#swiss cheese security

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How I got scammed

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[mlqueen89]

Two | Ego

i took the miracle move on drug the effects were temporary (i love you) it's ruining my life  

Fortnight by Taylor Swift ft. Post Malone | TTPD |  

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin / ofc (top gun: maverick) 

rating: 18+ (minors dni) 

warnings: smut, mentions of p in v sex, mentions of oral (f receiving).    

word count: 9,776 

summary: “if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions.” in which ellie has to deal with the consequences of having the best sex ever with an actual pilot who she actually has to work with. A familiar face makes an appearance to guide ellie through politics at miramar.  

A/N: guys guys guys, you are giving me liiiiife. the reception to the first chapter has been crazy. lots of jake head canon developing here. essentially, i've decided that watermelon sugar by harry styles is jake coded. for... reasons. my guy is all acts of service. 

this one was also beta read by my bestest friend, so this one goes out to jj. love you girl, thanks for reading the smuttiest part of my brain. i also apologize for the amount of taylor swift/pop culture references (srry, not srry). also, the number of videos i watched on F-14s (tomcats) and F-18s (super hornets) is cray.

working my way through the november prompts, slowly but surely! there are a few left, so if you want to request, head on over there.

❥ playlist ♡ masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ previous chapter ♡ next chapter ❥  

Ellie groaned deeply, her face dropping to her hands as she slouched over the kitchen island from her perch on the stool.     

“I sat on his face, Yan,” Ellie mumbled through her fingers, her voice laced with the mortification of the memory from that afternoon. The way Lieutenant Seresin’s eyes passed over her, undressing her, seeing the mark he’d made on her neck and then coolly, calmly, pretending like he wasn’t put off by her presence. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck until it radiated from her cheeks. “Now I have to work with him.”  

Yan, unfazed, was busy bustling around the small kitchen, assembling her version of a “girl dinner,” which currently included an obscene number of jarred olives in a variety of colours, a smattering of mixed Harvest Snaps, Ritz crackers and a chunk of Swiss cheese she didn’t bother slicing. As she pushed herself up on her tip toes to peek into cupboards, her manicured nailed fingers reaching for a box she’d seen near the back of the space, Yan reminded Ellie of the squirrel family that lived under the deck at their old college house.  

“I dunno,” Yan replied with a shrug, nonchalant as ever, giving the box she’d retrieved from the back of the cabinet on top of the fridge a shake. “Maybe he’ll forget?”  

The remainder of her day at Miramar had been filled with facility tours, and security briefings, introductions to ground crew and the radar teams in the tower—the usual M.O. of any other airfield she’d worked on for the past six years. Routine, smooth, reflexive, comforting in its predictability after her unexpected morning.  

To her relief, she didn’t see Lieutenant Seresin again and in part, it was because she hadn’t necessarily been looking for him. Between seeing him again, being caught off-guard, her mind scrambling and having RADM Stark offer her concealer, she’d had her fill of shame and awkward interactions to last the entire week, possibly month.   

When, at the end of the day, Tony let her know that he’d be emailing her in the next hour or so about her office space, she was already thinking about how quickly she could scurry off to her car and peel out of the parking lot.  

Driving home from North Island was completed in a fugue state, doing everything she could to keep her mind off what would happen from now until whenever her contract was over in a few months and the possibility of her putting in for remote work. Canada, Mexico, Iceland… somewhere, anywhere far away from him.  

By the time she tripped through the front door, trudging up the stairs, shoulders sunk low, Ellie was glad Nic wasn’t home. She wasn’t sure she could handle the interrogation surrounding how her first day had gone (terribly) and why she had disappeared from the Halloween party so abruptly last night without saying goodbye. Both discussions would lead to the same, inevitable, infuriatingly handsome, source. Lt. Seresin. A pilot. A mistake. A five-time in one night mistake. 

When she’d instead found Yan in the kitchen, scrounging around in the cupboards, Ellie had offloaded her previous night and the resulting day in what felt like a single sigh, a mass exodus of mismatched thoughts and side drabbles. Disaster, social and career ruin the overarching themes. 

Ellie lifted her head just enough to scoff in her roommate’s general direction. “Forget? He’s a pilot, it’s highly unlikely. Have you ever met a pilot? Those guys have egos the size of the jets they fly. There’s no way he’s going to just forget without some kind of semi-serious head trauma. Unfortunately.”  

Before Yan could respond, mouth opened in what Ellie could only assume would come next, she held up a finger, a footnote to add, “Before you say it: Bradley doesn’t count. He’s a weird… mustachioed outlier.” 

Data couldn’t track the trajectory of Rooster. Ellie had tried and failed many a time—just when she thought she had pegged him, he escaped the pigeonhole with a dogfight level of evasive maneuvering. With a lack of data or evidence, she’d been forced to accept that Rooster was just untraceable. He didn’t fit the mold of the pilots she’d met.  

“Okay, but hear me out, maybe he will forget without a smack to the dome?” Yan tapped her chin as she glanced down at her plate of smorgasbord, as if considering what was missing. “For all we know, this is his usual modus operandi and you’re just another girl in the long line of hook ups?”  

Ellie felt her stomach drop. Long line of hook ups. “Great. That makes me feel so much better.”    

Yan popped a few pitted olives into her mouth and tipped her head, gathering herself for a moment before she spoke again. “Let’s have a choose your own adventure moment: do you want friend or therapist version of Yan Like, do you want advice advice or just to vent?”  

“Are you going to bill me if I say therapist, Yan’s version?”  

“How about we split the difference?” Yan held the absurdly sized chunk of Swiss cheese in a two—handed grip, nibbling at the corner as she leaned across the island. She was never going to get out from under the squirrel family allusion at this rate. “If I was your therapist, I’d say that maybe we should look at how this serves you? What does this embarrassment, feeling it, stewing in it, what does it do for you?”  

Ellie considered for a moment, her forehead slowly coming to rest on the cool quartz countertop as if the answers could be found there.  

How did the embarrassment of working with a man she’d slept with serve her?  

Maybe the root of the mortification was the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about it, about him. The intrusive thoughts, floating around her brain, still, of the man who had undone her so completely, mapped out her body with his mouth, re-wired her brain through life-altering, transcendent orgasm, one chasing another, each cascading into the next like a line of tumbling dominoes.  

Maybe her fluster was tucked behind the idea that he’d dragged sounds from her with his tongue, fingers, filled her in ways she hadn’t realized she’d been empty until he was inside of her, easing his way in as she gasped and moaned. She’d made sounds she could never have imagined making in the presence of another person, sounds she wasn’t even aware she was capable of making.  

The shame was most likely rooted in the fact that she had liked it, enjoyed every moment he’d been on her and inside of her. Touching her, playing her like an instrument, tugging at all the strings that moved her. She’d melted at the way he called her sweetheart and darlin’ in that voice of his, drawl rough and husky, while doing the things he did to her. How eager he’d sounded when he’d asked her what she wanted from him and how he’d nearly read her mind and fulfilled her needs without needing to be told. 

Ellie could only groan in response, the sound muffled into the countertop as she shifted on her stool, clenching her thighs together tightly as a warmth coiled low in her abdomen.  

The embarrassment didn’t serve her, though it did serve to remind her that she had to have her head on straight going forward. This couldn’t happen again, even if it was all she could think about, even if her body was telling her she wanted more. Her control, careful and composed, had to be stronger; it couldn’t happen again—especially not with him, not with a pilot. Maybe if she repeated it enough, hummed it to herself like a mantra, she’d get herself back on the trail leading to the summit that was the culmination of her life’s work. 

Lt. Seresin was her Voldemort. He who shall not be named. Her Darth Vader. Her Hans Gruber. She couldn’t have sex with Voldemort again. Couldn’t risk the Resistance and give herself to the Dark Side. Couldn’t let the terrorists take Nakatomi Tower on Christmas. 

“It doesn’t.” 

“Exactly. I’m not sure what just went through your beautiful noggin’ just now, but next steps: be the badass I know you are. So what? You had a spectacular night—this guy has no idea how lucky he is to tap that.” Ellie wasn’t sure how seriously she would take it if her actual therapist sat across from her and crunched on gherkin pickles, folded between a slice of prosciutto and used tap that to drive home a point. She’d let it slide for Yan. 

“Also, don’t think I don’t see it,” Yan pointed with the Harvest Snap olive hybrid in Ellie’s general direction. “I’m being nice and I’m not even going to touch the fact that you had crazy, wild sex with a guy dressed as a pilot considering your no pilots rule.”  

“In my, very feeble attempt at self-defense: Who dresses as their actual profession on Halloween?”  

“Oh, that’s just Big Dick Energy vibes, El.” Yan smirked, quirking an eyebrow, as if she was waiting for Ellie to confirm if the vibe had basis in reality. When Ellie simply rolled her eyes, Yan continued, “let’s be real though—we’re in San Diego. You could probably throw a stone and hit a minimum of three pilots in a five-foot radius.” 

Ellie propped her elbow up on the counter, resting her head in her hand, her eyes scanning the swirled pattern in the quartz to the right of Yan’s paper plate. “So, just like that? I just, what? Duplicate the BDE?” 

“More like mirror it. Sometimes that’s all it takes,” Yan nodded, using a Harvest Snap to spear an olive. “I’m not supposed to talk about it, so I won’t, but if I could talk about it, I’d say that I have a client who is an author, who shall remain anonymous, and he uses this crazy, hostage negotiation tactic when he wants to disarm and redirect.” 

Hostage negotiation. Great. This is what is had come to. 

Yan was right. Ellie couldn’t honestly say she was thinking straight when he’d looked at her with his green eyes and easy grin, the level of confidence with which he carried himself so goddamned attractive. She definitely hadn’t been thinking with the prefrontal cortex part of her brain when he’d touched her waist and leaned in close. 

Ellie levelled Yan with a narrowed gaze. “What would friend Yan say?”  

“As your friend who has witnessed some spectacular mistakes in your romantic track record, I’d say,” Yan paused for a moment, considering, Ellie thought, on how she might soften the therapist speak, “so what? You hooked up with him. Big deal. You didn’t know he was a real pilot. It was Halloween. You thought, reasonably, that he wasn’t. I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s not like you have to work directly with him, right?” 

“Except I actually do.” Ellie sighed—she'd already thought about it on the drive home, if avoidance was a viable tactic for the next little while. “I’m the one with the new tech, remember? That means seeing him all the time. He’s part of the team they’ve recalled—he’s one of the best the Navy has to offer. He might need to test my tech if I have any hope of getting it off the ground.”  

Yan paused, mid bite of her cracker, processing for a moment in silence. “Okay. First—love the pun. Second, yeah, that sucks, but maybe he’s, like, cool? Like, he hasn’t been a complete ass about it yet, right?” 

“He pretended like he didn’t even know me,” Ellie muttered, crossing her arms as the memory of his infuriating smugness resurfaced, the way his eyes found the mark he’d made on her like she was his. The way she, for a fraction of a second, let him suck all the air out of the space between them. “Which, I guess is fair, since we didn’t exactly exchange names before....”  

“... before he fucked your brains out?” Yan offered, snapping a piece of Ritz cracker off between her teeth, nonchalantly, as if fucked your brains out was a normal, everyday, part of conversations she engaged in.  

Ellie balled up a nearby tea towel and threw it at Yan as hard as she could manage, and it fell woefully short on the island between them. 

“Okay, so, he’s trying to be professional. That’s not necessarily a bad thing?” Yan turned her back to Ellie for a moment, heading to the fridge to grab the jug of pink lemonade from the fridge before she turned and poured it into a cup that sat on the edge of the sink. 

Ellie shook her head as Yan shook the juice jug in her direction. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just—weird? I don’t know how to act around him now.” 

“Oh girl, act like it didn’t happen, obviously. We both know you’re the queen of compartmentalizing, right?” 

Ellie sighed, sweeping her hair back, unconsciously touching the concealer hidden hickey, feather-light. “This is going to be a bit harder though. I just wasn’t planning on hooking up with someone I’d have to see every day.” 

Yan propped her elbows up on the counter across from Ellie before she carefully slid the plate of crackers, olives, cheese and mini pickles toward her with a grin. “Well, welcome to what we true believers call the Frequency Illusion. You’ll see him for as long as he’s front and center in your noodle. Simple explanation. Either that or you have some karmic balance to restore.” 

Ellie sighed, a sigh that sounded more like a drawn-out lament. “You make it sound like a go around kicking puppies.” 

“As my grandma used to say—God rest her soul—” Yan continued, hearing Ellie’s comment about karmic retribution, and traced a cross over her body, turning her eyes upward for a moment before she mocked pouring one out, “pussy rules the world. You set the tone. Own it. Be confident. If someone is going to squirm, let it be him. You’re holding all the cards.” 

“Set the tone?” Ellie repeated, slowly, considering. She didn’t bother to ask why Yan’s grandma, an unassuming small-statured, Filipino lady, obsessed with backgammon and finding the freshest cinnamon scones up until the very day of her passing, would have come to such a firm stance on pussy and its power level. 

“Yeah,” Yan was around the island now, fluffing Ellie’s hair and fixing the collar on her blazer, “you’re the fucking gorgeous, brainy radar engineer. He’s just some dude who got lucky on Halloween.” 

Ellie shrugged, avoiding eye—contact with Yan. “Maybe you’re right.” 

Yan leaned forward to tap Ellie on the tip of the nose, evidently satisfied with herself. “I’m always right, girly pop.” 

“Oh, is that right, huh?” Ellie swatted at Yan as she danced away, skip-hopping over to the fridge.   

Yan grinned, piling more olives onto her plate. “You know it. Now, eat some olives and get your game face on. Tomorrow’s another day, and you’re not letting some hotshot flyboy get the better of you. Even if he’s gorgeous and a generous partner.”  

Ellie shook her head, but she picked up a cracker as Yan tapped the plate before migrating to the living room. “God, this is a mess.”  

“Eh,” Yan shrugged, dropping to the couch and patting the empty spot beside her as she nestled under an oversized blanket. “Messy is more fun. Let’s watch Love is Blind Brazil, there’s apparently this super unhinged guy, Evandro who picked this girl, Ariela, who clearly isn’t over her ex—” 

“Speaking of,” Ellie crossed the room and dropped to the couch beside Yan, tugging some of the blanket over for herself. “What happened to Frankenstein?” 

“Oh, turns out he couldn’t keep it together,” Yan didn’t bother to look at Ellie, waving the remote at the TV as she scrolled, her lips quirked up in the corners into a smirk, “needed someone with a bit more heart.” 

“You’re so ridiculous.” 

Naval Air Station Lemoore, California - 2004 

Even after hours, the Californian sun sinking low on the horizon, Lemoore Naval Air Base was alive with a low hum of activity. F-14 Tomcats rested, wings folded in against their bodies, on the tarmac like sleeping giants, the lights from nearby hangars casting long shadows across the hot asphalt. 

She’d woken from another nightmare. It was always the same, a nightmare in which her dad didn’t come home, his plane screaming through the perfect blue sky one moment and then whistling to the surface of the azure water below, no ejection seat, no parachute. Just churning waves as they swallowed the body of the grey metal, silently, until there was nothing left. 

It was why, at 8:45 PM on a hot fall Californian evening, she found herself in her Justice League pajamas, shoes tied haphazardly, sneaking around the base. 

“Dad, we’re not supposed to be here,” Ellie whispered, her eyes wide as she hustled across the airfield, her small, seven-year-old hand clenching her father’s as he snuck from corner to corner, aircraft to aircraft. Stealth mode he’d called it. In her chest, Ellie’s heart pounded, the excitement mixed with the mischievousness of it all.  

Rick “Hollywood” Neven grinned, a roguish glint in his eyes as he glanced down at her by his side. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I know the boss.” He offered her a sly wink and Ellie could feel the anxiety ebb away slightly. She trusted him, always had. He was her dad, after all—the coolest person in the world.  

Slipping through the open hangar bay doors, Ellie’s eyes focused on the jet parked up in the center of the building. The one she’d only ever seen from a distance, her fingers laced through the chain link fence, her mom at her back, as the engines fired to life and her dad took to the air. Now, larger than life, it was here, looming large over her tiny frame. Ellie’s breath caught as her dad led her closer, the heavy scent of engine oil and metal filling her nostrils. Ground crew engineers milled about, running through their checks, but none of them stopped or questioned her dad. He was a legend here, and everyone knew it. Everyone knew him. 

Rick nodded at one of the crew members, and they moved aside as he led Ellie closer to the jet. “Come on, squirt,” he whispered, lifting her up to stand on a ladder beside the plane’s body. “Want to see where the magic happens?”  

Ellie’s eyes widened as she gazed at the jet’s gleaming surface. “This is your plane?”  

“All mine,” he said proudly, patting the side of the jet, his hand passing over his name Lt. Rick Neven and call sign, Hollywood, painted on the side just below the seam where the bonnet would connect. On the body, beside the rear seat, Lt. Leonard Wolfe, Wolfman was painted in white, his RIO.  

As she stared, wide-eyed, taking it all in, he pointed to different parts, explaining each with ease of someone who had lived and breathed this life for years, someone who could identify this machine as an extension of his own body. “That’s the engine, and those are the intakes. That right there is the radar, it’s here, in the nose too—probably the most important thing in the whole bird.”  

Ellie’s eyes scanned the instruments inside the cockpit, levers and buttons, throttles and sparkplugs. “Why?” Her face scrunched in thought.  

“Because without it, I wouldn’t know what’s coming my way. You see, when you’re flying up there, things happen fast. You need to know everything around you—what’s out there, who’s out there.” He turned, giving her a proud smile. “That’s where a good radar tech comes in. But the best radar tech?” He winked. “They’re sitting right behind the pilot.”  

“Like the RIO?” she asked, her voice full of wonder, eyes trained on her godfather’s name.  

“Exactly.” He gestured for her to step up higher, holding her waist as he lifted her into the cockpit. Ellie settled her tiny frame into the seat, her feet barely skimming the pedals in the footwell. Reaching back into the rear seat, he grabbed his helmet, the one adorned with his call sign, and the “lady butt” as Ellie called it. Carefully, he placed it on her head. The weight of it pressed on her neck, far too big, but she didn’t care. The weight of it made her feel important—like she was a part of something bigger, like she was in the cockpit with her dad. 

“Dad…” Ellie began, her voice small and muffled from under the oversized helmet as she pushed it up so she could see him. “What’s it like? Flying up there?”  

Her dad leaned against the side of the F-14, his gaze drifting out toward the open hangar doors where the night sky stretched endlessly above. “It’s like…freedom. Like nothing else in the world matters. Just you, the jet, and the sky. And when you’re up there, you feel like you can do anything.”  

Ellie’s eyes sparkled as she imagined, endless skies, horizon boundless, freedom. “Maybe I can be your RIO one day?”  

Her dad chuckled and Ellie could feel her heart swell, the thought of being here with her dad in his favourite place. He reached out and gently tapped the helmet on her head. “You’re already halfway there, kid. One day, you’ll be up there with me. I’ll be the one flying, and you’ll be the one keeping me safe, making sure we’re on the right track.”  

Ellie smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. “Promise?”  

“I promise,” he said softly, his eyes locking onto hers, and Ellie could feel the pride growing in her, the thought of following in her dad’s footsteps both thrilling and nerve wracking. “Just don’t tell your uncle Wolfman. You’ll be putting him out of a job and I don’t know if the Navy is ready for two Nevens up there.” 

For a moment, it was just them in that cockpit, the noise of the hangar fading into the background as her dad told her to pull back on this throttle and showed her where the ejection handles were. Ellie could feel the importance of it, the way her dad talked about all of it. If her dad said she could do it, then she could—her hero, strong, invincible. Maybe she could be his RIO one day.   

He grinned and grabbed the straps of the helmet, giving it a loving shake. “Alright, kiddo. You got school tomorrow. Let’s get out of here before someone catches us.”  

Ellie laughed as he lifted her out of the cockpit and set her down, but as they walked out of the hangar, her hand still in his, she couldn’t help but glance back at the jet.  

“I think we just found your call sign, huh?” Her dad hummed as they stepped out into the night air, the sun now gone from the sky, replaced by the moon glow of a clear night. “Eleanor Rio Neven.” 

Ellie glanced up at him, her gap-toothed grin, wide. “I like it.” 

“Rio it is then. Hollywood and Rio.” 

One day, she thought. One day she’d earn that call sign. 

Ellie glanced at the email again to stick the office assignment in the forefront of her mind, standing in front of her open car trunk, before she locked her phone and tucked it into the back pocket of her pressed pants. She was thankful she wasn’t Navy; she knew her strengths fashion wise, and it wasn’t the khaki tan colour of the service uniforms. Civilian contractors had the best of both worlds.  

Grabbing the heavy box of her things, Ellie dragged it from the trunk and hefted it, balancing it on her hip as she reached for the close trunk button.  

“Comm Center 11,” the security officer barely suppressed a chuckle as Ellie used the ledge in front of the glass to hold the box while she fished out her pass, “that’s clear across the airfield from here. You’ll have to take the perimeter; they’ll be running drills at this time. Pattern’s full.”  

“Thanks.” Ellie nodded, taking a moment to clip her pass to the waist of her pants before she lifted the box and used her hip to open the door onto the base.  

Shifting the weight of the box, Ellie tipped her chin as she passed a few officers and a few of the ground crew she half-recognized from the myriad of tours yesterday. Her things weren’t heavy individually—a few office supplies, models of the tech, schematics, a monitor, her MacBook—but stacked awkwardly, they made a clumsy, unbalanced load in the flimsy box with the caved in corners, reinforced with layers of packing tape.  

The morning sun was already intense, gleaming off the pavement so she had to squint as she moved forward, all her concentration on not dropping the box as she felt the cardboard bow under the shifting weight of her belongings, the occasional silence between the sound of jet engines and shouting staff filled by the steady clicking of her heels.  

“Need a hand?”  

The voice was unmistakable, easy, with a hint of banter around the edges, the barely concealed smugness cutting through the noise of the airfield. Ellie knew who it belonged almost immediately, the feeling of recognition hitting her square in the gut before she turned.  

Hangman. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ellie set her shoulders, adjusting her grip on the unwieldy box. Set the tone, she reminded herself, hearing Yan’s voice echo in the back of her mind. She had to hold her ground.   

Turning, her eyes landed on him immediately. He was standing just a few feet away, arms crossed casually over his chest, the khaki tan of his service khakis was definitely doing something for him, something dangerous for his sharp features and easy confidence. He knew he looked good. She could feel herself bristle slightly, caught off-guard by how cool and collected he looked, his lips quirked into a lazy grin, almost infuriatingly amused as he took her in. It felt tailor made to annoy the living hell out of her at this specific moment. He looked ready to swoop in if she so much as tipped the box the wrong way and she wasn’t sure if that grated on her nerves, or if it was something else entirely. 

“No, I don’t need a hand, Lieutenant Seresin,” she replied firmly, adjusting her grip on the box and her resolve. She turned around again resolutely ignoring him and starting off in her original direction, the corner of the already flimsy cardboard buckling, her belongings shifting inside as the box threatened to give way any moment. 

Sure enough, she heard his footsteps fall into pace beside her, an easy saunter as if he had all the time in the world. “You’re a civilian contractor; you can take it easy with the Lieutenant. You can call me Jake…” he began casually, before his voice dropped just enough to add weight to his next words, “since we’ve already been… acquainted.” 

Ellie’s jaw tightened, her pace slowing until she came to a stop. The box crumpled further under her suddenly tightened grip, and she thought she heard the tape coming away from the bottom of the box. She turned slightly, just enough to level him with a glare, all heat and warning. “I’m aware of what happened. That was… before.” Before she knew he was a real pilot. Before she knew cocky and smug were his default personality traits. “This is work, not—” 

“Not what?” he interrupted carefully, the mischievous glint in his eye almost twinkling now. “Not two, consenting adults who had a good time and now coincidentally find themselves working on the same base?” 

Great. So he hadn’t recently happened upon a semi-serious, short-term memory wiping head injury. How unlucky for her. She’d have to work on quashing the butterflies causing the stupid feelings in her stomach currently. The ones that told her she liked looking at his aggravating, annoying, idiotic, handsome face and hearing the charming southern drawl in his words. What was it that Yan had said? Another girl in a long line of hook ups? 

Ellie felt her face heat and not from the sun continuing to beat down. “That’s exactly what this is, actually. Coincidence. That’s it,” Ellie lifted her chin, defiant in the face of his easy charm, her voice dipping low as a crew member zipped past them in a golf cart. “One night. A one-time thing.” 

This time, he broke into a wry grin, but he didn’t speak, and Ellie felt as if he was waiting for her to continue, so she did. 

“Listen, I don’t know what your angle is, but whatever you think happened between us? It won’t happen again.” She kept her gaze trained on him, looking for the moment it might sink in. “I’m here to do a job, that’s it.” Ellie turned again, squinting against the sun as she continued on her way, her dramatic exit. She’d taken three full strides, the box betraying her confident pace, folding in as a piece of lose tape flapped in the breeze and stuck to her hand as her belongings rolled around, loose at the bottom, before Jake was at her side again.  

His eyebrow quirked up, but he didn’t look fazed. Amused, that was the more fitting word, Ellie thought. He looked entertained. By her struggle, by her refusal of his offer for help, even now as the box pitched, weight shifting oddly as the things inside moved around, uncontrolled. “My angle?” He repeated, almost as if he couldn’t believe it wasn’t butter. His tone was teasing and light. “So, you think I have an angle? You been doing a lot of thinking about me then, sweetheart?”  

Ellie rolled her eyes hard, and she picked up her pace. She pointedly ignored his question about her extracurricular thoughts, which definitely included thoughts of him despite her better judgement, but he didn’t need the confirmation. “I don’t know what it is, yet” the box pitched, and Hangman’s hand moved to right it, but Ellie angled it away from him, the sound of her monitor being smacked by the decorative arc reactor paperweight sending her stomach into a tip. “But yes, I’m sure you have one.”  

Firmly, Ellie pushed down the memory of Halloween. The chemistry between them had been a wildfire, quick, easy, starting as something small, possibly insignificant, and then grew unexpectedly, fast, all-consuming, searing, white hot, uncontrollable, unpredictable. It was only spoiled by seeing him again and realizing that he had been telling her the whole truth and nothing but the truth the entire time. He was a pilot. A Lieutenant. A pilot just like every other pilot she’d ever met. Cocky, self-assured, overly confident, reckless. It left a bitter taste in her mouth. “Whatever you’re thinking, do me a favour—don’t. You’re not fooling me.”    

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” He responded, smirking as he watched her wrestle with the box each step of the way. Part of her appreciated that he let her, liked that he respected that she’d said no and turned down his help.  

Before she could deflect, Ellie felt her heel catch just enough on an uneven bit of pavement, and the box, already unbalanced, began to teeter forward, the weight of the shifting contents making it more difficult to recover as she simultaneously tried to save her things and steady herself. Instinctively, she reached out to steady it, but Jake’s hand shot out, steadying her with one hand on her elbow and the other catching the box. He was good… really good. 

“Careful there,” he said softly, all hints of ribbing gone, his eyes locked on hers. “It’d be a shame if all that attitude ended up in a broken ankle.” 

Ellie felt a flush of frustration and something else she wasn’t willing to name, his touch igniting something in her she had to fight to press down again. Stiffening against his grasp, she quickly steadied herself and once she was sure the box was as balanced as she could get it, he carefully let go. In the wake of his skin on hers, she felt a coolness and part of her missed the contact. 

“I can handle myself, thank you” she murmured, but there was less bite. She left no room for him to question her assertation as she straightened herself to stand taller. Looking him dead in the eye was a feat, all six feet of him towering over her, even with the added height of her heels. 

“Never said you couldn’t.” He stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender, but the smug look didn’t fade. “But just so we’re clear, if you ever need a hand, I’m around. For whatever. Work-related, of course.” 

Ellie didn’t answer, just tightened her grip on the box, ignoring the way her heart had quickened in that split second of closeness, his hand on her arm a beat longer than necessary after she steadied herself. She turned and continued toward her office, keeping her chin high and pretending she couldn’t feel Jake’s eyes on her. 

As she walked away, she heard him call out, “See you around, Ace.” 

“303,” Ellie murmured, clicking past the numbered doors, closed and plated with names that weren’t hers. “304,” she blew out a huff of air as her eyes flicked to the next door. 

She’d broken out into a bit of a sweat by the time she’d made it to Comms building 11, her calves aching. Now she knew why that security officer had laughed at the sight of her, the sad box of things in her grip already failing. Between the pace she’d kept up, a speed between confident stride and hectic hustle to get away from the man she’d been trying to avoid, and the distance between the parking lot and here, she’d hit her workout goal for the entire week. 

“305.” 

Rigby, E. Ellie glanced at the nameplate secured to the door and used her elbow to press down on the paddle handle, maneuvering expertly to use her hip to wedge the port open when she heard the click of the latch releasing. 

Turning into the space, Ellie paused for a moment, glancing back at the nameplate on the door for half a second longer when she took in the sheer size of the office. This had to be some kind of mistake, civilian contractors didn’t get windows, especially not eastern facing windows.  

The nameplate stuck to the door still said her name. The number above the port hadn’t changed. This was 305 and that was her name on the door. 

Stepping further inside, Ellie kicked the door closed behind herself, only registering that another person was in the room when they spoke. 

“Hey, Rio.”  

The call sign hit her, broadside, and drew her eyes immediately to the source.  

The man who leaned against the corner of the window ledge on the other side of the room, arms folded across his chest, was silhouetted against the bright morning light streaming in. Though his face had changed, laugh lines deepened around his eyes, the crease between his brow mostly cemented, likely exacerbated by all the young, hot shot pilots he’d watched breeze through Miramar over the years, she would recognize him anywhere. 

Captain Pete Mitchell. Call sign: Maverick. 

Ellie smirked as he stepped forward, taking the box from her without hesitation and sliding it onto the edge of the small coffee table, situated in front of the quaint sitting area which included a couch and an armchair. Free from the weight of the box, Ellie took a deep breath and, hands on hips, surveyed the space. “I think they made a mistake, Mav. This has to be your office. Way too big to be a civilian contractor’s, that’s for sure.”  

Maverick chuckled and Ellie could see the younger version of the man she’d met years ago behind the softened angles of his face. She guessed, in his eyes, she looked a lot different from the kid running around the airfield, causing trouble, getting in the way, herself. “Pulled a few strings. Anything for Hollywood’s kid.” 

She met his wry grin with a smirk of her own, a flash of gratitude filling her with a sense of the calm of familiarity, but she shook her head with a laugh. “Well, thanks for the royal treatment, but I think it’s a bit much.” Ellie gestured to the large space, the window behind Mav looking out onto the airfield, the grand mahogany desk waiting for a touch of personalization, an expanse of empty bookshelves behind it and the sitting area to her right.  

Her “office” at the base in Turkey had been little more than a space between two filing cabinets, open to the coffee station, water cooler and any Air Force pilot who thought she looked unassuming or unaware. She’d accepted that space as workable for over a year. This, by comparison, was at least seventeen steps up. For one, there was a door. “I was half expecting a supply closet, to be honest. Somewhere with more dust and a lot less… light.” 

Maverick closed the space between them, pulling her into a quick hug before he stepped back to really take her in, his hands framing her shoulders. “How’re you doing, kid? How’s Miramar treating you so far? Wouldn’t expect it’s anything Rio couldn’t handle.” 

“Rio,” Ellie tested out the old call sign, the second time she’d heard it from Mav in such a short time, a soft smile pulling up the corner of her lips slightly, “haven’t heard that one in a long time. I’m good.”  

She’d leave out the footnotes that included Hangman, or any possible complications that were attached to him for now. Instead, Ellie took a moment to look at Maverick, she hadn’t been expecting him to be here, hadn’t expected to feel the comfort in the presence of his easy nature. Seeing him settled the anxiety simmering beneath the surface, if only just a little bit. “So, they called you in to keep tabs on me, huh?” 

“Something like that.” A knowing look crossed his face, a smirk, the look of the old Maverick Ellie had known for the majority of her life. Cocky, self-assured, non-conformist, Maverick was the typical archetype of a pilot, at least every one that Ellie had ever encountered. “I figured I’d be a friendlier face than Admiral Simpson. Someone to get you started. I know Miramar’s not the… smoothest place to transition into.” 

Admiral Simpson. Stuffy, hard-lined, hard-nosed, Admiral Simpson. The same Admiral Simpson that had watch-checked and foot-tapped his way through her presentation the other day. The same Admiral she couldn’t help but feel would sideline her project if it meant delaying a mission for even half a minute. On the other hand, there was RADM Stark—welcoming and excited, and yet, there was something unreadable about her. Something that Ellie wasn’t sure she could trust behind the glad to have more estrogen in the room facade. 

There was a reason she had a reputation as someone to impress, there was a reason she was thriving in the man-made, old boys club that was the Navy. 

Ellie made a face, and Maverick simply pressed his lips into a thin line and raised his eyebrows quietly. Maverick understood—he almost always did, especially when it came to following protocol, or rather, breaking protocol. Maverick hadn’t ever been any Admiral’s favourite pilot—especially not Admiral Benjamin, even if his daughter, Penny, thought differently. If anyone could help her navigate the difficult politics of Admirals and strict rules of engagement, it was Maverick. Maverick who, somehow, hadn’t been dishonourably discharged… yet.  

There was no doubt in her mind she would be thankful to have Maverick and his rule-bending in her corner as the go-between. 

“Smooth is overrated,” Ellie scoffed, shrugging. “I’m here to work—maybe make a few of you Navy boys cry in the process, if I’m lucky.” 

Maverick’s laugh was sudden and loud, genuine, the grin on his face wide.  

“Good,” he nodded, approvingly, patting her arm. “Well, in the spirit of smooth in the context of work, I’ve got some updates from the Admirals. Did you want to—” Maverick nodded toward the desk, and it took Ellie a moment to understand what he was suggesting, lost in the soft, blurred edges of nostalgia.  

“Yeah, of course. Better to just dive into the deep end with this, I guess.” 

Ellie rummaged for a second and dug her MacBook from the box, doing her best to ignore that there was a fresh dent in the lid as she swept over to the desk and Maverick settled in on the other side. 

“So I’ve had a chance to go over your reports and the preliminary data from the prototype testing on base in Turkey,” Mav started, his expression unreadable, though his posture suggested a relaxed, nonchalant approach. She supposed this was the most professional he would get with her. “It’s really impressive, Ellie. Your dad, he mentioned you were top of the game, he didn’t mention that you were running circles around the rest of us.” 

“I mean—” Ellie started, she kept her eyes on the screen of her laptop as it started up, “it’s all still relatively untested….” 

She pointedly ignored Mav’s mention of her dad. Hollywood wasn’t exactly a subject she wanted to touch on right now. Especially not with Maverick. She knew where it would lead. 

“Still. Must be something promising to get them to pull you here from halfway across the world.” Mav didn’t push the topic further as she saw him cross his legs, ankle on knee, in her peripheral. “It’s going to make a big difference to a lot of people if we can get it off the ground. I’m putting my weight behind this one, Rio—that counts for something. At least the Admirals think so.” 

“I hope so.” Ellie straightened herself in her chair, MacBook finally at the ready, despite a few broken pixels in the top left corner of the screen. “How do we tackle this then? Do I want to know what kind of resources they’re allocating for this?” 

Maverick paused for a moment, his hands passing over the armrests before folding his hands. “Good news or bad news?” 

“You know me, Mav—news is news.” 

“Well, they’re giving us pilots and significant testing time. They’ve put me on the testing schedules too, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me. We’ll run this as seamlessly as possible and get you the data you need to make this a reality.” Maverick’s fingers drummed on his knee, casual, calm. 

“Okay, that sounds like the good news to me….” Ellie cautiously made notes, her eyes returning to Mav as if she expected the other shoe to drop at any moment. So far, these were all workable resources. “I’ll get Records to pull the pilot files—”   

“No need, I’ve got them here.” Maverick reached to the chair beside him before sliding a folio across the desk toward her, thick with dossiers. “Fifteen pilots. They’re the best the Navy has to offer. All Top Gun graduates, all recalled for the current mission training. They’re giving us four of our choosing.” 

Ellie shrugged, her hand resting on the top of the stack of files, her thumb flipping through the first few tabs with call signs. Bob, Coyote, Duke, she nodded slowly, processing. “Well, to be honest, I was expecting far less—”  

“We have to run the testing of your tech alongside the mission training. They’re giving us two and a half months.” Maverick’s words hung in the air for a long moment, a moment in which Ellie’s eyes snapped to his and she searched for the lie there she knew she wouldn’t find. Maverick didn’t lie, he wasn’t the type. 

And there it was: the other shoe. 

Two and a half months. The initial research alone had taken years. Years of algorithm building, years of theoretical practice, years of begging for funding. Hell, the prototype alone had taken a year to create in a lab with her close oversight. Two and a half months was a drop in the ocean, a near impossibility. This was an out of the frying pan and into the heat situation if Ellie had ever seen one. “No pressure, right?” 

“RADM Stark is in our corner for now—Admiral Simpson has made it clear he’ll recommend moving forward with the mission with or without your tech,” Maverick didn’t sugar coat it and Ellie appreciated that about him—it wasn’t in his nature to soften the blow. “I think you and I would both prefer that it’s with. The more of these pilots we can bring home, the better.” 

Ellie glanced at the stack of files again, folded in the larger tan manila, and nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay then, deep ending this.” 

“Pick your top candidates based on the needs of the tech and the testing. I’m looking forward to reading your report.” Maverick tapped the corner of the desk, standing before shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Let’s say my office. Tomorrow morning, 0800 sharp. Bring coffee.” 

“Careful Mav,” Ellie tutted, her eyebrow raised in a teasing way as she looked up at him over the top of her computer screen, “that sounds an awful lot like protocol. You’ve got a reputation for throwing out the rulebook to uphold around here.” 

Maverick waved her off as he headed for the door and Ellie watched him pause for just a moment, halfway out, his hand on the knob. “This isn’t exactly going to be a walk in the park, kid. But if there’s anyone who can pull this off, it’s you. Whether the name on the door is Neven or not—” Mav’s knuckles rapped against the solid wood, just under the name plate displaying her mother’s maiden name, “—the Nevens have a way of making things happen. You’re where you’re meant to be.” 

“Thanks.” 

Maverick offered her a small smile, cleared his throat and then stepped out of the door. “Oh, Ellie?” Maverick’s head was back through the door, his finger pointing to the shelving behind her. “I brought you a little office warming gift.” 

Ellie quickly found the small potted fern, the decorative pot it sat in painted with Be-LEAF in Yourself in neat block lettering. Ellie lifted the pot, turning with a raised eyebrow, displaying the saying. 

“Penny picked it out.” Mav shrugged, as if he himself were above the plant pun. When Ellie’s gaze didn’t shift, Mav waved a hand and retreated again. “0800 sharp, Rio. Two sugars, no dairy.” 

With a dry chuckle, Ellie turned back to the shelf, her eyes quickly finding something else where the pot had been, hidden. 

The photo in the frame was slightly faded, but the energy captured within the image felt timeless. It was a group shot, clearly taken at Miramar a lifetime ago, the California sun bright overhead, casting shadows across the tarmac where the four men stood, exuding effortless swagger. The aura of young pilots in their prime. 

Maverick was front and center, his signature aviators reflecting a blurred image of the photo taker, a familiar cocky grin stretching across his face. His flight suit was unzipped at the top, revealing the white T-shirt underneath. To his right, Ellie’s eyes focused on her dad. His posture, shoulders relaxed, mirrored Maverick’s, his smile easy but sharp, his trademark confidence that matched his call sign. 

Next to him, Wolfman, her dad’s RIO, his stance a little more casual but no less self-assured. He had an arm slung around Hollywood’s shoulder; their camaraderie apparent even through the static image. His grin was wide and mischievous, like he had just cracked a joke that made Hollywood laugh. Wolfman was always the one for jokes—always inappropriate, never failing to make her dad laugh. 

On the far left, slightly more composed but no less iconic, stood Iceman. His jaw was set, his aviators pushed up into his blond hair as he looked at the camera with a subtle smirk. Even in the informal setting, he carried himself with the unshakable confidence of someone who knew he was the best. 

The four of them stood against the backdrop of an F-14 Tomcat, the jet’s sleek frame gleaming in the sunlight. 

It was a snapshot of a time when they were young, fearless, and seemingly invincible—a moment frozen in time, untouched by the years and the weight of everything that would come after. In the reflection of the glass, Ellie could just make out her own face as she refocused, her eyes soft and her brow pulled together. 

Rolling her eyes, Ellie shook herself out of her own thoughts, scoffing as she snapped the picture face down, its support leg sticking up like that of a dead bug. 

If she wanted to survive here, if she had any hope of making a difference, she would need to keep her head on straight. No more distractions. 

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that if you want to leave here with something other than lint in your pockets, Bradshaw.”  

Jake grabbed the triangle and racked the balls as Rooster groaned, the wad of bills in the fold that came out of his pocket thinner than it had been at the beginning of the evening. He thumbed out another twenty and placed it on top of the growing pile of cash sitting on the edge of the table before he took a swig of beer. “Keep taking my money, Hangman and you’ll have to tell Nic why I can’t take her out on Friday.”  

“Oh, you want me to tell your girl her boyfriend can’t handle his balls?” Hangman smirked, shifting the triangle up to the foot spot on the table before carefully removing the rack. “You know, I’d be real happy to do that, Rooster.” Grabbing his cue, Jake nodded across the table, “how ’bout I let you break first then, give you a head start.”  

As Rooster leaned over the table to line up the break, Jake grabbed his beer, leaning up against the wall. The late-day sun streamed in through the windows of the Hard Deck, casting long shadows across the scuffed hardwood, the warm glow of golden hour adding a certain charm to the scrappy, Navy watering hole. It was routine by now, mission training, the Hard Deck, hustling pool for a little extra spending money, embarrassing Rooster who always seemed eager to try to prove he was better than Jake at the game. Wash, rinse, repeat. Steady pace for a Tuesday night. But tonight, Jake’s mind wasn’t on the pool game, or the growing pile of Rooster’s cash.  

Instead, it was occupied by thoughts of a particular Radar Tech who had, in two short days, carved out a space in his head: Eleanor Rigby. That surprised Jake—surprised him in ways that took the routine out of his usual one-night M.O. 

After he’d seen her that morning, struggling with the box, almost comically, and she refused his help outright, the end of the day had come quickly. Quicker than Jake had anticipated. Between the packed mission training and the maneuver refreshers, his head had been on a swivel, his eyes peeled, but he hadn’t managed to catch her again. 

The sharp crack of the cue ball breaking and scattering the striped and solids, pulled Jake’s focus back to the game. Rooster managed to sink one solid, smirking as he stepped back to find himself for another viable shot.  

“Nice shot, Bradshaw,” Jake drawled, his eyes twinkling as he set down his bottle on the edge of a nearby high-top table. “I think this might be the first time you’ve hit something clean all week.”  

Rooster’s breathy laugh sounded for just a moment, his eyes sizing up the next shot. “Just wait, Bagman,” Rooster murmured, leaning over to line up his cue again. “By the time I’m done, you’ll be asking me for a loan.”  

“Bold for someone down to their last twenty.” Jake smirked, chalking his own cue. He waited for Rooster to take his shot—missing a corner pocket by a hairsbreadth—before stepping in to size up the table, tutting. “Might have to start playing some tunes for tips,” he nodded over to the piano in the corner. 

They rotated between trading teasing banter and goading remarks for a moment before Jake’s inquiring mind got the better of him, swimming with thoughts of her face, the way she looked at him within the new frame that existed outside of their Halloween encounter. 

“So,” Jake started, casually, nonchalant, as he chose his next shot, Rooster having missed his solid, and bent to take aim, lining up a striped ball with the corner pocket. “We have a new radar tech or something—Rigby?” Jake played dumb, played disinterested, acted as if he didn’t know her name, pretended he didn’t like the way the mark his mouth had left on her neck stuck out in sharp contrast to her put together, professional look the other day. 

As he looked up from under his lashes, Jake could see Rooster pause mid-sip of his beer, eyebrow raised. “Rigsy? Radar Tech, Engineer I think the proper term is. She’s Nic’s best friend. Her roommate now too, actually.” Rooster set his beer down carefully, “Why? What’s your angle?” 

Rigsy. So Rooster knew her outside of work. Jake carefully stored the information, his eyes never leaving the cue ball and the line of aim with the striped ball. “No angle,” he replied evenly, taking the shot and sinking the striped ball and another in its path with ease. “Just curious. Seems like she’s got the brass wrapped around her finger already.” 

“That’s because she’s good at what she does,” Rooster said, stepping away to the bar and grabbing two more bottles of beer before he returned to the table. “Smart, like, real smart. No nonsense, she won’t put up with any crap. Not the usual type you’d chase, though,” 

Jake took the shot, and the ball ricocheted off the pocket point in a way he hadn’t expected, missing the striped ball he’d lined up with that pocket, wide. Straightening, he chuckled, leaning against his cue stick, stepping back for Rooster’s turn. “Who says I’m chasin’, Bradshaw?”  

Rooster’s response was a snort as he stepped up to the table. “Sure, man, whatever you say,” he glanced up at Jake, a knowing look crossing his face, eyes incredulous, eyebrow peaked. “You don’t exactly have a reputation for curiosity without motive, Seresin.” 

Jake smirked, but didn’t respond, moving in to take another shot instead when Rooster missed his second shot and Jake sunk two more stripes in quick succession. He felt Rooster’s gaze lingering, and despite trying to play it cool, he couldn’t shake the curiosity that had been brewing since he’d seen her on Halloween. More so since seeing her here, at Miramar again, of all places. When she’d let him come back to her place and he’d fucked her until her knees shook, he hadn’t expected to see her again. Now, now he thought about what it would have been like if she’d known his name then, what it would sound like for her to moan it, beg him for more. It was enough to drive him dangerously close to mad. 

Jake missed the next shot, his mind hazed with the thought. Stepping back, he folded his arms across his chest and tried to act uninterested. “Say I’m curious for… curiosity’s sake: what’s her deal? Anything I should know?” 

“Oh shit—you really don’t know…” Rooster raised an eyebrow, taking a deep swig of his beer, studying the label as he tried to contain his smirk, before replying. “You don’t know who her old man is, do you?” 

Jake froze slightly at that, his brow furrowed, eyes narrowed at the pilot across the table from him. “Her old man?” 

Rooster chuckled and shook his head, his tone low as he tapped the cue stick on the floor. “Rick Neven. Hollywood. Shot down in combat on a mission over the Gulf. Made sure his WSO got out first and ejected too late just above hard deck. Broke his back in three places. Docs said it was nothing short of a miracle he was alive, but that he’d never walk again.” 

Jake blinked, the weight of the name hitting him immediately. Hollywood. One of the legends. The same pilot whose photo was framed alongside Maverick and Iceman, Goose and Slider in the halls all around base. He took a breath, trying to process it, while trying his best to keep composure. “You tellin’ me she’s Neven’s kid?”  

Rooster nodded, continuing as if he knew the exact thoughts running through Jake’s mind. “Yeah, man. That’s Rigsy’s dad. Big shadow to live under. She’s been pretty much anti-pilot her whole life, from what I’ve gathered.” 

Jake felt the words settle in his gut, realizing just how tangled this was becoming. Ellie wasn’t just some random civilian contractor; she came with baggage, a history that had been shaped by the same world they both lived in—but from a very different perspective. And after their Halloween encounter, he suddenly understood why she hadn’t mentioned anything about it. It also explained the guardedness in her eyes, the bite in her sarcasm. 

“She doesn’t really talk about him much,” Rooster added, his voice dropping slightly, as if sensing Jake’s shift in mood. Rooster had always been good at that, even if Jake didn’t want to admit it. “Nic says it’s a sore spot. That and her folks splitting.” 

Jake set his cue down, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to wrap his head around it. “Damn.” 

“You’re in over your head with that one, Hangman,” Rooster said with a knowing smirk. “She’s not your usual type, and if you somehow manage to get past all those SAMs she’s throwing out, she sure as hell won’t make it easy.” 

“Wouldn’t be any fun if she did, Rooster.” Jake let out a dry chuckle, picking up his beer and taking a long drink. “Wouldn’t be any fun if she did.” 

tags bbs: @hookslove1592 @mrsevans90 @avengersfan25 @jbennsquared @dempy @obsessed-fan-alert @djs8891 @lunatygerqueen @khouse712 @alipap3 @yuckosworld @marvelouslyme96

taglist if you want to be added/removed!

[whencyclopedia]

D-Day was 80 years ago today!

D-Day was the first day of Operation Overlord, the Allied attack on German-occupied Western Europe, which began on the beaches of Normandy, France, on 6 June 1944. Primarily US, British, and Canadian troops, with naval and air support, attacked five beaches, landing some 135,000 men in a day widely considered to have changed history.

Where to Attack?

Operation Overlord, which sought to attack occupied Europe starting with an amphibious landing in northwest France, Belgium, or the Netherlands, had been in the planning since January 1943 when Allied leaders agreed to the build-up of British and US troops in Britain. The Allies were unsure where exactly to land, but the requirements were simple: as short a sea crossing as possible and within range of Allied fighter cover. A third requirement was to have a major port nearby, which could be captured and used to land further troops and equipment. The best fit seemed to be Normandy with its flat beaches and port of Cherbourg.

The Atlantic Wall

The leader of Nazi Germany, Adolf Hitler (1889-1945), called his western line of defences the Atlantic Wall. It had gaps but presented an impressive string of fortifications along the coast from Spain to the Netherlands. Construction of gun batteries, bunker networks, and observation posts began as early as 1942.

Many of the German divisions were not crack troops but inexperienced soldiers, who were spending more time building defences than in vital military training. There was a woeful lack of materials for Hitler's dream of the Atlantic Wall, really something of a Swiss cheese, with some strong areas, but many holes. The German army was not provided with sufficient mines, explosives, concrete, or labourers to better protect the coastline. At least one-third of gun positions still had no casement protection. Many installations were not bomb-proof. Another serious weakness was naval and air support. The navy had a mere 4 destroyers available and 39 E-boats while the Luftwaffe's (German Air Force's) contribution was equally paltry with only 319 planes operating in the skies when the invasion took place (rising to 1,000) in the second week.

Neptune to Normandy

Preparation for Overlord occurred right through April and May of 1940 when the Royal Air Force (RAF) and United States Air Force (USAAF) relentlessly bombed communications and transportation systems in France as well as coastal defences, airfields, industrial targets, and military installations. In total, over 200,000 missions were conducted to weaken as much as possible the Nazi defences ready for the infantry troops about to be involved in the largest troop movement in history. The French Resistance also played their part in preparing the way by blowing up train lines and communication systems that would ensure the defenders could not effectively respond to the invasion.

The Allied fleet of 7,000 vessels of all kinds departed from English south-coast ports such as Falmouth, Plymouth, Poole, Portsmouth, Newhaven, and Harwich. In an operation code-named Neptune, the ships gathered off Portsmouth in a zone called 'Piccadilly Circus' after the busy London road junction, and then made their way to Normandy and the assault areas. At the same time, gliders and planes flew to the Cherbourg peninsula in the west and Ouistreham on the eastern edge of the planned landing. Paratroopers of the 82nd and 101st US Airborne Division attacked in the west to try and cut off Cherbourg. At the eastern extremity of the operation, paratroopers of the 6th British Airborne Division aimed to secure Pegasus Bridge over the Caen Canal. Other tasks of the paratrooper and glider units were to destroy bridges to impede the enemy, hold others necessary for the invasion to progress, destroy gun emplacements, secure the beach exits, and protect the invasion's flanks.

The Beaches

The amphibious attack was set for dawn on 5 June, daylight being a requirement for the necessary air and naval support. Bad weather led to a postponement of 24 hours. Shortly after midnight, the first waves of 23,000 British and American paratroopers landed in France. US paratroopers who dropped near Ste-Mère-Église ensured this was the first French town to be liberated. From 3.00 a.m., air and naval bombardment of the Normandy coast began, letting up just 15 minutes before the first infantry troops landed on the beaches at 6.30 a.m.

The beaches selected for the landings were divided into zones, each given a code name. US troops attacked two, the British army another two, and the Canadian force the fifth. These beaches and the troops assigned to them were (west to east):

Utah Beach - 4th US Infantry Division, 7th US Corps (1st US Army commanded by Lieutenant General Omar N. Bradley)

Omaha Beach - 1st US Infantry Division, 5th US Corps (1st US Army)

Gold Beach - 50th British Infantry Division, 30th British Corps (2nd British Army commanded by Lieutenant-General Miles C. Dempsey)

Juno Beach - 3rd Canadian Infantry Division (2nd British Army)

Sword Beach - 3rd British Infantry Division, 1st British Corps (2nd British Army)

In addition, the 2nd US Rangers were to attack the well-defended Pointe du Hoc between Utah and Omaha (although it turned out the guns had never been installed there), while Royal Marine Commando units attacked targets on Gold, Juno, and Sword.

The RAF and USAAF continued to protect the invasion fleet and ensure any enemy ground-based counterattack faced air attack. As the Allies could put in the air 12,000 aircraft at this stage, the Luftwaffe's aerial fightback was pitifully inadequate. On D-Day alone, the Allied air forces flew 15,000 sorties compared to the Luftwaffe's 100. Not one single Allied aircraft was lost to enemy fire on D-Day.

Packing Normandy

By the end of D-Day, 135,000 men had been landed and relatively few casualties were sustained – some 5,000 men. There were some serious cock-ups, notably the hopeless dispersal of the paratroopers (only 4% of the US 101st Air Division were dropped at the intended target zone), but, if anything, this caused even more confusion amongst the German commanders on the ground as it seemed the Allies were attacking everywhere. The defenders, overcoming the initial handicap that many area commanders were at a strategy conference in Rennes, did eventually organise themselves into a counterattack, deploying their reserves and pulling in troops from other parts of France. This is when French resistance and aerial bombing became crucial, seriously hampering the German army's effort to reinforce the coastal areas of Normandy. The German field commanders wanted to withdraw, regroup and attack in force, but, on 11 June, Hitler ordered there be no retreat.

All of the original invasion beaches were linked as the Allies pushed inland. To aid thousands more troops following up the initial attack, two artificial floating harbours were built. Code-named Mulberries, these were located off Omaha and Gold beaches and were built from 200 prefabricated units. A storm hit on 20 June, destroying the Mulberry Harbour off Omaha, but the one at Gold was still serviceable, allowing some 11,000 tons of material to be landed every 24 hours. The other problem for the Allies was how to supply thousands of vehicles with the fuel they needed. The short-term solution, code-named Tombola, was to have tanker ships pump fuel to storage tanks on shore, using buoyed pipelines. The longer-term solution was code-named Pluto (Pipeline Under the Ocean), a pipeline under the Channel to Cherbourg through which fuel could be pumped. Cherbourg was taken on 27 June and was used to ship in more troops and supplies, although the defenders had sunk ships to block the harbour and these took some six weeks to fully clear.

Operation Neptune officially ended on 30 June. Around 850,000 men, 148,800 vehicles, and 570,000 tons of stores and equipment had been landed since D-Day. The next phase of Overlord was to push the occupiers out of Normandy. The defenders were not only having logistical problems but also command issues as Hitler replaced Rundstedt with Field Marshal Günther von Kluge (1882-1944) and formally warned Rommel not to be defeatist.

Aftermath: The Normandy Campaign

By early July, the Allies, having not got further south than around 20 miles (32 km) from the coast, were behind schedule. Poor weather was limiting the role of aircraft in the advance. The German forces were using the countryside well to slow the Allied advance – countless small fields enclosed with trees and hedgerows which limited visibility and made tanks vulnerable to ambush. Caen was staunchly defended and required Allied bombers to obliterate the city on 7 July. The German troops withdrew but still held one-half of the city. The Allies lost around 500 tanks trying to take Caen, vital to any push further south. The advance to Avranches was equally tortuous, and 40,000 men were lost in two weeks of heavy fighting. By the end of July, the Allies had taken Caen, Avranches, and the vital bridge at Pontaubault. From 1 August, Patton and the US Third Army were punching south at the western side of the offensive, and the Brittany ports of St. Malo, Brest, and Lorient were taken.

German forces counterattacked to try and retake Avranches, but Allied air power was decisive. Through August 1940, the Allies swept southwards to the Loire River from St. Nazaire to Orléans. On 15 August, a major landing took place on the southwest coast of France (French Riviera landings) and Marseille was captured on 28 August. In northern France, the Allies captured enough territory, ports, and airfields for a massive increase in material support. On 25 August, Paris was liberated. By mid-September, the Allied troops in the north and south of France had linked up and the campaign front expanded eastwards pushing on to the borders of Germany. There would be setbacks like Operation Market Garden of September and a brief fightback at the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944, but the direction of the war and ultimate Allied victory was now a question of not if but when.

[toccata-i-voir]

your sister, dear. after you were so selfish with the information, let´s just say I found some alternative sources. and oh boy, is it juicy... I may have hated my sister at some point, but I would never subject her to such treatment. Shame on you, Mycroft Holmes

You are right to fear your Eurus, if she´s really as antagonistic as I am led to believe. Though, putting her under lock was probably one of the stupidest ideas you ever had, as it only served to make her angrier, no ?

Who are you talking about, dear? What an odd name.

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

“I got it from here..” Paladin Danse X Reader

______

(This was the winner and lemme tell y’all, stormy is happy)

Whoever first warned you that expeditions into the wastes would be difficult, seriously understated just how bad it was. Of course, in hindsight it was a stupid thing to be asked for the everyday dweller who had been born in the rotting, broken world around them. A world that was not your own. This was a world that demanded you to be strong, be vigilant, be fearless..but you were so very afraid.

Every ghosting of shadows over your campsite, every slight breeze rustling debris somewhere in the distance filled your body with cold dread- especially at night.

Tonight was no different, naturally. Even strapped in armor, loaded down with enough ballistics to turn a person into something resembling a macabre slice of Swiss cheese, and a stomach that wasn’t rumbling as a horrible reminder of just how famished the wastes left you..you were still scared. However the man in front of you, just mere feet away and leaned up against a post..he was scared too. Perhaps there was some comfort to be found in the mutual fear considering as far as you were concerned, he was the bravest man you knew.

For a brief, decent moment you were able to appreciate the man you found to be a constant companion of your’s. He watched your back when you went scavenging in the remains of the old harbor, meticulously clearing out whatever building you thought looked promising, then when night fell far too fast to retreat back to a settlement, it was he who secured an acceptable shelter to sleep for the night and fortified it with his beloved power armour serving as blockade from any intruding assailants. Even so, he just wouldn’t rest.

Those familiar deep, amber eyes systematically swept the surrounding area with his vantage point out the window. It was a pattern, up for a while..down..sweep from side to side and repeat again and again. It was his training after all, keep those under his command safe in shifts as the darkness of night cloaked whatever hostiles there might’ve been.

There was something different about your beloved friend tonight, or perhaps it was more the fact you finally took to noticing it for the first time. His sharp eyes faltered in their pattern, his body was heavy against where he rested, his head even rested against the wooden post in such a manner that if you couldn’t see his eyes you’d probably assume him to have fixed off. As silly as it sounded, it was then you finally noticed the speckling of silvery grey dappling his rich black hair right above his ears and randomly in his stubble. Danse was getting old..a silly thought in itself but sure enough he was, age wasn’t something he had the luxury of escaping.

That was something only ghouls and you seemed to be able to evade. Alas, Danse was human as far as you knew. He was flesh and blood and aged as was befitting of someone of his higher rank anyways..

“Danse..?” Your voice cut the comfortable silence residing between the two of you, amazingly drawing his attention with a blink that lasted a bit too long.

He didn’t say anything to acknowledge you, he didn’t really have to anyways considering you knew he was giving you his attention by the way those sweet puppy dog eyes locked with your’s, albeit in a tired haze. Exhaustion was no stranger to you, that was even before all the abominations that had befallen your life. So it was no hard task to elucidate the mysterious shrouding of his construction.

“I…” You began to speak up, words cut short when the man in front of you stretched his neck and furrowed his brows- yawning for what had to have been the first time you had ever seen him do so in the many nights you spent alongside him.

“My apologies..” He grumbled, his voice a gentle grumble from the back of his throat- a tone that you maybe liked to imagine was what he sounded like first thing in the morning. Maybe that’s what he would sound like….no such things weren’t appropriate to entertain, Danse didn’t deserve such thoughts even if he had no way of knowing of their existence. “You were saying?” He asked, trying to be nonchalant in the way he desperately attempted to rouse his mind back to full acuity.

You couldn’t help the right press of your lips when you took in his exhausted state. He was always the one to protect, maybe now it was time for him to be protected- if only for a moment.

With an abrupt clear of your throat, you gathered your bearings and rose to your knees from your sleeping bag. After the initial jolt of feeling your blood pressure drop out from the sudden shift to an upright position, you were quick to grab your gun and meet him which thankfully didn’t require much movement in part of the less than spacious shelter you found yourself in. Of course, seeing you stumble even that small bit made your beloved companion scoff under his breath, the tiniest curl of his lips just barely breaking his helplessly tired expression.

“Let me take watch, just for a bit.” You offered, your gun slung over your shoulder and a smile on your equally weary face. Naturally, the stubborn Paladin had every intention of dismissing the offer..however your free hand clasping over his bicep in a gentle grip that shocked the both of you extinguished whatever fire he had about him. “Go rest, I got it from here..” You certainly didn’t..but you’d try for him.

He sighed, looking outside the window then to the sleeping bag. The exchange of glances allowed you to see how the light flickered from the lantern across his features, illuminating not only his freckles but also his newly acquired purple bags under his eyes.

Strange, you didn’t know someone could look like they were kissed by both the moon and the sun.

Deciding his exhaustion would only be more dangerous in the long haul, he buckled with little additional persuasion. “Thank you…I appreciate it. If anything goes wrong, I mean anything..wake me up. I don’t care if you believe it’s just the wind, I mean it.” He instructed, a worried chew of the inside of his cheek enough to signal to you that the apprehension may be for more than just fear for your lives..he knew how afraid you were of the wastes even after proving to be a capable fighter. Perhaps there was more though..

Once you nodded he was quick to finally go lay down, a joint or two of his popping on the way down which only made you chuckle as quietly as you possibly could as not to embarrass him. After that, it didn’t take long for him to fall into a light slumber- leaving you to gaze up out the window and into the vastness of the dark night.

You were afraid..but tonight you’d put your fears aside if it meant he could get some rest.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

*Jade enters to see if the rumors of a certain fox beastman entering his dearest bird’s nest was true. Unfortunately for him, the sight of the two from Playful Land was, indeed, real. He whisks a startled Miss Raven off to the side with a fake smile.* Hello my dearest…would you please tell me why you have such unsavory characters brought here? Would you like for me to remove them right away? I shudder to think what would happen if they overstay their welcome and take further advantage of your precious, kind heart. *He bows low to look you straight in the eye* It would be my pleasure to be your bodyguard.

So tell me, do you wanna go?

Jade’s lip curled as he surveyed the state of the attic.

Normally Raven’s space was already a cluttered mess (“It’s not a mess,” she would often argue. “Don’t call it that. It’s organized chaos.”). It had somehow managed to devolve since he had last (ahem) “invited” himself over. Her book stacks had been knocked over, stains of a non-ink origin decorating loose papers.

A thin, hard mattress had been laid out across the room from hers. Upon it, Fellow and Gidel lounged, happily digging into plates of food they had secured from the cafeteria. Crumbs and other loose bits scattered around them—sure to attract ants. They had kicked their shoes off, exposing socks with holes like swiss cheese (Fellow’s big toe poked out).

Their belongings were hastily shoved into a corner pile. All mismatched, patched up clothes and the bare essentials.

How slovenly.

Jade returned his attention to the quivering young lady before him. Miss Raven stood at a stature much smaller than his (so much so thar he had to bend down to meet her at eye level). She stood up straight, the feathers in her shawl puffing. It was a bird’s attempt at intimidation, as he had come to learn.

“They are my guests. I have willingly taken them under my wing, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t interfere.”

“Oya, such kindness and generosity.” He grinned, revealing two rows of sharp, pointed teeth. “You truly are your uncle’s child.”

“Coming from you, that doesn’t sound like much of a sincere compliment.”

Jade chuckled softly. A large hand landed on Raven’s head, playfully ruffling her hair. “I say this out of concern for you. Both you and I are aware of your… tendency, shall we say, to fall for crocodile tears and pleading.”

“Thanks for the tip, buddy,” Fellow called from his seat. He spoke with a mouthful of roasted chicken. “But we’re all good. How’d ya think we wormed our way in here to begin with?”

“How dastardly of you. This fellow is quite dishonest, isn’t he, Miss Raven?”

Fellow stopped chewing. “… You NRC brats never change, hmm? It hurts to be gossiped about and have kids sling mud at my pristine reputation.”

“Pristine reputation? Pardon me, but I seem to recall a mass kidnapping and shady dealings with the criminal underworld.”

“Hey, you’re pretty shady yourself so I don’t wanna hear that outta you!!”

“J-Jade…!” Raven sputtered. “Are you TRYING to fuel the fire?!”

“Fufufu. I’m afraid that, as a merman, this concept of ‘fire’ is foreign to me. I haven’t the faintest clue what you may be referring to.” Jade folded his hands together and took another bow. “… However, if you feel unsafe in Fellow-san’s presence, my bodyguard services are still an option on the table.”

H-He most definitely is provoking Fellow-san on purpose! Then once Fellow-san explodes, Jade will rush in and play the part of savior…!

“I will never, EVER come groveling to you for help,” she insisted through her teeth.

A cruel laugh cut through the tension.

“Looks like you two lovebirds have a lot of feelings to sort through. By all means! Don’t stop on my account,” Fellow jeered with a smirk. “Giddie and I could always make do with free entertainment you go along with our meal.”

Gidel glanced up from the barbecued rib he was gnawing away at. Mild confusion swam in his droopy eyes. It seemed he hadn’t been paying attention for the last several exchanges, only tuning in when his name was mentioned.

“W-We are NOT a live soap opera for you to watch! And nor are we lovebirds!! Lovebirds are small parrots,” she corrected him with a frown, “and I am a raven.”

“I’m certain he was referring to another definition for the term,” Jade suggested, trying to be helpful—or intentionally infuriating.

“N-Nonsense…!”

Fellow rolled his eyes. He leaned over to Gidel. “… Is it just me, or are these two already arguing like a married couple?”

Gidel blinked at him, befuddled.

“Eeeh, never mind. I’ll explain it to ya when you get older. In the meantime, let’s enjoy the show!”

[sidewalk-scrawls]

I get where you're coming from here, but from a development perspective, there are reasons why having more uniform systems are good -- It makes applications far easier to debug and makes development far less labor-intensive. If anything, developing for a single OS makes systems *less* prone to errors because there are fewer possibilities for variation. There are a lot of cross-platform development tools that are essentially made to mimic a single environment for this reason.

To be clear, there are a lot of problems with Microsoft, including the ways they've stifled open source development as well as their tendency toward being litigious toward competitors. I do not like this, and in terms of OS, I prefer to use Linux where possible.

However, based on the information we have so far, the fault in this situation is not with Microsoft. Instead, it seems to be primarily a result of poor Q/A practices on the part of CrowdStrike, as well as what I would personally consider a *far* too high level of confidence with automatic updates within vital sectors.

Losing my mind at this reply on that CrowdStrike post:

WHAT ELSE WOULD THEY BE USING???

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚘𝚕𝚖 - 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟸

Warnings: +18, adult content, semi-erotic content, harsh language, dub-con, mild psychological torture, yandere vibes, slow burn.

Tags: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton, @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic, @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @adamjf , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch, @whenimakeitshine1234, @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @ripleyswhore

Chapter 1

“But first” Claudio squeezed the flesh of her hip, making sure to apply enough pressure to make her feel his trimmed nails sinking into her skin. 

It was a silent warning, she could feel the harshness of every word underneath his deadly grip. She would have to be careful with this one, he wasn’t completely under her spell as Mox was. And even though Yuta was dangerous, he was a minor one compared to the bald man. 

She could see it in his eyes, as Claudio slowly released her flesh, that he wouldn’t think twice before hurting her. 

And if she’d like to have any sort of advantage over these men, she would have to get at least two of them on her side. 

“Let’s have our snack before it gets cold” Claudio grinned, his dark eyes sparkled with knowledge and a fake warmness that was meant to give her a false sense of security. 

She knew that look all too well, being familiar with it ever since she was a child, she could sense it from a mile away. This one was smarter than Yuta and Mox together.

This one was going to be responsible for putting her acting skills to the test. 

Claudio had brought them two grilled cheese sandwiches, a cup of coffee for himself, a cup of orange juice for her, and a small bowl of chopped fruits. Strawberries, kiwis, red and green grapes were the ones she could spot on the top of the porcelain bowl. 

She slightly frowned, these were not only all of her favorite fruits but it was also intriguing to her how they had managed to find kiwi in her town. 

The fruit is typically grown in temperate climates with mild winters and warm summers, and that was the exact opposite climate of her town. 

All of the times she craved to eat the exquisite fruit, she had to drive at least 3 hours to the closest state with a temperate climate so she could find the sweet yet tangy-tasting fruit at the grocery store. 

This was odd, to say the least. It was either an indication that they were distant from her town or that the men who kidnapped her came from somewhere far from where she lived. 

“Do you like kiwis?” Claudio asks, suddenly curious about her apparent fixation over the fruit. 

“Yes,” She nodded, momentarily licking her lips in order to try to fake a nervousness. “It’s one of my favorites…I haven’t eaten it in a long time”

“Well, ain’t today your lucky day?” The smile on Claudio’s lips was spine-chilling, like an owl’s hoot on a winter night. A bad omen for what was yet to come. 

Her eyes found the deer’s head on the wall once again, it whispered softly to her, humming a familiar tune over and over like a broken record. 

She felt it before she could see it, the sweetness followed by the tanginess and slightly acidic taste of the fruit against her lips, her eyes darted down to Claudio’s fingers, which held the piece of fruit against her bottom lip. 

The once-friendly flavor now tasted hostile, aggressive, malicious, and venomous. The man before her had poisoned it with his touch, and nausea began to rise up her throat. 

Staring at the Swiss man who was now face to face with her, she watched as his tongue darted out to collect the juices of the green fruit spread across her lips. She felt it, the warm and rough texture of the muscle tasting her skin. And before she could rationalize what had happened, the man whispered “Lay down”.

Her eyes fixated on his as he spoke:

“I’m going to ask you some questions, and for each correct answer I’ll reward you with some of your favorite fruits” Claudio smiled widely “Let’s begin”. 

The winter wind blew against her wet skin, prickling and burning her delicate flesh. Uncontrolled shivers run through her entire body, a sharp pain constricts her lungs and pressure begins to install itself in her chest, making her already shallow breath become weaker with each drag of breath in.

Her eyes tingled with the unshed tears and her throat burned with the desire to scream through the howling wind.

“I can see your tears from here, dytyna. You’re not fooling anyone” Mykola laughs, pulling a long drag of his cigarette as she screamed at the top of her lungs “FUCK YOU!”. 

The temper tantrum only served to make her father’s right-hand laugh louder, his combat boots sank into the snow as he squatted down, “Are you feeling better now? Good, now control your emotions from now on. You’re a smart kid, but you let your mind take over and that’s a terrible mistake. The last thing you want is to be your own enemy, got it?”.

She nodded weakly before Mykola snarled “I asked if you got it”

“Dobre, ya zrozumiv.” She answers, shaking violently as another harsh gust of wind hits her wet skin.

The Ukrainian man tossed the cigarette bud on the snow before helping her stand up from the floor, “Let’s get inside, we’re done for today”. Placing a thick blanket around her body, Mykola opened the back door of the warehouse and pushed her inside with him. A fluffy navy blue towel covered her head as he carefully dried her hair, “Can we go near the fire?” She asked with trembling limbs.

“No” Mykola softly pushed her down to sit on the old armchair, “You’re hypothermic, if we do that you’ll die. We need to warm up your body slowly, we’ll stay here for now, and as time goes by we’ll move closer to the fire”.

Mykola “Myko” Kolavenko was her father’s right-hand and her bodyguard ever since she was a child, he was the closest she’d ever get to a fatherly figure, and most of the time even being referred to as so by her. When she was 4 years old, Myko wanted to introduce her to martial arts as a way of discipline and self-defense, but her father completely forbade “Men are supposed to defend and fight, not women! I don’t want her to become a tomboy, Myko. She will fit the role God created her for, which is a woman who will be a wife, a mother, a nurturing figure” Was her father’s first and last statement about the subject.

After finding her in the kitchen crying over her father’s response, Myko sat beside her on the table, dried her tears, and whispered “Your father didn’t let us train your body, but he didn’t say we can’t train your mind”.

“What do you mean?” She looked up at him, hope written all over her innocent eyes.

“Means you’ll be able to beat me at poker” Myko winked, which made her giggle.

The memory made her smile and from the armchair, her eyes now settled on his wrinkled face. “Do you think I’m able to beat you at poker now?” She joked, teeth chattering as Myko placed another heavy blanket around her body.

The man chuckled, pulling an old chair in front of her so they could seat face to face, “Absolutely fucking not. At least not yet, you still have a long way to go before I even allow you near a poker table”.

“Why?” She frowned

“Because I don’t want to lose money” Myko winks with a smirk. He grabs a whisky glass and fills it to the brim with the amber liquid.

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to do it, Myko? To control my mind, I mean. Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck like it’s all for nothing. I don’t think I’m having any progress at all, and it’s fucking frustrating”.

Myko took a big gulp of the whisky and let the all too familiar burning feeling settle in his throat. “Training the body is easier than training the mind. After a few years of training you kill the receptive nerves of pain in your body and well, you become basically painless. Meaning it doesn’t distract you anymore, someone can punch you in the face and it won’t shock you or disorient you. Now the mind is way more problematic because it’s in constant change, as you grow older your mind and perception change and you have to adapt to a completely different reality. Compare yourself from 6 months ago to now, you’ve changed so much in here” Myko tapped her left temple, “And it will happen again 6 months from now, so you have to be able to adapt to everything, dytyna, because you never know what’s going to happen. The reason why I put you outside on a winter night in Kyiv and wetted your skin is to start to accustom your mind to be in uncomfortable and under pressure sceneries because that’s when your whole system becomes alert. Emotions appear all at once, your mind races due to stress, pain, and despair, and you either shut down or do something really stupid that will have catastrophic consequences so you have to learn how to act during times like this.

“You will register your feelings, your thoughts of despair and agony, but they won’t be what drive and guide you anymore because you’ll control them not the other way around. That’s the most valuable lesson you have yet to learn, divchynka. Control your mind before it controls you because if that happens, you’re doomed. Completely fucked”.

Myko grabbed another glass of whisky and filled it with the equivalent of two shot glasses, he handed the glass to her and she frowned in confusion. “It’ll be our secret” He winked as she took the cup in her hand.

“Here’s to not being completely fucked” Myko clicked their glasses together before smiling fondly “Happy 16th birthday”.

“Thank you” She smiled back, a hint of sadness hid behind her soft smile, “And thank you for not letting me spend today alone…it means a lot”.

“You can always count on me, dytyna. Even when I’m not there”.

And as the warm tears rolled down her cheeks, she felt Myko’s arms pulling her closer to a tight embrace.

Would Myko be proud of her? Not only of the adult woman she became but mostly of her approach to what was currently happening? Would he be proud of her Machiavelli-like persuasion, of her theatrical skills, and what about her ability to be cohesive? If he could see her now would he applaud her choices or curse her through her less appealing tactics?

“Everyone can lie, dytyna. But a valley is what separates a liar from a good liar. And a bridge is what separates a good liar from a magnificent liar. And that’s who you’re aiming to be: a magnificent liar. To a point where no one, not even me, can tell apart a truth from a lie”.

And that she had successfully achieved, if there was one thing she had learned from Myko from a very young age was to be a terrific liar.

That is her advantage over the Swiss man before her, he can have the wits and the strength, but she has the biggest advantage of all time: she knows how to lie.

[kazz-brekker]

so, like, is the security at hbo some pieces of swiss cheese draped over their computers? because i cannot fathom how their security has enough holes to leak BOTH of the finales of this show so far several days early

[elliebyrrdwrites]

The Heist

(Again)

This story is too much fun to write.

“What,” Seamus began as he pulled up several screens of security footage. “Do we do about Pansy?”

“What do we do about Astoria?” Ginny set down a tray of sandwiches she brought from the kitchen. Turkey and swiss cheese with mustard and tomato, cut into little triangles and divested of its crust.

Draco lifted one up and took a bite from a corner and leaned back in his chair behind the desk.

Currently on the screens Seamus had set up was several visuals of the interior of Flamel’s home including the atrium, a parlor he apparently spent much time in, and his bedroom. The bedroom camera was placed by Draco and Theo last night during the gala.

Currently, Flamel wasn’t in the house, as he was at lunch with Zabini.

“What did she threaten you with?” Harry asked Draco as he settled onto the sofa with a sandwich.

Granger was avoiding the conversation, flipping through a book. Ignoring the longing looks from Theo and the provoking ones from Draco.

“She wants my ring.”

“What ring?” Theo asked, pulling his gaze from Granger.

“The one I would have given her, had I married her.”

“Why does she want that ring?” Teddy grabbed a second triangular sandwich and proceeded to stuff the entire thing into his mouth.

“It’s quite expensive.” Draco shrugged. “And if I give it to her, she would show up on the family Tapestry.”

“But you wouldn’t be marrying her.” Harry said it slowly. “Right?”

“Sliding that Malfoy ring onto a witches hand is as good as marrying her. It would bind her to me and my family.”

Granger’s eyes snapped up from the book in her lap.

“Why would she want to do that? It’s been ages since you two ended.” Ginny glanced over at Granger.

Draco shrugged and tossed the last bit of sandwich into his mouth and chewed, considering her question.

“She just wants access to the vaults.” Theo scowled and Draco nodded in confirmation.

“It would humiliate me, in her eyes.” He added. “My name has been burned off of the Malfoy tapestry. But hers wouldn’t be,”

“How would that work? Isn’t blood required for those sort of binding contracts?” Granger asked, finally unable to hold her tongue.

“It is. The ring will not go on without either of our blood being spilled.” He grinned at the absurdity of the situation. The entire thing was archaic and worked like a curse on both participants.

“How do you intend to take care of all this?” She glanced down to her lap.

“I intend to employee the work of a highly regarded Curse Breaker.” He dug his fingers into the pocket of his pants and pulled the ring he had retrieved from his home late last night.

When she looked up at him, he smiled.

Everyone looked at the ring he held up. It was a platinum ring with a large pure Columbian emerald and a diamond on either side.

Ginny gasped. “Holy crap. That thing must be worth hundreds of galleons!”

Draco sniffed and set it down on his desk. “It is.”

Granger stared at the ring like it might bite her. “You want me to break the wards on it.”

“It’s more like a curse.” He smiled and flicked his wand toward the platter of sandwiches, summoning a second serving.

She nodded slowly, scrutinizing the ring from where she sat. Which was not her usual spot on the edge of his desk. It was in a chair that was nestled into the corner of the room.

Theo stood near the bookcase, eyeing her.

“Okay, so let’s say Hermione breaks the curse on the ring, then what?” Harry asked, also staring at the ring like it might bite.

“Then I’ll give it to Astoria. It wont bind her to me once the curse is broken. She can do with the ring, what she wants.”

“But it’s a family heirloom!” Ginny screeched. “What happens when you find a witch you want to marry?”

Draco looked to his own little thief as she looked up at him. He smiled gently and shrugged. “I’ll get her something better.”

Theo huffed out a laugh, his eyes suddenly brightening as they shot between Draco and Granger.

Draco tucked away that reaction as he turned to Seamus. “The trick is understanding Pansy’s roll in Flamel’s life and his estate.”

Seamus nodded and tapped a few keys. One of the screens changed views of the house. There was an image of the pool and several lounge chairs set up around it. On the farthest chair from the camera, laid Pansy.

Dressed in a two piece, she soaked up the rays of the sun, her face shaded with the aide of a large floppy hat.

He noticed Granger sneak a peak at Theo, who was frowning up at the screen.

“She looks comfy.” Ginny drawled, rolling her eyes.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from Princess Pansy.” Seamus snorted.

“God, I always hated her. She wanted to sell Harry out to old Vordy. Remember that?” She nodded to Granger.

Granger sniffed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Theo wasn’t staring at the screen anymore. He was watching Granger with a renewed sense of vigor.

“We create an alibi.” Harry suddenly said. Draco tilted his head and gestured for him to go on.

“We need you, Theo and Hermione to be seen by her on the day of the heist.”

Everyone nodded, following along.

“We need three decoys that not only Pansy will see but Astoria, too. She’s onto us, right?”

“She is.”

“We need three extra people to Polyjuice as you lot, and that can be where you give Tori the wand.” He shrugged. “Or the Polyjuiced version of you, that is.”

Draco leaned back in his chair and nodded slowly. He ran a hand along his jaw, scratching thoughtfully.”

“How are we going to get those two girls in the same place? Don’t they hate each other?” Theo asked.

“There’s a reunion coming up.” Granger said. “Hogwarts throws a reunion for all alums every summer.” She nodded to Harry. “We got our invites weeks ago.”

“Should I be offended that I never received one?” Theo mused. He looked at Draco. “Did you receive one?”

Draco shook his head but was frowning at the logistics for the idea Harry suggested. “Sure, that’s fine but who would we use as our decoys?”

Ginny cleared her throat. “I have a few ideas.” She raised her hand and smiled over at Theo.

“You mean more Weasleys.” He leveled her with a look of discontent.

She nodded. “George and Charlie would definitely do it. And, uh,” She cleared her throat and looked at her husband. He grimaced as he nodded. “Ron would.”

Theo closed his eyes and too a deep breath. Upon exhaling, his eyes opened. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

Granger snorted, abruptly, from the corner of the room. Everyone’s attention turned to her. She looked ready to burst with laughter but she pressed a hand over her mouth and shook her head. Clearing her throat, she held up another hand. “Sorry. No, it’s just.” She giggled but stopped herself with a sigh. “We’re dealing with Pansy and Astoria and now Ron?”

Draco found himself grinning at her.

“But we’re not really going to use him, are we?” Theo demanded. The corner of his lip twitched, fighting against a smile. Whether it was for the situation, or the sound of Granger’s laughter, Draco wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know who else we can trust.” Harry shrugged, agreeing with his wife.

“Well, I don’t want a Weasley polyjuicing into me, seeing my bits and pieces.” Theo sniffed.

“Ron can be me, he’s already seen all of my bits and pieces.” Granger offered, causing Harry and Ginny to grimace. Teddy gagged and put a decorative throw pillow over his face.

Draco smiled blandly at her while Theo blanched.

“Maybe Ginny can be Hermione.” Seamus offered.

“And have one of my brothers be me and chance seeing my bits and pieces?!”

Granger snorted again and threw her hands over her face.

“I can be you.” Harry offered.

“Then who would be you?” Theo asked.

“Ron.” Harry answered. “We’ve already seen each other naked.” He shrugged. “We shared a dorm for six years, a tent for another and regularly take showers in the same locker room at work.”

“Why,” Draco began. “Are we assuming that the polyjuiced versions of ourselves will see our bits and pieces?”

Theo looked at Draco like had had gone bonkers. “I imagine one may need to take a wee at some point. He’d be using an exact replica of my wand, if you know what I mean.”

“Everyone knows what you mean.” Seamus said as he and Teddy unraveled into laughter.

Harry lowered his head into a hand and sighed loudly.

But Ginny was undeterred. “George and Charlie can be you two.” She said it with finality. Like they had all agreed that this was the route that they would indeed take.

Draco considered, as he reached for another sandwich with his wand, that is most likely was decidedly so. He needed to clear these hurtles before they managed to set a date on hitting their actual target.

“Well,” Ginny stood and nodded to her husband. “We have a dinner to plan.”

“What dinner?” Harry lifted his head from his hand and eyed his wife.

“For my brothers. We have to wine and dine them, as you know, in order to get them to listen to us.”

Harry shrugged and stood with his wife.

“Wait, so that’s it? It’s decided? We’re actually going to use the Weasleys?”

Draco shrugged as he watched the Potters wave goodbye.

Seamus stood and stretched. “I’ve got a date.” He checked his watch. “You got this, right?” He said to Draco, nodding to the screens on display.

“What do you mean, you’ve got a date? You mean that muggle woman from the museum?” Teddy sat up straight.

Seamus nodded and made his way across the study. “Yeah, her names Charlotte.” He grinned as he said her name.

“You look serious.” Teddy observed with a raised brow.

“I am. We are.” Seamus waved and left them behind.

Teddy looked around at the room. Observed Granger, once again, flipping through the book in her lap. Eyed Theo and Draco and stood, clearing his throat. “I have a witch to visit.”

“Weasley?” Theo asked.

Granger smiled at Teddy. “You mean Victoire?”

“Yeah. I owled her this morning and asked her to meet me at Florean Fortescue's.”

“Good call, cousin.” Draco raised his sandwich in a salute before taking a bite.

“And you three clearly have some things to talk about so,” Teddy added with a pointed look at Draco and Theo before he waved goodbye and left Granger with her two thieves.

Draco dusted his fingers off and eyed Theo.

“Granger,”

She sighed and closed her book. She quickly stood from the chair and sent the book sailing back into its spot on the shelf. “I have to go, too.”

“Where are you going?” Theo pushed away from the bookcase. “You can’t leave.”

“I can and I am.” She glanced over to Draco. “I’ll look at the ring when I get back.”

“Granger, don’t shut down.” Theo was hot on her heels as she strode for the door.

“I’m not. I have a meeting.”

“With who?”

Draco watched the confrontation with little amusement.

“None of your business.” She didn’t turn to look at him as she swept from the room.

Theo froze at the door and angrily shoved his hands into his hair with a growl.

“Why do you think she’s so upset?” Draco asked, dusting off his fingers.

“Because she is a woman of dignity.” he shrugged and the added, “She doesn’t want to end up alone?”

Draco nodded toward the screen, where Pansy was still lounging beside the pool. “Do you think she knows what kind of wizard Flamel is?”

Theo shook his head. “I don't know how I'd feel if she did.”

“I suppose we’ll find out.”

“Hello!”

Zabini waltzed into the study but stopped when he beheld the two wizards. “Where’s Granger?”

Theo rolled his eyes and settled onto his perch on the desk.

“She’s busy.” Draco replied and nodded to Zabini. “How did the lunch go?”

“It was...educational.” He paused. “Eventful.”

“Flamel is a scoundrel?” Theo surmised.

“Indeed,” Blaise settled into a chair. “So it was your guys’ intention to get me invited to a sex party?”

Draco chuckled while Theo replied, “Yes. When is it?”

“It’s on Friday. I can’t go. That Hogwarts Alum thing is the same day.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to Theo as he scoffed. “You got an invite?”

“Of course. I get one every year.”

“Well, now I know it’s personal.” Theo muttered.

“You’re gonna have to go to Flamel’s sex party.” Draco said, plainly.

Zabini shook his head. “That sounds incredibly uncomfortable. Why would I do that?”

“Because you promised Granger your full cooperation.” Draco reminded him, thankful for Granger’s carefully worded ultimatum.

“Plus,” Theo grinned. “We’ll be there.”

“You two?” Zabini laughed.

“Yes, and Granger.”

Zabini narrowed his eyes in on Draco, considering. “What is the end game here?”

“We keep Flamel distracted. Well,” Draco paused. “You keep Flamel distracted.”

“Where will you lot be? You interested in purchasing sex workers?”

“No,” Draco plucked the ring from his desk and palmed it. “We’re going to be part of the entertainment.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Bossware is unfair (in the legal sense, too)

You can get into a lot of trouble by assuming that rich people know what they're doing. For example, might assume that ad-tech works – bypassing peoples' critical faculties, reaching inside their minds and brainwashing them with Big Data insights, because if that's not what's happening, then why would rich people pour billions into those ads?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/06/surveillance-tulip-bulbs/#adtech-bubble

You might assume that private equity looters make their investors rich, because otherwise, why would rich people hand over trillions for them to play with?

https://thenextrecession.wordpress.com/2024/11/19/private-equity-vampire-capital/

The truth is, rich people are suckers like the rest of us. If anything, succeeding once or twice makes you an even bigger mark, with a sense of your own infallibility that inflates to fill the bubble your yes-men seal you inside of.

Rich people fall for scams just like you and me. Anyone can be a mark. I was:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

But though rich people can fall for scams the same way you and I do, the way those scams play out is very different when the marks are wealthy. As Keynes had it, "The market can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent." When the marks are rich (or worse, super-rich), they can be played for much longer before they go bust, creating the appearance of solidity.

Noted Keynesian John Kenneth Galbraith had his own thoughts on this. Galbraith coined the term "bezzle" to describe "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it." In that magic interval, everyone feels better off: the mark thinks he's up, and the con artist knows he's up.

Rich marks have looong bezzles. Empirically incorrect ideas grounded in the most outrageous superstition and junk science can take over whole sections of your life, simply because a rich person – or rich people – are convinced that they're good for you.

Take "scientific management." In the early 20th century, the con artist Frederick Taylor convinced rich industrialists that he could increase their workers' productivity through a kind of caliper-and-stopwatch driven choreographry:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Taylor and his army of labcoated sadists perched at the elbows of factory workers (whom Taylor referred to as "stupid," "mentally sluggish," and as "an ox") and scripted their motions to a fare-the-well, transforming their work into a kind of kabuki of obedience. They weren't more efficient, but they looked smart, like obedient robots, and this made their bosses happy. The bosses shelled out fortunes for Taylor's services, even though the workers who followed his prescriptions were less efficient and generated fewer profits. Bosses were so dazzled by the spectacle of a factory floor of crisply moving people interfacing with crisply working machines that they failed to understand that they were losing money on the whole business.

To the extent they noticed that their revenues were declining after implementing Taylorism, they assumed that this was because they needed more scientific management. Taylor had a sweet con: the worse his advice performed, the more reasons their were to pay him for more advice.

Taylorism is a perfect con to run on the wealthy and powerful. It feeds into their prejudice and mistrust of their workers, and into their misplaced confidence in their own ability to understand their workers' jobs better than their workers do. There's always a long dollar to be made playing the "scientific management" con.

Today, there's an app for that. "Bossware" is a class of technology that monitors and disciplines workers, and it was supercharged by the pandemic and the rise of work-from-home. Combine bossware with work-from-home and your boss gets to control your life even when in your own place – "work from home" becomes "live at work":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Gig workers are at the white-hot center of bossware. Gig work promises "be your own boss," but bossware puts a Taylorist caliper wielder into your phone, monitoring and disciplining you as you drive your wn car around delivering parcels or picking up passengers.

In automation terms, a worker hitched to an app this way is a "reverse centaur." Automation theorists call a human augmented by a machine a "centaur" – a human head supported by a machine's tireless and strong body. A "reverse centaur" is a machine augmented by a human – like the Amazon delivery driver whose app goads them to make inhuman delivery quotas while punishing them for looking in the "wrong" direction or even singing along with the radio:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/02/despotism-on-demand/#virtual-whips

Bossware pre-dates the current AI bubble, but AI mania has supercharged it. AI pumpers insist that AI can do things it positively cannot do – rolling out an "autonomous robot" that turns out to be a guy in a robot suit, say – and rich people are groomed to buy the services of "AI-powered" bossware:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

For an AI scammer like Elon Musk or Sam Altman, the fact that an AI can't do your job is irrelevant. From a business perspective, the only thing that matters is whether a salesperson can convince your boss that an AI can do your job – whether or not that's true:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/25/accountability-sinks/#work-harder-not-smarter

The fact that AI can't do your job, but that your boss can be convinced to fire you and replace you with the AI that can't do your job, is the central fact of the 21st century labor market. AI has created a world of "algorithmic management" where humans are demoted to reverse centaurs, monitored and bossed about by an app.

The techbro's overwhelming conceit is that nothing is a crime, so long as you do it with an app. Just as fintech is designed to be a bank that's exempt from banking regulations, the gig economy is meant to be a workplace that's exempt from labor law. But this wheeze is transparent, and easily pierced by enforcers, so long as those enforcers want to do their jobs. One such enforcer is Alvaro Bedoya, an FTC commissioner with a keen interest in antitrust's relationship to labor protection.

Bedoya understands that antitrust has a checkered history when it comes to labor. As he's written, the history of antitrust is a series of incidents in which Congress revised the law to make it clear that forming a union was not the same thing as forming a cartel, only to be ignored by boss-friendly judges:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

Bedoya is no mere historian. He's an FTC Commissioner, one of the most powerful regulators in the world, and he's profoundly interested in using that power to help workers, especially gig workers, whose misery starts with systemic, wide-scale misclassification as contractors:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/02/upward-redistribution/

In a new speech to NYU's Wagner School of Public Service, Bedoya argues that the FTC's existing authority allows it to crack down on algorithmic management – that is, algorithmic management is illegal, even if you break the law with an app:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/bedoya-remarks-unfairness-in-workplace-surveillance-and-automated-management.pdf

Bedoya starts with a delightful analogy to The Hawtch-Hawtch, a mythical town from a Dr Seuss poem. The Hawtch-Hawtch economy is based on beekeeping, and the Hawtchers develop an overwhelming obsession with their bee's laziness, and determine to wring more work (and more honey) out of him. So they appoint a "bee-watcher." But the bee doesn't produce any more honey, which leads the Hawtchers to suspect their bee-watcher might be sleeping on the job, so they hire a bee-watcher-watcher. When that doesn't work, they hire a bee-watcher-watcher-watcher, and so on and on.

For gig workers, it's bee-watchers all the way down. Call center workers are subjected to "AI" video monitoring, and "AI" voice monitoring that purports to measure their empathy. Another AI times their calls. Two more AIs analyze the "sentiment" of the calls and the success of workers in meeting arbitrary metrics. On average, a call-center worker is subjected to five forms of bossware, which stand at their shoulders, marking them down and brooking no debate.

For example, when an experienced call center operator fielded a call from a customer with a flooded house who wanted to know why no one from her boss's repair plan system had come out to address the flooding, the operator was punished by the AI for failing to try to sell the customer a repair plan. There was no way for the operator to protest that the customer had a repair plan already, and had called to complain about it.

Workers report being sickened by this kind of surveillance, literally – stressed to the point of nausea and insomnia. Ironically, one of the most pervasive sources of automation-driven sickness are the "AI wellness" apps that bosses are sold by AI hucksters:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/15/wellness-taylorism/#sick-of-spying

The FTC has broad authority to block "unfair trade practices," and Bedoya builds the case that this is an unfair trade practice. Proving an unfair trade practice is a three-part test: a practice is unfair if it causes "substantial injury," can't be "reasonably avoided," and isn't outweighed by a "countervailing benefit." In his speech, Bedoya makes the case that algorithmic management satisfies all three steps and is thus illegal.

On the question of "substantial injury," Bedoya describes the workday of warehouse workers working for ecommerce sites. He describes one worker who is monitored by an AI that requires him to pick and drop an object off a moving belt every 10 seconds, for ten hours per day. The worker's performance is tracked by a leaderboard, and supervisors punish and scold workers who don't make quota, and the algorithm auto-fires if you fail to meet it.

Under those conditions, it was only a matter of time until the worker experienced injuries to two of his discs and was permanently disabled, with the company being found 100% responsible for this injury. OSHA found a "direct connection" between the algorithm and the injury. No wonder warehouses sport vending machines that sell painkillers rather than sodas. It's clear that algorithmic management leads to "substantial injury."

What about "reasonably avoidable?" Can workers avoid the harms of algorithmic management? Bedoya describes the experience of NYC rideshare drivers who attended a round-table with him. The drivers describe logging tens of thousands of successful rides for the apps they work for, on promise of "being their own boss." But then the apps start randomly suspending them, telling them they aren't eligible to book a ride for hours at a time, sending them across town to serve an underserved area and still suspending them. Drivers who stop for coffee or a pee are locked out of the apps for hours as punishment, and so drive 12-hour shifts without a single break, in hopes of pleasing the inscrutable, high-handed app.

All this, as drivers' pay is falling and their credit card debts are mounting. No one will explain to drivers how their pay is determined, though the legal scholar Veena Dubal's work on "algorithmic wage discrimination" reveals that rideshare apps temporarily increase the pay of drivers who refuse rides, only to lower it again once they're back behind the wheel:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

This is like the pit boss who gives a losing gambler some freebies to lure them back to the table, over and over, until they're broke. No wonder they call this a "casino mechanic." There's only two major rideshare apps, and they both use the same high-handed tactics. For Bedoya, this satisfies the second test for an "unfair practice" – it can't be reasonably avoided. If you drive rideshare, you're trapped by the harmful conduct.

The final prong of the "unfair practice" test is whether the conduct has "countervailing value" that makes up for this harm.

To address this, Bedoya goes back to the call center, where operators' performance is assessed by "Speech Emotion Recognition" algorithms, a psuedoscientific hoax that purports to be able to determine your emotions from your voice. These SERs don't work – for example, they might interpret a customer's laughter as anger. But they fail differently for different kinds of workers: workers with accents – from the American south, or the Philippines – attract more disapprobation from the AI. Half of all call center workers are monitored by SERs, and a quarter of workers have SERs scoring them "constantly."

Bossware AIs also produce transcripts of these workers' calls, but workers with accents find them "riddled with errors." These are consequential errors, since their bosses assess their performance based on the transcripts, and yet another AI produces automated work scores based on them.

In other words, algorithmic management is a procession of bee-watchers, bee-watcher-watchers, and bee-watcher-watcher-watchers, stretching to infinity. It's junk science. It's not producing better call center workers. It's producing arbitrary punishments, often against the best workers in the call center.

There is no "countervailing benefit" to offset the unavoidable substantial injury of life under algorithmic management. In other words, algorithmic management fails all three prongs of the "unfair practice" test, and it's illegal.

What should we do about it? Bedoya builds the case for the FTC acting on workers' behalf under its "unfair practice" authority, but he also points out that the lack of worker privacy is at the root of this hellscape of algorithmic management.

He's right. The last major update Congress made to US privacy law was in 1988, when they banned video-store clerks from telling the newspapers which VHS cassettes you rented. The US is long overdue for a new privacy regime, and workers under algorithmic management are part of a broad coalition that's closer than ever to making that happen:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

Workers should have the right to know which of their data is being collected, who it's being shared by, and how it's being used. We all should have that right. That's what the actors' strike was partly motivated by: actors who were being ordered to wear mocap suits to produce data that could be used to produce a digital double of them, "training their replacement," but the replacement was a deepfake.

With a Trump administration on the horizon, the future of the FTC is in doubt. But the coalition for a new privacy law includes many of Trumpland's most powerful blocs – like Jan 6 rioters whose location was swept up by Google and handed over to the FBI. A strong privacy law would protect their Fourth Amendment rights – but also the rights of BLM protesters who experienced this far more often, and with far worse consequences, than the insurrectionists.

The "we do it with an app, so it's not illegal" ruse is wearing thinner by the day. When you have a boss for an app, your real boss gets an accountability sink, a convenient scapegoat that can be blamed for your misery.

The fact that this makes you worse at your job, that it loses your boss money, is no guarantee that you will be spared. Rich people make great marks, and they can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent. Markets won't solve this one – but worker power can.

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[odysseywritings]

What Would a Point and Click Adventurer Do?

@flashfictionfridayofficial

(tw cult, dark comedy)

The mysterious island, with its beautiful sparkling ocean and pink sky, held the next important item for Sierra Lucas. Shiny jewelry, strange tools, a taxidermied head, and so much more filled her endless inventory. But a missing slot was reserved for the elusive pink rat, held captive in a luxurious building with an eight pronged sigil and a capital S in-between two overlapping squares.

Sierra rapidly walked to the front, aimed her lips at the golden complex, and said "Golly, these guys aren't short on donations."

Her eyes bugged out and saw the building's security. Sierra needed to be stealthy and clever to distract the armed guards. She sifted through her inventory, saved her progress in a diary titled 'Bomb,' and hoped for the best. She was ready to chuck the bomb until the sizzle alerted the guards and she turned into Swiss cheese.

Thankfully she loaded back to before that horrible event, and went for another item, this time throwing a gem in front of the guards. The two bickered about who saw it first, became impetuously angry, and riddled the other with bullets. She quickly sauntered by and entered the building.

The interior was immaculate and large, yet the the doorways stretched out to cartoonish degrees and she felt she could see the other rooms and a staircase from how compact everything looked. The members were deathly nervous and smiled with gruesomely gummy grins while their eyes shifted like a compass. Any information from them about the pink rat was irrelevant.

"A pink rat? Why, that's the silliest thing I ever heard! Next you'll say it's behind that door there! Oh, and if you see our leader, would you tell him how good I was at lying?"

Sierra continued to browse the gawdy, Escher-esque pastel nightmare house until she saw a door labeled "Get out!" It seemed to be enough for an obedient population.

Sierra opened it and found the cult leader trying to seduce a younger follower. She didn't want to create a scene, so she pulled out her inventory again, and tried finding the subtlest way to dispatch him.

She jabbed 8 poisoned needles into him and he convulsed on the floor. Sierra smiled like a gleeful child.

"You know what they say, it's the dose that kills you, so I brought every dose just in case. Just like Dad taught me!"

Grateful for the rescue, the follower helped Sierra find the pink rat, sad and bored in its little cage as it played a tiny harmonica. Sierra briskly acquired the rat and headed off and wore the leader's clothes.

"My people, you are under new management! Leave now or I will smite and sic my lawyers on thee!"

Most fled but the higher ups chased her and wanted to silence her for seeing too much. The fake religion wouldn't stop until she was dead, and she knew they'd target her to the ends of the earth. She managed to get outside and block the door with the dead guards, but the cult heads kept banging to get out. With little to lose, she poked and prodded the rat for help.

The pink rat squeaked and raised its skinny forelegs out as if to pray. The door was sealed shut with divine rodent energy with a large rat stamp of approval. Sierra sighed in relief and kissed the rat for its help. She could continue her adventure without those duplicitous charlatans hounding her.

Yet her curiosity got the better of her and went through different saves and loads to see what would happen. She decided to throw ordinary table salt on the building and it exploded into a smoking pile of rubble.

"I had a feeling that would work! And no one important died!"

[no-see-um-incorrect]

This is to help y’all recover from this summit 

My versions of redacted GEN 2

If you guys like the small character profiles I’ve made I will continue  also, this is my opinion based off my headcannons for the listeners 

Sorry if the formatting is a bit everywhere

Shaw pack edition (I don’t own this art(i used a picrew) I haven’t had time to make any)

 Gabriel Shaw

“my father made this pack what it is today and I will do my very best to honor that legacy”-Gabriel Shaw

He/him/his

Age: 16 

Parents: David/Angel Shaw

Best friend: sparrow 

Favorite activity: when his dad takes him on a low level security job 

Favorite food: uncle Milo’s Swiss mushroom jackfruit  burger (don’t tell his dad)

Favorite color: “vampire gold~… I mean Ju-just gold I guess..I don’t know….why are you asking me?!”

He’s quiet, and at most times very formal, Takes alpha training VARY seriously (David and Angel are trying to help him ease up)

Loves writing poetry and stories in his free time, Does not have his drivers license (and is the only person in his age who isn’t allowed to get it till he’s 19)

Has his eyes on a particular vampire princess

—��——————————————————————

 another Shaw child

She/her/hers

Ashlyn Shaw 

“What do you think?……Caelum says cookies first”-Ashlyn Shaw

Age: 9

Favorite color: Green

Favorite activity: teasing her brother 

Favorite food: daddy’s bacon mac & cheese 

She is an actual menace (takes after her parent) when she was little little and just starting her menace tendencies, David would call her “Littler snot” 

Was the youngest of her pack to fully shift.

She can see caelum

————————————————————————

 she/her/they/them

Maria Greer jr (MJ for short)

“yeah, that’s GREER put some respect on the name”-MJ Greer

Age: 16

Has stealth abilities (but much like her dad sucks at shifting)

Best friend: Astrid Collins 

Parents: Milo/Sweetheart Greer 

Favorite food: “Law & order with a side of spite!…you can’t say that hun…Fiiine….BBQ rice bowl…”

Favorite activity: learning about history 

She wants to be a Reporter.

ABSOLUTE DADDYS GIRL

Loves hearing her dad tell the story of the inversion  but the way Milo tells it frames it so that she doesn’t actually know it’s him and she has made it her life‘s mission to figure out what happened that night  and the identity of the “mystery hero” her dad would tell her about 

————————————————————————

Sparrow Talbot

“I may or may not have ran face first into a tree….you didn’t see that”-Sparrow Talbot

Age: 17

Parents: Asher/Baabe Talbot

They/them/theirs 

Best friend: Gabriel

Favorite activity: wolf Zoomiez 

Favorite food: “last meal” no one knows what that means 

When they first adopted them they were very quiet, very calm, very chill. And then Asher shifted in front of them for the first time. And they have been a rambunctious dumbASS since then (and we love them for it)

They always have snacks and drinks on them, seemingly out of nowhere because they don’t carry a bag.

Unlike their father, they actually can cook and they’re pretty freaking great at it.

(all of the scars are from eating shit in wolf form, and not wanting to hear Marie’s lectures)

————————————————————————

Astrid Collins 

They/she/him

“and so what if I replace Alexis‘s shampoo with Nair…OH COME ON IT WAS FUNNY!”-Astrid Collins 

Age: technically 16

Favorite activity: snooping around places they’re not supposed to be (urban exploration)

Empowered: ???? Vampire+???

Best friend: MJ

Favorite food: “anything papa cooks is good I don’t really need to eat though”

Loves to play pranks mostly targeted at Alexis…….OK always targeted at Alexis. 

Sam found her one day when she was little and turned her then when he brought her home and got her through the newborn stage…. she started displaying elemental abilities??? But also vampire abilities??? But she also grows up and ages like a human???? so yeah bit of a mystery 

They are pretty standoffish  they don’t talk a lot and they’re pretty rough around the edges (Darlin who?)

Very attached to Sam (as you can expect) but also extremely attached to Darlin

he built his prosthetic himself  out of an old VCR, a broken toaster, a ripped up T-shirt and scrap metal 

————————————————————————

 And that was my next gen Shaw pack kids

Hope you enjoyed and give me suggestions on like little details for them and other characters (I really wanna do the damn crew but I need suggestions) i’m gonna say it again. These are based off of my headcannons for the listeners feel free to disagree with my opinion just don’t be mean about it (we’re just having fun here)

If you can’t tell, I was a Monster High/ever after high kid And I love writing shit like this 

[cultml]

...Blackmail from the United States. Netanyahu told the Israeli cabinet that if they did not agree to the Biden terms, the administration would move against the Jewish state in the U.N. Security Council. This threat was a first of its kind for any president; even Barack Obama only allowed a hostile Security Council action to go through without a veto in his final act of aggression against Jerusalem in 2017. This time Biden was threatening to lead the U.N. against its only true ally in the Middle East.

[boneheadboner]

Depths in Despair; Megalosomnia

Deep Down Deep Part 2/2

Things don't pan out for the Good doctor the way he had hoped. And under a mountain of work, it's no wonder a Slate fell by the wayside.

Fun is what he would have had…. Had he the chance to. 

Not long after she succumbed to his control, he brought her back to the lab and got her initially checked in. He took a few spare moments to check over her memories… Merely out of curiosity, to determine how long she evaded him.  And found that what was going on in her head was far more concerning than he initially thought. If the voices that spoke to her weren’t signs something was off about this woman, her memories certainly would have told him. It was as if swiss cheese had a love child with patchwork. Many memories of things that he’d not believe were he not able to observe them in her mind. And so, so many significant gaps. Troublingly so. Memories of her life on the surface were rare, and far more frequent were memories that… Held familiar faces, and yet so foreign. Even those were addled with holes and gaps. It seemed that Sonia hadn’t been underground long, and her time wandering through it before meeting him was the most clear any of her memories were. 

He’d dealt with subjects that had portions of their life locked away in their memories, as a result of traumas they had endured in life. It was always a case of finding what helped pull them forward, finding a key to that lock. This…? There were no locks to hide memories, there were no closed doors to memories too harsh to remember. 

Just complete sizable absences and gaping holes where memories should have been. Nothing to tether one memory to another. As perplexing as it was to analyze and assess, he was interrupted by Alphys. 

Something else demanded his attention more, which required he leave the new human to Cecilia to process further. Cecilia could handle it, after all. The blasted CORE. Another failure in sector B28-21. Always sector B28… If it wasn’t one problem there, it was another. 

Of course, being part of the CORE that distorted atoms to radiate ambient magic throughout the underground? Made it one of the primary necessities to keep running.

If so much as one sector went down, it could throw the whole CORE out of balance and cause a catastrophic meltdown. If it wasn’t such a boon to have in the first place, he’d happily track down the person who designed it, and throttle them.

If anyone even remembered WHO designed the thing… 

His last foray of frustrations towards the CORE’s creator, and desire to seek them out? Left him without any answers, and a week worth of time wasted for it.

Still, he wasted no time…

– … Because there was never any time to waste. Once the CORE was sorted out, which took him four days to narrow down and solve, due to juggling what other pressing issues he was presented with, there was another issue.

And another after that.

And another after that.

Resources distribution. 

Five hours, two cups of coffee. One tasting flavorful and robust, the second tasting quite obviously as though the assistant who brought it to him reheated it in the microwave. He’d have words for them later.

Tracking movements and changes in the underground. 

Two more births in Snowdin, fortunate news. A Falling Down in Waterfall, another lost to dwindling HoPe. Three moving from Hotland to Capitol. 

Seven hours, six cups of coffee. 

The first tasted so weak that Baggs questioned if he was drinking water and not coffee. The following three were of more serviceable quality. The remaining two tasted like tar, and were it not an invigorating tar, he’d have refused it. And Baggs made the decision that Casey was no longer allowed to bring him coffee after discovering he was responsible for preparing the last two. Bright as the man might be, he’s better suited to helping study the barrier than preparing coffee. 

Keeping systems in check, ensuring security detail is up to par. 

Two new humans were caught and transported to the lab. Cecilia reported that the two were significantly xenophobic, and hostile. Thus would be housed on Floor 18, Block 10. Block 10 was designated for more aggressive and dangerous humans, to be studied on how to rehabilitate or utilize even aggressive members of the species. 

Twelve hours (until interruption). Sixteen cups of coffee.

The first five, typical. With a far more bitter flavor at the fifth. Noted.

The sixth. It took him twenty minutes to try his first sip, so focused on his work that he hadn’t taken a sip until then. 

It felt like a heady jolt of energy flooded his body, the notes of the clearly fresh brew rising up, as if to sing to his senses. And the warmth as it melted into his magic thrived in his body, relaxing him far more than a cup of coffee typically did. 

He’d not seen who brought it, but he did make note of the sound of their walking. It did sound different from the usual assistants who brought him his coffee, but he didn’t think it important at the time. 

Perhaps one of the other scientists decided to brew him something nice. It couldn’t have been Alphys, as it had the lacking anxiety he could always taste in coffee prepared by her. 

No matter, the identity of the one who made this would be revealed in the next cup, he was certain. 

And disappointed with each proceeding cup brought to him over the hours. 

Seventh, from the same pot, but not prepared and delivered by the same hands as the one before. He could tell by the intentions that bled into the brew. The assistant who delivered it unintentionally let their emotions seep in and altered the feeling within the coffee he drank. 

Not the same. Not bad, but nowhere near as good as the prior mug. 

The assistant, a young whimsun monster named Fen, had panicked over his expression of disappointment… But, he reassured them and sent them on their way. The eighth, to the thirteenth, much the same. Decent, but disappointing by comparison. Fortunately a fresh pot was brewed by the tenth. 

Fourteenth cup of coffee, Baggs nearly spat it out. And demanded to know who prepared it, to find he was 13 minutes late to fuss at the one who concocted the nightmare that barely resembled coffee.

Fifteenth cup. Cecilia, It was fucking Cecilia. 

Not the one who brewed bliss in a mug, but the one who concocted terrors unknown into a coffee.

He had the good fortune to be done sending out a U-mail to ‘recommend’ a security plan for Waterfall, when the fresh cup was placed down, ready for him to take his first sip of it. And nearly spat it out again, placed the cup down roughly, and turned towards the offender. Reddish hair, tied in a bun, eye bags that rivaled his own hidden beneath reading glasses, and a look that held more contempt for humankind than any Monster was capable of. And she was human.Perhaps humans simply don’t know how to not brew a cup of coffee that tastes like every agitation in their present mind. 

“Cecilia, what is this supposed to be?” Perhaps his tone was far less reserved than usual, but he did imbibe something foul that masqueraded as coffee. The woman just looked at him flatly. Her response was equally as dead in tone as her gaze. “Coffee, sir.” She retorted, Baggs was no stranger to her sass. Usually it made days entertaining. 

Those days were not ones he was served bad coffee. “My dear, did you even try a cup of that? That is death in a mug.” Baggs fussed. 

Cecilia looked at the cup, and then at Baggs. Her expression was perplexed. He pried at her mind, to determine whether or not she realized she almost poisoned him. Only to find that she was genuinely confused. “... You mean that coffee isn’t supposed to taste like shit?” An exasperated sigh, and a shake of his head. “Cecilia, you are henceforth banned from preparing or bringing anyone coffee. That tastes so bitter, I’d dare not have another monster drink it, lest they dust on contact.” “Fine by me, sir.” Cecilia responded, before placing some papers on his already tall workload of information to analyze. “What is–” “The information regarding the new ones.” Cecilia sighed, before turning to walk away. 

Baggs gave pause for a moment. New… Ah, right. Humans. “Oh, uh. Sir? There’s been a mag-lock failure on Floor 17, Block 8.” Baggs sputtered, shooting the woman a glare. “And you thought to mention this in passing, why?!” he blurted out. 

Cecilia stared at him, before offering a shrug. “The one contained there is a non-issue. She’s not going to cause anyone problems.” If he didn’t trust Cecilia’s judgment when it came to her fellow humans, he’d have far more words for her. 

But for her to make such a statement? Meant that the human contained in such a cell was likely terrified of her, and would make a whimsun look brave. 

“Ugh… I’ll send a U-mail to request immediate work on it.” Baggs scoffed. “Don’t you mean E-mail?” The red-head looked at him, with a sly smirk on her face. Baggs certainly didn’t have the time nor desire to get into this with her again. “You’re dismissed, Cecilia.” “Understood, sir.” Cecilia smirked, before she absconded. 

Likely to do her damn job and oversee Floor 16-18. And fortunately not to unleash terrors unbeknownst to monsterkind by trying to fix someone a drink. And it was imperative that he have that Mag-lock issue sorted out. Were a human to get out, and find a way out of the labs? It would be absolute chaos. 

–

With another 11 U-Mails sent out, two specifically to make demands regarding the mag-lock, and one to Asgore as an update on matters that he wanted to know about. Another cup was brought to Baggs. 

He had noted the click of heels upon the floor, and the cup being set down. With a heavy sigh, he took a drink of the fresh brew as the clicking of heels started again towards the door. The invigoration, the warmth– “WAIT!” Baggs nearly shot up as he called out… And spilled some of the blessed brew on himself in the process. He could mourn spilled bliss later. Barely catching a glimpse of the taller woman before casting his gaze downward at the spill on his labcoat in frustration. “M-Master!!” The clicks sped towards him, before the owner of them dropped to her knees. As a kerchief was very hastily applied by gentle hands to soak up as much of the spilled coffee. “Master, are you alright? Oh s-stars, you didn’t get burned, did you?? I’m so sorry…!” The woman’s voice was wrought with anxiety.

Stars, he should know her name, shouldn’t he? Especially with how wonderfully she addresses him… And perhaps stroked his ego just right.

“I– No, I’m fine. I merely wanted to–” Auburn brown hair, tied in a bun. Large glasses. Green eyes. Pale complexion.

“Sonia?” 

“I– Y-Yes master?” She halted her fretting over his wellbeing to look up at him. 

The human he brought in nearly a week ago. He didn’t immediately recognize her, she looked so different in formal attire. A white coat cinched tightly around her, accentuating her curves. A simple black pencil skirt, sheer pantyhose with black stockings on top. And a pair of white pumps.

Baggs found himself immediately remembering that he sorely needed to alleviate stress–

A rough clearing of his throat was necessary, business before pleasure, he reminded himself. 

He still had to thoroughly examine her and ensure she wasn’t a risk, by… Ensuring she was loyal, before she was permitted to walk around the labs. Baggs kept his tone gentle, remembering how skittish the woman was when he had first met. Given that he hadn’t had the chance to fully condition her, it’s entirely likely she’d be just as nervous. “Aehm… How, did you get out?” Baggs softly queried.

Sonia bit her lip, and looked away meekly. “Um… I… A-Asked very nicely…?” “Mmm hmm…” His tone was that of disbelief. She began fidgeting with her hands. “O-Okay so um… There was an issue with my door… It uh… Doesn’t close like everyone else's…” Ah, so this was the person who had been designated to that cell. With such a timid disposition, it’s no wonder Cecilia let it slide. “But..! It made it so I could actually help out, a-and help out Ms. Cecilia! She’s scary a-at first, but she’s a good person. She even helped me get new clothes on my second day here..!” Sonia explained, a warm smile on her face.

That solved that mystery. Did Cecilia dress her that way on purpose, just to fuck with him?

“I see… And the coffee?” Sonia lit up with excitement, he could feel it from her. “Oh! Yes! See um… E-Earlier in the day there was some fuss regarding the coffee maker making a weird noise.. So I thoroughly cleaned it, checked it to e-ensure that there was nothing loose or damaged… Aaaand brewed a fresh batch, to test it~! Suffice to say, problem solved!” She beamed with pride, satisfied with her small victory.

That sort of satisfaction and fulfillment certainly explains how that earlier cup wound up so potent. 

“A-and, well… Since I got to fix it, I… Wanted to deliver a cup specially for you…” Her voice shrunk so much, as she idly twirled a strand of her hair and averted her gaze. 

Oh. Oh.How curious.

“Well, I HAD meant this cup, but it is nice to know that you’re the one who brought me coffee earlier.”

“Oh… This time? um! Ms. Cecilia requested a fresh batch of coffee. Something about you b-being in an awful mood! So I… Well. I wanted to make sure I made the best cup I could, to… Well, bring a little sunshine into your day?” Sonia looked up at him, with such a gentle and hopeful look. 

“Well, then I personally shall–” It looked as though something clicked in her head, and the woman was back into an anxious rambling mess.  “M-Master, am I in trouble? I k-know I’m not supposed to be out b-but I only wanted to help– I m-mean it’s OKAY if I’m in trouble, I promise I can handle it if I need to be p-punished. I d-don’t mean to tell you what to do, but if I’ve personally upset you, I–” “Sonia.” “Y-Yes Master.” A simple word, and the human woman fell quiet, wincing her eyes shut as she lowered her head.

Baggs cleared his throat. “While you are not in trouble for this, there are questions I have regarding… Well…” Baggs trailed off. Where to even start? It was a significant security risk for a human he personally hadn’t cleared to be running around. Gentle or not. Furthermore, being permitted to bring him coffee that they could have theoretically and literally tainted is something that can’t be overlooked...

“Well… I suppose those questions are more for Cecilia…” Baggs mused out loud, frowning. 

“Then… What questions do you have for me, Master?” Sonia asked, tilting her head in confusion. The one that was confusing the moment she started talking to him. 

Her apparent loyalty. “I… You seem so… Eager to call me ‘Master’.. And yet I’ve not asked you to. It piqued my curiosity.” 

And Baggs would love to hear what manner of reasoning she would have for that. After all, he hadn’t really subjected her to the conditioning he’d need to for such loyalty to become second nature. 

Sonia blushed, before looking down. “... I felt it.” 

Baggs raised his browbone at the statement.

“When you silenced all those voices I… Felt it. Your magic… How it called to me. How it called for me to serve… To obey…” Sonia shivered a bit, her blush deepening. 

A wry smirk grew on his face. “And you… Didn’t even try to fight it~?” Sonia looked up at him, with a frustrated pout at his accusation. That was expected.

“After all the good you’ve done me?!”

Her words? Were not. Baggs was taken aback, looking upon the human woman before him. It was possible he looked like a whimsun caught doing, well… Anything, with the expression of sheer shock on his face. “Since the day I woke up, everything has been loud. Everything has been loud for as long as I can remember, for all I can remember…!” Her voice was filled with pain and confusion. “I can breathe, I can think without h-having to worry about being overwhelmed by all the things I’m hearing that make no sense, I can make my own thoughts about whatever I see, without hearing twenty different voices loudly arguing over what choices I make and what things I say…” Sonia carried on, before looking up at him. The tears prickling at her eyes were visible, but it did not make their presence any less surprising to him. 

“I’m thankful, Master. And I am happy to help you in any and every way I can. You’ve brought me something I never knew I needed. You brought me peace, Master. I only hope that I can even begin to return the favor.”

Baggs had conditioned many humans. His experiments required both willing and unwilling participants, and spanned many methods. All to further monsterkind’s safety and hopeful co-existence with mankind. 

Even Cecilia, who despised her own species, required conditioning to become loyal to him. So he would know that she wouldn’t, couldn’t betray him. To have a human kneel before him on their own full volition, after a mere few hours of his magic several days ago? He’d have never considered it. 

And yet, here one was.  

Something like this was… Simply put, too good to be true. 

And so he peered into her thoughts, there had to be some manner of plot something she was planning–

A memory. So close to the forefront, he could tell she was remembering it fondly.

-

An expanse of dark blues and blacks, splayed overhead, pricks and pins of white in the ceiling.

“... Y’know, before I met you, I… I always kinda took this for granted.”

Her voice, carrying on. Not echoed or reverberating in the room. 

Chirps of crickets abound in the grass around her.

Another voice, deeper in tone. Familiar.

“heh… well, you coulda fooled me. you never took our stars for granite.”

Those… Were… Stars??

“Well–” a pause, before she snorted, and giggled. “Nice~... Well, there’s nothing wrong with feeling sedimental about yours. I mean, a dazzling ceiling full of sparkling gems? Kinda rocks~.” 

“heh, not bad. but don’t be too rough on yourself. for you? a sight like this was just a stone’s throw for you to see.” the other voice responded.

Seems that Sonia and this other person had a sense of humor…

“Yeah, but you literally had to move– out of – a mountain to see this!” Sonia lightheartedly fussed. 

“heh… and you had to fall into a mountain to see things crystal clear.” the other voice responded. “Yeah… Well…” She trailed off. A somber note in her voice. “At this rate, it’s like Sisyphus for you to even enjoy this.” 

“... and it doesn’t stop being worth it. trust me, nothin’ peats this”

“Sans…?”

Wait… Had she known even back then that he’d be–

“yeah?”

Sonia looked over at the other person. A skeleton, with a blue hoodie, white t-shirt, and black basketball shorts laid lazily in the grass. His arms folded behind his head. 

What….?? That… That looked so much like him, before he…

Sonia stared at him, staying silent for a few moments. “... sheesh, was it that bad?” 

“... I promise you. No matter how many times you have to push that boulder back up…? You won’t ever have to do it alone again.”

“hey, now. don’t go promising things you might not be able to keep.” “I won’t promise you then… I’ll pumice you.” A look of surprise, before the both of them devolved into giggles. 

“oh man, that was so bad…” 

“Look, with a last name like ‘Slate’, you think I’d have to dig for rock jokes? I learned them real early.” 

“.... like ‘archeology’ early or?” An exasperated gasp, before she looked over at him. 

The skeleton started laughing. “Y.. You! I’m not that old!! I’m 27, going on 28! Not 27 going on 200!!” Sonia fussed. “you sure about that? how long have you been 27 going on 28?” He asked through laughs.

“You know that’s a loaded question! How am I supposed to keep track of how old I am if things keep RESETTING?” …!! She… Knew about that? Nevermind, she’s experienced that??

“heh, now you know why i took so long the first time you asked me, ‘sans, how old are you?’.” “Hmph!” Sonia fussed, before rolling over and pinning her hands on each side of the ground next to the skeleton’s head.

He… didn’t even flinch?

“oh, wouldja look at that. ‘view got even better.” the lazy smile tugged up more, as did his eyesockets. 

“If I’m ancient Egyptian artifacts, then you’re dinosaur bones, you dork!” Sonia huffed. “... like… cretaceous period or triassic period? the difference there is pretty jurassic.” he gave a wink. 

“... I mean it though… As long as I can be there for you? I will be. As long as I’m alive, you won’t have to face this eternal hell alone. I promise.” A firm sense of confidence and determination.

A soft sigh escaped the skeleton, as he looked up at her.

“... thank you, sonia… you… don’t know how much that means to me…”

“Master??”

“Master, are you alright???” -

“Master! Please, speak to me…!!”

Baggs gasped as he snapped back to reality. Stars, that memory was so vivid, it practically pulled him in… And left him with more questions than answers.

“Oh thank goodness. M-Master, you zoned out there for a moment… I was worried! D.. Did I offend you? Or… Oh stars, um… Listen, I… I don’t know what happened? B-But I’m here for you.” Sonia offered, her tears overflowing. 

When did his vision get so blurry?

Was he…. How was he going to explain that one? “I… You’re fine, my dear. I was… Simply moved to tears by your display of such… Such inspiring loyalty.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Oh… I.. Oh gosh, I… I didn’t think it was that special, but…” Sonia averted her gaze, shrinking a bit. “More special than you know…” Baggs gave pause, to compose himself. 

“Now, you are not in trouble. However, there are procedures for handling new humans, as I’m sure you’re aware. To ensure that you’re in good health, and that you’re properly documented as safe to roam.”

Sonia blushed a bit. “O-Oh! Gosh… I’m so sorry… I-It’s been awhile, and I didn’t mean to skip any sort of line… I’m sorry.” She looked sheepishly guilty. 

“No no, you’re fine. I’m the one who must conduct these procedures personally, and there were many things that came up of critical importance, and… Admittedly your processing fell by the wayside. But, rest assured. I’ll handle that as soon as I am able to.” Baggs explained, watching how her gaze fixed onto him as he spoke.

Fascinating. “Oh! So… I think I understand now. Thank you, Master. Shall I return to my cell and um… Remain there until further orders?” Sonia queried. He did need time to think about the new information he obtained from her. The surface… Somehow, someway, she had seen someone like him, with his name, on the surface… And they spoke of the RESETs…

“Yes, I think that would be perfect. Worry not, it won’t be much longer, pet.” 

The last word slipped so easily from his mouth, he furrowed his brow as he realized what he said by mistake.

But he did not miss the squeak she made, or how her lip quivered and her flush deepened at that single three letter word. 

Oh.

Well then. That explained her eagerness to call him such a title. “I… Y-Y-Yes, Master. I’ll be patient. I um, I hope you e-enjoy the coffee. I-If you ever need any when I’m able to roam, you n-need only say the words…” Sonia shakily stood up. With a coffee as resplendent as she prepares? Stars… The amount of work he could get done with ease… 

“Oh, rest assured. I won’t hesitate to call upon you if I’m in need of a cup.” The warm smile and light giggle that escaped her was like sunshine. “You are dismissed.” Baggs calmly waved his hand. A simple nod, and he could hear Sonia’s heels clicking with vigor. “Don’t run in those, you’ll break your ankles.” He swiftly chided.

“Y-Yes, Master!” 

And with that, his new pet– subject left. 

Baggs sighed, there was certainly going to be much to study with her, he could tell. He returned to his chair, to finish what information he needed to dispense with the remaining U-mails. As he took a sip of his coffee, feeling that warmth and invigoration flood his body, he pondered a whirlwind of new questions and information to mull over.

Frankly, he’d been quite lucky that it was her cell that had the mag-lock failure. Had it remained in tact, he might not be blessed with such a reprieve from the usual, much less comforted from the catastrophe that was Cecilia’s coffee. 

Upon consideration, added another question to the pile;

What sort of emotions did she feel when she made this coffee?

[woodlandwizard77]

I've had a whirlwind of a week

Yesterday I told a friend that my schedule this week was like Swiss cheese. My normal work day was just filled with holes, the vast majority of them transition related.

HR and the Bank have recognized the name change

Lupron injection and estradiol injectable pickup scheduled

Therapy 15 minute intake scheduled

Name change filed with Social Security Admin and NYS Dept of Vital Records (Birth Cert).

Passport re-app filled out, not done bc photo and money

Second laser air appt done

Minor hair cut (bang trim) done

Grand parents visiting Saturday