned prior to your acrobatic performance,” she replies offhandedly. As if sensing her staring, he turns around and leans against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Back when we were…”

Nate grins. “…Preoccupied?”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Among other things.”

“Really?” asks Chloe with a raised eyebrow. “Because I was going to refer to it as ‘being-interrupted-by-a-roving-firearm-before-I-could-even-get-my-top-off.’”

His eyes darken in distraction as he takes in her appearance, and for the first time in…well, ever, she feels herself flush. It’s nothing scandalous—more coverage than a bikini, certainly, in her tank top and knickers. But it’s the harsh light of day and her hair is down, and for the life of her, she can’t recall ever sticking around long enough the morning after for firearm antics and flirtatious banter.

It’s bordering dangerously close to domestic, which should raise all sorts of red flags, but...well, she isn’t exactly running away, is she?

All red flags are blissfully swept away, however, when he closes the distance from the desk to where she’s seated and grips the arms on either side of the chair, effectively caging her in place.

“There’s at least one good thing to come out of all this,” Nate insists, not even trying to be subtle as he rakes his gaze over her from head to toe.

“Which is?” It takes every ounce of restraint she possesses to not break into an absurdly delighted smile. Instead, she brushes her fingers, feather light, over one of his lower arms, lingering far longer than necessary.

“That at least you know it wasn’t a gun in my pocket,” he clarifies, barely holding it together. “I really was happy to see you.”

Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes, which she absolutely does, with only a hint, mind you, of amusement. Nate’s arms shake along with his laughter, but his antics are effectively cut short when she sits up and pulls him into a kiss.

Nate’s jokes only get worse from there, but it doesn’t change the fact that they don’t leave the room for at least two more days.

London, 2009 - Harry

We’re hell raising And we don’t need saving ‘Cause there’s no salvation for a bad girl We’re rock bottom But there ain’t no stopping ‘Cause it’s you and me against the world

—Natalia Kills “Problem"

She comes back from Nepal with insomnia and a spare key for a flat in London that belongs to a dead man. There’s nothing particularly fanciful or noteworthy about the place, except that she spent a lot of time (a lot of nights) there researching and planning their steps from Istanbul to Borneo for Marco Polo’s fleet back when Harry…

…back when Harry was alive.

She can’t bring herself to sleep in his bed, so she sets herself up on the couch, but after two hours of listening to rain pelt against the front window and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, she can’t take it anymore. She throws on a pair of runners and an ancient gray hoodie before heading out into the night.

It doesn’t take her long to find what she’s looking for. She spots the tattoo shop just up the road and turns into the adjoining alley, bypassing a couple of bins before walking down a small set of worn concrete stairs to the building’s side entrance. She walks inside.

Dim, flickering overhead lights expose a seedy gym underneath. There’s a roped off boxing ring in the middle, a few punching bags near the back, and wooden benches with free weights and barbells off to the side. No treadmills or ellipticals to speak of, but there is faint music coming in through tinny speakers around the room.

She heads toward the back, ignoring the unsettling leers coming from some of the male patrons as she walks by. It’s a little more difficult to block out the bald guy in the ring, his swear-laden diatribe directed at the bloke being pummeled, but Chloe manages.

There’s no one else by the bags, which suits her plenty. She wraps her hands, but before she can start, she feels her burner phone vibrate. It’s two messages—one from Nate and one from Sully. R u ok? Nate wants to know. Damn it Frazer pick up, is Sully’s less subtle text of choice. Chloe doesn’t have the closure or emotional maturity to deal with either of them at the moment. Not until she hits something, anyway.

She thinks about Nate’s stupid face, how he traded in death and bloodshed for picket fences and HOAs, while she was left to deal with the fallout of a dead partner, a-a turncoat. She cracks her neck, left to right, before slamming her fist into the bag. A jolt reverberates back through her arm, and it’s enough to light an unseen spark, to set her off.

Sure, Chloe thinks as she unleashes a series of jabs and hooks, Harry could be an absolute tosser, but she’s not entirely sure he deserved the way he went out. Hell, she’s not entirely sure anyone deserves to go out like that. Except maybe Lazaravec. He brought his demise on himself.

But, a small, resolute voice suggests, so did Harry.

She sinks a roundhouse kick, grunting when it lands. The arsehole didn’t even think—just pursued his own ambition, not caring what or, in her case, who became collateral damage.

She blinks as a drop of sweat lands in her eye, swiping at it before landing another uppercut. It wasn’t like she was in love with him (perish the thought!), but he could be charming and sarcastic when it was just the two of them. Admittedly, being with him didn’t require much acting on her part.

She punctuates her next flurry of hits with a muttered swear, and tries to gulp down air. It’s only then that she notices how her chest feels like it’s going to burst open. With an anguished cry, she lands an axe kick that somehow manages to break the punching bag from its chains and send it flying back a few feet. It takes her a moment to calm down, for her shoulders to stop heaving and her heart to stop racing, before she realizes just what has transpired.

“Oi, watch it!” The bald guy from the boxing ring vaults over the ropes and approaches, taking in the broken heavy bag and her disheveled appearance, soaked through hoodie and all. Up close, she notices the cleft in his chin and the scars across his nose and eyebrow.

She brushes the sweat-plastered hair out of her eyes. “Sorry, I—”

“Got swept up in the moment? Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I dunno if you’ve taken the time to assess what type of establishment this is, but it certainly doesn’t have enough funds to cover property damage every time some lady’s off her nut.”

Chloe bristles at that and reaches into her pocket, too exhausted to call him out on his overt sexism. “Here.” She hands him 50 quid. “Apologies to the establishment from the knackered lady.”

He pockets the money, mouth lifting into a slight smirk, but he doesn’t apologize. “Y’know,” he says instead, “we run an amateur boxing match every week. If your affinity for property destruction can be equally applied to people, you should consider signing up.”

He hands her his card (his name is Charlie, apparently) before he hops back into the ring, presumably to continue his coaching efforts. The tension in her shoulders dissipates, and she shoves his card into her front pocket. Breathing steady once again, she wipes a hand over her brow and snaps a picture of the downed punching bag. She sends it to Nate and Sully.

I’m processing, she writes back.

Sydney, 2010 - Sully

The time has come To say fair’s fair To pay the rent, now To pay our share

—Midnight Oil “Beds are Burning”

“This easily could have been discussed over the telephone, Victor.”

Sully swivels in his bar stool and looks at her over his glass of scotch. His smile is visible beneath his mustache. “Would you believe me if I said I missed the hell out of ya?”

“No,” she responds emphatically, but her laughter betrays the hardened exterior she has worked so hard to uphold over the years. She absentmindedly stirs her own drink. “I don’t buy it. What I would believe more is if you said you were here on behalf of one Nathan Drake.”

She knows she’s spot on when his cheeks go slightly pink.

“Can’t it be both?” he asks sheepishly, which says a lot about their relationship and his sincerity because Victor’s not sheepish about anything.

She laughs. “I knew it! So what is it this time, hmm? The latest treasure hunt’s gone belly up, and Nate needs a couple hundred quid to bounce back? Or perhaps his latest adventure brings him down under, and he and Fisher need a place to crash? Is that it?”

Sully remains silent and pointedly avoids her gaze. It’s so uncharacteristic, Chloe becomes concerned that Nate and Elena may be in serious danger. “Victor,” she presses, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Just tell me what’s going on. Are they—?”

“Nate and Elena are getting married.”

Chloe nearly chokes on her spritzer. “Married?”

“Don’t act all surprised, Frazer. This was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Or perhaps,” she offers, “not at all?”

Sully clicks his tongue at that in an annoyingly condescending way. He pauses, shifting in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Don’t tell me you’re still sweet on him after all this time?”

‘Him’ meaning Nate. She doesn’t even have to convince herself anymore. She scoffs. “Hardly.”

“Good. Because for a second there…” He lets out a nervous breath, and slams back the rest of his scotch.

“Wait just a minute, I’m not supposed to be comforting you in all this,” Chloe insists. She motions for the bartender to come over. Before she proceeds any further, she’s going to need a much stiffer drink. “You’re supposed to be offering me false platitudes like, ‘she can’t possibly compare to you, Chloe.’”

“Oh.” Sully takes that information in. He scratches the back of his neck, and then lifts his gaze to hers. “…Do you need me to?”

“Of course not!” Chloe blurts. Mercifully, the bartender returns with her whiskey sour. She pouts, then: “But the gesture would have been appreciated.”

Sully smirks at that. “Forgive an old man his impertinence then, will you?”

They sit in companionable silence for a moment as Chloe nurses her drink. Sully’s turned around, his elbows resting on the bar top as he takes in the view of the beach behind them. When the bartender returns to settle their tab, Sully brushes her off and says he’ll take care of it. Unable to muster any energy to protest, she closes her eyes and relishes the feel of the sun on the bare skin of her back.

“Well, mazel tov to the happy couple, but why would this warrant an in-person rendezvous?” she finally asks when her curiosity becomes nearly insufferable. “Not that I’m complaining about the exceptional company by any means,” she amends.

Sully doesn’t answer right away, but when he finally does, it sounds like he’s tiptoeing across a minefield. “They need another witness, and when I suggested you as a potential candidate...well, Nate and Elena thought it was a great idea.”

Chloe lets that marinate a moment before she asks, “Who, if I may ask, is the other witness?”

Sully beams. “You’re lookin’ at him, sweetheart.”

“Should have guessed.” She sighs dramatically, letting her head loll back. I’m going to regret this, she thinks before she squeezes her eyes shut and blurts, “Fine. But I’m bringing a plus one. This bloke, Charlie, we’re working a job together."

Sully raises an eyebrow at that, but mercifully doesn’t say anything. He claps a hand on her shoulder and pulls his phone out. “I’ll let them know.”

“Wait.” She grabs the phone out of his hands, flips it open, and holds the phone out. “Here, move in closer.”

Sully puts his arm around her shoulder while she gives a thumbs-up with one hand and snaps their picture with the other. They’re both in frame when she looks at the phone screen (of course they are—what is she, an amateur?), so she hands it back to Sully.

“There. Send that over to Nate with the message that I’m in, but he owes me one.”

“From you?” Sully hits send and flashes her a smile of solidarity. “I would expect nothing less.”

London, 2011 - Charlie

So slide over here And give me a moment I’ve got to let you know You’re one of my kind

—INXS “Need You Tonight”

“Do you need any help?” Chloe hollers again, hoping her voice is loud enough to carry to the loft on the second floor. Selfishly, she hopes the answer is ‘no,’ as she has finally settled into the end of his worn, leather couch with a hot mug of tea.

“You’re incorrigible,” Charlie calls back, his voice muffled. She thinks he may have rolled his eyes, which, rude. “I’m fine. I broke my leg, not my executive function.”

She shrugs, causing her oversized jumper to slip off her shoulder. “Have it your way, then. Just don’t come crying to me when you fall and break your neck.”

The warmth from her mug radiates past her fingertips all the way down to her sock-covered feet. She closes her eyes, sinks further into the couch, and pulls her jumper back over her shoulder.

It’s good to be back on solid ground again, she thinks.

They were lucky to be alive after what happened in Syria. Once they were certain none of Marlowe’s agents had successfully tailed them, all three of them (excluding Charlie, of course, who kept groaning and swearing under his breath each time they hit a particularly rough patch of road) took turns driving until they were able to reach a small airstrip some distance from the main road and far away from the ruins they vacated.

(“An old work acquaintance. He owes me one,” was all Sully would say once they parked the tour bus, and he began leading them toward a dilapidated hangar.

“Which leads me to believe,” Charlie chimes in, hobbling and leaning on both Nate and Chloe to remain upright, “that no one we’re about to meet is licensed to operate a bloody tin opener, let alone an aircraft.”)

It was there that they parted ways. Nate and Sully boarded a relatively stable looking plane headed for Yemen, while both she and Charlie were stowed in the back of a run down cargo plane headed for southwest England, surrounded by caged chickens and other small livestock.

As it turns out, Charlie is exceedingly allergic to feathers.

It’s suspiciously silent before Chloe hears the labored sounds of someone trying to hobble down a spiral staircase. When she finally does open her eyes, she’s greeted by Charlie—red faced and wearing a cowboy hat and a pair of white boxer shorts with hearts on them. She has to stifle a disbelieving snort when he proceeds to sling his Danelectro guitar over his shoulders, allowing it to hang low on his hips.

“What are you—?”

Charlie turns his back to her and flips on his stereo, effectively drowning out the rest of her question. When he turns around—nearly losing his balance with his broken leg in the process—he pulls his hat down low and moves his hips in time to the music.

It’s a lot to taken in, but Chloe doesn’t fully dissolve into actual giggles until he lifts his gaze back to her, his brow raised and a wink at the ready. So slide over here, he mouths, hopping across the space in front of the couch with his only good foot, and give me a moment. Things enter into truly mental territory when he mimes playing his guitar.

“Are you insane?” Chloe demands. “The doctor said not to put any direct weight on it for at least a few more days.”

She tries to sound stern, but the smile that keeps breaking out on her face betrays her true feelings. She grabs one of the throw pillows to cover her face when some of his dance moves become slightly more…inappropriate. However, it does nothing to hide her laughter or the flush she feels up around her ears.

He pries the pillow from her grasp and tosses it to the side. “What can I say?” He gives her a come hither gesture. “There’s just something about you, girl, that makes me sweat.”

“Absolutely not,” Chloe says, shaking her head emphatically. She sets her mug on the nearest end table, right next to her mobile phone. Seeing it gives her an idea, so she grabs it, easily switching it to camera mode.

“Sorry, love.” She grins wickedly, not sounding even the least bit apologetic.

Before Charlie knows what’s happening, she snaps the picture. It’s a perfect still of him mid-hop, mid-lip sync, and mid-guitar solo. It takes Chloe breaking into fresh peals of laughter before Charlie realizes what has happened.

“Oi,” he cries, pulling his guitar up and over his head. He props it against the stereo. “This was meant to be a private showing.”

“And it will be,” Chloe assures him. A beat, then, “Right after I send this to Nate, Elena, and Victor.”

Charlie does his best impression of crossing the small distance between them in an intimidating manner. “Chloe,” he says warningly.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, alright, fine.” She sets the phone aside and crosses her arms, pouting. “You’re no fun.”

“Oh, I’m plenty fun, darling,” he retorts, slowly lowering himself down onto the couch. He nearly loses his balance again, but Chloe crawls over to help, holding his arm to guide him. Once Charlie’s settled (“Bloody hell,” he grumbles under his breath.), Chloe reminds herself that she’s still holding on to his arm.

She makes an effort to pull her hands back, but Charlie snatches her right one, his grip sure. He turns to her, and one glance at his face tells her he has sobered, all mirth quickly gone. She swallows and tries to steady her heart, which begins beating absurdly fast.

Run, her mind tells her, but before she can obey or even protest, Charlie brushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear. His hand lingers, thumb brushing over her cheek.

“Sully would have killed me, back in Syria, if you hadn’t been there to stop me,” he finally says, voice barely above a choked whisper. She can hear the rawness, the slight waver in his voice, and it, frankly, terrifies her.

“Charlie, that’s not—”

He cuts her off. “No, it is. I was a downright mad man, and if it weren’t for you, Nate—“

“—is alive,” she finishes. With her free hand, she scratches her thumb against his stubble. He closes his eyes, pain evident on his face. “There’s no use in dwelling on what could have been. I was there, you weren’t yourself, and that’s that.” She pauses before adding, “In any event, I would have easily bested Victor. He’s incredibly old.”

Charlie lets out an abrupt bark of laughter before he forces himself to look at her again. It’s a new sensation for Chloe, being looked at with such adoration, that is. She’s not sure how she feels about it, only to say that the desperate commands to flee have simmered.

“Thank you,” he says. He searches her eyes for permission, and she nods imperceptibly before he captures her lips with his.

Run, her mind tells her once again, but she throws her arm around his neck, disobeying the command entirely.

One week later, during his follow up appointment, Charlie’s doctor gives both he and Chloe a long lecture about the need to avoid any direct weight on his broken leg. Chloe doesn’t even wait until the doctor is out of earshot.

“I told you so,” she tells Charlie proudly. His eye roll is nearly audible.

Glasgow, 2013 - Sam

I don’t want to go to school I just want to break the rules

—Charli XCX “Break the Rules”

There’s no reason Chloe should even be contemplating this. No reason she should even be here in the first place. It’s like salt and vinegar crisps: absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever, and yet...

…there’s no use in denying the insufferable do-gooder she has become.

A sea of writhing people, colorful, epileptic seizure-inducing lights, and pulsating bass: immediately, Chloe’s senses are assaulted as soon as she enters the club.

This has to be some kind of fire code violation, she thinks to herself sourly as she pushes her way toward the bar, serpentining through throngs of gyrating bodies and one particularly grotesque snogging couple. (“Excuse me!” she practically bellows at them, but they either can’t hear her or simply outright refuse to move out of the way.)

Finally, she reaches the bar. The bartender gestures to the glass in his hands, then back at her, but she waves him off. She wants to have clear reflexes and a sound mind for this particular meet up. Although she had insisted on a public meeting space, there’s still every chance for danger, never mind that she has no idea what her mark looks like. She imagines something like his brother, but that’s certainly not much to go on, is it?

“Now there’s a lovely lass,” she hears over her shoulder. “Curious that she’s all alone though, innit?”

Chloe turns just in time to see the stranger at the bar drag his gaze over the entirety of her person. He’s stocky with a bristly black beard and a terribly unfortunate complexion. She crosses her arms over her chest, doing her best not to shudder, and challenges him with a surly glare of her own.

“Perhaps,” she grits out, her restraint nearly in tatters, “it’s because she prefers solitude over the company that a man, such as yourself, is able to offer.”

In a magnificent feat, the stranger’s face grows even redder. When he makes an attempt to lunge after her, she can feel her heart pound in tune with whatever eurotrash music—noise, really—the DJ keeps churning out. Before the man can embarrass himself or do any lasting damage, another man enters the fray—his back to her—and keeps the other man from moving any closer by placing an outstretched hand square in the middle of his chest.

“Beat it,” the new guy says. He nods in her direction. “She’s with me.”

Chloe doesn’t even have time to enjoy the first guy’s harried retreat (she thinks he may have mumbled an apology, but it’s difficult to be certain with the heavy bass of the music bludgeoning her eardrums) before she rounds in on the new guy.

“I beg your pardon,” she blanches, her hand on her hip. “I am with no…one…”

Her speech falters once the new guy turns around, and she’s suddenly staring into a pair of hazel eyes (though, admittedly, it’s difficult to tell precisely with the uneven lighting). Everything, from the small bump on the bridge of his nose to the slight slope of his shoulders, overwhelms her with a sense of familiarity. She narrows her gaze at him suspiciously.

“Are you trying to tempt me because I come from the land of plenty?” Her tone is airy, but she chooses her words carefully, testing the waters.

“Do you come from a land down under?” he shoots back hopefully, eyebrow raised. In response to her visible relief, the tension in his own shoulders gives way, and he smirks, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Men at Work, huh? Do you do this for all your meet ups, or…?”

Apparently, all the good looks skipped right on down to Nate, she thinks idly. Not that Sam is horribly disfigured, by any means, of course. It’s just with his slightly receding hairline and his two-decades-too-old-to-be-fashionable jeans jacket, he’s not traditionally handsome like his brother.

“No,” she answers, hating herself slightly for her train of thought. “Only for known affiliates of Nate’s. Hazard insurance and all that, you know?”

He continues smirking. “Oh, I know.” A scantily clad woman stumbles past them both, brushing his shoulder as she steadies herself by grabbing onto the bar top. For what it’s worth, Sam’s eyes stay trained on her. He shoots his hand out. “Sam,” he says.

“Chloe.”

As they shake hands, she notices a couple of brutes dressed in oversized parkas just behind Sam. This isn’t her scene by any means, but even she knows that’s too much clothing for this kind of environment. They’re ideal for expertly concealing firearms, though. “Not that it isn’t a pleasure putting a face to a name after all these years, but why am I here, precisely?”

He starts to answer, but she’s barely listening, eyes still trained on the two overdressed men behind him. She watches as they push past the sea of people separating she and Sam from the two of them. It’s likely that they’re tailing them, but Chloe doesn’t want to stick around long enough to be certain.

She promptly grabs hold of Sam’s hand. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we?”

It’s less of a suggestion when she begins pulling him forward. “I—yeah, okay,” he relents.

It grows brighter and louder the closer they get to the center of the dance floor. She can feel a bead of sweat roll down her neck as they continue fighting through people, who are essentially packed in like sardines. Thankfully, the two thugs seem to be unable to bypass a particularly rowdy group of dancers when she glances behind her. It will give them enough time to regroup, at least.

“We’re being tailed!” she yells to Sam once they come to a halt. She has to avoid being hit by the elbow of a nearby dancer jumping up and down.

“What?”

“Followed,” she tries again, this time accompanying it by walking her fingers over the palm of her other hand meaningfully.

He follows her line of sight, and she can see the understanding hit him almost immediately when he turns back around. “That’s what I was saying earlier,” he yells back. “I’m in a lot of trouble.”

“Well, yes, I was able to deduce that on my own, but whatever for?”

A nearby group of girls nearly knocks Sam over, but he steadies himself by holding on to her hips. Almost immediately, he recognizes his error (it doesn’t actually require a reproachful look from her, but she tosses one in anyway) and lets go, holding his hands up for good measure. Sorry, he mouths, looking fully repentant.

“It’s a long story,” he hollers, narrowly dodging a wayward arm, “but I got roped into working for Rafe Adler—”

“Who?”

“Rafe,” he repeats, holding his head in a haughty manner and running his thumb over his index and middle fingers.

Money, she immediately thinks before making the connection between obscene wealth and heightened levels of tossery.

Ah.

“Adler,” she spits out distastefully.

Sam nods. “Exactly, and he’s got us searching for Avery’s—” He covers one of his eyes with his hands, curves the other hand into a hook shape, and mouths arghhh. “—treasure, which is why we’re in Scotland. The trail led us here.”

“Here, as in this horrible den of iniquity in Glasgow?” Chloe yells. They both have been forced into moving along to the music to avoid being hit by any number of the people dancing near them.

“No,” he yells back, barely holding back an eye roll. “St. Dismas Cathedral. We’re not supposed to leave the site, but I had to let someone know in case—” He swallows, the thin sheen of sweat on his Adam’s apple glistening. “—in case something happens. Which is why we’re here, here.” He gestures to the ground meaningfully. “Far away from Rafe’s goons.”

“Have you at least told Nate?” she hollers.

His whole expression falls. “I can’t,” he insists. “He—He already thinks I’m dead—”

Chloe lets out a frustrated groan, her head lolling back. “Of course he does.”

“—which is why I came to you,” he finishes.

“Well, you’ve done some abysmal covert work,” she yells back, her eyes focused just over Sam’s shoulders. He goes to check for himself, but she holds his face in place with both hands. “Our friends are heading toward us. We need to blend, pretend like we’re not dead as soon as they reach us. Follow my lead?”

Sam nods, rather than answering verbally. He follows her as she pushes forward, a little closer to the DJ’s table. When they come to a stop, she drapes her arm over his shoulders, and pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket.

“Hey! Everybody!” she shouts, switching her phone to camera mode. A few of the nearby patrons stop to stare at them. “This lad—” She gestures wildly at Sam. He sheepishly waves. “—just found out he’s going to be a father!”

Sam makes a choking sound just before everyone around them erupts into cheers and excitement. She has to pound on his back a few times for him to stop. When he can breathe again, she holds out her phone until the two of them are in frame, as well as a number of strangers wanting to wish the new dad well.

“’Baby’ on three, everyone!” she instructs. “One…two…three—baby!”

A chorus of ‘baby’ can be heard when she takes the picture. The cheers transform into an overwhelming roar as the patrons around them begin dancing wildly, slapping Sam on the back, and splashing drinks everywhere. It’s the precise level of pandemonium needed to make the brutes lose them. At least, for now, anyway.

Sam flinches as a particularly muscular guy claps him on the back in congratulations. When he moves away, Sam fixes her with an aggravated look. “Thanks for that,” he yells, his dour expression particularly hilarious in light of the glitter and champagne raining down on the two of them.

Chloe sighs dramatically, an infectious grin breaking out on her face.

“I live to serve. C’mon, mate,” she adds, brushing some of the glitter off of his face.

Just as she finishes, another bottle of…something douses both of them, and at its conclusion, Sam—hair soaked through over his eyes, mouth in a hardened line—spits out a mouthful like a tiny fountain. Chloe absolutely loses it as she grabs his hand and starts navigating both of them through the crowd.

“Let’s get out of here before your tail notices,” she barely gets out in between laughter.

Brussels, 2015 - Elena

We bury it, bury it, bury it And rise above

—CHVRCHES “Bury It”

It’s incredibly late—or really early, more accurately—when she gets the call.

The initial ring doesn’t even rouse her. Rather, she groans and turns over, pulling the covers over her head to block out the sound of snoring. But when it grows louder and more persistent, she grudgingly cracks an eye open, only to be blinded by the blue light filtering out from under her mobile as the vibrations cause it to skitter across the end table.

She takes a moment to reorient herself with her surroundings before carefully extracting herself from Charlie’s arm, which is draped across her waist, and wrapping a nearby blanket around her. Sufficiently cocooned, she grabs her phone and pads across the carpet over to the balcony off their hotel room, careful to close the sliding glass door behind her quietly.

She doesn’t recognize the number on the screen, but this is a new phone (the last one not only ran out of minutes, but also plummeted to the bottom of the Thames), and there’s every chance this could be a known affiliate.

She swipes up. “Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end, then, “…Chloe? It’s me, Elena.”

Well…shit, Chloe thinks rather unceremoniously, sinking on to the cheap plastic chaise lounge, pulling her blanket more tightly around her.

“Elena.” She hopes her voice doesn’t betray the sudden onset of fear sparked by this unexpected phone call. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It’s not that the two of them don’t communicate—quite the contrary, actually. There’s the occasional e-mail and a handful of texts containing memes about their circle of acquaintances (the last one Elena sent was Chrissy Teigan’s cry face with the text: when he scales the building to enter through the 8th floor window but you could have picked the lock on the front door). They even follow each other on Instagram (in fact, she had just given a like to Elena’s last uploaded photo, the one of her new camera). However, they rarely speak over the phone. The last time had been—

…Well, the last time had been the night she and Nate separated.

There’s some shuffling on the other end before Elena responds. “Nate mentioned you were traveling, so I tried to time it correctly. Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Chloe insists, clearly stifling a yawn, “nothing less than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on this end.” She hesitates before quickly adding, “Charlie, on the other hand, is still asleep.”

Chloe can practically hear Elena’s knowing smile on the other end. “How isCharlie anyway?”

They’re not even in the same time zone, yet she can still feel her ears grow hot. “He’s fine, if you must know,” Chloe relents, unable to stop the small smile that stretches across her face. “But now you’re clearly trying to distract me. Is…?” She hesitates, uncertain whether she will be able to stomach whatever Elena throws at her. “…Is everything all right?”

She hears Elena sigh. “Eventually, you’re going to have to give me some more details, you know that, right?”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Obviously. But out with it, Sunshine: is everything okay? Are you and Nate—?”

“We’re fine,” Elena cuts her off, more hurriedly than defensively, which seems to bode well, in Chloe’s opinion, “or at least, we will be. We’ve decided to…leave the life.”

“Leave the life?” Chloe repeats, her voice hollow. She’s heard this one before.

“More like continue the life, but do it in a strictly legal sense,” Elena clarifies, “including permits, dig crews, no firearms, et cetera.”

Chloe snorts. “So…all things I’ve no patience for?”

Elena laughs at that. “More or less.”

“But this is something you want?”

Elena nods, or at least, Chloe assumes she does. “I suggested it, including funds for a really expensive camera and a small crew, so I can reboot Uncharted, my old show."

“And Nate’s on board with all this…gentrification of sorts?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fascinating. I wonder what’s got him so generous all of a sudden.” Realizing how that comes across, she hastens to add, “Other than him being irrevocably in love with you, I mean.”

It sounds as though Elena has a retort for that, but instead she simply blurts, “Nate has a brother.”

The silence that falls between them is deafening. “Oh,” is all Chloe can manage—guilt slowly coiling in the pit of her stomach—before Elena launches into the story of what has occurred over the last couple months.

On the street below, there’s some kind of festival still carrying on from earlier in the evening. Colorful string lights dot the perimeter, while the sound of excited chatter and electronic music, as well as the smell of deep-fried smoutebollen, waft up to where she is on the fourth floor. Her stomach growls in response, but she ignores it, focusing only on Elena’s retelling of the events at King’s Bay, how she met Sam, and later, how they barely escaped from New Devon with their lives in tact.

“That’s actually why I’m calling,” Elena says, after she recalls the circumstances that led to she and Nate buying Jameson’s business for their new Stepford—rather than crime—inspired lives. “The last time we talked, you mentioned going back to India to…follow your father’s trail and track down the Tusk. Have you—is that still your plan?”

Chloe makes a choking sound, the question catching her completely off guard. “I—“ she sputters, shocked that Elena remembers any of that conversation at all. “Yes.”

“Since I’m basically retired, and since there’s no chance you would ask Charlie to come along…?”

Chloe glances through the window behind her, the outline of Charlie’s sleeping form visible. “Absolutely not,” she says emphatically.

Elena snorts. “I thought as much,” she admits, “but I think I have another option. The way Nate tells it, Rafe’s right hand man—Nadine Ross—abandoned them right as Avery’s ship caught fire. Questionable alliance aside, Nadine seems like a competent partner to have in the field.”

Chloe pulls her blanket closer around her, eyes narrowing, as a sharp breeze passes by. “And you know this because…?”

Elena lets out an unexpected bark of laughter. “Chloe, she kicked Nate’s ass. Not once, but twice over the course of our trip.” She pauses and then quietly admits, “There’s something especially cathartic about it happening on two completely different continents.”

Chloe wipes the tears from her eyes—a combination of laughter and the relentless wind. “Say no more,” she insists breathlessly. As soon as her teeth begin chattering, she decides it’s time to head back inside. “Do you have a way to get in touch?” she asks quietly, gently closing the sliding door behind her. She makes a beeline to the bed, sighing when the covers come up and over her frozen feet.

There’s a slight hesitation on Elena’s end before she suggests, “Call Sam. He probably knows how.”

It takes a moment for the unspoken meaning in her words to settle in, but once it does, Chloe’s face falls and her stomach plummets to the ground.

She knows.

“Elena,” Chloe breathes, her knuckles white and hands frozen in place as they clutch onto the covers. “I’m so—”

“I know,” Elena interrupts. Her tone isn’t angry, but it’s not exactly warm either.

“I wanted to tell you about him, truly,” she confesses, flinching at how desperate her voice sounds, “but I didn’t feel it was my place. I thought it should come from Nate, and—”

“I know,” Elena says again. “Listen—” she continues, trying to stifle a yawn in the process, “—I don’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep any longer than I already have, so…just keep me posted on your plans for India, okay? Oh, and tell Charlie I said hi.”

That makes Chloe chuckle. “Of course. And, Elena?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you,” she tells her, hoping her emphasis is enough to cover all multitude of her own sins.

“Of course,” Elena echoes.

The line goes dead, and Chloe is nowhere near satisfied with the residual guilt and accompanying broken record playing over in her mind, especially because she can’t seem to fall back to sleep. So she snaps a quick photo of Charlie (he’s sprawled out on his stomach, boxers riding low on his hips, and a small stream of drool seeping from his lax, open mouth onto his pillow), and texts it to Elena with the caption six minutes into Jet Lag & Chill.

She wakens the next morning to a three-crying laughing emoji response from Elena.

It’s a start.

Maharashtra, 2017 - Nadine

And I don’t really care if nobody else believes ‘Cause I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me

—Rachel Platten “Fight Song”

It figures that her hero’s journey doesn’t play by the rules in the least bit. Sure, she stopped the villain, survived all sorts of danger, and even walked away with the treasure. But rather than riding off into the sunset while the credits roll, as is tradition, she finds herself...pushing her ride off into sunset.

Because it bloody well figures that the battery would go dead here, three-quarters of the way up a hill, at the end of their journey.

“Do I have to do all the work over here?” Chloe huffs out. She sets her feet into the dry dirt and throws her whole body into her next push, powered by a second wind. “Or do you plan on stepping up in front of the wicket?”

Sam tears his gaze away Nadine (…which, Chloe doesn’t even begin to have enough emotional, physical, mental—etc.— wherewithal to address any part of whatever that whole situation may be), and shoots her a bewildered look. “Wicket?”

Americans, she thinks irritably before making it her top priority to reach the top of this God forsaken hill, if only to sink a fist into Sam’s incredibly punchable face. Up front, she can hear Nadine—who, in addition to pushing, is also gripping the steering wheel to guide the jeep forward—snicker.

“You mean, like, baseball?” Sam wants to know. “As in ‘step up to the plate?’ Because that—” He grunts, pushing into the vehicle, trying not to loose his footing. “—I understand. That I can—shit—that I can work with.”

His stumbling and flailing cause Nadine to burst into outright laughter. She tosses a rare grin behind her in Chloe’s direction. “I follow you, Frazer.”

“Thank you!” she cries. “At least someone is sensible in this group.”

“Yeah, okay, have your fun,” he mumbles petulantly, “but who do you know that collects cricket cards, huh? I’m feelin’ pretty confident that number’s a big ol’ zero.”

Chloe doesn’t trust herself to say anything further, so she sinks all of her physical and mental efforts into pushing the jeep to the top. Her back and legs are killing her, but the thought of a bath and dry clothes in Mumbai once they get this monstrosity up and running is enough to motivate her to keep going, keep pushing.

“Easy, easy!” Nadine calls back. “Just a little more, and we’re over the precipice.”

By some small miracle, they’re on flat land again, and instead of dirt and rubble in her line of sight, Chloe can see the cerulean sky above and a sea of lush green and brown vegetation below. With few clouds for cover, the sun beats down on them relentlessly, doing absolutely nothing whatsoever for the pool of sweat collecting at the small of her back and her chest. At this point, the dark sweat stains on her shirt resemble some kind of beginner’s abstract expressionist painting.

The vehicle settles into place absent the momentum, creaking to a halt. Exhausted, Chloe and Nadine lean against the jeep, trying to catch their breath. For his part, Sam circles around to the front and pops the bonnet. He coughs and wheezes as a plume of smoke unfurls from the engine compartment. Thankfully, it’s white, not black, which—according to Chloe’s very limited motor vehicle knowledge—is the better of the two kinds of smoke.

“I’ll take a look at this battery, see if I can’t get this thing up and running again,” Sam says. He disappears behind the bonnet, and it’s all very gallant until he adds, “You girls just stay there and look pretty.”

Nadine and Chloe exchange looks before they both break into disbelieving smiles. Pretty is certainly the last word Chloe would use to describe her current appearance. Perhaps artfully disheveled instead? Nadine gestures for her to follow her into the front of the jeep, which she does, and the two of them collapse into the driver and passenger seats.

“Are we certain we can entrust this vehicle and our livelihoods to this uncultured American?” Chloe directs to Nadine, but says loud enough for Sam to hear.

“You’ve already said ‘American,’” Nadine adds as an aside, “the ‘uncultured’ bit is understood.”

Sure enough, Sam chimes in with a protest. “Hey! I’ll have you know that I used to have a completely cherried out, 1962 Indian motorcycle back when I was in Boston, so I know a little something about cars. Just…let me have this one area of expertise, huh?”

“Okay, okay,” Chloe sighs as if it’s taking a lot out of her to grant him this request, “let’s allow this strapping man’s man to fix our ride home.”

She can’t tell for certain, but she thinks Sam might be frowning. “Thank you,” he deadpans from behind the canopy of the engine compartment, which only serves to make both Nadine and Chloe snicker quietly.

Silence falls over them (with the exception of the clink clank of whatever Sam’s doing to the jeep) as Chloe leans back against the headrest and closes her eyes to the overhead sun. It’s short lived, however, when Nadine speaks up.

“Sam—” He pops his head out to look at her. “—what on earth possessed you to get this ridiculous thing?” she asks, gesturing to the side of her neck that mirrors his, the one with the bird tattoos.

Chloe pops an eye open to witness his response. He ignores Nadine’s insult and instead clears his throat. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll show you my other tattoo.”

Chloe shouldn’t find his concluding wink so…visceral. And yet… “More than one?” she interjects, while Nadine mimes heaving up the contents of her stomach, accompanied by some over the top retching sounds.

He shrugs. “My cellmate was doing a buy one, get one sort of thing.”

Against her better judgment, Chloe laughs at that. His returning smile does absolutely nothing to her. “I can appreciate a man who recognizes a good bargain when he sees it.”

Sam returns to his work, but Nadine clearly has more thoughts on the matter. She turns to Chloe and jabs a thumb in his direction. “If that’s the case,” she says, referring to Chloe’s earlier comment, “I wonder what kind of bargain resulted in that floral shirt.”

The sound of the engine sputtering to life cuts off any protests Sam may have (and Chloe is quite confident he has more than a few). It doesn’t stop the sound of raucous laughter from she and Nadine, but it certainly drowns out a lot of it.

“See?” he says smugly, slamming the bonnet shut and approaching the passenger seat. “Told you I could do it.”

He goes to grab the door handle, but Nadine holds it resolutely shut. “Back,” is all she says, jabbing her thumb behind her.

Dejected, Sam hoists himself up and over the backside of the jeep and settles onto one of the wheel hubs with one arm draped over his knee. “What a show of appreciation,” he mumbles, somewhat bitterly.

“Now, now,” Chloe begins, shifting into first gear, but her knuckles hit a button on the dash, and she’s interrupted by the sound of the radio. And not just any radio, either: pop radio.

In English.

Sam’s the first to recover. “What the hell is this?” he demands, a look of pure disgust hilariously present on his face.

Chloe turns the dial tuner to other stations, but only finds static in response. “I have no idea,” she admits, perplexed. “Surely, out this far, you would expect something in Marathi, not this. It’s—”

“—it’s noise,” Nadine interjects sourly.

She goes to turn it off completely, but Chloe bats her hand away as soon as she recognizes the song. “No, listen,” she admonishes, the smile spreading on her face almost painful. “This is actually the perfect song to close out our adventure.”

“How? Is this—is this an American torture device?” Nadine tries again.

“No, this is a ballad of empowerment,” Chloe explains between laughter. Sam leans forward and reaches across to turn the radio off, but Nadine elbows him for his efforts. He falls back, coughing and wheezing. “I’m listening,” she says skeptically, a questioning brow lifted.

“Ow,” Sam hisses, rubbing the spot on his chest Nadine hit.

Chloe ignores him as she transfers the weight from the clutch to the gas pedal to begin their ride home. The resulting breeze, though warm, is wonderful. “Our journey has been one of growth and realizing untapped potential,” she explains. “Between Rafe for you, and Nate for me—”

“—eww, what?” Sam blanches, suddenly no longer interested in his chest pain.

“—we haven’t let anything come between us and our success,” Chloe continues as if he didn’t speak. “So this isn’t just our fight song, it’s our ‘prove we’re alright song.’”

“Our…‘take back our lives’ song?” Nadine asks tentatively.

Chloe beams. “Exactly! Elbows,” she says as she goes in for the high five, and their hands collide with a resounding smack. They both smile as Chloe digs her phone out from her back pocket. Using voice command, she switches it camera mode.

“Alright, everyone. Say ‘Tusk of Ganesh!’” she implores.

Sam sinks back onto his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “I hate both of you,” he’s sure to add.

The picture takes, and they don’t stop singing American pop songs until they cross over into Mumbai.

Florida, 2033 - Cassie

You ask yourself When will my time come? Has it all been said and done?

—Missing Persons “Destination Unknown”

“Is it here yet?”

Elena looks up from the stack of mail she’s leafing through on the kitchen table to see Cassie bounding into the living room, bouncing on the balls of her feet when she comes to a stop. She gives a small smile as she looks at one of the return addresses through her reading glasses. “I don’t know yet,” she tells her daughter. She offers the stack to her. “Do you want to look through?”

Cassie takes the proffered stack with a quick thanks and begins her own search.

“Is what here yet?” Nate asks, heading for the refrigerator with the intention of grabbing a beer. When he doesn’t see any, he grunts and grabs a vitamin water instead.

Cassie rolls her eyes at her dad (a behavior that has become increasingly common, Elena notes with a mild level of concern) before she explains, without tearing her gaze from the mail, “Aunt Chloe. She promised she would send something for my birthday.”

Elena frowns, placing her reading glasses on the table. “Cass, that’s not for another week.”

“Yeah, I know,” she agrees, “but Aunt Chloe always plans ahead—”

Elena and Nate share a knowing glance (his raised eyebrow makes her chuckle).

“—plus you have to account for international shipping rates and time differences, and—here it is!” she exclaims, holding up an abnormally shaped package wrapped in brown packing paper. Rather than tape, it’s held together with strategically tied twine.

“Hey!” Nate calls as she practically runs toward the stairs that lead up to her room. “I thought we were supposed to go fishing out on the boat today?”

“We are, Dad. Let me just look at this a second,” she calls back, her voice muffled by the floor of house between them.

Once she’s in the privacy of her own room, Cassie closes the door and flops down onto her bed. She examines the package a minute (her name and mailing address are written in Chloe’s scrawl, the purple ink a nice little addition) before pulling apart the twine ties. The contents of the package spill out once she finishes unfolding the packing paper. She reaches for the folded letter first before the enclosed CD case catches her eye. The cover is bright—there’s a blonde woman on the cover with wild hair, bright pink lips, and a swipe of blue over her eyes—and she flips it over to the track list.

“Cool,” she exhales quietly before placing it aside and picking up the letter again.

When she unfolds it, something falls on her comforter, but she ignores it temporarily as she reads the contents of the letter:

Cassie—

I hope this finds you in time for your birthday. I’ve been in Argentina with Sully and your Uncle Sam for the last few weeks. We’re supposed to meet up with Nadine and Charlie your Uncle Charlie Charlie in Morocco for a job, so apologies in advance if I time this incorrectly.

I pride myself in being the ‘cool’ aunt; however, I’d be remiss if I didn’t express some disbelief over the fact that you will be 16 this year. How time flies! I could launch into stories of you still in nappies, but I do not wish to embarrass you further (we’ll leave that to your father, surely?).

I don’t dawdle in sentimentality. In fact, I loathe it for the most part. However, a sixteenth birthday certainly calls for some level of sentimentality, even if we simply dip our feet in for a short while.

Cassie, you have grown into a remarkable young woman, and I very much look forward to whatever accomplishments you pursue in your future. You are incredibly fortunate to have the parents you do, even though I am sure their own accomplishments may lord over you, somewhat intimidatingly.

Here’s the shared wisdom bit: I’ve been the bad guy, I’ve been the hero, and I’m here to inform you that regardless which direction your path turns, there is always a chance for second chances. Always a chance for growth into something different, something better. If you don’t follow your parents already tread path exactly, there is still hope for you yet. You command your own way forward, and in the event that you make a wrong decision here or there, you are fortunate to have parents who truly love you and will help you get back on track. And for the truly bad decisions, you can always come to your Aunt Chloe. She knows a guy.

Or gal, in the case of Nadine.

Annnd…sentimentality over. Whew. Have the happiest of birthdays, love. Your Uncle Charlie and I plan to be back stateside close to the Christmas holiday next month. Until that time, when you must update me on that cute boy in science lab situation (the one with the neck tattoo, I believe? Which, please don’t take cues from your Uncle Sam), don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ;)

With love, Chloe

P.S.: I’ve enclosed a CD, which is an ancient form of technology that was used to play music in the late 20th, early 21st centuries. Do young people listen to CDs anymore? (Bloody hell, do young people even have to ask, “Do young people, etc.?” Please don’t actually answer that.) Regardless, this is a fantastic album by the Missing Persons (track 4 is a personal favorite), and I thought you might enjoy it as well.

Cassie sets the letter down and directs her attention to whatever fell out of the letter earlier. It’s a photograph of both she and Chloe from nearly a decade ago, Cassie thinks. Chloe’s crouched beside Cassie with her arm around Cassie’s shoulders. They’re both decked out in fedoras and bull whips—Cassie’s even wearing a tiny leather jacket. Cassie remembers the night pretty clearly, including when Sully secretly dumped some extra candy into her trick or treat bag. And then Charlie tried to kiss Chloe on the cheek, but she thought he was a stranger and ended up having to drive him to the ER later for a broken nose.

The memory is enough to make her smile. She flips the photo over and reads the caption:

Keeping up with the Joneses —2023

Her dad interrupts her thoughts as he calls out her name (pretty impatiently, actually). She quickly tacks the newly acquired photo next to some other family pictures—there’s one of her on Sully’s shoulder after a soccer victory in elementary school; one of she and Sam in sunglasses, trying to look effortlessly cool; one of she and Vicky in life preserver vests on the boat; one of Charlie teaching her how to play the Martin guitar he bought her in middle school; one of Nadine showing her how to properly land a punch; and one of she and her parents at Disney World (her dad looks so dorky in mouse ears and a Hawaiian print shirt).

“Coming!” she calls back, grabbing her fishing rod, and racing down the stairs to meet him.

[swimmmusic]

The Lambskin Condom Apocalypse Clinking and clanking in its hinges. The wind off the semi-trucks rattles the gate. Its joints lightly rusted from recent rain. Rain that makes LA drivers scramble around the highway in the kind of frenzy that will ensue when the Zombie Apocalypse actually does take place. Devouring us all and our gluten-free cracker boxes, over-sized paper towel squares, essential oil tinctures, anti-aging Vitamin E lotion bottles, medium Frie cardboard holders, once worn and now forgotten stilettos, chipped red tool boxes, popsicle sticks, Blow-Pop wrappers, secret-wielding journals, waterproof phone cases, twice-thrifted vinyls, temperamental mirrors, auspicious to-do-lists, lambskin condoms, ankle socks, initial-bearing handkerchiefs, futon frames and carbonated mixed-drink cups. Yes, all of that. Gone. Accompanying the rattle of the gate is music from the Cross-Fit Gym a block away. It’s aggressive. Though it does sound motivating, in a foreboding, militant manner. It could either be the Cadence to the Wehrmacht or a new Disturbed song. Either way it’s offensive. On many levels. Today is Sunday. It is usually quieter. Alas it is relatively still at my place. My ‘front yard’ is a driveway, splattered in dust and oil stains. As if a Cal-Arts sophomore became obsessed with Burnt Umber and disenchanted with the restrictive nature (or perhaps just the tedious up-keep) of brushes, thus deciding to throw paint at a canvas for a semester. (Surely leading to a C minus but much fun in the form of psilocybin induced Pareidolia.) The driveway bakes in the dry air. The tequila seeps through the pores in small beads of sweat… Back in the concrete jungle. But just a few hours ago, in the latter part of an unexpected wild night, I sat on the lavish deck of a mansion in Beverly Hills with 4 models discussing what they had stolen from the patio bathroom. The patio was as far as they were allowed to go. With me that is. A giant Samoan bouncer in a bespoke suit told us, apologetically, that the pool, hot tub and tree house were restricted to female guests. The girls had my back. Or at least no interest in swimming in the pool so we returned to the deck. Other girls in tight dresses wandered in and out of the bar area. Caterers were packing up food. One told me, “you should have been here a few hours ago.” ~~~ “A few hours ago” ~~~ We stood outside of a club called Warwick. One of the girls I was with knew a promoter so we waited for him to come outside while everyone looked each other up and down and evaluated in their own minds who was in fact, better than who… strictly in the terms of social status, wealth and beauty. The thing is, until someone grants you access, the people working the door look at you like you are the gum that stuck to their shoe in the parking lot; utterly annoyed that you exist, slightly confused as to why you exist and determined to get rid of you without getting any sticky residue on their fingers. This usually makes me feel small and very insecure. A little sad too I think. Not for myself, but that humans can ever take part in such grotesque behaviors such as war, theft, and in this case, human denigration via low admittance door policies at ‘da club’. Just as I felt me, myself and my self-worth sinking down between the cracks of the sidewalk, a guy with a tight shirt, feathered hair and a middle part came to let us in. (The middle part looked surprisingly good for a middle part.) I have met a few of these promoters and they seem to have the same demeanor with me each time. They glance at me for a second, realize I am part of the package deal, begrudgingly shake my hand and move on to the ladies. There is a part of them that remembers I am a human but that part has been suppressed so strongly by bottle service guidelines that trying to make any meaningful contact feels like someone from the aforementioned zombie apocalypse trying to talk their bitten friend into staying human. We are escorted to an elevated lounge area with a table. Tequila and vodka bottles twinkle on the table like jewels in a Tiffany’s display case. The promoter asks me what I’d like to drink and pours it strong. I’m undeniably charmed a little. Before the alcohol takes effect I gaze around the giant club. I have been to Warwick a couple times and experience the same anxiety in the first ten minutes each time. The ceilings are high. The music is very loud. The people are very handsome. The shirt collars are very sharp. The fedoras are very fedora-y. The high heels are very high and make most girls walk very awkwardly. Along with my anxiety, I feel myself start to judge. But I don’t want to. So I take some deep breaths and ask to see it all differently. I tell myself, “Chris, people have different tastes. It’s ok that people enjoy this. Maybe you can?” Then something magical happens. After the fourth time my friend tells me to take a shot with her and after the fourth time I oblige, I find myself laughing, dancing, hooting, and hands-in-the-air-fake-rapping along to a song I don’t know the words to. DAMMIT! Despite all best intentions, I am now having an absolute blast at Warwick. I can blame it on whatever I want. Booze? Good friends that are unfairly attractive? Infectious party music? Booze? Surprisingly short unisex bathroom lines? Booze? Surprisingly congenial girls in the surprisingly short unisex bathroom lines? The bouncer’s feathered, weightless hair that somehow looks great with a middle part? BOOZE!!! But hey, no matter the cause, I had a mother fucking blast in DA CLUB. Fast forward now passed all these shenanigans to the end of my wild night in Hollywood. What kind of an ending could such an adventure close with you must be wondering? If you guessed a skinny dip in the mansion’s heated pool with pre-paid escorts and the most legendary game of Marco Polo since Ian Zeiring and Scott Baio took on the Grotto… you would be wrong. Optimistic. But wrong. However if you guessed a mud bath with four models in the bed of a Ford Ranchero, where the mud was replaced with Nutella while Gala apple slices rained down from the heavens burying our extremities leaving only our mouths to dip, snap and crunch our way to open air… well… again, you would be wrong. An ambitious little crépe you are, but wrong. Ok, but really now… guess how it could have ended. Yes! Taco Bell! Taco Bell, indeed. We made it in the doors just before closing time. CONFIRMING GOD WAS ON OUR SIDE! But moments later, when it was our turn to order, they refused us service because it was 5 minutes passed closing time. SOLIDIFYING GOD HAD FORSAKEN US! Judging from our reactions, one would have thought we were being ushered into the unlucky side of a Zombie triage line. Luckily, the girls knew a different promoter that was also denied Cheesy Gordita glory. (And yes, in Hollywood promoters are everywhere… like Maserattis… any time you turn your head one is whisking by with some blonde happy to be along for the ride.) He told us of a different Mexican place that would serve us. (Sidenote: Is Taco Bell actually considered Mexican? #deepthots) The girl driving us parried, “But it’s not Taco Bell! Is it good?” He sighed and replied, “It’s open.” I remember thinking to myself in my drunken state, “Damn, that was wise as fuck.” I squinted and shielded my growing respect. The real point of this part of the story is that I have met this promoter multiple times. Each time he barely looks at me in the eye, sadly realizes I’m part of the package deal and begrudgingly shakes my hand as if we have never met. And he does it again. I’m too drunk to think all zen and woke-like so I don’t take any deep breaths. Judgement begins to swirl fiercely around the Sammy Hagar-branded Tequila river rapids in my head. But before I know it, something magical happens! Again! He goes and pays for all of our Mexican food! But get this! Then he just leaves! Like Batman saving us from impending doom! Disappearing before he can collect on his munificent errand. Consider me CHARMED much! I went from commiserating over whether or not it’s a power play for him to be so flippant of my existence to fantasizing about him adopting me as his little Ahijado! I ate a quesadilla. Then I ate two pastor tacos. Then I ate half of one of the girl’s enchiladas. Then I sighed and looked down in defeat. *Earlier that day I had promised myself I would not drink or eat past 9 pm for the rest of the week. So how do I judge Warwick if I had a great night that I’ll always (barely) remember. How do I judge promoters for treating me like a sub-human if they buy me Quesadillas that I’ll never (kind of) forget?!! Ugh. I suppose it is possible to ‘see things differently’. No matter where you are, judging only leaves ya less likely to have fun. Or less likely to stuff your face with a hangover-assuaging enchilada. The end… well, at least for the human portion of my audience… The rest is for God, of which whom I was abandoned by in Taco Bell, but have come to peace with since. Ok, thou One and Only-est… despite all these diplomatic mantras I have reached in my enlightened state… I must address that zombie apocalypse… with all its fleshy deserts and carnal terror? Well Lord, I still ask you please, please take Warwick first; but also please let me have one more night there before you do. I know what you’re thinking, God. But who knew Hell on Earth could be so fun?! -Cookie da Club Crasher * Note from author about title. As for all the things that will go in the end of days… Perhaps not lambskin condoms. I believe those are a myth, produced to drive guilt into the hearts of those without a latex allergy, still too careless to wrap it up. ‘What never existed can never be relinquished’. Which metaphysically speaking, makes Lambskin condoms the most durable form of protection on the market! Now ya know! Be safe kiddos.)

[sending-the-message]

What Came After The Accident by Pippinacious

It had been my idea to sneak home for the long weekend. My mom’s fiftieth birthday was that Sunday and I wanted to surprise her. As a poor university student in my second year, the few tanks of gas that it would take to make the eight hour drive were really all I could afford and I figured me being there would be far more important and memorable than anything I could have had shipped from Amazon.

I had planned to go alone, but Neil and Dean invited themselves along when I told them what I'd be doing.

“Mama Dee would rather see me, anyway,” Dean said, “I'm her favorite.”

“Yeah, I'm sure her birthday would be ruined if the guy who shit in her plant pot didn't show up,” Neil replied.

“I was five!”

“So were we, but we managed to get to the toilet in time.”

It was never truly a trip home if someone didn't remind Dean of the time he went to the bathroom in my mom’s philodendron. The curse of lifelong friendships.

We decided to make the long trip overnight. While our parents, who always seemed to have a sixth sense for when we were planning to come home, might have expected us to show up at some point in the evening, they'd never suspect an early morning arrival and we figured it would make the surprise that much more effective.

The Friday of our departure came and, after wrapping up classes, we returned to our dorms to pack and nap until midnight, when we'd be heading out.

It was quarter to one by the time we managed to wake Dean up and shove him out the door. He stumbled into the back of my car and immediately stretched out as much as he could across the bench seat while Neil and I climbed into the front. I was driving and Neil was in charge of music and making sure I stayed awake. He'd come armed with a backpack full energy drinks and sugary snacks, ready to do his duty.

The thing about long night drives, though, is that the passengers never really seem able to stay awake themselves. We were hardly an hour into the trip when I noticed Neil’s head dipping down towards his chest, jerking upright, and then sinking slowly down again. I grumbled about the two of them being useless and took another swig from the oversized can of liquid caffeine in the cup holder.

The road was dark and empty and long. It wove through the shadows ahead, illuminated only by my headlights. We wound our way through tree laden hills, crossed through pitch black valleys, passes through quiet small towns, all asleep and still. There weren't many other cars on the road given the late hour and it was easy to feel alone on those endless stretches of highway where the only signs standing were the ones telling you you were so many miles from civilization.

It was calm and peaceful and, for the first three hours, uneventful. I thought I felt awake and alert, like I could wrap up this drive without a problem. I didn't even notice my eyes starting to drift shut.

I don't know if it was sudden bite of my seatbelt in my neck that woke me or the explosion of airbags. There was a brief moment of weightlessness and then everything was flipping violently in a cloud of crunching metal. Everything that wasn't strapped down, including Dean, was thrown from its place. Sticky energy drink splashed all over, the ipod that had been resting on Neil’s leg struck me in the forehead, Dean’s hand appeared between the front seats and then disappeared into the back again.

The car continued to tumble downwards, twice, maybe three times, before slamming down on the driver’s side.

The silence that followed was some of the loudest in my life. My entire head was ringing, my ears throbbed with my pounding heartbeat, over which I could barely hear my own ragged breathing. I didn't feel anything yet, no fear or pain, just confusion, like I couldn't quite believe what had just happened.

Talcum powder coated everything in an awful, choking white and the first coherent thought I had was that I had to get out of the car. I tried to move, tried to get my bearings enough to figure out the best escape route, but something was wrong. My arm. My left arm, it wouldn't move. It was pinned between my body and the bowed in door, my hand caught halfway behind my lower back.

My right arm dangled limply across my stomach and, the moment I was aware enough to realize that, I started to feel it; a white hot, grinding burn in my shoulder that shot out in every direction. The tiniest of movements caused it to flare up into an excruciating burst of pain that sent tears streaming down my cheeks.

I was trapped.

“Neil?” My voice came out in a surprising croak.

No answer from the passenger seat. I could just turn my head enough to see my friend hanging above me, held in place only by his straining seatbelt. Blood poured down one side of his face and fell in fat, hot drops against me. His eyes were closed, but I could hear shallow, wheezy breathing and I knew he was alive.

There was no such reassuring sound from the backseat.

The toe of Dean’s sneakers peeked out from over my headrest, but he didn't answer when I called his name and I couldn't twist myself enough to see him. I almost didn't want to.

I screamed for help for a while, tried and failed to ignore the spreading pain in my body for long enough to unlatch my seatbelt, kept talking to my friends, praying for some kind of response, but nothing. Nothing. I was alone and I was hurt and I was scared. I cried for my parents and for my friends’ parents, who had all been like family to me, and I begged Neil and Dean to wake up.

I don't know if I passed out or simply managed to fall asleep, exhausted my terror and a growing agony that radiated from my chest, but the next time I was pulled into consciousness, it was by a gentle tapping along the back of the car.

Tap tap tap

It became a long, screeching scrape, like someone was dragging their nails across the panel and passenger-side back door. It didn't occur to me then how large something would have to be to reach that door when the car was turned up on its side. It didn't occur to me how sharp those nails would have to me to gouge through my paint like that. It only occurred to me to be afraid.

Heavy footsteps dragged through the dead, crackling leaves and twigs of the ravine, circling around the car. I caught a brief flash of something pale and tall and thin in the headlights, but it moved back into darkness too quickly for me to get a good look. It went back around to the rear of the car and the tentative, testing taps began again.

Tap tap tap

Its breathing, low and deep, was becoming more excited and eager as it scratched and scraped, but it failed to find an opening. It paced alongside my car for a moment, growled, and then went quiet.

I thought that was the worst part, sitting as still as I could, hardly daring to breathe, waiting. Hoping it was gone. I thought that the not knowing what it was or where it was was the worst.

I was wrong.

The back window cracked under a sudden, swift blow, and then another. At the third, it shattered. I almost screamed, but my fear had a stranglehold around my throat and no sound came out, and the car instead filled with a predatory hiss of satisfaction. Out of the corner of my eye, glimpses of gray flesh and long, hooked nails that swept through the back, searching.

Another hiss. It had found Dean. His limp body was dragged upwards and out of the car by one leg. I looked in the rear view mirror in time to see his glassy, vacant eyes staring off at nothing as he disappeared through the window.

Dean, one of my two best friends, who I had grown up alongside; Dean who had punched Randy Tallord in the mouth when he'd picked on me in sixth grade; Dean who had gotten me drunk for the first time and then stayed up all night to watch over me at our first college party; Dean who had shit in my mom’s plant pot when he was five.

He was just...gone.

I fought the urge to scream and vomit and cry. The little prey voice in the back of my mind, the one that had kept my cavemen ancestors alive, told me that if I made any noise, I’d be dead, so I bit down on the inside of my cheeks until I tasted blood and I squeezed my eyes shut and I tried to ignore the sounds of wet snapping and tearing, of breaking bones and gnashing teeth.

I tried to ignore the sound of my friend being eaten.

The sounds slowed and then quieted to the beast’s guttural breathing. There was a rustling of leaves and then footsteps coming back to the car. It scraped along the side again, dragging its claws along the door, grunting and sniffing and clamoring to find the hole it had made again.

I pressed myself further against the door despite the screaming protest that shot through my body when I caught sight of that gray arm swinging through my back again. Claws raked through the cloth interior, splitting open the bench seat and tearing at its pad. It was growling, hissing, hunting.

Maybe it would have given up when it found the backseat empty. Maybe it would have left us. I half allowed myself to hope that would be the case.

And then Neil groaned.

The moment he made the sound, that gray arm shot forward and sank its claws into Neil’s face; two through his cheek, one through his eye. Neil howled as he was wrenched this way and that, but his seatbelt held him in place. The car shifted slightly and a the pungent stink of iron and hot breath filled the air. Automatically, my eyes flicked to the rear view mirror again.

A pair of large, fish-white eyes filled the mirror.

Neil screamed for both of us.

For all the times he had helped me study when I was struggling, for each white lie he'd told to keep me out of trouble, for all the fights he'd helped me win and the losses he'd helped me endure, I could do nothing for him now.

There was a pop and a crack and then he was quiet. The car shook a bit as the creature worked Neil’s head from his shoulders and pulled it back through the window.

His blood ran down on me in a red shower and, still, I did nothing.

It reached in a few more times, ripping chunks of flesh from Neil’s body until the most easily accessible parts were picked to the bone, and then it felt around a few more times, although with lazier, less fervent swipes than before. Part of me wanted it to find me, to end the fiery pain that coursed through every inch of me and to stop Neil’s screaming that still echoed inside my head.

But I just lay there, my mouth filled with blood from where I had been biting my lips and cheeks in order to stay silent, and I waited.

I listened to it lurk around the car for hours, skittering around it, sniffing and growling and hissing. Every now and again, it would tap the rear panel and scrape its bloodied nails along the door, as if it were no longer hungry and, instead, taunting me. I willed myself to succumb to my pain, but I remained very much alive and very much aware.

It stayed until dawn, when the sun started to rise and traffic began to pick up. It gave the car a final tap along its back end before shuffling off into the woods, leaving me alone with the half eaten remains of my friend and covered in his blood.

The sound of cars passing by on the road beside the ravine started to become more frequent as weekenders made their way across state. I was too worn out to call for help, too drained to try and figure out a way to free myself. I started to believe I really would die down there and the idea wasn't an entirely unwelcome one.

Voices, curious and concerned, cut through that line of thinking. My car had been seen, I realized, someone had spotted me. I let my eyes drift closed anyway, even as they drew closer and started to call for any survivors.

I didn't care if they pulled me out. I didn't care if I made it or not. I could think only of my friends and their final moments and of those eyes, pale and shining with a dull, malicious light, that I'd seen in my rear view mirror.

[thecosywriter]

The Lockwood Effect C2 (PercivalxOC)

Lockwood Manor, Charlotte, North Carolina, USA 1924

The Lockwood Manor was an intimidating building, constructed of white marble and golden carvings which would shine against the sun rays. The rooms were large and echoed as the house elves scurried around cleaning furniture and running the house day to day. The manor was large enough to house the core members of the Lockwood clan, it had done so for centuries and for the last twenty six years it had been home to Casperia Lockwood, daughter of Lauren Lockwood.

Following the trial and execution of her mother Casperia moved into the care of her grandmother or as she called her MeeMaw. Growing up around the pure blood elitist belief system of her family had made the child rather brash and rude. Used to getting her way in most things, the family income provided for her needs well enough. Only at the age of eleven when Casperia received her invitation to Ilvermory did Casperia really get a glance at the real world. She was a half-blood, a half-breed and the family noted that but upon the matriarch's insistence there was no word spoke of it. The trial was never brought up and a harsh punishment fell on the head of any servant of family member that divulged the truth about her parentage.

At the age of 12 Casperia met the young Queenie Goldstein, a young witch who following the death of her parents found Ilvermorny as her new home. Her older sister Tina, was always the strict one, the loss of her family meant the elder sister had to care for her sibling which caused her to mature before her time truly came.

Casperia, or Bubbles as she was more commonly referred to by the sisters had no concept of what it was like to live hand to mouth, she never needed to ask for anything – having been brought up in the Lockwood household if she rang a bell her needs would be seen to. This caused a clash between the young Lockwood and the eldest Goldstein on more than one occasion – Bubbles was accused of being a snob and a princess with no concern for anyone around her and Tina was called a tightly wound old woman trapped in the body of a teenager. As they grew older Bubbles elitist upbringing was challenged on occasion and the three remained close friends, with Bubbles sending them money over the holidays or asking them to stay at the Lockwood Manor – much to the distress of her Grandmother. It was Bubbles who threw the sisters their celebratory party when they got their positions in MACUSA and now the sisters were returning the favour by offering their friend a room to live in whilst she transferred to her new job.

The sound of heels cantering across the marble flooring made the house elves scurry and hide behind the furniture, as Bubbles made her way across the great hall into and up the stairway to the first floor she caught sight of familiar looking house elf who was carrying a silver tray of tea and china.

"Pomodore!" Bubbles exclaimed as she ran over to the small creature. Not prepared for the fright the elderly house elf jumped a few metres in the air spilling the boiling water over himself.

"Oh darlin' I am sorry. I didn't mean t'scare ya'." Bubbles giggled to herself as she pulled out a green perfume bottle from her bag and spritzed around the house elf, immediately drying the rags he was wearing.

"Thank you Ma'am." Pomodore said with a shy smile as he clicked his fingers and the broken tea pot and china cups reformed and returned to the silver tray as they had been previously.

"Pomodore, where is Meemaw?" Bubbles asked as she placed the green glass bottle back into her bag.

"In the tea room Ma'am." The house elf replied with a small bow as Bubbles smiled down sadly at the creature. House elves didn't receive much kindness from their family they were seen as lesser beings and objects; Bubbles used to think that way to once. Not anymore, Ilvermorny had taught the young witch a thing or two about kindness.

"Will you be having tea?" Pomodore asked as he motioned to the tray.

"I wouldn't mind a hot chocolate darlin'."

"Thank you." The elf smiled up at the blonde woman before him as the two made their way down the stairs quietly before the atmosphere was broken by the bellowing of the older Lockwood. Madame Lockwood voice could be heard echoing from all corners of the manor, many often thought her related to the banshee – the white hair and voice that could kill a man were two pieces of evidence to support the rumour.

The house elf rushed off in front of Bubbles as she quickened her pace across the landing to the tea room. "MeeMaw!" Bubbles greeted happily as she moved to embrace her grandmother.

"Casperia darlin',I have been waiting for you for over a half an hour. Where were you?" Madame Lockwood chastised as the younger woman took her seat in the opposing white chair. Two decades had not taken from the air of intimidation the snake-like woman gave off even to her granddaughter, it was known as unwise to keep the matriarch waiting.

Pulling out a pack of cigarettes from her bag and offered one to her grandmother who refused by raising her hand and prickling her nose in disgust. With a smirk Bubbles took out one cigarette form the packed and placed it into the end of the white marble holder. Bubbles placed the holder in her mouth and lit the device, taking a deep inhalation before a matching marble ashtray appeared in front of her on the table.

Pomodore stood to the side of the white take holding the silver tray shakily in his hands, scared to move in fear of making a wrong step and receiving a beating. Madame Lockwood noticed this and snapped at the house elf.

"Are you going to pour the tea or do you want me to die of thirst?!" She hissed as she motioned to the house elf who scuttled forward placing down the white and blue china cups before filling it with the hot liquid and scuttling back into his space. Pomodore let out a small cry as the older woman cracked her white staff across the side of his face.

"Do you wish my granddaughter to go thirsty?" She barked as she continued to beat the poor house elf. "I've ordered hot cocoa, MeeMaw!" Bubbles winced as she took another drag of her cigarette.

"Then where is it? We shall just both die of thirst sitting here shall we?" Madame Lockwood snapped back to Pomodore. "I just asked'm on my way here. It's not 'is fault MeeMaw." Bubbles explained trying to stop the beating which was being carried out in front of her.

"Oh do be quiet child." Madame Lockwood snapped at her granddaughter causing her to sit back down in her chair, lowering her head in silence as the older woman finished the beating.

Once she had released enough pent up rage the elderly woman sat back down in her chair with a smile and sipped on her tea as Pomodore scuttled away to prepare the hot cocoa for Bubbles.

Bubbles tapped the ash into the marble tray and watched her grandmother, the woman she used to idolize, the only mother she ever really knew. She would often wonder to herself, that if she did not meet the Goldstein's that she may have turned out as cold as the other members of her family, it was an inherited trait that they were cold hearted people. Bubbles knew her character was far from that of a nice person, she was a snob, she was demanding and a little pompous at times; Tina was the first person to call her this to her face and over the years she kept her relatively grounded.

"I'll be fixin' to leave in the hour MeeMaw." Bubbles said as she picked up her hot cocoa and licked off the cream from the top of the mug making her grandmother grimace at the lack of manners. "I don't know why you insist on staying with those sisters, honestly darlin' you could have stayed in one of the nicer hotels. Those two…" Madame Lockwood began as she took a sip of her tea.

"Those two are my friends and offered me a place to stay with them; it would be rude to not welcome their hospitality." Bubbles spoke up in defence of her friends, giving her grandmother a gentle yet stern glance making the older woman chuckle and shake her head.

"They're as poor as church mice darlin' do you really need to mix with them? It is bad enough that you're moving to New York of all places. Why couldn't you stay in the south?" Madame Lockwood began to rant to herself, her voice getting higher and higher making Bubbles roll her eyes with a smile.

"MeeMaw please don't." Bubbles sighed as she took one final long drag from her cigarette holder and expelled the finished cigarette into the ashtray. "I should be going, going to use the Floo channel to get up there." Bubbles said as she embraced her grandmother before making her way out of the tea room to her bedroom.

The Goldstein's Apartment, New York, 1924

Tina POV It had been such a long day, I was tired, my feet were tired and honestly I am sure my clothes were tired but I still had paperwork to do. Climbing up the stairs to the apartment I shared with my little sister I leaned on the door frame and pushed open the door.

The familiar scent greeted me at the door; Queenie was cooking again. She was good for that; she always was the best at housekeeping and all manner of housewifery in general. I was thankful for that, I was never one for cooking – I remember being a young teenager and trying to cook our meals after our parents passed away. Thankfully Ilvermorny meals kept us alive as I would not have been able to guarantee our survival on the slop I used to throw together.

Smiling gently to myself I made my way into the flat and placed my files on the table before kicking off my shoes and removing my jacket and hat.

"How was work Tina?" Queenie asked cheerfully as she charmed the food in the kitchen. "The usual, mostly paperwork. Do you know what time Bubbles is supposed to get here?" I replied with a grunt as I sat down on the sofa with a light sigh, as my body relaxed into the embrace of the chair.

"Her letter said she would be arriving within the next hour. I am so excited; I haven't seen Bubbles in so very long." Queenie exclaimed excitedly clapping her hands, I smiled to myself happy to see my sister so happy.

I couldn't help but panic slightly about the arrival of our old friend, I mean I was happy she was moving closer to us and that we would be able to catch up. It was just…the city was on high alert with the No-Maj agitated about the possibility of uncovering our kind in the city…it was an anxious time. We did not want to set off another year of witch trials and Bubbles…well she was not the best with a wand. She never had been, earning herself her nickname from the countless times her wand would expel bubbles instead of spells. We were lucky if her wand worked properly, we had calculated at one point that there was a one in five chance that her wand would bubble over and give a dud spell; it was not the time to have such clumsy witches in the city. I honestly do not know how she got the position of Deputy of Potions and Medical Remedies to begin with..

"Oh Tina! Don't be like that!" Queenie sighed as she placed her hand on her hip with a gentle tut. "What did I say about reading my mind Queenie?" I snapped, slightly ashamed of myself for my thoughts.

"Oh, you know I can't help it! Besides, you are worrying for nothing." Queenie smiled as she walked over to me and leaned on the arm of the large chair.

"We are on high alert if Bubbles uses her wand…" I begin, slightly panicking making Queenie shake her head. "I will make sure she is under control Tina, I will show her the ropes." I winced at the thought of that, I could remember the days those two spent together in school, and they were a pair and a half. I remembered the two blondes walking along; they would get mistaken for sisters more than I would. My sister and I were a few years apart and I was focused on getting my N.E. for my Auror training programme. Queenie was best at charms whilst Bubbles excelled in potions and herbology the two combined tended to cause a few mishaps over the years.

"As I recall, the two of you were quite a pair back in school." I snorted as I took out my wand and charmed the tea pot to pour two cups for us both.

"Yes, but Tina you was a prefect – we were only having fun." Queenie laughed as she took the floating china cup from in front of her. "Bubbles practised her potions on the school mascot!" I exclaimed as I took a sip of the hot tea burning my tongue in the process, wincing I place the mug back down letting it free float in front of me.

"So the Pegasus turned pink! Honestly, he quite liked it." Queenie chuckled as she charmed more sugar into her tea. I smiled as I recalled how the Pegasus flew around showing off his fancy feathers all year until Miss Lickard charmed him back to white again.

"That is so not the point Queenie!" I snort as I stand up and go to close the curtains on the other side of the room.

"Oh Tina, you need to relax sweetie. Besides from what I have heard Bubbles has made quite a name for herself in certain circles. " Queenie said with a proud smile. I sigh, I know she had made a name for herself in the potioneer's community; she was very brilliant she always had been – making up for the lack of wand expertise I was sure.

"I bet she has." I mutter to myself. "Tina! I know the both of you didn't always see eye to eye but she won't out the entire wizarding community over a few bubbles." Queenie exclaimed with a soft smile, I groaned and nodded, she was right it was late and I was prone to overreacting.

"She is not known for being subtle." I begin what was meant to be my final argument before Queenie and I were both scared out of our morning best by the large green flame which appeared in our chimney. Queenie jumped up next to be before we both broke into a smile as the flames faded away.

"Who is not known for being subtle?" A familiar southern drawl echoed around the flat.

In the middle of our living room standing bold as brass was Miss Casperia 'Bubbles' Lockwood; nothing had really changed in the three years since we last saw each other. She was still the same over the top blonde totty we knew.

"Bubbles you're early!" I exclaim as I swallow the conversation that I was about to begin. Not the best time to be talking about it I decided.

I took a glance over at Bubbles, her ice white hair was pulled back into a high ponytail with a blue clip holding it back, her bangs fell down one side of her face her brown eyes hidden beneath a pair of half moon glasses. I took a breath was I smothered in a big white fur coat, Bubbles squeezed me with an excited squeak and she pulled away and looked at me. I coughed a little as the familiar scent of lavender filled the air; she had not learned to tone down the perfume over the years.

"Tina daaarlin'! How are you?" She exclaimed excitedly, I wince a little at the pitch of her voice. She voice not unlike her grandmother could travel through stone walls."Bubbles, it is good to see you." I say as I take a step back allowing me to take a breath of lavender free air.

"Bubbles!" Queenie exclaimed with an excited clap. "Queenie hunney, it is so good to see ya! Come here and give me a squeeze." Bubbles laughed as she opened up her arms for my sister to run into. Looking her up and down, I began to worry not so much about her magic – I worried more about her outfit… 1920's New York was not the best place to be dressing in such expensive clothing.

"We didn't expect you for another hour." Queenie exclaimed as she pulled back from her friend. "Oh I love this!" My sister gushed as she stroked Bubbles' white fur coat, the thing must weigh more than she did. "Do you like it? I brought you and Tina some goodies from home. I will get them out in a sec' if you wan'" Bubbles said excitedly, a bright smile shinning from her face. She was always oblivious to her own eccentricity.

"We thought you were going to be here in an hour or so." I say cutting off the high pitched girl talk. "Well I thought I would have more time to fix my things but MeeMaw had the house elves fix ma' things for mey' whilst I was in town, so I had nothin' to do when I got home. So I thought I'd come right on over and see my two favourite witches!" Bubbles explained with a grin, I smiled and shook my head – her accent was as thick as cream cheese...

"Where are your things?" I asked as I noticed the distinct lack of boxes and bags.

"In here." Bubbles said as she rattled a little white sequin purse in front of her. I nodded, knowing very well that it would have been the charming work of another family member to place all of her things in that small purse.

"I have some paperwork to finish tonight; you can get yourself settled in the spare room." I smiled as I picked up my files from the table and returned to my seat in the chair. The tea cups still hovering mid-air.

"I'm fixin' to do that after I go to the little girl's room…." Bubbles said as she removed her coat and hung it up on the rail and totted down the hall.

"Second door on the right Bubbles." Queenie called out making the second blonde exclaim and turn around and go back a few doors.

"Thank you Baby!" She exclaimed before shutting the door behind her.

Once Bubbles was out of earshot I let out a long sigh as I leaned back against the chair."See, she is so much calmer than she used to be Tina! She was so happy to see us, I could feel it." Queenie said nudging me on the shoulder making me nod. I was too tired for this amount of drama.

"I will fix' ma' room up girls, I will be right out!" Bubbles called as she left the bathroom and toddled into her spare room. "Alrighty hunnie." Queenie called back with smile.

"I'm just worried, she has never been very good with her wand and we are on such a high alert at the moment…the timing is not the best." I think to myself, knowing full well that Queenie is listening in. It was a help to have a her gift at times, I didn't need to say what I was thinking she would just know.

"Oh, she won't be a problem; anyways she will be in MACUSA most of the time with her new position anyway." Queenie said quietly as she waved her wand and stopped all the charmed items in the kitchen and made up the table for dinner.

"Just relax hunnie." Queenie smiled, I nodded and sat down at the table as the food was placed in front of us. It was quiet…a little too quiet; I picked up my glass of water to take a sip but let out a small scream as an explosion sounded off from the spare bedroom.

"You were saying?" I sighed to myself before placing the water down and fixing myself with my wand.

3POV

As the sisters ran into the spare bedroom they were caught with what looked like a small bombsite, Bubbles clothes had scattered all over the room, her stockings hung from the lighting and some books lay sprawled across the floor. "What happened!?" I exclaimed as I took in the mess of the room, thankful no one was hurt.

Bubbles stood in the middle of the room with her wand out, looking embarrassed as she bit on her lower lip and let out a groan. "Oh gosh! I'm afraid still as skitty as a wet cat with ma wand." Bubbles sighed as she placed her wand into her ponytail.

Queenie chuckled and pulled out her wand and with a few incantations the room was fixed back to how it was before. Clothes all hung up and everything unpacked and in its place. "See all better, no mess. No harm. No problem Tina." Queenie smiled as she sat down on Bubbles' bed. "You will need a permit- " Tina sighed as she leaned on the wall.

"You are still wound as tight as an eight-day clock Tina darlin'" Bubbles chuckled as she sat back on her bed next to Queenie. "You will need to go to MACUSA for a permit. Your North Carolina permit is not valid here." Tina said with smile as she finally began to calm down, walking over to the bedside table and leaning on the desk.

"I am going to go first thing on Monday." Bubbles announced with a smile, pulling out her wand the two sisters held their breath for a moment."I am better than I was with my wand though girls…lookie' here." She giggled as she pointed her want at the pot of flowers, the two sisters let out a small exclamation of NO! Before the pot shattered into pieces.

"Dag'namit! I was meant to turn them pink…" Bubbles sighed as she leaned back on the bed. Tina took a deep breath and straightened her work clothes and stood up from the table before addressing her friend. "Maybe I need a new wand?" Bubbles sighed as she looked over her wand.

"Maybe we should have a no wand rule in the house…"

[mudbloodprincessposts-blog]

The Lockwood Effect (Part 2) A Percival x OC Fanfiction

Lockwood Manor, Charlotte, North Carolina, USA 1924

The Lockwood Manor was an intimidating building, constructed of white marble and golden carvings which would shine against the sun rays. The rooms were large and echoed as the house elves scurried around cleaning furniture and running the house day to day. The manor was large enough to house the core members of the Lockwood clan, it had done so for centuries and for the last twenty six years it had been home to Casperia Lockwood, daughter of Lauren Lockwood.

Following the trial and execution of her mother Casperia moved into the care of her grandmother or as she called her MeeMaw. Growing up around the pure blood elitist belief system of her family had made the child rather brash and rude. Used to getting her way in most things, the family income provided for her needs well enough. Only at the age of eleven when Casperia received her invitation to Ilvermory did Casperia really get a glance at the real world. She was a half-blood, a half-breed and the family noted that but upon the matriarch's insistence there was no word spoke of it. The trial was never brought up and a harsh punishment fell on the head of any servant of family member that divulged the truth about her parentage.

At the age of 12 Casperia met the young Queenie Goldstein, a young witch who following the death of her parents found Ilvermorny as her new home. Her older sister Tina, was always the strict one, the loss of her family meant the elder sister had to care for her sibling which caused her to mature before her time truly came.

Casperia, or Bubbles as she was more commonly referred to by the sisters had no concept of what it was like to live hand to mouth, she never needed to ask for anything – having been brought up in the Lockwood household if she rang a bell her needs would be seen to. This caused a clash between the young Lockwood and the eldest Goldstein on more than one occasion – Bubbles was accused of being a snob and a princess with no concern for anyone around her and Tina was called a tightly wound old woman trapped in the body of a teenager. As they grew older Bubbles elitist upbringing was challenged on occasion and the three remained close friends, with Bubbles sending them money over the holidays or asking them to stay at the Lockwood Manor – much to the distress of her Grandmother. It was Bubbles who threw the sisters their celebratory party when they got their positions in MACUSA and now the sisters were returning the favour by offering their friend a room to live in whilst she transferred to her new job.

The sound of heels cantering across the marble flooring made the house elves scurry and hide behind the furniture, as Bubbles made her way across the great hall into and up the stairway to the first floor she caught sight of familiar looking house elf who was carrying a silver tray of tea and china.

"Pomodore!" Bubbles exclaimed as she ran over to the small creature. Not prepared for the fright the elderly house elf jumped a few metres in the air spilling the boiling water over himself.

"Oh darlin' I am sorry. I didn't mean t'scare ya'." Bubbles giggled to herself as she pulled out a green perfume bottle from her bag and spritzed around the house elf, immediately drying the rags he was wearing.

"Thank you Ma'am." Pomodore said with a shy smile as he clicked his fingers and the broken tea pot and china cups reformed and returned to the silver tray as they had been previously.

"Pomodore, where is Meemaw?" Bubbles asked as she placed the green glass bottle back into her bag.

"In the tea room Ma'am." The house elf replied with a small bow as Bubbles smiled down sadly at the creature. House elves didn't receive much kindness from their family they were seen as lesser beings and objects; Bubbles used to think that way to once. Not anymore, Ilvermorny had taught the young witch a thing or two about kindness.

"Will you be having tea?" Pomodore asked as he motioned to the tray.

"I wouldn't mind a hot chocolate darlin'."

"Thank you." The elf smiled up at the blonde woman before him as the two made their way down the stairs quietly before the atmosphere was broken by the bellowing of the older Lockwood. Madame Lockwood voice could be heard echoing from all corners of the manor, many often thought her related to the banshee – the white hair and voice that could kill a man were two pieces of evidence to support the rumour.

The house elf rushed off in front of Bubbles as she quickened her pace across the landing to the tea room. "MeeMaw!" Bubbles greeted happily as she moved to embrace her grandmother.

"Casperia darlin',I have been waiting for you for over a half an hour. Where were you?" Madame Lockwood chastised as the younger woman took her seat in the opposing white chair. Two decades had not taken from the air of intimidation the snake-like woman gave off even to her granddaughter, it was known as unwise to keep the matriarch waiting.

Pulling out a pack of cigarettes from her bag and offered one to her grandmother who refused by raising her hand and prickling her nose in disgust. With a smirk Bubbles took out one cigarette form the packed and placed it into the end of the white marble holder. Bubbles placed the holder in her mouth and lit the device, taking a deep inhalation before a matching marble ashtray appeared in front of her on the table.

Pomodore stood to the side of the white take holding the silver tray shakily in his hands, scared to move in fear of making a wrong step and receiving a beating. Madame Lockwood noticed this and snapped at the house elf.

"Are you going to pour the tea or do you want me to die of thirst?!" She hissed as she motioned to the house elf who scuttled forward placing down the white and blue china cups before filling it with the hot liquid and scuttling back into his space. Pomodore let out a small cry as the older woman cracked her white staff across the side of his face.

"Do you wish my granddaughter to go thirsty?" She barked as she continued to beat the poor house elf. "I've ordered hot cocoa, MeeMaw!" Bubbles winced as she took another drag of her cigarette.

"Then where is it? We shall just both die of thirst sitting here shall we?" Madame Lockwood snapped back to Pomodore. "I just asked'm on my way here. It's not 'is fault MeeMaw." Bubbles explained trying to stop the beating which was being carried out in front of her.

"Oh do be quiet child." Madame Lockwood snapped at her granddaughter causing her to sit back down in her chair, lowering her head in silence as the older woman finished the beating.

Once she had released enough pent up rage the elderly woman sat back down in her chair with a smile and sipped on her tea as Pomodore scuttled away to prepare the hot cocoa for Bubbles.

Bubbles tapped the ash into the marble tray and watched her grandmother, the woman she used to idolize, the only mother she ever really knew. She would often wonder to herself, that if she did not meet the Goldstein's that she may have turned out as cold as the other members of her family, it was an inherited trait that they were cold hearted people. Bubbles knew her character was far from that of a nice person, she was a snob, she was demanding and a little pompous at times; Tina was the first person to call her this to her face and over the years she kept her relatively grounded.

"I'll be fixin' to leave in the hour MeeMaw." Bubbles said as she picked up her hot cocoa and licked off the cream from the top of the mug making her grandmother grimace at the lack of manners. "I don't know why you insist on staying with those sisters, honestly darlin' you could have stayed in one of the nicer hotels. Those two…" Madame Lockwood began as she took a sip of her tea.

"Those two are my friends and offered me a place to stay with them; it would be rude to not welcome their hospitality." Bubbles spoke up in defence of her friends, giving her grandmother a gentle yet stern glance making the older woman chuckle and shake her head.

"They're as poor as church mice darlin' do you really need to mix with them? It is bad enough that you're moving to New York of all places. Why couldn't you stay in the south?" Madame Lockwood began to rant to herself, her voice getting higher and higher making Bubbles roll her eyes with a smile.

"MeeMaw please don't." Bubbles sighed as she took one final long drag from her cigarette holder and expelled the finished cigarette into the ashtray. "I should be going, going to use the Floo channel to get up there." Bubbles said as she embraced her grandmother before making her way out of the tea room to her bedroom.

The Goldstein's Apartment, New York, 1924 (Tina POV)

It had been such a long day, I was tired, my feet were tired and honestly I am sure my clothes were tired but I still had paperwork to do. Climbing up the stairs to the apartment I shared with my little sister I leaned on the doorframe and pushed open the door.

The familiar scent greeted me at the door; Queenie was cooking again. She was good for that; she always was the best at housekeeping and all manner of housewifery in general. I was thankful for that, I was never one for cooking – I remember being a young teenager and trying to cook our meals after our parents passed away. Thankfully Ilvermorny meals kept us alive as I would not have been able to guarantee our survival on the slop I used to throw together.

Smiling gently to myself I made my way into the flat and placed my files on the table before kicking off my shoes and removing my jacket and hat.

"How was work Tina?" Queenie asked cheerfully as she charmed the food in the kitchen. "The usual, mostly paperwork. Do you know what time Bubbles is supposed to get here?" I replied with a grunt as I sat down on the sofa with a light sigh, as my body relaxed into the embrace of the chair.

"Her letter said she would be arriving within the next hour. I am so excited; I haven't seen Bubbles in so very long." Queenie exclaimed excitedly clapping her hands, I smiled to myself happy to see my sister so happy.

I couldn't help but panic slightly about the arrival of our old friend, I mean I was happy she was moving closer to us and that we would be able to catch up. It was just…the city was on high alert with the No-Maj agitated about the possibility of uncovering our kind in the city…it was an anxious time. We did not want to set off another year of witch trials and Bubbles…well she was not the best with a wand. She never had been, earning herself her nickname from the countless times her wand would expel bubbles instead of spells. We were lucky if her wand worked properly, we had calculated at one point that there was a one in five chance that her wand would bubble over and give a dud spell; it was not the time to have such clumsy witches in the city. I honestly do not know how she got the position of Deputy of Potions and Medical Remedies to begin with..

"Oh Tina! Don't be like that!" Queenie sighed as she placed her hand on her hip with a gentle tut. "What did I say about reading my mind Queenie?" I snapped, slightly ashamed of myself for my thoughts.

"Oh, you know I can't help it! Besides, you are worrying for nothing." Queenie smiled as she walked over to me and leaned on the arm of the large chair.

"We are on high alert if Bubbles uses her wand…" I begin, slightly panicking making Queenie shake her head. "I will make sure she is under control Tina, I will show her the ropes." I winced at the thought of that, I could remember the days those two spent together in school, and they were a pair and a half. I remembered the two blondes walking along; they would get mistaken for sisters more than I would. My sister and I were a few years apart and I was focused on getting my N.E. for my Auror training programme. Queenie was best at charms whilst Bubbles excelled in potions and herbology the two combined tended to cause a few mishaps over the years.

"As I recall, the two of you were quite a pair back in school." I snorted as I took out my wand and charmed the tea pot to pour two cups for us both.

"Yes, but Tina you was a prefect – we were only having fun." Queenie laughed as she took the floating china cup from in front of her. "Bubbles practised her potions on the school mascot!" I exclaimed as I took a sip of the hot tea burning my tongue in the process, wincing I place the mug back down letting it free float in front of me.

"So the Pegasus turned pink! Honestly, he quite liked it." Queenie chuckled as she charmed more sugar into her tea. I smiled as I recalled how the Pegasus flew around showing off his fancy feathers all year until Miss Lickard charmed him back to white again.

"That is so not the point Queenie!" I snort as I stand up and go to close the curtains on the other side of the room.

"Oh Tina, you need to relax sweetie. Besides from what I have heard Bubbles has made quite a name for herself in certain circles. " Queenie said with a proud smile. I sigh, I know she had made a name for herself in the potioneer's community; she was very brilliant she always had been – making up for the lack of wand expertise I was sure.

"I bet she has." I mutter to myself. "Tina! I know the both of you didn't always see eye to eye but she won't out the entire wizarding community over a few bubbles." Queenie exclaimed with a soft smile, I groaned and nodded, she was right it was late and I was prone to overreacting.

"She is not known for being subtle." I begin what was meant to be my final argument before Queenie and I were both scared out of our morning best by the large green flame which appeared in our chimney. Queenie jumped up next to be before we both broke into a smile as the flames faded away.

"Who is not known for being subtle?" A familiar southern drawl echoed around the flat.

In the middle of our living room standing bold as brass was Miss Casperia 'Bubbles' Lockwood; nothing had really changed in the three years since we last saw each other. She was still the same over the top blonde totty we knew.

"Bubbles you're early!" I exclaim as I swallow the conversation that I was about to begin. Not the best time to be talking about it I decided.

I took a glance over at Bubbles, her ice white hair was pulled back into a high ponytail with a blue clip holding it back, her bangs fell down one side of her face her brown eyes hidden beneath a pair of half moon glasses. I took a breath was I smothered in a big white fur coat, Bubbles squeezed me with an excited squeak and she pulled away and looked at me. I coughed a little as the familiar scent of lavender filled the air; she had not learned to tone down the perfume over the years.

"Tina daaarlin'! How are you?" She exclaimed excitedly, I wince a little at the pitch of her voice. She voice not unlike her grandmother could travel through stone walls."Bubbles, it is good to see you." I say as I take a step back allowing me to take a breath of lavender free air.

"Bubbles!" Queenie exclaimed with an excited clap. "Queenie hunney, it is so good to see ya! Come here and give me a squeeze." Bubbles laughed as she opened up her arms for my sister to run into. Looking her up and down, I began to worry not so much about her magic – I worried more about her outfit… 1920's New York was not the best place to be dressing in such expensive clothing.

"We didn't expect you for another hour." Queenie exclaimed as she pulled back from her friend. "Oh I love this!" My sister gushed as she stroked Bubbles' white fur coat, the thing must weigh more than she did. "Do you like it? I brought you and Tina some goodies from home. I will get them out in a sec' if you wan'" Bubbles said excitedly, a bright smile shinning from her face. She was always oblivious to her own eccentricity.

"We thought you were going to be here in an hour or so." I say cutting off the high pitched girl talk. "Well I thought I would have more time to fix my things but MeeMaw had the house elves fix ma' things for mey' whilst I was in town, so I had nothin' to do when I got home. So I thought I'd come right on over and see my two favourite witches!" Bubbles explained with a grin, I smiled and shook my head – her accent was as thick as cream cheese...

"Where are your things?" I asked as I noticed the distinct lack of boxes and bags.

"In here." Bubbles said as she rattled a little white sequin purse in front of her. I nodded, knowing very well that it would have been the charming work of another family member to place all of her things in that small purse.

"I have some paperwork to finish tonight; you can get yourself settled in the spare room." I smiled as I picked up my files from the table and returned to my seat in the chair. The tea cups still hovering mid-air.

"I'm fixin' to do that after I go to the little girl's room…." Bubbles said as she removed her coat and hung it up on the rail and totted down the hall.

"Second door on the right Bubbles." Queenie called out making the second blonde exclaim and turn around and go back a few doors.

"Thank you Baby!" She exclaimed before shutting the door behind her.

Once Bubbles was out of earshot I let out a long sigh as I leaned back against the chair."See, she is so much calmer than she used to be Tina! She was so happy to see us, I could feel it." Queenie said nudging me on the shoulder making me nod. I was too tired for this amount of drama.

"I will fix' ma' room up girls, I will be right out!" Bubbles called as she left the bathroom and toddled into her spare room. "Alrighty hunnie." Queenie called back with smile.

"I'm just worried, she has never been very good with her wand and we are on such a high alert at the moment…the timing is not the best." I think to myself, knowing full well that Queenie is listening in. It was a help to have a her gift at times, I didn't need to say what I was thinking she would just know.

"Oh, she won't be a problem; anyways she will be in MACUSA most of the time with her new position anyway." Queenie said quietly as she waved her wand and stopped all the charmed items in the kitchen and made up the table for dinner.

"Just relax hunnie." Queenie smiled, I nodded and sat down at the table as the food was placed in front of us. It was quiet…a little too quiet; I picked up my glass of water to take a sip but let out a small scream as an explosion sounded off from the spare bedroom.

"You were saying?" I sighed to myself before placing the water down and fixing myself with my wand.

As the sisters ran into the spare bedroom they were caught with what looked like a small bombsite, Bubbles clothes had scattered all over the room, her stockings hung from the lighting and some books lay sprawled across the floor. "What happened!?" I exclaimed as I took in the mess of the room, thankful no one was hurt.

(3POV)

Bubbles stood in the middle of the room with her wand out, looking embarrassed as she bit on her lower lip and let out a groan. "Oh gosh! I'm afraid still as skitty as a wet cat with ma wand." Bubbles sighed as she placed her wand into her ponytail.

Queenie chuckled and pulled out her wand and with a few incantations the room was fixed back to how it was before. Clothes all hung up and everything unpacked and in its place. "See all better, no mess. No harm. No problem Tina." Queenie smiled as she sat down on Bubbles' bed. "You will need a permit- " Tina sighed as she leaned on the wall.

"You are still wound as tight as an eight-day clock Tina darlin'" Bubbles chuckled as she sat back on her bed next to Queenie. "You will need to go to MACUSA for a permit. Your North Carolina permit is not valid here." Tina said with smile as she finally began to calm down, walking over to the bedside table and leaning on the desk.

"I am going to go first thing on Monday." Bubbles announced with a smile, pulling out her wand the two sisters held their breath for a moment."I am better than I was with my wand though girls…lookie' here." She giggled as she pointed her want at the pot of flowers, the two sisters let out a small exclamation of NO! Before the pot shattered into pieces.

"Dag'namit! I was meant to turn them pink…" Bubbles sighed as she leaned back on the bed. Tina took a deep breath and straightened her work clothes and stood up from the table before addressing her friend. "Maybe I need a new wand?" Bubbles sighed as she looked over her wand.

"Maybe we should have a no wand rule in the house…"