#this is why i need an agent i hate correspondence in any form

[binniesthighs]

call me babydoll | reader x chan

soooo shhhh this actually a part one shhhh but i’m just trying out writing out different things and getting out some of my ideas outta my head that i’m really excited about, this one being one of them!! for now...just pretend that this is just a regular ol’ drabble hehehehe. this part is the set-up chapter (shhh i mean drabble) 

One

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan 

Genre: fluff, smut, and angst 

Tags: (overall) bodyguard au, moderndayprince!chan, bodyguard!reader, secret agent au, royal au, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, softswitch!chan, hardswitch!reader, some skz side characters, jeongin third wheel and comedic relief LOL, travelling, chan being expensive and having a lil bit of a superiority complex, flirtyyyy chan, bits of mystery, explicit language, mentions of food and alcohol, idk think like 007 vibes hehe 

CWs: guns and gun violence, a shooting in a ballroom, mentions of blood 

Word count: 4.6k 

Parts

ONE | TWO 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here early.” 

“Well, expect the unexpected.” 

“Don’t turn the motto back at me. I’m sick of hearing it so many damn times.” 

“What? You and I both know that it’s true. You’re here early too, so, technically you don’t get to say anything.” 

Jeongin straightened his bow tie, then patted down the sides of his perfectly ironed tux with not a crinkle to be found. Knowing him, it was a miracle that he hadn’t messed it up in some form yet. He promptly took out his pocket square to clean off his glasses. 

“You’re looking nice. Seems like they don’t mind spending money now on you these days.” He blew off the flecks of dust on his lenses. 

“They know that they get their return on their investment. And thank you.” 

You smoothed down the sides of your dusty pink dress that nearly went all the way down to your ankles. Had you any other choice, it would’ve been something different, but, dresses were really good at hiding your thigh holster compared to the slacks you usually favored. You didn’t mind the times that you would have to put on a pretty dress, it somewhat reminded you that there was normal life outside of your job. Not to mention, they had started sending you jewelry as well. You always had liked the look of a diamond necklace. 

“You do your research for tonight?” 

Jeongin nodded, then took from his pocket his phone to read over the details. 

“I’ve done a background check on everyone attending, we shouldn’t have any issues. It’s already a low risk event anyway. Charity is never something to get too worked up over, but, you never know with the detail that some of these people come with...who they might be tied to...” 

“--The only people we can trust is ourselves.” You nodded with arms crossed. 

“Expect the unexpected, I know.” He slid his phone back into his inside suit pocket to adjust his cufflinks. 

“--Nervous?” You took note of his fidgeting actions. 

“Nervous? No. I’ve been through this before. You know that.” 

You flicked your partner right on his forehead strung with his white hair. You had really wished that he had picked a less conspicuous color, but he had strings to pull that you didn’t. 

Jeongin cleared his throat, “You do your once over?” 

“Do you even need to ask? I did it hours ago and when we arrived. You know that I’ve done this before too.” 

“I know. I know.” 

Jeongin looked out at the vast circular atrium that made up the center of the hotel. Several stories down under the glass rooftop, you could hear the faint sprinkling of the intricate fountain which smelled of copper. A bit further down, you could see the tips of the tree branches from the indoor landscaping. Across the way, a door slammed with residents tucking in their ties. The two men you had recognized from the roster: a simple thing which made you feel at ease. Your young partner must’ve started to have an effect on you. A sense of unease seemed to quell in your neck. You always listened to your hunches. 

“W-what do you think he thinks of us?” Jeongin broke the silence. 

“Well,” From inside the room you had waited outside, you could hear his distant murmuring, so you lowered your tone. “I think that he has yet to trust us. It’s only been a few weeks. He doesn’t seem like the kind to give himself up easy. That, and I’m sure his resentment of his father must have some influence.” 

“You think he hates us?” 

“I think he hates his father for hiring us. I mean, wouldn’t you? His old security detail, he had them for years.” 

“I guess so. But, we’re not like his old detail.” 

“No. We’re not. I don’t think he gets that yet. I think he sees us as one more way his father has a hold on him.” 

“It’s not like he can do much else about it when his dad’s a kin--” 

“--No, no, thank you, really, it’s lovely. Some of your best work. Thank you.” 

Chan swung open the door to his room, stopping Jeongin right in his sentence. 

“Ah. You’re here already. That’s...punctual.” 

As dazzling and showy as ever, Chan looking nothing short of a magazine model. For a prince, he had certain...appearances that he had to maintain. Today, it was a velvety and maroon suit jacket with a white button up. On the collar, two matching brooches had been perfectly placed, and they were silver like moonlight in the shape of English ivy and adorned with diamonds. On his lapel, he wore the royal insignia of the lion and the wolf. Behind him, you could see his slew of stylists cleaning up their makeup kits and obscene assortment of designer dress shoes for him to pick from. You had thought before that he even smelled like royalty: stuffy white roses with a hint of priceless cognac. 

Jeongin bowed his head respectfully. “Everything has been prepared for tonight. The rest of your guards are surrounding the building, and I’ll be corresponding with them as needed, your Highness.” He tapped at his earpiece. 

Chan drew his attention over to you, giving you a rather lusty glare. Over the past couple weeks, you had gotten used to it. He was a prince to every extent of the word. If there was anything that he had wanted, he simply had to ask. It drove him insane that all he could do was merely look at you. You had  wondered if he harbored anything else for you besides the way that he would devour the curves of your shoulders and hips. 

“Fox. Bee. You look nice tonight. I like seeing you dressed up. Makes me feel less out of place.” 

You couldn’t help but let out a little sound of discontentment over his rather affectionate nickname for you. You and your partner had been introduced to him as F and B. Quickly he had figured out Jeongin’s codename as Fox, considering that he had done a poor job picking out one that wasn’t related to him at all. Anyone could tell that boy was fox-like, and he also just wasn’t that creative when it came to picking out a name for himself. B, or Bee as he had decided, was your name; as in bumblebee. After learning about Fox, he figured that there was an animal theme going, so Bee seemed to fit best in his oponion. 

You tested his glare with your best, “Thank you, your Highness.” 

Jeongin gulped. “Your assistant should be waiting downstairs with your itinerary. She told me that you should meet her first off.” 

“You work too hard F. Have some fun tonight, hm? But don’t...drink too much. You’re responsible for my life remember?” Chan clapped his bodyguard on the back. 

Your partner nervously laughed and adjusted his glasses once more: his preferred tic. 

“And Bee?” Chan rose a brow to lean into close and whisper. “Stay close, alright?” 

“Of course, your Highness.” 

Chan let out a little scoff after getting one more proper look at your frame. “Damn. You really are stunning. Just a little too dangerous for me though.” 

You rolled your eyes, dishing him outa, “Whatever you say, your Highness.” 

Jeongin threw you and annoyed glare before tracing after Chan as he sauntered down the hall to the glass elevator. 

“Bee? You coming? Or do you have something better to do?” Chan’s voice called down the hall with an echo and a little teasing gesture of his hand. 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

It had been seven years since you had chosen this line of work, and each time that you had to go to one of these things, you hated them more and more. Not because they were hard to control--they were easy--but you just hated how many superficial and self-absorbed people that they could fit into one room. 

The air was filled with the scent of champagne bubbles and too much Chanel No. 5. From corner to corner of the room, and even next to the ice sculpture of the lion and the wolf crest, silk, satin; velvet and the best cotton could be found. Long gloves covered the arms of ladies with wrinkling skin, and tweed vests held in the guts of men who indulged in their food just as much as their mistresses. All this effort just to appear as if they had given one care about the philanthropic efforts of the royalty.

Several neatly dressed waiters passed you with golden platters of hors d'oeuvres made of ingredients so expensive, they would’ve cost the same amount as the generous donations made by the attendees. If you could’ve, you would’ve scooped up as many of them as you could, just to eat all of their copious amounts of money yourself, but, there was somewhere a rule that you had to keep your hand to yourself when you were on duty. The best that you had to look forward too was take-out to eat at 3 in the morning with Jeongin later. 

Buzzing chatter filled your earpiece while each of the additional guards gave their hourly report. 

“Damn. It’s fucking colder out here than I thought. It’s fucking summer.” One of them joked to the tune of the other guards laughter. 

“Stay focused.” Jeongin scolded over the line. “Don’t leave your posts until your shifts change.” 

While he was a timid man, Jeongin was not one to mess around. Son of the director, he knew that he had big shoes to fill. After pleading for years for her to admit him into the academy, she had agreed. Everyone knew the reason why she didn’t want him in this line of work. Too many dead. Too many missing. In some ways, he was also yours to look after. 

You trailed after Chan who was busy talking to his assistant and his publicist. While he nodded at their words, you knew that he must’ve been barely listening. Chan never really was one for formality, but much rather enjoyed simplicity and pleasure. Jeongin and you had somewhat of a bet going: out of all the guests, you had liked to bet which one he would take with him to his bedroom. Since you had all the profiles of the guests, you liked to bet a little money on which one it would be. 

Jeongin had guessed it to be the heiress and daughter of a tycoon who had made a multi-million won donation in the name of his company. It was ironic; his very company was a big-scale pollutor who liked to make nice with the crown. She was conventionally very pretty: long legs, a thin frame, she was educated and looked as if she could hold somewhat of a conversation...not like that mattered to him. 

You had predicted it to be the foreign CEO who had just started business dealings with the crown. While she might’ve looked a bit stuck-up and prim, she was intimidating, and a challenge. Chan loved challenges. Chan also had a pension for pretty boys with a bit too much money on their hands--usually inherited--and with nothing much else to do other than dote on him. There were plenty of those attending the gala tonight. 

Chan snaked through the crowd, bowing his head at all of the Good evening, your Highnesses and the It’s a pleasure to meet you, your Highnesses. Every few moments or so he would take a bite from a golden plate and then pop it into his mouth. The whole night long, he would hold his glass with him and it would get refilled for him without him even needing to ask. You sometimes liked to pretend that in some places, they must’ve assigned someone to watch him from afar to make sure that he would never need anything before it was given to him. It wouldn’t have surprised you. 

“Having fun Bee?” Chan languidly rolled his head back, swirling his glass. 

“As much fun as you are.” You quipped. 

“Anything that I should be concerned about?” 

“Nothing of concern.” You stated matter-of-factly. Had you matched his flirting tone, you knew that you wouldn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the night. “Fox. Report?” 

“Nothing that I can see. No one has been tagging you.” Jeongin had staked himself up on the upper balcony of the banquet hall room, and had been watching for as long as you had been following after the prince. “You sensing anything strange?” His voice tickled in your in-ear. 

“Just a bunch of the normal crowd.” You kept your tone down low. “He’s rubbing noses with the usual. You’ve seen too?” 

He chuckled. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

You followed Chan to his seat nearest the front of the room which had been fashioned into a stage with a clear glass podium in the center. Right in front there was one more crest decorating it. Chan had ensured it to be so: he had wanted everyone to know that this was all for his charity. 

“It seems like our bets aren’t working out. He hasn’t talked to either of the...suspects.” Your partner changed his choice of words knowing that the other guards were listening. 

From the opposite side of the room both the heiress and the CEO stood with thin glasses of wine in their lithe hands. Chan had in fact walked right past them, and didn’t even notice. 

“Tonight is going to be a long night.” Jeongin sighed over the line. 

You politely pushed past attendees with a raised hand and a sweet smile. You had found that when you smiled, you had appeared less intimidating. 

“Oh wait...what’s this?” 

“What?” You whipped your head around after Jeongin’s interjection. “What? Do you see something? What’s the call?” 

“Relax! It just looks like he’s approaching someone he wants to talk to. I think both of us are about to be proven wrong.” 

“Ah, shit.” You sighed. “Don’t put me on edge like that.” 

“I’m only trying to entertain myself.” 

“Name. Who is it? You’ve got the roster.” 

You partner was quiet for a minute, and you watched from a distance as Chan approached the man leaned over a martini seated at one of the perfectly decorated tables. 

“Uh, I think that he’s Lee Minho. Some kind of royalty from somewhere else. Pretty low ranking from the looks of it. I think that he made a donation himself...and it’s...damn, larger than you would expect.” 

“Should we be concerned?” 

“No. Seems harmless.” 

“Thank you for coming,” You made out the words that Chan had mouthed. He drew a chair next to the unknown man. 

From what you could tell, Lee Minho was handsome to the full extent of the word: nearly all of his physical features were exemplary and his suit appeared to have been fitted to perfect for him; likely one of a kind. He too wore an insignia on his lapel, but it was one that you hadn’t recognized before. He had immaculately styled hair that had some kind of rebellious and boyish charm to it. The man had a kind of mystery about him too: you had been able to pride yourself in being able to read people, and it had saved your life on more than one occasion. But with him, there was something that you couldn’t place. 

“Do they know eachother?” You asked Jeongin. 

“Not that I know of. School friend maybe? Seems like all the royals send their kids to the same schools.”

“Hm. That would make sense.” 

“Enjoying yourself?” Chan said. 

Lee Minho nodded, and rose his glass to clink it with the prince’s. 

“Do we think that he’s our...suspect?” 

The stranger dipped his head into his hand as he listened to Chan speak. A flirty gesture that you had seen a hundred times or more. Still, the way that he inspected Chan, it wasn’t adoring. Or at least, you didn’t think that it was.

“No. I don’t think so.” 

“What the hell are you yapping about?” One of the other guards snapped over the line. 

“Um, classified stuff.” Jeongin quickly explained. “Above your paygrade. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Fox. Watch out for him tonight.” You snuck over to a corner of the room where you could watch the two of them more discreetly. 

“Affirmative....” Your partner paused. “Babydoll.” 

“Pffff--Babydoll??” The same guard stifled his laughter. “You call her Babydoll, Fox? Damn, you all must be closer than I thought. Didn’t know that I was missing out on some of the action--” 

“--Ever heard of a codename, Three?” 

“Babydoll’s her codename.” 

A grin crept over your lips. “Expect the unexpected.” 

You had almost gotten distracted enough to miss how Lee Minho had leaned over to whisper something into the prince’s ear. After he had done so, Chan laughed out a little, then reached his arm around the other man’s chair comfortably. 

“They’re...cozy.” You updated your partner. 

“I’m trying to cross-check where he might know him from.” 

Chan’s assistant and publicist finally slipped away with giddy little smiles. In many ways, you were jealous of them. They could leave whenever the wanted, eat what they wanted...

Jeongin scoffed. “Well, turns out...nothing. I can’t find anything.” 

“Nothing?” 

“Negative. I’m not seeing any crossover.” 

“So they really are strangers?” 

Your partner sighed. “Looks like neither of us are cashing ou--I mean--finding the suspect.” 

Under your breath, you wondered aloud, “Who are you...Lee Minho?” 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The night drew on longer with the rest of the formalities: the formal dinner, followed by several speeches from important people while dessert was being served. It all led up to the final act: His Royal Highness, Prince Chan’s speech. On several neat notecards marked with the crest, he held them in front of him while he ate his last bits of Mont Blanc Chocolate Pavlova. Even the name of the sweet itself sounded pretentious. Granted, it smelled delicious--as many expensive things did. 

You stifled a yawn from your little set up on the edge of the room. At least you should’ve been able to sit, but it turns out that sitting is also against the rules in this line of work. A couple other security and bodyguards had joined you at the edge: some of their heads nodded with sleep, and the others looked as if they had taken one too many energy shots. Luckily, your stamina had been well crafted. 

A fancily dressed MC made his way up to the podium and the room filled with applause after the last speaker had said all of their correct mandatory words. 

“It is my honor to introduce to the stage, our wonderful head benefactor of this organization, His Royal Highness, Prince Chan of the Crown. 

Applause tenfold of before erupted through the whole room and it wasn’t even an afterthought for the every attendee to stand up from their seats in an ovation. It was a force of habit for you, but you found yourself clapping as well. 

Chan rose with grace, and re-buttoned his jacket with finesse. A blinding spotlight found him and it made the diamonds adorning his beck wink brilliantly. Even more blinding was his pearl white, and perfectly trained smile accompanied by his wave. 

Thank you. Thank you. He mouthed. 

“It’s like he’s a frickin’ movie star.” Jeongin groaned. 

“Might as well be with the way that they treat him. You know deep down they’re all just terrified.” 

Chan made his way up to the stage in all of his regality, and the applause didn’t stop until he cleared his throat. A collective groaning of a couple hundred chairs squeaked when everyone sat back down. 

“Thank you everyone, really. I wanted to thank you all for your generous support in your donations to this organization, as well as your association with the crown. I’m sure that all the beneficiaries of your donations are beyond thankful compared to me. Without you, this would not be possible.” Chan spoke with grandiose gestures, as usual, but this time, he had found you on the side of the room. “Listen, aside from being a prince, I’m also just a person. A person who knows what it means to struggle, to--” 

“--I can’t listen to this anymore.” You whispered into the quiet room, and to your partner. 

“Just a few more hours.” He droned. “I almost wish that something would happen so that we don’t have to sit though much else of this.” 

“Be careful what you wish for.” 

In the corner of your eye, Lee Minho shifted in his seat, but still kept his undivided attention to the stage. You figured he must’ve been just like the rest of them: enamored by the flashiness of the crown--and Chan. He had a way of putting a spell on people: it was the kind of spell that a prince of deception had crafted after years of being kept under lock and key. 

“--Anyway, what I’m trying to say, royal or fanciful we all might be, in the simplest way, we’re all just people, therefore this is what connects us all. Thank you.” 

Chan was gifted yet another standing ovation that was somehow even more thunderous than before. 

“Yeah right.” You scoffed. “People born into money. There’s a difference.” 

Chan gave his last waves, then a clamor echoed from the back of the room. At first, it had just sounded like the same raucous laughter you had heard all night, but then it shifted to something different. The sound of laugher turned into shouting, then screams: high pitched and piercing. You had seconds to respond, head whipping around the room to catch sight of the confused prince. In your in-ears, the the sound of gunshots echoed with rapid-fire speed. Machine guns. Shouting commands barked in your ear, and muddled with Jeongin’s string of demands and questions. 

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT THERE? REPORT! REPORT!” 

Your heart instantly started beating into hyperdrive, and your legs sprinted as fast has physically possible 

“THEY’VE GOT GUNS!” A shrill and cracked voice of an older woman wailed from the back of the room. 

Immediately after she had said so, shots fired into the darkened room with sparks, and the metallic sound of bullets hitting the marbled ground followed. 

Chan looked around in his panic for you, petrified on the stage. You slung your gun out from your thigh holster and latched onto him with all of your might. 

“TH-THEY JUST CAME OUT OF NOWHERE IN THESE VANS. THEY’RE ARMOURED, WE CAN’T--” 

“Get the fuck down there and secure the exists!” Jeongin growled into his mic. “B--is the prince secure??” 

“Secure!” You yelled back. Using your body as a barrier, you led the cowering prince through the mass hysteria of the crowd. 

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Shit.” Chan shook under your iron grip. 

More shots fired into the room and bodies parted like the sea and fell over each other. 

From the balcony, you had caught Jeongin aiming his own gun at the chaos below. 

“I’ll cover you! Fuck! There’s so many of them! Get him to the car out back--Three, Six, meet B out there! Three!? Six!? Report!” 

“Three and Six are down F!” One of the guards panted. “I can provide cover out back!!” 

“Who’s speaking??” Jeongin bellowed, then aimed from above at one of the intruders. Your only focus was on weaving you and Chan out of there, but you had seen one of them in a blur. Each of the men with guns wore dark grey suits with black ties and leather gloves. Each of them wore their own crest: and it was all red. 

“Bee?? Bee???” Chan shouted out for you, and jumped every time the crack of a shot echoed in the ballroom. 

“I’ve got you, your Highness. We’ll be out soon. Keep your head down and listen to me.” Your arm held to him tightly, and you soon found the exit nearest. There was no telling if there would be more of them outside, but you loaded your gun quickly just in case, and pointed it out. 

“Jeongin, get your ass down here!” 

“Jeongin? Who the fuck is that??” Chan ducked down to hide himself behind your frame. 

His name had slipped on your tongue, but that hardly mattered. 

“I’ll be down in a second!!!” 

“Don’t fucking waste time up there when I need you down here!!” 

“Two! Two Reporting!!” A man suddenly yelled in your in-ear. “I’ve made it out back and I’ve secured the exit. The car is safe!!” 

“FOX! Now!” 

Your partner heaved, “I’m coming, I’m coming!!” 

You kicked open the exit door, gun’s still blazing, however one one else could be found on the other side. 

“Thank God,” You sighed. 

“Oh shit, I’m gonna be sick.” Chan had turned paler than white, then stumbled in your arms. 

“Hey, HEY!” You held him upright. “It’s gonna be alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe. You need to trust me. Your life is in my hands and I’m not giving it up easy, got it?” 

“O-okay.” He stammered, then attempted to straighten himself. 

“The Prince is outside, repeat, The Prince is outside. Two, are you in position?” 

“Yes. Yes, I am.” 

Other than the fact that you had just escaped absolute peril, the evening was unbearably pleasant. Crickets chirped in the summer evening, and the humidity of the night smelled gorgeously of the lake that was near-by as well as the vast array of flowers that had been purposefully landscaped around the hotel. Chan’s uneven steps scraped at the gravel walkway. 

Since you had canvassed the whole building well, you had known exactly where the getaway car was, but you were still careful. 

“Bee. Bee!” Chan blabbered. “Have-have I told you yet that I-I’m in love with you?” 

“No, you haven’t Your Highness.” 

“I fucking am. If I die tonight, I want you to know that I am ridiculously in love with you, and fuck, I wanna--” 

“--I’m sorry, Your Highness, respectfully, but now is not the time for this and you are not dying on my watch.” 

Somewhere off in the distance, frogs croaked, and the splashing of fish in the lake plopped at the surface waters. You turned a corner to finally see Two waiting his his gun raised. He was a bit of a shorter and scrawnier man, but something about him told you that where he lacked in strength, he must’ve made up for in agility. 

“I’m out! I’m out!” Your partner gasped, and over the in-ear you could hear his running footsteps. “I’m almost there! I’ll be there in a second!” 

“Your Highness,” Two bowed and opened the car door. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. You can call me Two or J. Either you prefer.” 

Jeongin came bounding around the corner with heaving breaths and his clothes askew. His glasses which just barely held onto his face had a crack on them and his knuckles were covered in blood. 

“Let’s go.” The younger man prompted. 

“In the car you go, Your Highness.” You motioned for him to do so. 

Chan whimpered like a toddler. 

You shoved his body in, “Stop that. Get in the car.” 

“I’m in love with you Bee!” He yelled out, “I’M FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU BEE!” 

Jeongin slammed the door in his face with a bit of a chuckle. 

“He’s delirious.” 

“Mm.” your partner smiled. “Sure.” 

#WHOOP #heheh here she is too hehe #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #bang chan smut #chan smut #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fanfiction #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshots #stray kids drabbles #stray kids scenarios #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x female reader #bang chan x female reader smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop imagines #kpop drabbles #kpop oneshots #kpop scenarios

[ragnarachael]

57, 60 and 72?

i’m going to assume you’re letting me pick the character, and so i’ve decided on tva director!reader x loki from my series “the valiant arsonist”! you can check out/read from HERE!

LOKI TAGLIST: @shiningloki​, @bellesque​, @myraiswack​, @kidney9-9​, @deansblackbeauty​ (if you’d like to be added, just ask!!)

now if it wasn’t obvious: the text after the read more starts out somewhat PG, but progressively gets NSFW! as usual, don’t wanna see it from me, block the NSFT TEXT tag! just a warning, i... i got far too dirty i think. i don’t know how i did it. but i did. this is kinda not proofread, i’m far too tired for that. any mistakes or weirdly written scenes are on me!! i didn’t read this one four or five times to perfect it like everything else. (this is almost 4k. good christ.)

MASTERLIST !    FEEDBACK !   AO3 LINK !

THE VALIANT ARSONIST — ANGER

You and Loki were fighting. It’s plain as day to everyone in the offices when they approach the both of you. You were more of the silent, death glare type. Loki was... well. Loki was also the silent type. But, he just snapped at anyone who tried to talk to him and refused to try and cooperate.

It was Thursday. Meeting day not only for you and the board of directors that are working with the TVA, but also meeting day for Mills and Wilson’s team.

Which meant that Loki would be dressed up in his usual attire for those meetings: neat, crisp button down shirt, corresponding tie to the color of his shirt and more often than not followed by some black slacks.

Thursdays were your favorite days. Especially because of those slacks.

But since you were both still stuck in an argument, you found yourself leaving earlier for work like you had for the past week. Though, you did let yourself wear some flattering business casual clothes to try and convince Loki to break this stupid silence streak.

You wore his favorite pencil skirt—a deep emerald green fabric that nearly matched his favorite color if the fabric wasn’t a shade lighter—that was easily paired with your favorite cream colored blouse that accentuated your chest with the v-neckline. He loved the combo before, and you had no doubt he would try and pounce on you in some form.

But he didn’t. When he came in the office, you noticed he did the same thing as you.

He wore a whole black ensemble. Black shirt, black tie, black everything.

“Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself as you watched him walk through the sea of desks in the main area from your own private office. “That asshole.”

He’s trying to one up you at your own game. You don’t know if he’s read your mind or whatever, but god dammit he’s trying to do what you’re doing. You and your husband really are alike.

Most of your day after your mindless meeting was spent in your office, reading through files for research and answering various emails as well as reconvening with your team for your newest time-clause case. It was a full day. You even tried the new coffee someone brought in and actually had a few more cups of that before calling it quits just as everyone was leaving for the day.

“It looks like we’ll just have to send out some more Chronomonitors to give us more information on this situation,” one of your agents sighed in the seat she dragged in front of your desk. “I know none of us would want to go out into that battle field.”

You groaned as your hands flew to rub at your neck, leaning back to slouch in your office chair. “I hate when you’re right, Maddie.”

“I know you do,” she teased, grabbing her bottle of water to take a drink. “That’s why you made me one of your right hands, ‘member?”

You snorted and rolled your head in a slow circle, some of the tension loosening in your neck.

“I do recall. I’ll get on that order form before leaving tonight, Mads. Thank you for the hard work today, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Maddie laughed and gathered the files in her hands as she made sure to take the rest of her belongings that she had around your office. Your hands started to gently rub down your face before you heard the zip of Maddie’s bag.

Then the door opened, and Loki seemed to willingly walk in. His sleeves were folded up neatly to show off his forearms as his hand that wasn’t resting on the doorknob was tucked neatly into his pocket.

“Maddie,” he greeted evenly, his eyes boring into your general direction as you started to slowly straighten in your seat from the sudden visit.

“Uh,” she started slowly, looking between the two of you as you both stared off. “Mr. Laufeyson—”

“Loki, please.” He kept his eyes on you as the tension grew, moving to open the door wider for Maddie to leave. “I’m merely a man visiting his wife. Not a higher-ranking agent.”

“Okay?” Maddie questioned softly before getting her things in her hands and her bag on her back before giving you one last goodbye before Loki was quick to shut the door behind her and lock it.

“We need to talk.”

“Oh,” you started, snorting as you watched Loki gracefully move to shut your blinds even though you’re more than sure you’re the last two in the office. “Now he wants to talk.”

“Don’t start that,” Loki replied, his head turning from the string to fix your blinds. 

“You and I haven’t talked in two days,” you huffed. “I’ll start whatever the fuck I want, Loki.”

Loki didn’t wince when he finally shut the blinds. He didn’t even retaliate with his down distaste for what you were both about to start.

The making up process.

He walked over to the chair Maddie had left in front of your desk, his large hands moving to rest on the top of the backrest as his eyes found yours again.

“Maybe if you hadn’t tried to get yourself killed, we wouldn’t be in this situation, would we?” Loki said, his voice having a light tone of smug anger.

“My job is dangerous, Loki. We’ve been over this—”

“You’re a director, darling. Directors just have to sit and give their agents direction,” he explained to you, his voice raising slightly. “They don’t willingly go out into the field and just try to get shot at!”

“I owed it to my team—”

“You could have stayed here! Behind a desk! There is no reason to risk your life!”

“Oh don’t go feeding me that shit,” you seethed, starting to stand from your chair. You wanted to pace, but your feet guided you to stand against the front of your desk as your fingers clasped together tightly. “You get to risk your life and I don’t? That’s the biggest load of garbage I’ve heard, coming from you of all people.”

“That’s different,” Loki rebutted. “I have to go into the field. That is my job. That’s what I’ve done since I’ve been incarcerated at this trash heap.”

“You’re no longer wanted across timelines, Loki.” You crossed your arms over your chest then. “You haven’t been for a year and seven months. And I am aware it’s your job, but haven’t you considered that it’s mine—”

“’To protect and guide your agents by example,’” Loki finished for you as his hands flew from the chair to run through his hair as he took a moment to walk away from where you were now standing. “I’m aware. You’ve said the phrase before.”

“Good. Then you’ll understand when I say that you’re blowing this out of proportions.”

His whole body turned to look at you as his hands fell to his sides. “Pardon me?”

“You heard me.” You kept your face neutral at that sentence. It hurt to say, but you couldn’t show that. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

Now, Loki can be terrifying. He certainly was when he made his way from the middle of the room back to you as you leaned against the edge of your desk, not even flinching when his magic sent the chair flying to the wall.

You wished this scared you. But you’ve known this man since he threatened to burn your place of work. You took what he did, hell even said at times, with a grain of salt.

“I am not—”

“Loki,” you hissed, your hands moving from their place on your chest to grab at his black silk tie, wrapping it around your knuckles before yanking his face close to your own. “You are. Admit it.”

“Make me, little girl.”

You couldn’t take the tension and finally just did what your brain had been screaming at you to do while you talked to Loki.

Kiss him.

So, that’s damn well what you did. Your lips slammed into his instantly, tongue slipping past Loki’s slightly parted lips to take the venomous words he was preparing to say away.

The funny part? Loki kissed back.

So much for being mad with each other.

Loki let everything else in his body resist for a moment before he finally just gave in, his hands cupping your sides almost immediately, starting to dominate your mouth with his tongue as you melted at the feeling of your desk digging into your ass through your clothes for the second time this month.

“You’re—” you breathed out between Loki’s assault “—you’re so fucking hot when you’re mad. You know that?”

The hum of a laugh Loki let out at this confession only made the heat between your legs increase, your heart race and your mind buzz from the sudden concern of someone hearing the two of you.

“Oh, darling. You have no idea what you’ve brought on.”

You wanted to ask what the fuck he was talking about, but you were cut short by his lips again, his hands working on groping your ass through your skirt fabric before lifting you up as if you were nothing before dropping you onto your desktop.

Your hands let go of the tie and the gasp that left your kiss bruised lips as Loki started to nip harshly at your jawline cut into a bit of a squeak as Loki’s fingers started to drag against the outsides of your thighs that were covered by the fabric of your skirt. Your brain made the connection quick. He was looking for the side seams. You just knew it.

“My little girl’s smart, is she?” Loki mused deviously as his lips detached from your skin, his fingers finding just what he was looking for. “She’s only smart when she knows she’s going to get cock, hm?”

Your face heated up instantly as you noted that Loki wasn't hesitating to openly listen to your thoughts. You were... you were speechless. Your hands found their spots on his chest, debating on grabbing his tie again.

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be getting any this evening,” Loki said softly, his eyes scanning your face to see if there was any sign of protest before smoothly grabbing your skirt fabric and ripping it up at the seams.

“Loki!”

“Perhaps a punishment is in order.” Once the fabric was discarded from the tops of your legs, Loki was quick to tug the rest of the poor fabric off your body before ripping your legs open and get a hand under the waistband of your underwear. “You’ve been quite bad, last I checked.”

All you could reply with was stutters. You didn’t plan on this half of the night, but god you didn’t need it to end.

You didn’t want it to end.

Loki cooed as his fingers found your aching clit, applying barely any pressure that was sure to drive you insane. “Look at you, a babbling mess. You thought you had the upper hand, didn’t you?”

“I—” Your words were cut off as two of his thick, long fingers thrusted into your weeping hole, your hands trying to collect fist fulls of Loki’s shirt. “Oh god.”

“Fuck,” Loki started headily, “you’re so tight. No wonder you’re missing my cock.”

You didn’t hesitate to pull your hands from his shirt and lay back on the desk to try enticing Loki to do something other than have his fingers deep inside your pussy, just barely touching your g-spot. “P-Please..”

“Only good girls get what they ask for, princess. And you’ve been everything but that.”

Just after Loki finished speaking, he finally moved his middle and ring fingers slowly. You could feel the gentle, cold scrape of his wedding band against your warm walls as his free hand boldly slid up your stomach and keep you flat against the surface of your desk.

“Making me worry, telling me that I’m in the wrong? No, no, little one. You and I know that’s not true,” Loki said, his hand finally lunging forwards to grab your throat firmly and lift you up to have your faces inches away from each other again. “If I weren’t feeling generous I would just ignore you and those dirty thoughts of yours. You’ve thought about this happening often this week, haven’t you? Taking my thick cock like it’s the first time as I take my anger out on your sweet, sweet body?”

You could only nod frantically in response, the feeling of not being able to get air sending another gush of arousal around the fingers that were starting to prod the soft part of your walls just a tad faster. Loki let out a dark chuckle.

“Dirty, dirty little cockslut, aren’t you? Maybe I should start calling you that. Do you like that name, dove? I do. I feel as if it suits you perfectly,” Loki purred, pressing his lips to yours again as his fingers slipped out of your pussy, tugging at the scrap of underwear to have it snap in his hands before his lips pulled away from your own. “Take my cock out, girl.”

You were quick to rake your hands down from Loki’s wrist from when he grabbed your throat to his slacks, unbuckling his belt and working the button and zipper before being met with his heated skin beneath the fabric.

He planned this.

Loki’s hand loosened its grip on your throat as your fingers brushed against the shaft of his cock. He cleared his throat to gain your attention after you gripped him at the base.

“Is.. Is this alright? I know I'm meant to be mad at you—"

You surged forward and gave Loki a gentle kiss on the lips instantly to quell his sudden worry. "Loki, my love. You're okay. It's okay. We can talk it out properly later."

"Are you okay with that?" Loki questioned, brows raised slightly. It was a complete change from the dominant side he was showing just mere seconds ago. You felt your heart clench as you noticed his genuine concern.

"Yes, absolutely. I'm okay with that." You gave him a wide smile before tugging his cock in your hand suddenly to draw a gasp from his throat. "Now, what was this about me being your cockslut? I quite like the ring to it."

His lips slowly stretched into a smirk once he took a moment to let go of the sudden surge of worry. "Do you?"

"Why would I lie about how much I love your thick cock stretching me open—"

Loki cut you off with a groan, tightening his grip on your neck gently, "if you keep saying things like that, I'll be skipping the punishment. Now shut up and lay on your stomach."

You let out a breathy giggle then, your smile still wide and bright as you were quick to do as Loki told you. You wanted to whine when you felt his hand move from your throat to help you flip over, but you knew better than to do that now.

After all, you were getting punished in some way.

"Why don't you just skip it, agent?" You questioned innocently as you leaned your ass closer to Loki as his hands rubbed at your lower back gently. "We both know I can get punished later."

Loki seemed to actually take your words into consideration as his hands got to your ass, groping the plump flesh tightly before spreading you open to see just how wet you were. His nails dug into your skin slightly which made you mewl in pleasure before Loki let out a harsh sigh.

"You're such a—"

"Cockslut?" You questioned suddenly, flashing your smile over your shoulder as you looked at Loki. "I'm aware."

"Minx," Loki huffed, pulling your hips down so your hips hung over the edge of your desk. "Should have ignored my thoughts for once."

"I like when you tap out," you replied, gasping as Loki manhandled one of your legs to rest up on the desktop. "'S hot."

"Like I said, darling." You weren't sure as to what was happening until you heard some clanking from a belt and felt his searing hot cock thrust into your cunt without giving you a warning. He leaned down where your head rested against the mahogany as you moaned loudly at the sudden intrusion. "Cockslut."

Once he spoke, Loki didn't waste any time to thrust into your pussy that was clenching around his cock like a vice. He made a comment about not even being able to thrust into you from how tight your cunt had a hold on him, and if you were coherent, you'd be blushing from those words and the sounds you were hearing the both of you make alone. But you were enjoying the pleasure that had started to steadily build from the feeling of Loki's cock stretching you open.

You missed fucking Loki. That's what this was.

Loki was nothing less than animalistic, gripping your hips tight enough you knew you'd be bruised by the time you came. You could feel your orgasam creeping up already.

"Look at you," Loki said in between his slowing thrusts to tease you. "Spread out. Willing. You were made for this, darling. Maybe I should keep your cunt filled up more often."

"Please!" You whimpered, your head turning to look over your shoulder to watch Loki's hips slowly thrust against your ass.

"You'd love that, hm? Should I cum in your pussy tonight and let you walk out of here sated with my seed?" 

The both of you froze at that comment.

Well, your bodies froze, for the most part. Your pussy flexed around his cock that twitched with need.

He wasn't too sure what had gotten into him, it might have been from the porn he found himself watching the other night when you didn't come home until late, if he was being honest. But noticing how you writhed and let out a loud moan come out after the initial shock statement, that was all the convincing he needed to finally pull out of you to flip you back over before slamming back into your cunt with the sudden need to actually fulfill that very wish.

Because fuck that turned the both of you on, and he wanted—no, needed to see your pussy dripping with his cum.

Loki's body covered your own as his hips pistoned into your own, his cock hitting all the spots you've missed feeling stimulated as your arms wrapped around his neck to bring him down in a heated kiss. Your lips barely met and you let out a shaky laugh before it was cut out with a loud moan, feeling Loki's cock jab at your g-spot head on.

You wrapped your legs around him the best you could then, moaning his name as your nails started to dig in his dress shirt. "F-Fuck! Loki, p-please!"

"Please what, baby?" He questioned evenly as he pulled away from your neck where his head landed after his lips missed your own. "You want to cum on my cock?"

All you could manage was a nod as Loki's hand slipped between your bodies to start rolling your clit between his fingers. His thrusting seemed to only speed up with his words as you tried to keep your noises down as our mouth dropped open in a perfect 'o' shape. "Cum for me. Let that pretty little pussy cum around my cock and I'll be sure to reward you the way you deserve, sweetheart."

You let yourself go. Literally. Loki's fingers rubbing your clit frantically mixed with his deep, heated thrusts? There was no other choice. Your walls tensed around his cock as your hands grabbed tight handfuls of his shirt, moaning loudly as your orgasam rocked your entire body into ecstasy. Your body twitched with pleasure as Loki kept fucking into you with the same breakneck speed, his fingers slowing down slightly.

"So fucking good," Loki huffed as his hips stuttered with their thrusts, "are you sure we shouldn't invest in our own desk?"

"S-Shut the hell up, Laufeyson," you stuttered suddenly, purposefully gyrating your hips to have your pussy clench around Loki's twitching cock. "Cum inside me, now."

Usually, Loki would laugh at you being demanding, especially in a moment like this, but the hard edge of your voice mixed with the noises his cock was making with every thrust inside of you? He was cumming. Hard. He came with a final deep thrust, groaning your name loudly as his hands grabbed at your body in any way possible to ground him from the sensation. His cum was hot as his hips jerked slightly from the left over sensations. 

You've never felt so full and satisfied after a fuck in your office until tonight. You heard Loki laugh breathlessly and you just knew he heard your thoughts. The two of you took a moment to catch your breath in the positions you were left in after your release, both of your remaining clothes clinging to your sweaty skin.

Eventually, Loki found himself slowly pulling his softened cock from your spent hole, only to watch his cum dribble out slowly. You both groaned. Both from the sight and the sensation when he had finally pulled out. Part of you wanted to keep the mess between your legs, terribly bad. But your rational side and Loki agreed that you should most likely get cleaned up. With a gentle huff you nodded at Loki to magic away the mess.

It was quiet as you both tried to move around your office to clean up the rest of the space properly. The tension was... gone. Not completely, but certainly less taxing than it was earlier. You walking around bottomless around Loki however wasn't helping either of you.

You were the first to speak up as you picked up your shredded skirt and underwear.

"That was—"

"Hot," Loki finished for you immediately. "That was.. so fucking hot."

"Yeah," you said, laughing softly. "It was."

"Listen, darling," Loki started gently, walking away from the chair he placed back in it's rightful spot, "I'm sorry that I've been mad about this. At you."

"You had every right to be, Loki. I didn't tell you the risk I was going to take, I didn't want you to worry all day." You turned to look at him, a small frown on your face. "I kind of broke that agreement. I'm sorry."

Loki's hands were quick to cup your face gently as he shook his head. "What am I to do with you?"

"Well, some pants would be a good start—"

"Shush," Loki snorted, the both of you shaking with laughter. "I'll get there with you, you vixen."

#nsft text #loki x reader #loki laufeyson imagine #loki odinson #loki layfeyson x reader #loki laufeyson smut #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson imagine #loki odinson smut #loki smut #marvel smut #rachael writes #marvel imagine #TVA #tom hiddleston smut

[psychedellic-phase]

Fifteen

PART 1:

A/N: This is the first series I’m planning on writing. It should be about 17 parts in total when it’s done. The idea is based on one of my favorite books Why We Broke Up by Daniel Handler! Seasons 6-9 Reid, and Maeve erasure. Also this gif is so perfect creds to the creator. Enjoy & I’d love any requests/feedback! :)

Tw: mention of vomiting

Word count: 1135

Spencer left Hotch’s office and paced past his own desk, mulling over what his boss had just told him. He told him that Y/N had transferred out of the BAU to head up the Seattle field office, effective immediately. His heart sank into his stomach. Was it really that bad between the two of you that you had to leave? Surely you couldn’t leave the whole team that easily, but you had. And you wanted to be as far away from him as possible, Hotch had basically said so himself. Everyone knew you had your pick of places to go; New York, Baltimore, Philadelphia, even other units at Quantico. But you picked Seattle. Seattle. Which is 2,789.1 miles from Quantico. 2,789.1 miles from him. 

You both knew it may come to this, but you were confident your relationship would work out. Hotch told the two of you what would happen if the romance went sour when you put in a relationship form three long years ago. He said he didn’t care, he hoped you guys were happy, but if it interfered with work someone would have to leave. Spencer never thought one of you would ever leave the other in any capacity. But maybe that was wishful thinking and his abandonment issues talking. He thought that even if your romantic relationship didn’t work, your friendship still would. But here he was, and you were gone. 

He blinked away the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes, finally noticing the cardboard box on his desk. It was one of those boxes printer paper came in, with the lid and bright colors on the side. The lid said a few words in big black sharpie:  TO SSA SPENCER REID

He smirked, you hated calling him doctor. You insisted that SSA was cooler than doctor anyways, and he should be proud of his achievements. “A lot of people are doctors, but not everyone is a Supervisory Special Agent.” He could practically hear you saying it now. 

Without even thinking twice, he gingerly took the lid off and saw a stack of envelopes on the top which covered the rest of the box’s contents. The top envelope said ‘Spencer’ on the front in your very familiar handwriting. He held it in his hands like it was a piece of glass, so fragile, the same way he used to hold you. Immediately, he took a letter opener and sliced open the top, revealing a sheet of notebook paper. He took a deep breath and flopped into his desk chair, ignoring the questioning look Morgan gave him. He started reading page one. He knew he could finish the whole letter in a few minutes because he could read so damn fast, but instead, he went one word at a time, not wanting your last words to him to be over that quickly. He wanted to savor it. The first envelope addressed to him contained a letter that was short and rushed. You had just written it, the tear stains on the ink looked fresh and still wet. 

“Spencer,

First and foremost, I’m sorry. I know Hotch just talked to you. I saw him take you in and used that as my opportunity to leave this here for you. In this box is everything from the last three years of our lives. I know you can read this whole thing in five minutes, Genius, but take it slow. Please, for me. And no this isn’t just a box of your tee shirts and gifts to me, this box holds so much more than that. What can I say? I’m sentimental. There’s a few rules though Spence, and I know you’ll follow them because you’re you:

1. Each letter is numbered corresponding with an item. When I mention something, take it out of the box and look at it, appreciate it, and remember it.(Even though I know you remember everything I ever said to you, Mr. Eidetic Memory)  If I ask you to do something with it or drive somewhere, do that too. So maybe take the rest of today and tomorrow to go through it all.

2. Don’t start this in the bullpen. I know it’s tempting, but I don’t want Anderson and everyone else seeing what’s in here. It’s personal, for both of us. 

3. Don’t reach out and don’t try to stop me. Seattle is far.  I know, but I’m leaving. Don’t chase me, and don’t send Derek to chase me. We both deserve to move on.

I’m sorry Spencer. I am. I am so sorry. I hate to leave you like this, with a letter. Leave you just like Gideon. Just like your dad did. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for being exactly like everyone else who left you. But let’s be honest here, you left me a long time before I left you. I can’t do this in person, it hurts too much. It’s too raw. But, I need you to get the whole story from me. This is our love story and our breakup story told in 15 lucky items that mean the most to me us. 

Oh, and one last rule:

Always remember that I love you and I mean it. 

xo,

Y/N”

He read the same page over and over again, pouring over every word. He had to take deep breaths to avoid melting down in front of an office full of people. He looked around desperately for you. Maybe you hadn’t gotten in the elevator yet. Maybe you stuck around to see the kicked puppy look on his face when he opened the box. But you hadn’t, you were already gone. Just like you said you would be. 

He read page 1 again. It was written in blue ink, which usually means the writer is sensitive, peaceful and enjoys order and organization.They are the helpers and the doers of the world.  He silently scolded himself for trying to profile the letter, he already knew all of these things about you. He knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. Maybe the blue ink meant something or maybe it was just the pen you grabbed. He shoved the page back in the envelope and put the lid on the box. He didn’t want to peek and ruin the rest of the surprise. He was half excited and half terrified of what the rest of the letters would tell him.

Spencer avoided Derek and JJ’s concerned glances as he hurriedly packed his messenger back and grabbed the box. It was heavier than he expected. The items weren’t necessarily heavy, it was the feeling that was heavy. The feeling that everything from 1245 days of your lives were condensed into fifteen objects. 3.4 years; 1245 days; 1,792,800 minutes; 107,568,000 seconds into fifteen things. He suddenly felt like vomiting, but luckily he was already in the parking lot. He didn’t know how he got there so quickly, but his head was spinning and he emptied his stomach next to his car before getting in and driving home.

Part 2!

#spencer reid #spencer x you #spencer reid fic #fanfic #mgg fanfiction #fanfiction #reid #reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #cm #spencer reid smut #mgg #matthew gray gubler

[thiswasinevitableid]

PSL (OT4)

Prompt for the 14th was: Pumpkin.  The OT4, for new folks, is Barclay, Stern, Indrid, and Duck (every is dating except Duck and Barclay, who are metamors). This prompt could also be called “the silly things we sometimes do for love”

Stern absentmindedly taps the steering wheel as the last cars trickle from the visitor center parking lot. The last song before he dropped back into the NRQZ was “Bad Moon Rising” and so that’s what he taps in time to. The lights in the building can't go out soon enough. 

He’d only been in D.C  week, had skyped the others every night, but the sensation of missing them was so strong. It’s the trade-off, he supposes, for knowing there were three people waiting for him instead of the none he’d grown accustomed to. 

Even with the LAN, the signal on the Kepler end was too weak to show video most of the time, so he lay on the hotel bed, basking in their voices. Barcaly’s voice makes him feel safe the way a well-built house and a warm drink on a stormy night make him feel safe. Indrid’s is like something from  drem, familiar and alien all at once.

The car door swings open, letting in a burst of fall air. 

“Hey, darlin.” 

Duck’s voice makes him feel sixteen again. He never had a highschool sweetheart, but that drawl feels like it’s coming in through the open window in the summer air, promising something wonderful if he climbs outside.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

And then there’s him, sounding like a dork. But Duck just smiles.

“You have  an okay drive?”

“It’s been worse, and at least this time I drove past the city limit sign knowing where Bigfoot is.”

“In your room pinin after you?”

“I hope not.” Stern lies, blushes a little at the image. 

Duck moves to put his water bottle in the center cupholder, picks up the starbucks cup sitting there, and makes a face when he finds it mostly full.

“You feein okay? Don’t think I ever seen you leave coffee long enough to get cold.” Duck sniffs, nods in understanding, “uhuh, I see, not a fan of the old pumpkin spice?”

“No. I buy one every year, and every year it’s the same thing.”

“So...why keep buyin it?”

“Because it’s so popular and yet I don’t like it. It’s so frustrating, I feel like I’m missing something! And now I basically have this weird ritual where I buy one just to see if this is the year I finally taste what everyone else does.” He tosses a sideways glare at the cup, “I have to be missing something.”

Duck giggles as they turn down the street to his apartment, “Missed you a hell of a lot, city mouse.”

“Do you think Indrid will mind if I don’t come up? I’m ready to collapse, and his sleep schedule is so weird anyway-”

“Think you don’t gotta worry about it.’

Sitting on the foot of the outdoor staircase is tall figured bundled in sweaters. Once they’re parked, Duck leans over and turns Sterns face towards him, kissing him while running his hand along his leg. 

The passenger car door clicks open and Indrid’s hand appears. Duck takes it, winking once before leaving the car. There’s the sound of another kiss, and then Indrid bends down , bracing awkwardly on the seat, purring as he looks at Stern. 

“Hello, pet. I missed you.” 

“I missed you too.” Stern leans in without being told to, Indrid chuckling lightly before kissing him. 

“And yes,” Indrid says as he pulls back, “that surprise you’re thinking of will work nicely.”

With that, he’s out of the car in a rustle of fabric. 

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

His plan to surprise Barclay by waiting in the Sylphs room until he gets off shift does indeed go well. He gets fucked into the bedspread and cums with Barclays head between his legs, and that's not even the best part. 

Barclay is so happy when he sees him, clings to him afterwards, trails after him like a faithful dog as he puts his things away. They started sharing the room after the almost end of the world, partly because it’s further from everyone elses and thus they run less risk of being heard (Sterns love of letting Barclay know how well he’s taking care of him in bed stops just shy of letting everyone else know). It also acted as a sign that Stern meant to stay, somehow reassuring Barclay of that fact more than the agent’s own permanent assignment over the gate did. 

He’s never told Barclay the truth, which is that if it had come down to staying in Kepler or leaving the FBI, he’d have turned in his badge in an instant. Barclay alone is reason enough for that, and when you added Duck and Indrid into the mix, how could he be anywhere else?

Then again, maybe Barclay has guessed as much after Stern willingly dragged his boss into a closet to help them save the world. 

It scares him, knowing he might have put so much of his ambition aside to stay here. But it thrills him too. 

Right now, it seems deeply worthwhile; he’s laying on the couch, legs in Duck's lap, doing a crossword while the other man reads. The Sylphs are on the floor, Indrid using his claws to scratch and groom Barclays fur. They’re talking quietly to each other in what Stern now recognizes as High Sylph, Barclay letting our rumbling purrs as they do. 

Then he opens his eyes, looks at Stern, “No way. Babe, you don’t like pumpkin spice?”

Stern looks at Duck, confused. The ranger shrugs, “I told ‘Drid about it.”

“Just the lattes. I like pumpkin in other things.”

“I am the one who hates pumpkin in all forms.” Indrid says, handing Barclay his bracelet. 

“Hold up, not even pumpkin pie?” Duck sets his book down.

Indrid shakes his head. 

“But it’s a classic!”

“It is a trap. Pie is supposed to be sweet, not vegetal. And do not get me started on the wretched gourds themselves.”

“Do they make you sick?” Stern is already making a mental note to steer the Sylph clear of the bins of them by the Kroger.

“No. They resemble a fruit on Sylvain that is commonly grown near where I grew up. That fruit tastes sweet, like a melon. Not like horrid pulp.”

“Hmm, I wonder if seeds from one got through the gate and created the other.”

“Had to be the pumpkins goin to Sylvain, pumpkins have been growin in the americas for a long time.” Duck adds, then sighs, “can't believe I’m datin a fella who hates pumpkin pie. My mom made the best version in the world. Wonder if I can make it…”

“My sweet, I doubt even you are capable of as impressive a feat as making pumpkin pie not repulsive. But if you want to try, I will not stop you. Just go easy on the ginger, I am not fond of that either.”

“Indrid please, you’re breaking my culinary heart.” Barclay pouts. 

Indrid licks his cheek, “You will survive, sunburst. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check some futures. Joseph, you have a phone call.”

Stern stands, already moving down the hall  by the time the phone rings. Dating the mothman has some benefits. 

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

Barclay watches them go, rubbing his beard, then looks over at Duck with an unusually mischievous glint in his eye.

“Up for a friendly bet?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Bet I can make Joseph a Pumpkin Spice Latte he likes before you can make Indrid a pumpkin pie he'll eat.”

“What are we bettin?”

Barclay smirks, “assuming those two are up for it? Winner gets to be on the bed, loser gets tied up and has to watch.”

“You’re on.”

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

Barclay carefully measures spices into simple syrup, Joseph watching him with his usual curiosity from a stool by one of the prep stations. 

“You know you don’t have to go to all this trouble right? I’m happy to keep doing my nonsensical fall ritual.”

“Know you love you patterns babe, but I love a challenge. Once managed to recreate Dani’s favorite dessert from back home out of apples, peanut butter, and marshmallow fluff with a red licorice reduction.”

He glances over his shoulder to see his boyfriend making a horrified face. 

“She still asks for it for her birthday. Or she did, I assume she can get the real deal now,”

Returning to his whisking sends bursts of cardamom and ginger into the ir. He inhales, content, just as the music coming from Sterns phone quiets. 

“You’re also looking for a distraction.”

Damn FBI training. 

“What makes you say that, agent?”

“Your posture, tone, and the fact you keep changing the subject.” There’s a sharp sound of leather soles on tiles as Stern hops of the stool. Then he’s in Barlcay’s periphery, leaning back against the counter, sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it. But if it’s something to do with me, please tell me.”

“No” he turns off the burner, sets the syrup side to cool, “not even  little, babe. I, uh, my first memory of fall on earth was getting exiled.”

“Oh, oh Barclay I had no idea.” Stern pivots, rests a hand on his hip.

“No one but Mama really does. It just means that all the stuff people like about fall; the leaves changing,getting to bundle up, building the first fire of the year, even the food...I still get this miserable feeling. Even though I’ve had lots of good stuff happen in the fall since then I find myself knowing what I was missing all those years. That was one of my favorite times of year on Sylvain that feeling. Having projects makes it easier to ignore.” When he turns his head his gaze is on the ground, “sorry, don’t mean to make things heavy when we’re just doing a goofy bet.”

Stern tugs him away from the stove, rests a hnd on each bearded cheek, “Thank you for telling me, Barclay. I’m sorry, I can't imagine how that felt, and if you ever want to talk about it...well, actually, Indrid might be the better person, but I’ll do my best. And,” he guides Barclay’s face up so he’s looking into brown eyes, stroking his cheek to coax out a smile, “I’m happy to be a distraction whenever you need me to.”

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

“Oh of course, how could I have missed that?” Indrid whacks his head into his notebook as Stern mentions his conversation with Brcly, “He told me once when in the year he was exiled, but I never put together what that corresponded to. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Me too. For now I’m taking him at his word that the bet is enough of a distraction.”

“Wise. Speaking of which; any luck, my love?”

“Nope!” Duck’s voice comes down from Janes attic. His sister is mostly sure their mom’s pumpkin pie recipe is somewhere in the boes up there, so Duck used his spare key to get into the house. 

“How’s the ltte?” Indrid dips his head to indicate the travel mug in Stern’s hnd. 

“I still don’t see what the fuss is. Barclay even used my favorite blend as the base.” 

Indrid looks down t his own mug, “do you want some of my white chocolate- oh dear”

“Ahfuck! Uh, ‘Drid, Joe? Can, uh, can one of you move the ladder back? Because I just kicked it.” Duck’s legs are dangling from the attic door, the stepladder on it’s side on the floor. Before Stern can grab it, two chitinous, slightly velvety arms paper.

“Just let go.”

Duck obeys, dropping into the mothman’s waiting arms. 

“Thanks, sugar.”

“You are welcome. Since you are about to say you did not find it, how bout lunch.”

“Sounds good. You comin, Joe.”

“Of course.”

‘...’Drid, you gonna put me down?’

“.......I haven't decided yet.”

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

“Okay, this one has condensed milk, less ginger, and a hint of caramel.”

“Mmm. Hmmm, no I mean, it’s not bad but it’s still not trendsetting.”

“Dang.”

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

“Jesus, why’d they keep all this stuff? These are report cards from first grade!”

“What is there to grade at that age?”

“Behavior, mostly. Huh, here are some cookbooks, maybe mom put that recipe in here.”

“While you search, I shall amuse myself with this box of photographs--you never told me you played trombone. Or had frosted tips.”

“That was one time in college, and gimme that box, you fuzzy menace.”

“Only if you come and get it, little human.”

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

“This one is salted caramel, pumpkin, spices, and vanilla infused heavy cream.”

“Nope, still not revelatory.”

“Grrrrr.”

“Was that directed at me or the latte?”

“The latte, but if you feel like being a little late for your meeting with agent Steele I can growl over you some right now.”

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

“...Thanks, Aunt Alice. Uhhuh, yep, talk with you soon.”

“No help from the extended family, I take it?”

“Nope. Just questions about when I’m gonna get married.”

“Oh dear.”

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

Stern sips from his Flathead Lake travel mug, the one where a monster becomes visible when warm liquid is poured in. 

“Oh my lord, Barclay, this is incredible! You’ve done it, I want to drink this everyday.” He sips as fast as his tongue will allow as his boyfriend rumbles out a laugh. 

“Well, yes and no. I did make that, but it’s not  pumpkin spice. It’s dirty chai with fall-spiced caramel syrup.”

“It’s amazing. I love you so much.”

Barclay laughs louder, reaches across the center console to squeeze his hand, “Love you too, babe. More I thought about it, more I figured you're a man of very, uh, particular tastes sometimes, and if you don’t like pumpkin lattes, you don’t like them. I’d rather spend my time making something I know you’ll love, rather than trying to make your tastes match everyone else's. I mean, I kinda benefit from your having weird taste. Um, so to speak.” He pulls up to the apartment, and as soon as the car stops Stern pulls him into a kiss. 

“Thank you, Barclay. I, um, no one’s ever gone to all that effort just to try and help me understand why people like something.”

“Any time, agent.”

Stern pulls his phone out, “I have something for you too.” 

Barclay reads the image of an email he saved, “You’re taking time off?”

“Yes. I, um, I was thinking we could go to Sylvain during it. I can't give you back all the things you missed being gone. But I thought maybe I could give you the chance to start making up for lost time. I love fall on earth; I want to learn how to love it on Sylvain too, with you as my guide. I want to do what I can so it isn’t a bittersweet time of year anymore.”

The larger man looks like he might cry, but Stern doesn’t get long to examine it, since he’s crushed in a hug. 

“Thank you, babe, thank you so fucking much. I, I’ve been kinda nervous to try and go back for things but I felt silly for being scared and I didn’t know how to ask and just...thank you.” He sniffles, pulls back with a watery smile, “Now c’mon, let’s go up. From the smell of it, Duck made pie.”

The apartment smells like the platonic ideal of fall, and Duck, streak of flour on his cheek, is putting the finishing whip cream touch on a pumpkin pie.”

“Where did you finally find the recipe?”

“In a book buried at the back of my closet, full of moms advice for when I got my own place. Haven't looked at it in close to two decades, and Winnie shredded the top cover, but the recipe was there alright.”

“Gotta admit, I’m impressed. That looks real fucking professional Duck.”

“Thanks man.” The ranger grins, cuts a slice and places it in front of Indrid (happily bundled in one of Barclay’s orange and grey flannels). The Sylph takes a forkful, scrutinizing it for a moment. Takes a bite, and chirps as he chews.

“Good?”

Wordlessly, Indrid stands, removes his glasses, and picks up the pie dish. 

“If anyone needs me, the pie and I will be in the bedroom.”

“HAH!” Duck whoops triumphantly.

“Hey, hold on, I gotta try this to see what the secret is” Barclay takes off down the hall after him.

“No, mine, AH! Unhand me, I am the court seer.”

Duck flops against Stern as he doubles over, laughing. 

“Fine, I gotta try it sir.” Barclays voice dips lower, and Stern sees him shift into his Sylph form. 

“Don’t try to sweet talk me, this pie is mineOHgoodness, put me down.”

“Wanna know the secret?” The ranger says between giggles. 

“Please.”

“I tripled the amount of sugar it called for.”

“Good thinking, ranger Newton.” Stern kisses him, “care to help me arbitrate a cryptid fight?”

Duck grins at him, love in every line of his face as laughter rings down the hallway, “lead the way, darlin.”

#promptober #OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #sternclay #agent stern/barclay/indrid cold/Duck newton #agent stern/barclay #agent stern/duck newton #Indrid cold/Barclay #trans stern #trans duck newton

[lovelyirony]

“Why were you digging? What did you bury/before those hands pulled me from this earth?” for sharon/bucky?

There’s an optional project/challenge among the new SHIELD trainees to “prove” your worth: do the impossible. 

This can take form in many ways. 

Agent Simpson who is now Level Nine clearance found a loophole out of doing paperwork. He is still exploiting it. He knows no God. Does not want to know God. 

Sharon went after a little more of an attainable goal: 

Catching the Winter Soldier. 

“That is not more attainable,” Clint mutters. 

“Yes it is,” Sharon says. “At least I’m not gonna have Hill on my ass trying to find another loophole to get me to do paperwork. I still can’t believe she’s after Simpson. Leave the legend alone.” 

No one thinks she’s going to find Winter Soldier. Countless other agents have tried, thinking they had the final piece of the puzzle. 

Sharon knows that she absolutely has no puzzle pieces to speak of. She doesn’t even like puzzles. 

This is what makes her dangerous. She’s not looking for pieces that lead to the big picture. 

She’s looking at the bigger picture. 

This involves investigating the “accident” that happened to Howard and Maria Stark. She had seen Tony a couple times and he usually spent Christmas with the Carters or with his boyfriend, Rhodey. This time, he was with Rhodey in Boston and currently holed up in a house and unable to get out. 

While she pitied the fact that he couldn’t get to the tragedy at hand, it allowed her to poke around a little bit. 

And she found that this wasn’t an accident. It couldn’t possibly be. 

Howard Stark was fanatical about his cars, and his self-control. If he was taking out a Cadillac, he wouldn’t even look at anything stronger than water. 

She knows this because Peggy has grumbled about how much Howard will talk about his cars. 

She also knows that Maria is extremely conscientious of road conditions. 

So, them getting into an accident? No. No way in hell. 

There is also a boot print. 

While this isn’t exactly a unique print, it proves that someone else was there. 

She tells Fury, who in turn discusses the possibility with a good colleague, Alexander Pierce. 

Pierce calls her into his office. 

Says something along the lines of “your observational skills are great, sweetheart. You just need to hone them. The print was from a police officer’s shoe, no need to worry.” 

Sharon sits back. 

“The police officers weren’t wearing boots.” 

“Well, one was.” 

“You sure about that?” 

She’s not sure what look Pierce gives her. 

But it involves a transfer to clean-up crew for a week, as if that’s going to deter her. 

She talks about it with Hill over a wine-night. 

“I don’t like Pierce,” Hill says. “Fucker doesn’t know how to keep his pens and keeps stealing mine. I had to buy the shittiest ones so he will hopefully stop coming by my desk.” 

“Something’s off about him,” Sharon says, slurping up a noodle. “I don’t think he’s what he seems.” 

“Then go after him. I’ll help. I don’t like him and I’m bored. I’m a week ahead of schedule. Go tell Harrison on clean-up that her favor to me is now done and over with. We’re staking out.” 

Pierce has a monthly luncheon that also involves Jasper Sitwell, known asshat who is the most boring man alive. He has seven things he eats for dinner, all corresponding to a specific day. 

Wednesday has been spaghetti night for fifteen years, apparently. 

Maria cried at learning that. 

But the monthly luncheon. It’s a SHIELD expense, and it really shouldn’t be. No one knows what they talk about. Fury’s on the same clearance level, and even he doesn’t know. 

Sitwell and Pierce also whisper into each other’s ear at the end of it all. 

This isn’t exactly bad, but it is weird considering that one time Pierce got hugged by a male colleague and his first response is “I have a wife.” 

“Something is definitely up,” Maria says, sipping on her wine. “Should we do surveillance on his house? I feel like we should.” 

“Eh, what else do I have to do on a Thursday?” Sharon asks. 

Pierce’s house looks like a mini-White House. 

They both decide they hate it. 

Sharon ordered a pizza and set up listening equipment. 

- 

What they were not expecting to find out at 8:47 p.m. was that Hydra was never quite gone. 

“Is it bad that I’m like...I know I’m not all surprised?” Maria asks. 

“Paperwork is about to be a challenge. At least you won’t have to collect any from Simpson.” 

“You can go fuck yourself.” 

Sharon snorts. 

She starts recruitment. 

Clint is in, no questions asked. 

“Sharon, I need you to understand that I can shoot arrows. I think that’s necessary.” 

“It really isn’t, but you know Black Widow,” Sharon says. “So we need that.” 

“Can you believe this is all because you wanted to do the impossible and you did, kind of?” Clint mutters. “Of course it’s gonna be you.” 

- 

The game plan: Sharon knows that if she gets people to intimidate Pierce, he’ll send out Winter Soldier. That guy’s kind of like Plan A around Hydra, apparently. She’s been talking to other people, finding out some dirt about the “shady” agents that others know. 

Winter Soldier gets sent out to kill her. 

He’s not really big into hesitation. She knows this. 

This is why she is hosting a game night with Barton, Romanoff, and Hill. 

Romanoff just straight-up shoots him in the leg. Clint throws a piece of pizza at his face. Hill places down the perfect funny card for her category. 

“Dammit Maria!” Natasha yells. “Why did you have to place that one now?” 

“I’m a winner, bitch,” Maria says, getting up lithely and stepping over Winter Soldier to pour more wine into her glass. 

“That’s a straight lie, no human can multitask.” 

“You really wanna assume I’m human?” 

“Can you guys bitch later?” Sharon asks. “I’m kind of busy working on my trainee project.” 

“I’m your fucking trainee project?” Winter Soldier groans. “Jesus shit I hate this...” 

“Is it bad that I wasn’t aware that you could talk?” 

“Technically, I am not supposed to. Why I have this stupid damn mask on.” 

Sharon takes it off. Blinks. 

“Oh. This is extra credit at this point.” 

- 

Hydra gets taken down a few years earlier than anticipated. And it’s all because Sharon just had to work on her (optional) trainee project. 

Bucky isn’t too upset that this is how he got out of Hydra. 

It means that Sharon introduces him to the concept of brunch, so he’s actually pretty okay with it. 

#funniest shit is making serious events comedic #me making maria the funniest bitch alive? of course i am #lovelyirony writes #maria hill #sharon carter #natasha romanoff #clint barton #nick fury #i alwyas make pierce the most Asshole Man Alive #it's what he deserves

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 10, one month in!

Man, I might actually finish this. Link here and @lostmypotatoes remains great.

This one mostly features Frisk having enough of everyone’s shit.

When Sans had composed himself enough to leave the wallpaper behind, he found Dr. Serif double-checking the paperwork while Frisk rustled around in her dressing room. As soon as she emerged in her black dress, the doctor said, "I have a request, Sans. When you escort Snowdrake home, I'd like you to stay in human form. Two monsters going anywhere without an owner will attract too much attention, especially near the border, and we should see whether your disguise can fool another monster. Do you think you can masquerade as a human who is using Sans' magic?"

Sans didn't like the idea – in fact, he completely hated it – but he was in the mood to think before he spoke, and the more he did, the more it made sense. "Yeah, I guess. If I told 'im who I was, he'd probably think I'd been brainwashed or somethin'. Everyone would be weird about it when I got home."

"Exactly." The royal sorcerer rolled the papers back up and placed the scroll on the edge of the table. "Does Sans need to bring the deed to the house with him in case he's questioned, my lady?"

"No, I've written a note and put my seal on it. Here's a map with the house marked, and I also have an insignia he can carry." The priestess went to a little nook by the fireplace, glanced at herself in the mirror, and opened a drawer full of odds and ends. "Where is...ah." Frisk pulled out a leather armband. "This will identify you as the High Priestess' personal agent. I don't use it often, but anyone you speak to should recognize it."

Sans had retrieved his silver chain from the bedroom. He looped it around his neck, put the smaller items in his overcoat, and accepted the armband, admiring the patterns of tiny white and red crystals worked into the leather. "Spiffy. So, if anyone asks me who I am an' where I'm takin' Snowdrake, I can tell 'em to shove it?"

"You will not tell anyone to shove it." He winced at her tone—yep, she was still mad at him. "Furthermore, please remember your fortune. No matter what happens, unless it is absolutely the only way to keep yourself and Snowdrake safe, I don't want you to kill anyone." She swept an errant lock of hair behind her ear, voice softening. "Please, Sans."

The boss monster's SOUL fluttered. He looked down at the armband, which was more of a wristband at his human size. "Fine," he said, trying to sound careless. "I'll talk first, only kill 'em if they really, really bug me."

"Sans!" He'd forgotten that Frisk had the lungs to roar like a miniature hurricane. "Do you care about anything but yourself and what you want to do? If you kill anyone and you cannot come back here and look me in the eye to tell me why it was necessary, I don't want you to come back at all! Do you understand?!"

Sans was speechless. As her echoes bounced off the corners of the room, he not only couldn't think of what to say, it felt like the magic comprising his vocal cords had evaporated.

Into the silence fell the sound of someone rapping on the double doors. Frisk whipped on her veil and headdress, allowing the bemused Dr. Serif to get up and admit two armed guards.

Between the men drooped a birdlike, half-grown monster roughly four feet tall, ice forming on the chains around its neck and feet. Without preamble, the priestess snapped her fingers at the guards and said, "Remove his bonds. Now."

The shorter guard coughed as Snowdrake shrank further back. "He is secured with the commonest type of lock. Your Ladyship will doubtless possess the key already," the guard mumbled.

Though her features were obscured by the veil, the High Priestess' body language was so expressive of absolute wrath that the men swallowed and gripped their weapons tighter. Without turning her head, she said to Sans in measured, glacial tones, "Get rid of those chains."

"As milady wishes," Sans said cheerfully, raising his left hand. The guards didn't notice the red mist surrounding the collar or shackles, but they did see the metal burst into fragments; the men nearly wet themselves as the rest of the chains fell off the startled drake.

"Leave us," ordered Frisk, and they were happy to obey, one pausing to grab the scroll and the other nearly running out the doors ahead of him.

Snowdrake's beak fluttered open, but he shut it and cringed as Frisk reached for his neck. "That's Sans' magic," whispered the young monster. "How'd you get him?"

Frisk placed her hand on his head, feeling him tremble. "He's unharmed, and he's given us his magic in order to help return you to the Underground." She brushed the last few links off his feathery neck, trying to avoid the half-healed scabs where the collar had rubbed him raw. "I am not your new owner, Snowdrake. You're going to be free."

The ice monster's eyes darted between her and the two men. "Yes, my lady," he said woodenly.

The poor kid. Sans knew exactly what it was like to be at a human witch's mercy and having to hear that kind of crap. Only the knowledge that she wasn't lying and Snowdrake would be home soon kept Sans from dropping the disguise right then and there.

"My guard will escort you as close as he can to the entrance to the Underground," Frisk told Snowdrake, then looked at Sans. "You shouldn't have trouble, but if you run into poachers, I'm giving you full authority to protect yourselves through non-lethal means. Is that understood?"

Sans nodded. To his surprise, Dr. Serif cleared his throat. "I think you had better take this as well. Consider it repayment." He produced yet another brooch from his robe, this one large and faintly pink. Sans wondered irritably how many of them he still had. "If you use this to supplement the magic you already possess, you can make the journey in a few easy stages. Pace yourself, and do not hurry back." He sat down as Sans put the brooch away. "Several people in the plot against Her Eminence have already been detained. We will maintain a watch in case anyone else involved decides to strike before they're discovered, and I will personally check on her throughout the day."

"Indeed," said Frisk. "Please take your time."

Holy shit, that hurt. The boss monster plunged his hands into his pockets to avoid breaking anything. "Breakfast should be here in a moment," the priestess went on, "and as soon as you've—" Right on cue, there was another knock at the door. "—both eaten, we'll pack something for you to take with you."

Sans tried to catch her eye, but she went back to the office as the servant unloaded the trolley. Snowdrake made no move to eat until Sans put a plate down and told him, "Go for it," at which the ice monster almost literally dove in. There was no telling the last time he'd had enough to eat, so Sans didn't ask, letting Snowdrake devour nearly everything and gulp down all the milk.

Fortunately, there was a bundle of apples and sandwiches sitting on the bottom of the trolley, along with three flasks of water and one of cider. "I ordered extra provisions. You'll need to keep your strength up," said Dr. Serif, waving away Sans' muttered thanks. He checked that Snowdrake was done, then called, "They're leaving, my lady."

Frisk reemerged, still veiled. "The best of luck to you both," she said.

Sans picked up the bundle, tucking it under his arm. "Sure, boss. See you when I get back." He jerked his head at Snowdrake, who was peering up at him, eyes half closed. "C'mon." Sans shouldered the doors open for the smaller monster to trudge through; a second later, the guard outside made a squeaky sound that indicated Sans had teleported them away.

The priestess sank into a chair, shoulders slumping as she pulled off her headdress. Dr. Serif cleared his throat. "You look as though you need more rest, Your Eminence. Unless, of course, you'd like to talk about your—"

"No. Thank you," she said, loud and sharp. Frisk picked up a fresh stack of letters, sorting them into different piles according to the wax seals or lack thereof. "I have a great deal of correspondence to catch up on, and I'll be very dull company for the next several hours. I'm sure you also have a great deal of work to do—have you started drafting your proposed specifications for the first set of solar arrays?"

"Yes, my lady. In fact, I've scheduled a meeting later this morning with several of my colleagues to discuss the matter. I'll be back this afternoon, but if you need anything at all in the meantime..."

"Thank you," she said again, a little more calmly. "I also must thank you for your help earlier with Sans. Did you figure out why he was acting so strange? I can't believe he grabbed me like that! I don't know what he could have been thinking."

The doctor made a wry face at her back. "I'm not sure how it happened, my lady. I don't believe he intended to become inebriated, but that is certainly what he was." He paused. "I will also keep you apprised of developments in Fernand's interrogation. Your Eminence will be glad to know that Lord Owen has been cleared of suspicion, more than adequately."

Frisk  looked daggers at him. "Has he?"

"Indeed," he said gravely. "The moment his friend was arrested, Lord Owen volunteered to answer questions under hypnosis. He was tested beforehand for any magic with which he might have resisted or subverted the procedure, which ensured his answers were completely truthful. He is guiltless, and can offer no further information."

She nodded, returning to the next stack of letters. Why did she feel just the tiniest bit disappointed?

It was no use pretending. In her too-honest, very tired mind, she knew exactly why: it would've been the ideal excuse to reject him and find another suitor for her "adequate" future. It wasn't at all nice, but facts were facts. No matter how much she wanted to be married, having Luke  as a husband would be like sleeping with her brother!

So, that just left...who?

The doctor coughed theatrically. "Before I go, my lady..."

Something made Frisk look up at him. Dr. Serif gave her a brief smile, and said with unusual delicacy, "With no intrusion intended or opinion attached, I beg that you inform me if and when you wish to safely dispose of your box. Whatever may be inside it, I assume there is magic involved, and throwing it away without the proper precautions may have consequences."

Frisk picked up an envelope and hissed between her teeth as she felt the paper slice her thumb. "I understand, Doctor. Good day to you."

He half-smiled. "And to you, my lady." When she looked up a moment later, he was already gone.

~

If Frisk had ever had a more miserable day as High Priestess, she didn't want to remember when. She hadn't just been trying to get rid of the royal sorcerer; she really did have a pile of mail to get through. The only attention she paid to the proposals was to make a stack of rejects, maybes, and actual prospects. Then she threw the maybes into the reject pile. Then she had to literally grab her own wrist to keep from dumping the entire basket into the fireplace—if she was destined to either marry Lord Owen or hop right into bed with someone unmarriageable, why bother wading through any of these?

A small, flat package at the bottom of the stack puzzled her until she opened it and several bookmarks fell out. Right: she'd ordered them when Sans got after her one time too many for her uncouth reading habits. She could fold all the pages she wanted today, Frisk tried to tell herself, but it just made her wish he was here to tell her to leaf them alone or mark his words. When she got another paper cut, she started to ask him to heal it for her, only to realize she was speaking to an empty room. She had to make do by washing her hands and applying tiny bits of ointment that came right off when she picked up more envelopes.

Just before lunch, Frisk told herself she'd earned a break and went in to flop on the enormous bed. Would Sans be back tonight? If he wasn't back by evening, should she go ahead and sleep in here, knowing he could come back inexplicably drunk and try to cuddle her again?

...She couldn't shake the idea. Technically, she should be scared at the idea of a ten-foot monster with no inhibitions invading her space when she was most vulnerable, but...she wasn't. Not remotely. In fact, her imagination was running with it so fast that she couldn't catch up, much less stop it. Frisk actually had to remind herself that Sans was a skeleton, only for her self to remind her that there were approximately two hundred creative ways around that particular deficit. Ah, well. It was all stupid, harmless tired-brain fantasy about someone she was comfortable with, not as if she was going to marry him or anything...

This was ridiculous. It had only been a few hours, and she was still furious with him, but she missed Sans so much that she could barely function.

There was another knock, and the priestess scowled as she got up to put on her veil and answer the outside door. To her surprise, it was Luke, holding a tiny velvet jewelry pouch out to her. "Good morning, Your Eminence," he said as she pasted on a smile. "Forgive my intrusion, but I came to return this in person."

Frisk opened the drawstrings and pulled out her pearl bracelet, the one he'd removed so the parrot wouldn't destroy it. "Oh. Thank you," she said automatically. Luke waited for more, and she glanced behind her. "I am sorry, Lord Owen, but you've caught me in the middle of decanting. The fumes will be potentially harmful once the mixture has heated, so..."

"It's quite all right. I didn't intend a long visit," he assured her. "I wanted to ask if you've had a chance to look over the contact information I forwarded to you."

Thank God she had found his note in her mail, or else she wouldn't have remembered the farmland at all. "Yes, I have, thank you," she replied. "I'll send your broker an inquiry with the name of my banker. Shall I inform you when I hear back from her?"

"If it's quite convenient, yes, please." The young lord shuffled his feet, as if he was suddenly uncomfortable about something. "Fr—Your Eminence, may I ask if any of the rumors about the All Souls festival are accurate?"

The guard at her door had been doubled, and she couldn't help noticing how both of them were waiting to hear her answer. "Forgive my bluntness, Lord Owen, but I don't know what you're talking about. I have no time for ridiculous gossip," she almost snapped.

"Yes, of course, of course. I'm the one who must beg forgiveness. I'm sure you would never..." Her stare intensified, and he hastened to say, "The last reason I've trespassed on your time is that I am preparing to visit St. Brigid's. I'll be leaving early tomorrow. May I tell Mathilda that you've been well?"

"Absolutely!" Frisk knew this was where she was supposed to ask how his sister was doing in general, how her studies were going, etc. etc., and pass along all sorts of loving messages. But somehow, with her blood still humming and her potential husband right in front of her, and Sans not there to see, she had just one thought: "Could you give her something from me?"

"Yes, of course," he said pleasantly. "What is it?"

Frisk nodded, stepped forward and gave him a quick, decisive hug, careful to get her arms all the way around him before she stepped back. "Please excuse me," she said, "but I haven't seen Mathilda since Christmas, and I miss her very much. I hope you understand."

"Uh..." Luke blinked hard. "Yes, my lady. I'll see her and give her...that. Thank very much, and a good day to you." He bowed vigorously and turned on his heel, speed-walking down the hall in flustered elation.

Ignoring the guards' smirks, the High Priestess went back inside and slammed the doors, removing her veil again. She knew she should be embarrassed or at least care what they were going to say about her, but really, half the city was probably placing bets on who she'd be sleeping with in however many days or hours, so what was one brief embrace?

It was nothing. That was what she'd felt, anyway. Part of her was surprised at her own cold-heartedness, but Frisk knew what had happened when she hugged Sans, and she was certain that no matter how long she snuggled up to Luke, it wouldn't feel remotely similar; if he had put his arm around her, it would've just annoyed her. At least she had eliminated any remaining doubt: Luke could offer her pleasant company, and that was all. Not warmth, or real companionship, or gentleness, laughter, intellectual stimulation, literal attraction...

There went her imagination again. The workroom was still cold from however long Sans had had the windows open, but she had to pick up some papers to fan herself. It was quite a relief when lunch arrived and she could eat Sans' portion to make up for missing breakfast, then retire to the bedroom.

Having spent so much of her early life on her own, Frisk had been shocked when she came to St. Brigid's and discovered that even in a convent, the primary occupation of adolescent girls seemed to be talking about boys, or sex, or any combination thereof. She understood now that they had had very little else to talk or think about, and that being in a strict religious environment meant that there were no other outlets for their perfectly normal teenage curiosity, but those first few months had been eye-opening, to say the least.

To their credit, the sisters were aware of this and knew very well that after the lights went out in the dormitory, the girls would stuff their pillows under their covers to create a laughable illusion of being in bed, crawl to the center of the floor, and whisper to each other until they forgot themselves and laughed too loud at something, which was the cue for the proctor on duty to shout "BED" and send them flying back to their cots. It was probably also why everyone had to undergo a comprehensive sexual education course when they turned fourteen, and of course, the girls who could tell penis jokes for literal hours on end felt quite differently about the matter when an eighty-year-old priestess was passing out textbooks with full-color drawings and scientific labels.

In short, Frisk knew exactly what she was feeling and why. She'd never had the nerve to try anything when she was sleeping in an open room with dozens of other girls and young women, but once she moved into these chambers and found she had nearly unlimited privacy, she had finally availed herself of the opportunity to ignore the Church's teachings on self-exploration. Then she had availed herself of the opportunity a lot, figuring that it was harming no one whatsoever, and that she wouldn't have been given those parts if she wasn't meant to use them. But she hadn't done it since Sans arrived, especially not when they were in the same bed.

Sans was not here now, and she wasted no time, pausing only to throw a quilt over herself before she moved her skirt aside and worked her hand into place. She'd never done this in the middle of the day before, but that added a little excitement; what if she was to take down the barrier against teleportation, and he happened to get back right as she was in the middle of it? That would be just awful. Would he even recognize what she was doing, or would he just—

Another knock. Another fecking knock on the outside door as she was getting this close, and she wanted to burn down the entire castle. Frisk kicked the quilt off, pulled her clothes back into place, and stomped over to her veil and circlet before she threw the doors open. This had better be worth the interruption!

~

Over an hour later, she came back to her rooms with her cluster of guards and, given the general trajectory of the day thus far, was not surprised to find Dr. Serif waiting next to a stack of crates. "Good afternoon," he said. "It seems as if the items you've ordered for your apprenticeship have arrived. Would you like some assistance putting them away?"

Frisk looked at them, and at him, but she could barely speak. "I am overtired, Doctor," she mumbled. "I would appreciate your help, and then I need to rest."

"Of course." The royal scientist opened the double doors and directed the guards to bring the boxes inside while she went to the bathroom to remove her veil and compose herself for a few minutes. It didn't work, but it was long enough for the guards to put everything away and leave, so she only had to worry about the doctor when she emerged.

One look at her was enough. He didn't ask if she was all right, just moved aside a respectful distance as she sat down to check the inventory sheet. "Would you like to talk about it?" he asked kindly.

"No, thank you," she said, voice cracking.

"I understand." The doctor removed the lid from a long box of seedlings and began filling a vial at the sink. "They've found the guard responsible for leaving your door unattended and allowing the assassin into your room. It seems he is affiliated with a local group pushing to decriminalize the retrieval of monsters from the no-man's-land. It should be a valuable link in uncovering more conspirators."

"Excellent. I'm glad to hear it," Frisk said politely, mind still buzzing.

Dr. Serif tipped some water into each seed-bed. "If he avoids detours or anything else he is not supposed to do, Sans should be back late this evening. Don't be alarmed if he takes longer, though. I could easily see him deciding to rush back and overextending himself. He can sleep at your house tonight if need be."

The only sound was water running into the vial and being trickled onto the tiny plants. The doctor glanced at her over his shoulder. "If I may, High Priestess. Please don't go there to wait for him or try to meet him. He should—"

"Get out!"

When the doctor had obediently made himself scarce, Frisk threw her veil on the floor, stormed into the bedroom, and flung herself on the bed for a good, long cry, or at least a long one. It wasn't Dr. Serif's fault that he'd happened to visit right as she was returning from a talk with her father. She hadn't been so angry or humiliated in a long time—of all the people to drag her away from her private time to lecture her about maintaining a good reputation and not sleeping around, why the hell did he think he had the right to do it, especially based on a single stupid rumor? It'd been all she could do not to scream at him that he'd spent his youth screwing his way through most of the kingdom, left her to be neglected almost to death for ten years, and only taken an interest in any of his damn-near-orphans when his second wife died in childbirth and the midwives told him the baby might not survive! How dare he?!

The final nail in the coffin came a few hours later, when she'd finally pulled herself together enough to start writing replies to everything that needed replying to. After many more paper cuts, Frisk was almost done when she heard a knock that she hoped, for the other person's sake, was her dinner.

It was, but it was also another messenger. At least this one wasn't there to take her anywhere, merely to tell her that His Holiness had furnished the records she requested, handing over a folder roughly two inches thick.

Frisk probably should have been glad she could peruse the list of enslaved monsters without Sans hovering over her shoulder, and she was; it was just hard to be happy about much of anything when she was reading all the names and descriptions—she'd felt strongly enough about it when she wasn't remembering how completely beaten Snowdrake had looked, and wondering how many other monsters must be in similar or worse circumstances at that very moment. Her duty now was to go through the list of owners and judge which were probably the absolute worst, and organize inspections as quickly and stealthily as possible.

It all went back to her stupid fortunes. She'd half-purposely led Luke on, and her father had made it very clear that he expected her to make the respectable choice, the hypocritical old goat. The problem was that it was what everyone would expect of her; in the wee hours of the morning, it had felt daring and romantic to contemplate a future where she had a child with a not-husband, but the reality was that it would probably ruin her life, just like her mother's. Frisk was more confused than ever: how could she change the world and free monsters if she did something so socially unacceptable that no one would probably ever speak to her again? But she'd also have new parents and a huge family...how?!

Even if Sans had been a complete idiot at the fortune-teller's table, she wished more than ever that he was here to talk to. Damn Dr. Serif for reading her thoughts so easily. There was still the brooch he'd given her a couple nights ago, but she wanted to save it for a real emergency; besides, it wasn't as if she could do much to help Sans if he simply needed to rest before coming back to the castle...assuming he was coming back.

Frisk shook herself. There was no reason to believe that at all! She had to think more constructively. Wasn't there some way to communicate w—ah, yes, he was able to speak to Papyrus in dreams. She had joined him fairly easily the time she'd tried it. If she took down that barrier again...

...then the child could get in. But Sans wasn't here. Could it make her hurt him in a dream?

That was when Frisk officially gave up on thinking, or working, or doing anything else for the day. It was already after sunset, so she folded up the registry, instructed the guards not to let anyone disturb her unless something was actively on fire, and went to run a bath. Her mind didn't clear much, but it did help relax her, even if she was still too tense to pick up where she'd left off with herself. She put on her fuzziest nightgown, whisked the barrier away and built up a fire in the bedroom, then made a warm nest of blankets and settled herself to sleep, leaving her mind cautiously open.

~

She woke a little as the bed creaked beside her. She grumbled under her breath and turned away from him, pulling the covers up.

Undeterred, he ducked beneath the covers and draped himself over her side. His hard, smooth fingers caught on her hair as he pushed it out of the way to nuzzle her neck. It was a good start, but he must have been tipsy: she yelped as his nasal bone jabbed her. "sorry," he murmured.

That should've been that; she graciously permitted him to stroke her hair as an apology, and settled back down to sleep.

She should have known better when he started petting her back and down her side, and then rubbed her leg, knowing very well that she'd sleepily turn toward him so he could pet the other one, too. Then came a soft, warm touch on her neck, his hands sliding under her nightshirt, and her nightshirt creeping up as he eased his weight onto her.

"Really?" she tried to ask, but his mouth was in the way, and he easily caught the hand she brought up to push him off, spreading his fingers to interlace them with hers.

He would have stopped if she'd insisted. She didn't. She—

~

Someone was in her office.

Frisk was not afraid. She was done. She got out of bed with an ache in her groin and murderous resolve in her heart, moving silently through the bedroom and the dark workroom. There was no light showing under the office door, but she could feel ripples through the barrier over her safe as someone dug into the floor around it. With no restraint or remorse, she yanked open the doors and slammed a multi-layered barrier into the room, catching the would-be thief by surprise.

Whoever it was, they were unnaturally strong and agile, nearly catching the edge to squeeze through as it sealed itself off. But it was no use: fueled by angry determination, the barrier snapped shut into a golden sphere, trapping the person inside. The intruder struck at it several times with terrific force, but Frisk held firm until the figure staggered, then fell to its knees, wheezing.

Only then did Frisk click her tongue, dropping the layer that prevented air from getting in, and strengthening the layer that suppressed magic. "Whoever you are, you have ten seconds to explain yourself," she snarled.

A gulping breath. "Please, my lady—"

Frisk was so startled that her concentration wavered. The figure took the opportunity to hit the barrier again, and she promptly cut its air off, waiting several seconds before she allowed any back in. The priestess came forward and peered inside. "...Doctor?"

In the barrier's glow, she could see quite well, and though she knew she had him contained, Frisk felt a twinge of fear. It had sounded exactly like the royal sorcerer, but this was not Dr. Serif. It was a monster, a skeleton with a long, eerie face, much more smooth and hollow-looking than Sans or Papyrus. As it straightened, its arms stayed hidden in the folds of its long, ragged black coat, and several disembodied skeletal hands floated over its shoulders. "The man who speaks in hands," she said to herself. No wonder they were supposed to beware him!

The monster's brow creased. "The man who speaks in hands?" he repeated in Dr. Serif's whispery voice. "How very poetic." Cough. "May I ask where you—"

"You may not!" The barrier constricted, nearly brushing the top of his skull. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The skeleton visibly struggled to answer, and finally croaked, "My name is W.D. Gaster. I am a monster who has been posing as a human in order to maintain my post as the royal sorcerer." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Young lady, what...what is this?"

Frisk sat down on the couch, which had been moved aside to expose the safe. "I assume you mean the fact that you can't lie to me while you're in there. I'm not much good at truth spells, but I figured out how to incorporate one into a barrier, which I am very good at. I just don't use it very often." On some level, she wasn't surprised that Dr. Serif had been hiding something like this, but she was still afraid—had any of his help or kindness been real, or was it all for some unknown, sinister purpose? Would he try to eliminate her now that she knew what he was?

Gaster was staring at her. Above him, both pairs of hands started a slow clap. "I am extremely impressed, Your Eminence. I am also very apprehensive. As a monster, I cannot match your determination, which means you have me at a complete disadvantage. I must commend you."

The priestess was gratified, but knew better than to drop her guard; she could feel him subtly testing the weave and span of the barrier with unseen hands. "Stop that," she snapped, and he did, tilting his head to concede defeat. "Were you trying to steal my box?"

"Of course," he said. "I infer that it contains your memories, and it is now common knowledge that the future of this world hinges on what you do with it."

Frisk controlled another stab of anger, though she couldn't stop the barrier from popping and snapping like a bonfire. "And you thought you would...what? Dispose of it without asking me?"

"I don't know exactly what I was thinking," Gaster confessed. "I succumbed to intellectual curiosity as to what distilled memories look like, and whether I could view them without disturbing the physical medium. What I would do with them would depend on their contents."

The barrier was now eye-wateringly bright. "You broke into my rooms when Sans wasn't here, damaged my property, and woke me up from a very good dream because you thought you knew better than me what I should do with my life?! How dare you! How dare all of you try to decide this for me?"

"You are completely correct, my lady, and I apologize wholeheartedly." The monster placed his hand on his chest and bowed from the waist. "I swear that I will not presume to meddle any further."

It sounded sincere, but the old priestess who'd helped her develop this technique had been very emphatic: if someone promised something while under a truth spell, there was nothing to stop them from breaking it once the spell ended. "Why are you here?" she asked. "What are your intentions?"

He managed a chuckle. "As I truthfully told your apprentice earlier today, that is a large question." The monster's hands folded into pairs. "I do not believe you will derive any benefit from my entire story, and that most of it will unnecessarily disturb you. May I tell you as much as I sincerely believe will benefit you, and omit that which is not necessary?"

Frisk bit her lip. "I'd prefer to be the judge of that. Answer me, please: what are your intentions towards me, and Sans, and this kingdom in general?"

Gaster didn't reply. Frisk felt him trying to use some kind of magic similar to Sans' to slip out of the barrier, and she gave one sharp whistle; the skeleton's hand went to his throat as his magic dissolved and the air started to thin again. "Please, stop!" he rasped.

The priestess did so, feeling a tiny bit guilty. That rush of anger was starting to fade, but she knew she couldn't let him manipulate her into letting him go before she was ready. The fact that he had been manipulating her up till now was more than enough to steady her resolve. She crossed her arms and stared him down in silence.

A hand came up to massage Gaster's temple. "All right. I...do not intend to harm anyone. I came here solely as an observer, and have only remained for this length of time in order to rectify my errors." He sighed. "As is so often the case, every attempt I make only compounds the problem, and yet I cannot seem to stop."

Frisk shook her head. "I don't want vagueness or lies by omission, Dr. Gaster. Where did you come from, and on whose behalf are you observing us?"

"I came from a place similar to this one. I lived inside Mt. Ebott, which contained the Underground, home to monsters such as Sans, Papyrus, King Asgore, Queen Toriel...to my knowledge, every living monster I knew currently resides here as well."

The priestess' mouth fell open. "How...?"

He made an impatient sound. "As I said, the majority of this information is not necessary to impart. You can do nothing with the knowledge of another Underground, except for the one or two details that are relevant to you and Sans, which I will tell you if you agree to trust me that you do not need the rest. Do we have a deal?"

She exhaled. "Fine. What are you doing here now? Are you gathering information to bring back to your Underground?"

"I dearly wish that this was the case, young lady, but no. I was expelled from my home in an accident, and I no longer exist there. I have been wandering ever since, looking for another place I might settle into." Another sigh. "I know now that it was not only a vain hope, but a dangerous one."

"Dangerous? How so?"

He grimaced. "I found out the hard way, of course. I thought I was doing the right thing when I transplanted a certain monster from a dangerous environment to a safer one where he was needed. I did not know that the danger would follow."

Frisk's skin prickled. "What do you mean? Please start making more sense."

"Very well. To start at the beginning, I must tell you I am not the first W.D. Gaster to have lived in this kingdom or its Underground. Many, many years ago, when I happened upon this place, I went looking for the first item on my checklist: myself. Unfortunately, when I found him, I discovered that your Gaster was easily one of the cruelest I have seen. He conducted horrific experiments on defenseless subjects, both humans and monsters, and he created new life purely to torment it."

The chill increased as Gaster's face darkened. "I was skilled enough to observe him unseen, and his actions disgusted me. I should have left, but when I saw him murder one of his 'sons,' I grew so angry that I could not stop myself. I killed this world's Gaster, and I tried to save his other creation, but it was too late. I broke my policy of noninterference without any real benefit to anyone." He sat down inside the barrier. "Imagine my surprise when I checked the rest of the laboratory and discovered one copy of the younger skeleton ready to awaken, hardly more than a baby. There was no sign that any other creations had survived. I now had a decision to make."

"The 'younger' skeleton? You don't mean—"

"Yes. He created Sans and Papyrus, and he killed them, knowing he could replace them at any time."

The priestess had to fight the urge to be sick all over the office floor. "Couldn't you have taken his place and tried to undo the damage he caused?"

"That was a definite option, and I was tempted. But this is not my home, and I did not want to stay for much longer. I believe I made the correct choice in that respect."

Now she understood why he hadn't wanted to tell her this. Too late; she had to hear the rest of the story.

"It was quite the dilemma. I could not leave Papyrus on his own, nor could I stay here to raise him, or take him with me. He was too young, and I did not know what might happen if I brought him into another place with another Papyrus. But there was no Sans here to care for him. So..." He closed his eyes, pulling the slashes taut. "I made another well-intentioned mistake."

There was a very long pause. "There are certain variations of time and place that I have seen more frequently than others," he said slowly. "The most tragic is where a very sorrowful and angry SOUL becomes warped into a force of absolute destruction, essentially a demon, and it finds a vessel to connect it to the physical world." His eyes opened. "It kills everything, Frisk. Every monster in the Underground, every human above, until there is nothing left. But the force itself does not die. It finds another place to destroy. And another. And another. The child you have seen in your nightmares is here because it cannot bear the fact that in one place, at one time, there was one monster it failed to exterminate. It has come here looking for him."

All the hairs on Frisk's body were standing straight up. "What exactly happened?"

"I found a place where a Sans stood ready to meet the child on its way to murder Asgore and leave the Underground. He had made a promise not to harm any fallen humans, and that promise bound him until it was too late. As always, he was still going to fight it, knowing that it was futile." Gaster looked at his hands, studying the holes in the palms. "I did not speak to him, or even let him see me. I approached him from behind, rendered him unconscious, and transported him here. I had checked Snowdin and saw that the house in which they usually reside was empty, so I brought them both there, left a supply of food and money, and allowed them to live as usual."

"...But...but doesn't he—"

"This world's practice of memory excision is not a good one, in my opinion, but it gave me the idea to try to...adjust him. I did not remove his memories to save for later if he chose to revisit them: I destroyed them entirely. As far as he or anyone else knows, he has always lived here with his little brother." Gaster looked back up at her. "I wanted to give him a second chance in a place where the demon did not exist, and where circumstances were not likely to replicate its creation. I knew that he might have nightmares as echoes of his past experiences, or even glimpses of other lives, but I had no conception that the child itself would stalk him all the way here."

The barrier wavered. Gaster did not move as Frisk shook herself and hummed it back to full strength. She'd have to process all of this information properly later. For now, next question... "Why did you become the royal sorcerer? Didn't you want to leave as soon as you knew they'd be safe?"

"I did, but I came back periodically to check on them. All seemed well until one visit where I discovered that a group of humans had just visited on a diplomatic mission that ended in violent catastrophe. Imagine my surprise when I examined Dr. Alphys' records and discovered that the Sans I rescued had become a boss monster through imperfectly understood means. It was one of the most anomalous variations in his growth that I have ever observed, and it absolutely fascinated me."

His tone was a little too rapturous for her tastes. "You disguised yourself as a human and became the royal sorcerer to keep a closer eye on Sans?" she asked warily.

"Oh, no, my dear young lady. I did so in order to keep a closer eye on you." Frisk started as the skeleton slowly got to his feet. "In order to affect physical matter, even something as tenuous as a monster's body, the demon must find a host. In the course of observing Sans and his brother, I became convinced that the child was trying to reach him, but it could not attach itself to any of the monsters. Through various means, I eventually tracked it to you, just as you were being considered as a replacement for the murdered High Priestess. Not only did I feel the need to protect Sans from a danger he no longer recalled, I became curious about you."

"In what way?" Frisk couldn't help rubbing her eyes. "Why did it choose me?"

Gaster smiled thinly. "At the risk of threatening you or, even worse, stating the obvious," he said in a different tone, "I would guess that a barrier of this strength and complexity requires a great deal of power, and you are not going to be able to maintain it much longer. I will only be at your mercy for another few minutes at most, after which I could make a serious attempt to break out and potentially injure one or both of us." He took a step forward. "I propose instead that I tell you more about Sans while you still know I am being truthful, and then you release me."

He was right. "If I release you, will you attack me or take any other malicious action against me, now or in the future?" Frisk asked carefully.

"I do not intend you or Sans any type of harm whatsoever, Frisk, now or in the future. I bear you no malice, though I admittedly find being caught in this fashion very irksome."

Frisk would have to be content with that. "Done. What do you want to tell me?"

"That you did not give Sans the opportunity to apologize for his conduct at the festival or the morning after, and you said something fairly cruel before he left. I thought I made it clear that he is not stable and you must be careful how you handle him."

It took a second to recall how she'd told Sans to take his time, and his expression after she did. "I'm not his mother," she argued. "I'm sorry I hurt his feelings, and I'll apologize when he gets back, but even you said I shouldn't be held responsible for his behavior. He's been fairly good at keeping his temper, all things considered."

"He's been good at keeping his temper around you," Gaster said severely. "Did you know that monsters can see the condition of a living monster or human SOUL? I have been monitoring Sans for a long time, as you now know, and soon after he became a boss monster, his SOUL began to darken at a remarkable rate. It was natural for him to accrue EXP as he fought humans to protect his kin, but it is extremely unusual for a single monster to develop such a taste for violence when the rest of the Underground remains unaffected."

Frisk didn't know what EXP was, but she could guess, and time was running short. "What are you saying, Doctor?" she snapped.

"I am saying that I do not know exactly why he is the way he is, and I don't only mean his metamorphosis into a boss monster. No matter what kind of magic he was subjected to, and however his LV grows, it cannot explain why Sans is so very angry. It's so ingrained that it feels deliberate, which I don't understand. Is it vestigial regret from his first life? A heretofore unknown side effect of the accident that spurred his transformation? All I know is that when he was listening to your song yesterday morning, I saw him let go of his accumulated rage for the very first time. When I took another look, it seemed as though several layers of that filth have been sloughed off his SOUL since he came here, though far more remains."

The priestess flushed. It was flattering to think she could affect him that much, but...

Gaster must have seen her skepticism. He sighed so mightily that his entire body settled to the floor, as if he simply couldn't keep himself upright. "You can't seriously—you can." He drew himself back up to his full height. "You may still be hurt by having been previously abandoned by those you cared for, young lady, but what do you need to hear before you understand the current situation? That Sans is deeply in love with you? That he behaved so stupidly at the fortune-teller because he was beside himself with jealousy? That any apprehensions you may have about him deciding not to come back here are laughable at best, and you are the only one who can make him want to return to a happier state of mind and avert the possibility of him hurting innocent people?"

Frisk had specifically been taught not to do what she did next: spring to her feet and bring her fist straight down on the barrier, shattering it like paper-thin glass. "However you got in here without alerting the guards, or waking them," she added darkly, "please see yourself out the same way. Good night, Dr. Gaster!"

In the sudden blackness, his eyes showed as two tiny pinpricks, one yellow and one blue. Frisk made herself meet his terrible gaze and point at the door, and he chuckled appreciatively. "Good night, High Priestess," he murmured. There was a rush of shadow, then an empty room.

The priestess could barely move or think. She felt her knees bend and her hand grope around the space where Gaster had been tunneling into the safe. She removed the barrier, picked up the box, put the barrier back up, got to her feet. Back to the bedroom, another barrier up on the door, and a collapse into bed, pulling the blankets around her. Too tired and too troubled to remember where she had left off...what would she see the next time she dreamed?

More importantly, where was Sans?

~

She was walking over an expanse of sand and scrubby trees that she had never seen before but somehow knew was the no-man's-land, closer to the Underground than to human territory. Her head turned at the sound of men screaming, far off to her left. In the fading light, she saw flickers of magic, a bigger flash, and a sound more awful than screams: silence.

Not total silence. As she approached, Frisk heard a familiar chuckle, but not in a familiar way. This was not a skeleton pleased with his own stupid puns or laughing at her rage when he beat her at chess five times in a row. This was someone standing amidst a pile of broken human corpses, surveying his handiwork and enjoying it.

For a terrified moment, Frisk thought Sans was doing this in the present, or had just done it, and she wanted to scream at him—but no, he was wearing the ragged canvas garments she'd first seen him in, not the wool and linen ones she had given him. If this had ever happened – which felt likely – then he was dreaming of a time more distant than the past twenty-four hours.

She was only about fifty yards away, but he didn't seem to notice her. She tried to call out to him, only for her voice to get stuck as she looked again at the human bodies he was stepping over like rocks in his path. Gaster had been right. Sans really was capable of this, wasn't he? He wasn't the gentle, protective, sometimes-somewhat-sweet-natured skeleton she'd grown fond of. He was a killer.

No. He was gentle and sometimes somewhat sweet, and he was a killer. Frisk couldn't fall into the trap of believing that only one side of him existed, or that only one was "real"; people didn't work that way. She had to talk to the one she knew—he was there, too!

Sans was trudging away. Remembering what Gaster had said, Frisk took a big breath and whistled at him over the empty expanse, using a few bars from this morning's song—she'd often seen him stop what he was doing to listen to it.

Sure enough, he paused. He turned, and his orange eyes focused on her. The flames dimmed just a little. "Frisk?" Sans came closer, skirting the pile of bodies. "'sat really you?"

The priestess held out her hands. Sans reached out to touch her fingers, then recoiled—his hand was spattered with blood. "What are you doin' here?" he asked, voice rougher than usual. "Ya don't wanna see this!"

"No, I don't. But I wanted to see you," she said.

Sans blinked at her. He jerked his head for her to follow him, moving until the grim scene was out of her line of sight. Then he sat down, plunging his hands into the sand to scrub the blood off. "Yer an idiot. Why'd you come after me? I thought ya wanted me t'take my time gettin' back."

Frisk winced. She really had hurt his feelings. "I'm so sorry I said that. I missed you today."

The boss monster swallowed hard. "Fine. Ya saw me." He shook sand off his metacarpals, aiming it away from her. "Look, 'm sorry, too. I embarrassed the crap outta ya at the stupid festival, and I..." He shrugged elaborately. "I dunno what the hell I was doin' yesterday mornin', but whatever happened, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Sans." Frisk folded her hands behind her back. "Did Snowdrake arrive safely?"

"Yeah. I only saw one nosy neighbor lady at the house, an' I played nice 'n let 'er see the note. She left us alone after that. Didn't see anyone else till we got close enough to the Underground t'let 'im go. Poor little bastard kept thinkin' it was some kinda trick." The skeleton brushed more sand off his femur. "I ran inta some poachers on my way back t'the city, but they didn' have any monsters with 'em, an' they just told me to get lost, so I did."

Frisk smiled. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

Sans made his usual noises, which just made her smile wider. "How was yer first day off from babysittin' me?" he asked crossly. "Good?"

"It sucked," she said, deadpan, and he snorted. "Seriously, Sans, it was awful. Everyone's heard of my fortunes already, and my father, who has had at least fifteen children that we're aware of, gave me a talking-to about my sexual mores."

The skeleton's eyes were fully alight. "Yer kiddin'. Ya haven't even done anythin'!"

There was the tiniest pause, and lest he add "...Right?" and force her to kill him, Frisk said, "Right. It just reminded me that if I open the box and end up having a child on my own, I'll be an unwed mother. Among humans, that makes you a complete outcast. I wish we were more like monsters, I really do."

Sans was very quiet, in a way that put Frisk on edge. "But, of course," she said with forced optimism, "if I don't open it, I'll get married and be completely boring and respectable for another fifty or sixty years, and just have to live with the fact that I chose not to let monsters go free." Her throat was closing up yet again, and she shook her head. "Why do I have to decide this, Sans? I'm used to being under pressure, but not like this! What am I supposed to do?!"

The boss monster edged closer as she sniffled. "Ya know what you should do?" he asked.

"What?!" It came out nearly as a shriek. "What should I do, Sans? Tell me!"

Sans remained sitting, watching her quietly as she scrubbed her face on her sleeve. "I think you should make a decision an' go for it insteada tormentin' yerself like this. Whatever ya wanna do, it'll turn out t'be the right thing. An' fer what it's worth..." He fidgeted, scowling at the ground. "Whether ya pick the bird guy or...someone else, if ya ever need help, I'll do whatever I can. Heavy lifting, beatin' people up, dumb jokes, whatever. So...quit whinin' and pick somethin'. Flip a coin if ya need to. Just stop hurtin' yerself. Okay?"

Frisk's heart stood still. She looked at him in such a way that he sat back warily. "What? What'd I say?"

"Don't say anything," she said, advancing on him. "And don't get up yet."

"Hey, hey, lady, this's a dream, remember? Ya can't touch m—"

Sans lapsed into stunned silence as Frisk's arms went around his neck and her cheek rested on his clavicle. She leaned her full weight on him and heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry to ambush you again," she said into the space between his ribs. "I just needed to see something." It was the same as before, a wonderfully tingly feeling in her chest that spread through her body until she wondered what'd happen if she moved away too fast. Frisk sighed again, trying to work up the willpower to let go. Somehow, he wasn't as uncomfortable as she would've thought, as if there was a very thin layer of something padding his bony exterior. It just made it harder to—

Sans' arms came up to hold her against him, as he had the previous morning, and neither of them cared that they were so big, they overlapped over her back. His cheekbone rested against her head, careful not to be too heavy. "Whaddya do with yer hair?" he muttered.

It was...not what she'd expected him to say. "Can you elaborate, please?" she muttered back.

"I dunno what smells are what. I think the longer I stay human, the more human-ish stuff I can do, like smell, 'n feel stuff I touch." His phalanges moved softly through her hair. "This doesn't make any sense. Yer not s'posed to be able t'interact with anyone in a dream 'less ya went ta sleep in the same room or somethin'."

"I don't know about you, Sans, but I'm sick of thinking." Frisk stared at a spot of drying blood on the ground behind him. "In fact, you're right. I'm done thinking about this." She squeezed him gently, though she knew she could use all her strength and he'd barely feel it. "Let me go, please. It's time for me to get some real sleep."

"...Nuh-uh."

Frisk laughed. "It's vanilla," she said over his shoulder.

"Hm?" Sans was absently petting her hair again. "Wha's vanilla?"

It was so nice that she wanted to fall asleep right there, somehow. When was the last time she'd felt this secure? "It's...my hair. I don't use a lot of expensive lotions, but I'll splurge on anything scented with vanilla. Do you like it?"

"Mm. 'snot as bad as most of the stuff I've smelled so far."

The priestess smiled, then reached up to touch his skull. He tensed as her fingertips encountered the wide, smooth expanse of bone. It was warmer than she'd expected, almost velvety—probably from magic, she figured. "I'm very tired, Sans, and I've used almost all of my magic already. Can you please let me go now?"

He wouldn't. The last shred of doubt in her mind disappeared, and in a surge of determination, Frisk ducked free of his arms, moving out of his reach. "I'll see you soon," she told him. "Tomorrow?"

"Uh." Sans had the oddest look on his face. It reminded her of when she'd cleaned the fork for him at their first face-to-face meeting in the bedroom. "I dunno. I might be drunk again when I wake up. It kinda feels like it."

Frisk gave a long, theatric sigh. "If you are, please sleep it off before you come back. We've gotten in the supplies I ordered, and I don't need you eating the plants or something ridiculous." She stepped back further. "Good night, Sans."

"Night," he said inaudibly, and she left.

~

The guards outside Frisk's doors admitted Dr. Serif after breakfast, then settled in to wait for the royal sorcerer to leave, after which they could properly nap. His morning visits were usually an hour or so, in their experience.

This time, after only five or so minutes, the doors banged open, and one guard dropped his halberd. "I wish to be very clear, Doctor," the High Priestess said, voice pitched to carry down the hall. "Do not open it, do not attempt or allow anyone to attempt to open it, and do not keep it for any reason. I want it destroyed. Will you please do so as soon as possible?"

"Of course,Your Eminence." To the guards' astonishment, the normally imperturbable doctor was frowning, and took the little rosewood box with obvious reluctance. "Good day to you."

The priestess shut the doors without another word. The guards stared at Dr. Serif, who was now scowling full-force at the box. With a glance at the doors and none at all at the two men, the doctor tried to pry the lid open, only to drop it as the box sizzled at him. "How did she put a barrier inside it?" he said to no one.

The guards could barely wait till he was gone to whisper to each other, "She threw it away! I knew she wouldn't—" "Oh, bull shit, you said she'd get knocked up by this time next w—" "No I didn't! I—"

Slam went the doors. Frisk glared at one, then the other, and waited the count of five before she slowly pulled them shut.

#songfell whoo lemme at the next one

[twilight-deviant]

So I never saw the Timeless movie but enjoyed your feedback on the show while it was in progress and agreed with you much of the time-- is the movie worth watching ? I'm scared it's going to be rushed, sloppy, and ly@tt garbage

First of all, thank you for valuing my opinion enough to ask. I haven’t rambled about Timeless in awhile, but I’m flattered you enjoyed and remembered my feedback when I did. ♥

Sadly, I have to report that Timeless finale is a movie disliked by Garcy fans, Riya fans, and gen fans alike. Pretty much the only way to like it is if you’re the target audience: Lucy/Wyatt shippers. Or maybe if you’re a very, very casual fan.

Full disclosure: I have not actually watched the Timeless movie. Like you, I feared it would abandon everything Timeless stood for, everything we loved, to waste its last moments on Lucy/Wyatt fan service. Aaaaaand I was right. Good call me on not watching it live. It might have broken my heart. I got the information later through friends and research. And tbh, hearing everything second-hand was actually hilarious. Yes, it was upsetting, but the writing is SO BAD, I actually laughed. Out loud. I may have cried laughing. It’s just… so bad. XD

I spent months dreading a worst case scenario for the movie, and when the time came, it was every bit that. (And then some? Somehow?) But when it got here, all of my fears turned to hilarity. I was RELIEVED. After months of being afraid, I finally felt free. I thought “This is what I was afraid of?” Because toxic shippers in the fandom got everything they wanted, just the way they wanted, but it is HORRIBLE! Because what they wanted was BAD. It watches just like the badly written fanfiction they demanded. Which is ALL this movie is: badly written fanfiction.

To quote Claudia Doumit when she read the script: “It feels like a fan wrote the movie.” Perhaps she means that in a positive way, but if a professional is writing “like a fan,” spoiler alert, it’s never a positive thing. It’s a “basic” thing.

Timeless movie is SO BAD that it is the least rewatched episode of all Timeless. Delayed returns on it are borderline embarrassing. Few people except Lucy/Wyatt shippers wanted to subject themselves to it a second time. Not to mention that support for Timeless and a third renewal fell into steep decline after the premiere. It seems not many people want more if this is the “more” we might have to look forward to.

imo, Future television writers should study this movie for direct examples of what NOT to do. It’s every worst case scenario, presented to you at breakneck speed. You barely have time to get over one absurdity before the next one hits. Not gonna lie. I’ll give kudos where due. I am legitimately IMPRESSED that writing managed to get every single thing wrong. Do you know how statistically impossible that is?!?!

Timeless movie really sort of took all the negatives, low points, disproportionate focus on romance, and bad writing of S2 and ran with them. That’s what it is. Concentrated S2, minus any good parts.

Basically, if you are a fan of Flynn, Lucy, Rufus, Jiya, Jessica, Emma, Connor, Denise, good writing, feminism, no plotholes, Riya, Garcy, or TIMELESS, please do not watch the Timeless movie. Save yourself. If your first (only?) priority is Wyatt and Lucy/Wyatt, go right ahead. It was made just (only?) for you.

Though obviously, I can’t/won’t stop you from watching. You may still want to form your own opinion, and if so, you have my full support. I hope that you find something appealing to make it worth your time. I especially hope that if you don’t, it doesn’t ruin Timeless for you, as it has other people. I still may watch it myself one day. I may. But not for entertainment purposes. Really just to mock it from a more informed standpoint. I’ve considered live-blogging the event. lol.

As is though, I basically know the entire movie through aforementioned friends and research. And I will summarize below the cut on the ways this movie failed Timeless and its fans. (PS: This is by no means everything. There’s just SO MUCH and I got tiiiired thinking about this monstrosity! Anyone is free to add on whatever I didn’t cover.)

[Spoilers]

Future Lucy gives the journal to Wyatt, the writer’s attempt to take something that has always been Flynn/Lucy’s thing and make it a L/W thing. (Somehow, we’re supposed to ignore that this Lucy already would have given her journal to Flynn in 2014. Conveniently, illogically, she has it again. So she can give it to Wyatt.)

Future Wyatt announces that Jessica was lying about being pregnant. Right out the gate. Great. Now, they get to kill her. Don’t worry, writing will strip away her entire character first so we don’t feel guilty when an “evil Rittenhouse agent” dies. It’s fine to kill a woman who was brainwashed from childhood, but let’s not kill a baby. We’ll just erase it instead. That’s different because reasons.

Writing introduces a new stipulation that people can coexist with time travel, but staying too long will kill them. This will come in handy later.

Also the new, updated Lifeboat will conveniently be able to do whatever the plot needs. Coexist? Sure. Autopilot? Suuuuure. Able to jump multiple times on one charge as if it had a nuclear core like the Mothership? Why not?!

If you thought Rittenhouse wasn’t scary anymore in S2, well hold onto this writer’s beer. Gone is any intimidation or purpose they once stood for. Now that Emma is running things, all that matters is stealing art and money from the past. Caution: Never go full two-dimensional evil.

Wyatt decides Jessica has to die and he’s the one who has to do it. But after half an argument from the team, he gives in and agrees not to. FLYNN will clean up Wyatt’s mess instead! Because suddenly, all that matters is he loves Lucy. Not his family. Not stopping Rittenhouse. No, he has to do this so that Lucy can be with Wyatt and Rufus can be alive.

Flynn tells Lucy that the journal can be unreliable. Despite this, he goes to 2012 and dooms himself because he believes, without a doubt, that Lucy’s heart will always belong to Wyatt, something he, ya know, got from the journal. And that neeeeeever changes. I mean, some guy said it was unreliable, but his name escapes me right now.

When 1x06 first aired and we heard the story of how Jessica died and how it was very much Wyatt’s fault, painting him in a negative light, I thought to myself (almost three years ago), “Wow. If we ever get a flashback of that night, writing is going to retcon all of that so hard so that it doesn’t look like Wyatt’s fault.” And lo! It’s Jessica’s fault now. She made Wyatt get jealous on purpose. She made him drink too much. She MADE HIM let her out of the car, per text orders of Rittenhouse agent. Poor Wyatt, what a victim. (Periodic reminder that Timeless hates women.)

Writing in the scene with Jessica’s death is so bad that we’re actually left with no alternative BUT to believe Wyatt was the original killer that night. Rittenhouse agent tells Jessica to get out of the car. This saves her life. No other person is seen on this road (save Flynn later) that could be the killer. And what’s the other course (the original timeline)? Without instruction, Jessica would have stayed in the car. And died. Wow, I can’t believe Wyatt killed Jessica in a drunken, jealous rage, but also I can. Also also writing just told us he did. If Rittenhouse wanted to make sure she was okay, they would tell her to stay in the car with her soldier husband, no matter what. That would save her. But what do they do instead? Hmmmm…….

Flynn kills Jessica and hurries to the Lifeboat, feeling the effects of coexistence taking affect. Set course for any time but this one, am I right? Wrong. Nah, better just die. Flynn sends the Lifeboat back to 1848 for the team and stays in 2012 so he can see his family one last time and then die. Because true character development is letting your five-year-old die violently two weeks before Christmas when you still have the life and power to prevent it.

Why does all of our correspondence end the same? Reply, reply, and then *crickets* Notice me, senpai. TToTT

For some reason (I mean, I know the reason. It’s bad writing by an idiot), dead Flynn’s fingerprints do not pull up when police find a John Doe on the beach. Despite the fact that he worked with the NSA and his prints would be on file.

I can’t with this woman:

Anywaaaaaaay, Rufus returns in a way that breaks all time travel rules thus far established in the show. Even though the team was traveling in 1848 with Flynn, suddenly it’s reset so that Rufus was there the entire time. Which, even if writing wants to claim that’s SOMEHOW possible, is still illogical because to overwrite that timeline, the characters’ memories would have also been overwritten. However, they remain perfectly intact with everyone remembering Rufus died. (Except Rufus, of course.)

Flynn dies because he stayed in the past too long. The writer would then go on twitter and pretend the matter was out of her hands, even though she’s the one who set the condition. She WROTE the rule that killed him, SO she could kill him. (This was previously not going to be a condition on coexisting time travel. Source: Interviews in which it was suggested that had Timeless been renewed for S3, Future Lucy and Wyatt may have stuck around for a few episodes.)

Arika would also say on twitter that, in her opinion, Flynn didn’t deserve a happy ending, to the uproar of many.

Writing tries to claim that Flynn was always the person who killed Jessica in 2012. Deer lord at the plotholes.

And the holes keep comin and they don’t stop comin. ♫

It’s Christmas now. For some reason. When the team returns to the bunker, there are Christmas decorations everywhere and we’re told that it’s Christmas in present day. Even though it was May yesterday.

There are more than a dozen ways to save Flynn at this point, but Arika doesn’t like him and just wants Lucy/Wyatt to bang. So you can bet none of them will be used. Also because she’s an idiot, the woman claimed on twitter that Flynn can’t possibly be brought back because he died while time traveling. Uh-huh. First off, what? He absolutely can be saved. Secondly, tell me how Rufus died again?

The characters acknowledge Flynn for a minute (in a toast give by WYATT, of all people) before promptly forgetting he ever existed until the end of the movie. When they need him again.

When Rufus wants to get intimate, Jiya tells him that she suffered some form of abuse while stranded in the past. That’s it. We will never talk about this again. Forget it ever happened. They brought it up just to scar Jiya even further and then ignore it. Anyone who tells you Timeless loves women is lying. Timeless wants to torture and torment women. FOR NO REASON!

Emma is the only person who cares Jessica is now dead. Because it sure as shirt wasn’t going to be her husband who like two days ago was desperately trying to get her to come home to her “family.” (Remember kids, women are just baby makers. If there’s not a baby in there, she’s garbage, and a minute spent mourning is a minute you’re not banging the next lady.) Emma plots revenge on the team, and honestly, by this point, I say let her do it. They’re horrible people.

Lucy boldly says she won’t be Wyatt’s second choice. So she can forget she said it in 10 minutes, when she’s suddenly fine with it.

Rufus is alive again, but all of his memories after 2x03 are conveniently erased. In his timeline, Lucy/Wyatt have been together this whole time, and he’s their biggest fan. He actually, canonically, verbally says that he’s “Team L/yatt.” That’s great because otherwise we’re left with a Rufus whose last words on the subject are:

“You are so worried about your stupid Lucy-Jessica soap opera that you forgot that there are other people here. Who matter to each other. Who love each other. If anything happens to her, Wyatt… I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”

Yeah, we can’t use that in the Lucy/Wyatt movie. Better erase the black man’s memory since he’s no longer serving his purpose: head cheerleader of the white couple!

Because Rufus’s memories are gone, all S2 development in the Riya relationship is gone with it. Damaging them even more after Jiya spent 3 years in the past (becoming hardened and almost a different person) and then watched him die. Don’t worry, writing will address none of this.

Rufus compares Lucy/Wyatt to Aragorn/Arwen. As a Tolkien nerd, I’ll throw down over this alone. IN WHAT WAY?!

There’s a pregnant woman in labor because leave no cliche unturned. Wyatt delivers the baby because what did I just say about cliches.

Lucy’s hormones go all a-twitter when she sees Wyatt holding said baby. Outside? In weather they admitted earlier is deathly freezing? (I mean, the mother might want to hold her own baby, but no. She has to get in line. Lucy absolutely HAS to have an epiphany that she needs Wyatt’s babies.)

Lucy decides that since Wyatt’s mistreatment of her was technically from another timeline, she can let go off all self-respect and tell herself he didn’t mean it. Also almost everyone else is dead or has their memories erased, so only they will know. Now Lucy can be with Wyatt and no one will judge her? Yay?

Despite Emma’s big speech in 2x10 about abandoning the pillars of “old Rittenhouse” and striking out on her own, she still backs down immediately when Denise makes Benjamin Cahill tell her to knock it off and surrender.

Emma dies at the hands of some deus ex machina random sniper. Letting us know the writer could no longer pretend she cared about any of this and just wanted to make Lucy/Wyatt bang. Are they banging yet? Bang now! Will this convenient and corny mistletoe move things along? Are they banging yet?

So Denise saves the day. In the most anti-climatic way. Meaning Rufus was never actually necessary and could have stayed dead. Actually, none of the team was necessary. Nothing in these episodes was necessary. All it took to end Rittenhouse was Denise and Ben. Roll credits.

Lucy decides NOT to save her sister Amy. Even though it’s what she has been fighting for since episode 2. Her reasoning? She says that trying to save the people they love has negative effects. (Let’s get one last jab at dead Flynn by saying, “Look at all the awful things that Flynn did in the name of saving his family.”) This is said in spite of the fact that Amy is SUPPOSED to be alive, and leaving her erased IS an alternate timeline, carrying the potential of being more catastrophic than SAVING HER and setting the events right.

PS: While in the past, Lucy JUST SAID, “What’s the point of saving history if we don’t save the people in it?” And then saved a stranger that was supposed to die. Writing for this movie does not care about consistency, only what’s relevant in the moment. And clearly the writer wanted Amy to stay dead.

Leaving Amy dead creates this lovely paradox:

Writer is too ignorant in time travel to understand that current timeline is erased, Lucy is now with Noah, and that is our endgame. Movie proceeds with Lucy/Wyatt ending.

The Mothership is dismantled for no reason. So now the team is stuck with ONE time machine for any future situations. Remind me again. Remind me. Why… did we have the Lifeboat in the first place? Oh yeah, Connor kept it in case the crew of the Mothership was ever stranded. And it came in handy after the Mothership was stolen. Right, who needs two time machines? Scrap her, boys!

In a flashforward to 2023, we see that Lucy is teaching at Stanford again. And she just got tenure! Which is a throwback to the Pilot, but completely ignores that it is not what Lucy wanted for herself, only what Carol influenced her into doing. Lucy’s dream job was to teach at a small college in Ohio. (Source: 1x14 conversation with Lindbergh.) But who CARES WHAT LUCY WANTS?! Certainly not a writer who barely knows the show upon which she is the showrunner.

Lucy is a thoroughly horrible fake feminist now. At her job, she teaches a general history class, but only talks about women in history. When a male student brings this up, Lucy says, “I meant to get to the men, but we just didn’t have time.Maybe in the spring, okay?” So he gets to sound sexist for valuing his education. Oh, wow, thanks. Feminism isn’t about ignoring men and acting like they’re not important. It’s about EQUALITY! Label your class as “Women’s History” if that’s all you’re going to teach. Also what if they don’t HAVE YOU next semester, Lucy?! They’re going on to their next classes completely unprepared. Remind me again how this woman got tenure? Because she didn’t get it in the Pilot due to her unconventional teaching methods. Somehow not adhering to your own course description is the secret to success?

Lucy and Wyatt have two twin girls named Flynn and Amy. There are so many bad fanfiction cliches I want to cry. TToTT Why are you making me cry? Never. name. the. second. generation. after. characters. that. died. It’s. THE. corniest. thing. Petition. to. stop!

Jiya and Rufus started “Riya Industries.” That’s right! They squeezed not one, BUT TWO fandom ship names into this nightmare. If you needed further proof no one was taking this movie seriously, here ya go.

2023 Lucy does take the journal to 2014 Flynn in the bar in Sao Paulo, but everything about it is wrong. Not only do Rufus and Wyatt accompany her, but the conversation leads to Lucy telling a man who just lost his family that he can change the past but will never save his family. Also he’ll die. And he should just accept all of that but still do what she says and sacrifice himself to save a world that hates him. And the entire conversation takes place in about a minute. I mean, people had a hard time believing Flynn would buy into Lucy’s story and do what she said after 2x08 premiered. Now? NO EFFING WAY!

A clip (deleted scene from Pilot) of 2016 Flynn at the end shows him about to raid Mason Industries and start us over again. In other words, he is stuck in Hell loop for eternity. His family will die in 2014, he will do horrible things he hates to save them and the world from Rittenhouse, and he will die unnecessarily to save the world. Then Lucy will go back in time, give him the journal, and start him on this quest all over again, knowing full well that he is a good man and this will destroy his soul. But she doesn’t care (actually smiles as she approaches him) because he “did bad things” and the writer thinks he deserves this. Even though Lucy is the one who set him on this path and one can EASILY argue it is all her doing and Flynn was nothing but her tool. Don’t worry, she gets her happy ending.

The movie closes on a young girl designing specs for her own time machine. Motives unknown, other than general interest, same as Connor in the beginning. The writer thinks this is an AMAZING open ending, leaving plenty of groundwork for more Timeless when fans get it renewed for a third time. (It is not. No one cares. You killed Timeless and flew all its plots into the ground.)

In conclusion, yes, worst case scenario on every single plot point. Timeless does nothing to prove or even suggest it deserves a third chance. I personally am left wishing it had never been renewed after the initial cancellation following S1. Let it stay dead now. Forever. It has done nothing to deserve yet another chance.

RIP Timemess.

#hopefully-happy #Ask #TD Reply #I hope you don't mind I published this publicly #I obviously had a lot to say #^__^; #In conclusion: It bad #And I would gladly meet with Arika in a Denny's parking lot #She ruined my favorite show #And then she came back with this movie and DESTROYED IT! #Also she hates logic and I love logic #She is my arch nemesis #I ranted way too long about this movie but if there's one thing I have in abundance #it's an opinion #Hahahahaha #Timeless

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

Bodyguard II: Familial Ties (Part I - Chapter 11) (Brendon Urie x Reader)

“You run extensive background checks on all of your agents. You knew about this.”

“It was more suspicion than cemented knowledge, Agent,” The Director’s hologram answered with a tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow, “Your father was a genius. Covered his tracks exceptionally well. There’s virtually no record of your family history. For all I know, you probably don’t even exist.”

Brendon, who was pacing up and down the conference room, waved a dismissive hand. “But you knew.”

Fury straightened his posture and raised his head so that his eyes looked down on his currently disarrayed agent. “I assumed. And I made the choice to take you in because I saw great potential. One of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

Brendon only offered a nod in response, his mind still spinning as he tried to fully come to terms with the new information regarding his genealogy. Fury, noticing that Brendon was unusually anxious, decided to put his mind at ease.

“Brendon,” he started with a firm tone; the use of his first name and not ‘Urie’ or ‘Agent’ made Brendon turn every ounce of his attention to his boss, “the very best of you, the parts that everyone admires and most people fear – that has nothing to do with no mutant gene. That’s one hundred percent you. Don’t let this mess with your head. Things will only change if you allow them to – you’re the one who has full control over your life; don’t hand that control over to the gene. ‘Cause if you do, then your father wins, and you’re better than that. You’re better than him, and you’re better than your brother. Don’t, for even a second, stop believing in yourself. ‘Cause I sure as hell never will.”

Inhaling deeply and rubbing his hands over his tired face, Brendon nodded his head to show that he understood. In that moment, The Director had said exactly what he needed to hear, and he had never been more thankful for the man.

“Thank you, sir,” he breathed shakily.

“Don’t mention it, son,” Fury spoke softly, before once again firming his tone, “Now, get rid of that sentimentality – it’s unbelievably uncomfortable for me to see you so sensitive. Bring me my ominous agent back.”

“He never left, sir,” Brendon informed, and just like that, he switched back to his usual, ice-sculpture state, “So what should I do with the prisoner?”

Fury scoffed and shook his head lightly. “Don’t ask me. This ain’t even an official, S.H.I.E.L.D-sanctioned mission, Agent.”

“Right,” Brendon cleared his throat.

“Although, off the record,” Fury cocked one brow and smirked somewhat, “While I’d appreciate having The Phantom Warrior under S.H.I.E.L.D surveillance, locked away where he can’t hurt anyone… I do understand the abnormal circumstances. So,” he looked at Brendon and gave a curt nod, “you do whatever it is you need to do, Agent.”

~

“So he literally gave his blessing for you to murder the guy?” Dean scoffed, face showing his blatant disbelief.

“Pretty much,” Brendon replied with a bored voice as he rummaged through the cabinets in the kitchenette in search of the last of the protein bars.

“Are you gonna do it?” Dean pressed, leaning forward from his seat on the countertop; he was far too invested in the situation.

“No.”

“Can I do it?”

“No,” Brendon groaned, sighing happily when he found the snack and working his fingers along the packaging to open it. “No one is killing anyone today.”

“Aw, but I’d do such a good job,” Dean all but whined, angrily knocking his dangling leg against the door of the counter.

Brendon took a bite from the bar, chewed and swallowed it before answering. “I know you would. And believe me, I hate him. I want to kill him, and I probably will. But not yet.”

All three of The Hounds temporarily halted their respective movements – swinging their legs, chugging down a beer, tossing a baseball against the wall – and turned to exchange worried glances between them. The day that they had dreaded for the past four years had devastatingly arrived.

“You’ve gone fucking soft!”

Brendon’s jaw immediately stopped working to chew the protein bar, and his head snapped in the direction of Rollins to deliver an inexplicably evil glare.

“I have not,” he hissed venomously, “gone fucking soft.”

“Dude,” Dean chuckled giddily, readily nodding his head in a show of support of his friend’s bold exclamation, “You’ve gone soft.”

Brendon squinted his eyes and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Yeah?” he asked softly. “How about we head downstairs to the sparring room and then we’ll see just how soft I’ve gone?”

“Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Rollins soothed, stepping forward as he arched his brows and held his hands up in defence, “Happens to the best of us at times.”

With his patience wearing thin, Brendon drew in a deep breath, looked up to the ceiling and skewed his mouth to the side. Once he was able to get his temper under control, he looked at each agent in turn.

“Please… do not come for me like that again. Else the only murders I’ll be committing will be yours.”

~

Mason was unequivocally dumbstruck, watching with the utmost attentiveness as Brendon loosened the restraints around the assassin’s limbs as The Hounds stood in battle formation behind their colleague, ready and willing to attack should the need to do so arise.

���What’s this?” he questioned with a frown, hesitant to make any movements for fear that he’d misinterpreted the situation.

“Alright, listen to me and listen well,” Brendon sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, “What I’m about to do goes against all of my better instincts and to be quite honest, I have no idea why the hell I’m about to do something so stupid.”

Mason perked up noticeably, chancing an upward curve of his lips. “You’re letting me go?”

Another sigh from the brooding agent.

“Much to the dismay of the three gentlemen standing behind me,” Brendon gently cocked his head in the direction of The Hounds, “yes. But not without conditions…”

Brendon stalked forward, radiating intimidation, and forcing his brother to lean back into the uncomfortable chair as he rested his hands on his shoulders.

“You run. You hide. You disappear. You don’t go back to working for Hydra and if you do, I will hunt you down and I will kill you,” Brendon threatened, his heavy stare looming over the older Urie. Mason could tell that his brother was as serious has he’d ever been and he dared not challenge him.

“And,” Brendon continued, “you do not – under any circumstances – ever try and insert yourself back into my life, in any way at all. If you do, I’ll kill you even worse. Nothing has changed between us, Mason. You helped me, yeah, but I still feel nothing for you. And I will never forgive you.”

Nodding slowly, Mason relayed that he understood. He had something to ask, though, and even though he knew that he was in an incredibly volatile situation at present and his upcoming inquiry could cause it to take a turn for the worst, his arrogance took over and he couldn’t stop himself from speaking.

“Then why are you letting me go?”

“Because I know you’re bound to fuck up at some point, and I take great pleasure in knowing that you’re out there sleeping with one eye open, knowing that when you do,” Brendon stood up straight and took a few steps backwards, giving the tiniest of smirks, “your little brother will show up to kick your ass even worse than our father did. Get rid of him.”

Brendon tossed a glance at The Hounds, and the three agents obediently started for the assassin.

“You can deny me all you want, Bren,” Mason called after his brother, who was already halfway out of the door, “but you’ll always be my little brother.”

  ✧ ✧ ✧

 The next day.

“Still think that you made the biggest mistake of your life,” Ambrose drawled, spinning around on an office chair.

“Still didn’t ask for your opinion,” Brendon replied, not lifting his gaze from his laptop, most likely engaged in some form of electronic correspondence with Dallon.

Roman and Seth entered the room then, with Seth taking a seat across from Dean and Roman walking over to the mini-fridge to grab a couple bottles of beer and distribute them to the rest of the guys.

“Alright, boss,” Seth clicked his tongue and took the beer that Roman held out to him, “We dumped your dickhead of a brother in the furthest, most remote corner of the planet. What happens now?”

Brendon pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose, scanning the screen to read over the last message he’d received from Dallon before averting his attention to The Hounds.

“I have no fucking idea.”

The room went silent after Brendon’s admission, with each agent being just as bewildered as the next. They’d spent the better part of a year on this mission, and now that it was over, the complications of it all finally sank in.

“Okay, I’m gonna go out on a limb here,” Ambrose broke the silence after a few minutes, throwing his arms out as a haughty look swept over his face. “How about we – just hear me out, here – how about we do the unthinkable…” he trailed off for dramatic effect, biting his lip and holding up one finger before delivering the punch line, “And go back to HQ.”

The Lunatic suddenly leapt up out of his seat, gasping loudly and mockingly covering his mouth as if he’d just said something unmentionable. Seth rolled his eyes at his friend’s teasing and hurriedly shoved him back into his seat.

Brendon readily shook his head to show his distaste over the suggestion. While it was the usual protocol to return to S.H.I.E.L.D HQ after every mission, the unconventional way this mission had come to be left Brendon with a great deal of problems surrounding his return home.

“No,” he said, “I’m not ready to go back yet.”

Each of his colleagues nodded in understanding, and Roman offered a solution to their current ‘in limbo’ predicament.

“I’ll make a call to The Director,” he spoke, already moving to the next room, “see if there’s any operations we can consult on.”

Brendon nodded to show that he was on board before looking at the laptop screen, sighing and slamming it shut.

✧ ✧ ✧

 Three months later. Moscow, Russia.

“…I mean, I think that he’s just nervous, ya know? And with good reason, too,” Seth scoffed, sitting in the passenger seat of the SUV, with Roman in the driver’s.

Unseen by both of the men, their fellow Hound had just rounded the corner into the alley they were parked at the end of, waving his hands and shouting in an attempt to get their attention, as a group of angry henchmen chased after him.

“START THE CAR!” he yelled, waving his hands wildly, “REIGNS! ROLLINS!”

Seth and Roman were far too engrossed in their conversation to hear the muffled shouts of their friend from outside.

“I don’t know, uce,” Roman thinned his lips and shook his head, casually leaning his arm against the inside of the car door, “I think the sooner he gets back, the better.”

“START THE CAR! START THE FUCKING CAR!”

“Yeah, but can you imagine the shit that’s gonna go down when he does?” Rollins arched his brows and leaned forward a bit, “Like-“

“START THE MOTHERFUCKING CAR!” Ambrose screamed as he threw himself forward, the top half of his body crashing through the backseat window, startling the other two and finally kick-starting their reactions.

Roman started the car immediately and tramped on the accelerator just as the henchmen opened fire. Fortunately, Seth had pointed his Glock out of the window and got some fatal shots in, himself, allowing them to get away.

Dean groaned in pain as he manoeuvred the rest of his body into the backseat and shifted himself up amidst the shards of glass.

“Nice to know I can always count on you assholes to act quickly,” he said sarcastically, groaning some more as he picked pieces of glass out of his reddened skin.

“Hey, you’re alive, aren’t you?” Seth quipped, briefly glancing back to make sure that his friend was, in fact, okay.

Dean snorted. “Barely.”

There was a resounding thud that echoed through the car – a sound effect to accompany the sudden dent on the roof of the vehicle. Seth and Dean immediately drew their weapons, aiming them at the windows and the roof, ready to attack.

Then, the other backseat window was smashed, as Brendon swung from the roof and into the car feet-first.  

Sighing in relief upon seeing that it was only the fourth agent, Rollins and Ambrose lowered their guns.

“You’re a bit too late for that to be awesome, dude,” Dean scoffed, holstering his weapon, before pointing to himself and nodding, “I did it first.”

“I did it better.”

Dean’s smug smile turned into a frown and Brendon shot him a wink before leaning forward and patting Roman on the shoulder.

“You might wanna floor it, Reigns. I wasn’t exactly a polite guest.”

Roman shook his head and mumbled under his breath. “The fact that we’re all still alive amazes me.”

Brendon was about to respond with a snarky remark, but the ringing of his cell cut him off. Checking the caller ID, he breathed out tiredly before answering.

“I know I’m miraculous, sir, but another mission already?”

“Brendon, this isn’t about a mission.”

The Director’s voice had an underlying tone of worry to it, and that coupled with – once again – the use of his first name, brought Brendon to full attentiveness.

“What’s wrong?” he asked firmly.

The response brought Brendon’s entire world to a standstill.

ᴇɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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[jos-corner-of-the-world]

The Assignment - {7}

{6} | Master List

Wonho was floored. He stood in the bathroom absolutely too surprised to move, even after hearing Jooheon leave moments before.

He'd known there'd been something between the two of them, but didn't know the extent.  He understood more of Alex’s anger now than he had before.  And as close as him and Jooheon were, he wasn't sure how to feel about this new information.  He felt betrayed for Alex.  For some reason, this information made him feel even worse for his part in it all.

He was vaguely aware of Alex’s presence in the bathroom, but made no move to say anything.

“Sorry you had to hear all that. Not my finest moment I'll admit, but I needed to say it.”

“I understand. I'm really sorry Alex. I'm sorry you're so hurt by our deceit. I can promise you I only meant to protect you. Becoming your friend was just an added bonus. But that friendship is bringing you pain and I'm so sorry.”

“Please don't. I was honest with Jooheon. I can forgive you. When you left and told me you loved me, I knew what you meant. I love you too. You're one the closest friends I had.  That I can still have. But the deceit was way too much from Jooheon. He… He used me. Used my heart and used my body for his job. I can never forgive that, and I shouldn't have to. Am I hurt? Absolutely. I feel like I'm dying inside. But that's not because of you. You made me no promises other than to keep in touch, which technically you've done. The promises he made me, the things he said and did, I hate him for it because I believed him. I believed it all.”

The sound of Alex crying is what finally broke Wonho from his statue like stance.

He carefully walked over to her and pulled her into his chest, letting her cry her emotions out.

“I'm gonna be real with you for a minute Alex. As hard as it is, I'm afraid you're simplifying it. It's much more difficult than you realize. There are more things at play and more history that you're just forgetting about in your anger. I know how hurt you are and I'm sorry for everything. But you have to know that Jooheon is in a really tough spot right now. You're his first priority.”

Wonho almost couldn't believe his own words, but he knew them to be true. Alex was looking at things only on the surface, but there were many layers that she was just disregarding. Many things that she just didn't want to our couldn't understand.

“I don't care.” Alex said defiantly.  “I've never felt so hurt in my life. He says one thing, then says another. I get this is his job, but why does it have to be? Why couldn't you guys have come home to Korea, contacted me at some point and told me the truth. Why did I have to find out this way? It's not fair!”

“I'm sorry. I know that's not what you want to hear but I am so sorry.”

“I think I'd like to be alone right now.” Alex said after taking a moment to collect herself.

“Of course. I'll be around if you need me.”

Alex had a lot to think about, but didn't have the time. She was reminded later by Shownu that she would be starting work the following day at the American embassy in Seoul.

“Your boss, Hyungwon, had been informed of the situation. While sympathetic and understanding of your security needs, he's given no leeway to have any of us in the embassy. His reasoning is justified, but frustrating no less. The embassy has its own security installation and everyone is identified before gaining access to the building. He has been understanding in that if you leave for assignment, lunch, or for any other reason, you will be transported by us. We will be on Embassy grounds at all times, just not in the building. There are more details I need to give you but I'll wait until they are more relevant because I do not believe you're even listening to me.”

“Will do Shownu, thanks.” Alex said walking back into her bedroom.

Alex had almost completely forgotten that she'd gotten a job. With everything else happening this week, it had all but slipped her mind.

She'd graduated with a degree in political science and an undergrad in journalism.  She was starting her career off as a translator and liason for foreign correspondence at the American Embassy. The same one her father used to work for.

It wasn't her dream job by any means, but it was a foot in the door that she'd need to further her career down the road.

She went to bed that night shrouded in thoughts of Jooheon, Ramsey, and the new job.  It was a sad attempt at sleep, but it'd have to do.

“Oh, good morning Miss Alex!” A cheery voice spoke from the kitchen the next morning.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I'm Minhyuk! I'm your assistant.”

“Assistant? What the hell do I need an assistant for?”

“Your job silly. Why else? It's not like you have a banging social life or anything.”

“Listen here, you've been in my presence for fifteen seconds and I already thought of ten different ways to break all your limbs.”

“Well, you've got a quick mind I'll give you that. Now, what do ya say after breakfast we hash this all out.” Minhyuk offered.

“Hash all of what out? I still don't know who you are and what you're doing here.”

“Well okay...I didn't think I'd have to spell it out for you, you being smart and all.  I'm your assistant from the Embassy. I'm here to help you coordinate, schedule and manage your time. Hyungwon sent me over this morning to get introductions out of the way and get a semi plan in place before starting our day. So...here I am!”

“Here you are.” Alex mumbled, none too pleased with the new addition to her daily life.  She could already tell she was going to have a hard time adjusting to this new life she was starting.

“Now. Get some breakfast, get dressed and meet me outside as soon as you can. We can discuss things on the way to the Embassy. Changkyun will be here at 8:15 sharp.”

“Okay. Wait...who the hell is Changkyun?”

“Wow, do they not tell you anything or do you not retain information well?”

“Bit of both most of the time. Now...who is Changkyun?” Alex asked.  It wasn't even 7 yet and she already felt a migraine forming. Minhyuk was not going to be her favorite person in the world.

“Okay well Changkyun is a new addition to your security I've been told. He’ll be the one responsible for all transportation as well as one other agent.”

“Perfect. Can't fucking wait.” Alex grumbled.

“That's the spirit! Eat up, you'll be less grumpy.” Minhyuk said, smile never leaving his face.

He turned to leave just as Alex had picked up a fork to throw at him, missing him by nearly a foot.

“Oh, nice try. Your aim sucks though! Bye.” And he was gone.

“I'm going to kill him. I'm actually going to kill him.” Alex said to herself as she sat down at the table.

{8}

Source (x)

#monsta x #mx #au #imagine #scenario #series #jooheon #wonho #minhyuk #shownu #kihyun #changkyun #hyungwon #monsta x au #monsta x imagine #monsta x series #monsta x scenario

[ciceroprofacto]

20, and I don't care.

20. “Come on, give me one good reason not to jump in the lake.”

November 10th 1777

Hamilton hadn’t expected to return to Morristown now that the troops he’d been sent for were en route to Whitemarsh.  Parson, Larned and Poor’s Brigades finally having fallen in on their march after a difficult deal with Governor Clinton had obtained them six-thousand dollars to pay their troops and quell their riots.  Hamilton was to be away with Gibbs, heading south to return to his station by Washington’s side.  And, after this one final call, he would make speed to do so; Gibbs would have arrangements for their quartering by the time he rejoined him tonight- after responding to this last ‘urgent’ missive.

Exhausted by a nagging ache of a fever; eager to be back among the family and away from New York, political schemes, and illness; he had the report Washington required, the solutions he’d been sent to defend, and the informants he needed to manage Gates’s treasonous scheme without detection-

“I lost the cypher.”

“What.”

“The cypher you gave me, I need a new one like it…”

Barely in the threshold of Lieutenant Hughe’s cabin, Hamilton blinked, unable to comprehend what form of incompetency would lose the singular device necessary to carry out simple orders from a superior- “There isn’t a new one like it, we only made the two…” when the tone of his voice cut, Hughes’s lips pressed thin and he looked down at his feet with shame.  It made Hamilton angrier.  He tore off his gloves, “You offered to report the rumors you hear- you spouted on about loyalty and honor, you asked to help!”

“Sir, yes I understand, but-”

“You lost it!  How should I trust you and any word you pass if you can’t do as you’ve said.  You’re useless to His Excellency-”

“Hamilton…”

Turning from Hughes, Alexander recognized the voice, too familiar to mistake, had a recent reunion in Albany, but now he was unexpected company in the field house of Peter Hughes. Troup.

“It was my fault,” Rob said, stepping out from the kitchen.  His arms were folded over his chest, still broad as ever, he was somehow slimmed by the stripes of uniform lapels and the green sash of an aide.  General Gates’s aide.  When Hamilton just stared, he admitted, “I…tried to dispose of it.”

Another long, incredulous stare until Alexander gathered himself, “…why?”

“Well, first off, I was drunk,” Troup admitted, trying a small smile as if that might calm his old friend’s obvious ire.  It didn’t. “And, I thought…maybe I might convince him not to contact you again.”

This didn’t calm Alexander either, but it shocked him silent.  Robert Troup had been a pivotal resource in blocking Gates’s political maneuvers thus far- diverting the Northern General’s attention from grabbing for the power some men in Congress wanted him to have.  If not for Troup receiving and sharing the pamphlet Hamilton sent, then fastidiously tracing it’s spread through camp and reporting it, Alexander would’ve had no way of confirming the plot to General Washington- no authority to begin placing agents and informants across New York.

The dawning betrayal was written all over Alexander’s face.

Troup explained hastily, “I don’t want to see Gates unseat General Washington any more than you boys do, but-”

“But you’re loyal to him now?  It’s late for that now, Rob, you’ve already exposed him- do you think standing in the way of our investigation now will make him forgive you?”

Troup raised a brow, seeing for the first time his friend’s warped perspective, and he answered slowly, “Gates is not your enemy, Alex.”  Unfolding his arms, he locked them instead behind his back to stand more formally, “He’s a commander in our army, one who’s well-loved ‘round these parts.  And, while I believe we all disagree with the motives pressing him to take power, you should remember that he’s just the pawn of politics here.  All this secrecy- the measures you’re taking to spy on him and his friends-”

Hamilton pushed a hand out to stop Troup’s words before they could broach into accusation any more then they already had.

A signal that he didn’t intend to listen and a motion that Troup was well familiar with.  He rolled his eyes.

Hamilton turned back to Hughes, “So, you’ve lost the cypher then?”

“Well, yes…”

Hamilton nodded and picked at his bottom lip, plotting alternatives.  He had one vial of ‘sympathetic stain’ left with Gibbs which would only require a ride to Peekskill- possibly a two-day diversion.  Or…Troup should have some left from his correspondence-

A gift from John Jay, Hamilton had access to a quantity of ink, invisible to the eye until the tannic acid came into contact with a counter agent.  It was useful for hiding messages in plain sight, instrumental in recruiting several merchants in New York City.  They had been familiar with Hamilton as a clerk of the Christiansted branch of their New York-based import-export house, then as a popular young speaker on Wall Street.  After the British occupied the city, they probably hadn’t expected to see the boy again- shocked by his return almost exactly a year ago, wind-bitten, shivering, and traveling undercover.  Presented with a demonstration of the ink and a few words of patriotic duty, they were sold to his cause.  A chain of informants, smuggling information to the American army.

Hamilton could trust the ink now as a last resort, “It’s no matter, just let him have the ink I gave you…” he turned to Troup, a suggestion and a test all at once. “If you’ve any left now.”

“It’s standard procedure to check for that now on documents to and from Washington’s camp,” Troup said.

Hamilton sent him a glare. “What?”

Troup gave a shrug, “With all the rumors floating around-”

“Only a guilty conscious suspects others of plotting.”

Troup raised a brow at Hamilton again, not needing to say anything aloud to imply those words against Hamilton himself.  But, as was always the case, paranoid and suspicious as he was, Hamilton was right.  Perhaps Alexander’s conscious was more guilty than most, perhaps he had been ruthless and cruel to meet his ends, but his methods were effective, and if his conscious could bare the weight of those methods, Troup had to trust him- could never manage to do otherwise.  

If he needed a ring of informants, willing to send him names and quotes of dissenters against the Commander in Chief, Troup trusted him still.  And though he wasn’t pleased of the risk it placed on his friend’s reputation, there would be no stopping him from using the resources he had to their fullest extent.  He would be writing letters to New York- whether Troup was included in that ledger or not, so he would be better to participate, protect his Hamilton however he could.  “You don’t need a new cypher,” he said.

Hughes looked up at the same time as Hamilton turned to him, he said “But, you threw it in the pond out back- it must be sunk by now.”

“What!”

“Hamilton, please-”

“No.”  Hamilton stepped back away from his friend further, “What happened?  Why is the cypher in a pond-”

“It’s really more of a lake, and as I said, I was drunk, it was a foolish tiff and really I pressed it, but…yes, um…it’s in the lake.”  Before Hamilton’s incredulous look and raised arms could convey further anger, Troup said hastily, “No, truly- we can retrieve it.  I know exactly where it is, it was too dark to find it in the water.  But, I knew it’d float, so I went out this morning…well it’s prob’ly best if I show you.”

Conversation ended for the moment as Hughes and Troup gathered coats and cloaks, Hamilton replaced his trifold hat and his gloves, retied his cloak around his shoulders.

And, a short trudge out into the cold, feet crunching in deep snow, Troup stopped at the edge of the lake, half frozen and proceeded more carefully to walk out on top of the ice towards the open center where the lake hadn’t yet frozen.  He stopped about halfway to the middle, scratched his foot over the surface of the frosted ice and pointed.

Hamilton followed at a safe distance, stepping towards the hole in the center of the lake.  Sure enough, where Troup pointed, at the edge of the stretching ice, the knob of wooden rings was bobbing, suspended, just under the frozen surface, too thick to simply cut through.

“If we wait for it to warm a bit, I’m thinking the cypher will just float to shore,” Troup said casually.

“Maybe, but not till about March or so, and by then who knows what injuries Congress will’ve inflicted to our command,” Hughes was saying.

Hamilton barely heard them, fabric rustling over his ears as he tore off his cloak and hat, shrugged off his coat and began untucking his shirt.  He was half-way undressed- a well-practiced motion quickly performed- by the time Robert grabbed his arms, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting the cypher.”  It was such an obvious solution, Hamilton hated Hughes for calling him here.  But, he doubted either of these officers would reduce themselves to solve the problem by simple means anyway.  So really, it was a good thing he had come.  He started towards the opening of the ice.

Troup grabbed his arm, “You are not.”

Hamilton baulked, pulling his arm away and grabbing his shirt up, defiantly throwing it over his head as he turned back around.  So, he stood, glaring down his friend, bare-chested and breathing steam into the frozen air.  He dropped down and unlaced his boots. “Really.” he said, “I’m not?”

“No- are you mad?”

Hamilton took a step back when Troup stepped towards him again, kicking off his boot and throwing it at him. “I dunno, am I?”

“Hamilton don’t do that-”

“Why?”  Troup was digging at an old point of contention, trying to tell his friend what to do, even for his own good.  Hamilton raised his arms, welcoming the argument, “Come on, Robert, come- give me one good reason not to jump in the lake.  It’s obviously why you’ve called me here- that or to point out your own mistake, did you think I wouldn’t fix it?”

“No one needs to fix this- Hughes called you for a different method of correspondence, and I was hoping you’d see just how unnecessary all of this is!”

Ignoring the suggestion, Hamilton continued to back towards the edge of the ice, “No other method I’m seeing, so I’ll need a better reason-”

“It’s frozen solid, Hamilton!”

“No, not good enough.” And, the more Troup didn’t want him to, the more Hamilton felt this was necessary.  He kicked off his other boot, standing barefoot on the ice.  “See, I already noticed that- it’s hard to miss.”

“You’ll freeze!”

“Then are you offering to come get it yourself?  Because that’s the only other solution I see here,” Hamilton cocked his chin like a dare, a test.  “I mean, I’d love to let you.  You did throw it in after all…”

Troup said nothing, expression twisting with regret.  

But, Hamilton was unsurprised, had no pity for regret.  Troup’s unwavering loyalty was something Hamilton had rejected long ago, and while he could trust him to be a useful ally to Washington, he wouldn’t never expect sacrifice from him- even when the problem was his own creation.  No, anything he needed done, Hamilton knew to do himself.  And, Troup had long-realized that there would be no stopping Alexander Hamilton once he had set his mind to a solution.  Troup would allow it.  Someone was jumping in to get the cypher.

And it would have to be him.

“Well alright then.”  Hamilton reached down and dropped his breeches, tossed the pile of clothes at Hughes and he sent a sharp look at Troup, “Get a fire started. I’ll want to get warm after this…”

#writing prompt meme #filled #anon #SOA #Song of Alexander #Alex in Albany series #Robert Troup #Hamilton is insane just fyi #ficlet

[photographerguide-blog]

Photography, Kachka & Spies - Russian Life

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Photography, Kachka & Spies - Russian Life

Here are this week’s best English language long-reads we’ve come across in the Russoverse. They take us from Lithuania to Brooklyn and then Washington. Check the link at the bottom of the post for how you can submit long reads for our consideration.

A Distant, Overlooked Life

Author Lars Mensel takes a look back at Vitas Luckus, someone who should have been a leading light of Lithuanian photography, but for the fact that he lived in Soviet Lithuania, where orthodoxy and conformity trumped artistic exploration. 

The photographer’s tragic end could well be the opening to a LeCarre novel:

Vitas Luckus died after jumping out of the window of his 5th floor apartment in the winter of 1987… his wife found him in the snow.

Seconds earlier, Luckus had committed murder: There was a visitor at his place, and they had argument about his photography. Luckus stabbed the guy with a kitchen knife, only to realize that the visitor was a KGB agent. He chose death over punishment.

Mensel offers some superb examples of Luckus’ art, and explores how hard it is to know a time, place or worldview when one is removed from it in space and time. But also at how we, in our desire to simplify the world, often focus too much on the “accepted masters” of an art form, failing to look at or remember those who fly below the radar…

Photography is so dominated by iconic figures that some never reach fame, no matter how great they are or once were.

Kachka: The Word That Saved A Family

Over on the foodie blog Salt, NPR correspondent Neda Ulaby, who has one of the most sonically pleasing names in journalism (and an on-air voice to match), takes us to Brooklyn to hang out with chef and cookbook author Bonnie Morales, who has just had published . The new cookbook

challenges assumptions that Russian food is bland and lacks variety. “That it’s all for cold weather, very meat-heavy, that everything is pickled,” she says.

You’ll find recipes in Morales’ cookbook for buckwheat blinis with lingonberry mustard, beet-and-caviar stuffed eggs, and, if truth be told, a lot of pickles.

The child of Russian-Jewish parents (her husband is part Mexican, thus her last name), Morales originally felt Russian food was “broken” or stodgy and needed a reboot, and nurtured a bit of a love-hate relationship with it.

“I thought the smell of mushrooms boiling was just disgusting,” she confesses.

So what is the story about the book’s title (which is also the name of Morales’ restaurant in Portland)?

Kachka refers to a dramatic moment that took place during World War II. Morales’ grandmother fled a ghetto in Minsk after barely escaping a mass killing. She was passing as a Ukrainian peasant when she was stopped by a Russian official working with the Germans.

“He was like, ‘You’re a Jew,’ ” Morales recounts. The official challenged her grandmother to say the word “duck” in Ukrainian to prove her identity. Morales’ grandmother didn’t speak Ukrainian, and she had to stake her life on linguistic overlap.

“She just hoped that maybe it was the same word in Yiddish and Belarusian,” Morales explains. “So she said, ‘kachka.’ And it turned out it was the same word in Belarusian, Ukrainian and Yiddish. And he let her go.”

Then follows the funniest passage in the post, when Ulaby demurs when Morales suggests maybe they try some tongue.

And then her editor steps in:

“Neda specifically told me she didn’t want to taste any tongue. So let’s get the tongue,” she announces.

What Trump Really Told Kislyak

It wouldn’t be a week in Washington these days without myriad new speculations, revelations, and perturbations in the Trump-Putin-Russiagate-Election-Tampering scandal.

It does all get a bit tiresome, so when a really well-researched, detailed article comes along, it pricks our ears. Howard Blum dives deep into what actually went on at that notorious meeting in the White House where only Russian reporters were allowed, and where the president appears to have tipped Russia’s two top diplomats off as to Israeli intelligence’s sources and methods in an antiterrorism operation. It was a case, Blum says, where

pretty much the entire Free World was left shaking its collective head in bewilderment as it wondered, not for the first time, what was going on with Trump and Russia.

Beginning with a cinematic opening about the Israeli intelligence op that revealed an incipient danger of laptops to commercial aircraft, Blum goes through the details of the case and the presidential leak to the country’s adversary in jaw dropping detail. 

Why did a president who has time after volatile time railed against leakers, who has attacked Hillary Clinton for playing fast and loose with classified information, cozy up to a couple of Russian bigwigs in the Oval Office and breezily offer government secrets?

He also offers a fascinating look back at the history and importance of inter-state cooperation in the intel world (to wit: it was the Israelis that first obtained a copy of Khrushchev’s Secret Speech), and how this one interaction may have endangered many of those relationships.

Thanks to Dave Edwards for the tip on the Kachka article.

Source

https://russianlife.com/stories/online/photography-kachka-spies/