#and you already know how much damage they do to chipper (probably)

[skullzy20]

hey I don't think that's right

[queen-scribbles]

Balancing Act

Hey hey, I have more Ody/Chance fic! Not a prompt fill or anything just straight-up wanted to write them more, so I made a follow-up to Occupational Hazard. ^_^ ---

She made it almost a month before her curiosity got the better of her and she found herself slicing into the medcenter records.

I just want to check on him, Odessa rationalized. I'm not after anything the doctors wouldn't just tell me if I were dating him as a Republic citizen. It was a thin justification, which was part of why she was doing this from her personal datapad, in her quarters, with the door locked. (The rest, of courses, being she didn't need her crew knowing she was in a relationship with a Republic spy.)

The pathways were already laid from her first time infiltrated system to find him, even if they didn't fully remain. It made this faster, easier, though she was careful not to let it make her sloppy. It also made it easier to avoid extraneous data; the path led straight to the file she sought.

Rieves, S. She bit her lip as she skimmed past the personal information, name, date of birth, the classified tag on his involvement with Ardun's team as background for his injuries. Ongoing treatment, there we go...

Someone had been keeping very studious updates, almost daily. She couldn't tell from the ID tag if it was a medtech or doctor(probably the former). Whoever it was, she wanted to hug them. The notes made it clear 'steady but slow' was the best descriptor for his progress. There were addendums about muscle damage, scarring, probable mobility limitations, more positive references to the healing progression in other areas.

Odessa read them with the same focus she gave mission briefings. Truth be told, she cared about this significantly more. Between her training around human anatomy and bits picked up from Dr. Lokin, she was able to parse the main points. There was a note from only two days prior cautioning about physical recovery limits and recommending his superiors be apprised as requested.

She winced and backed out of the file, careful to cover her tracks on the way and wipe the history on her datapad. Seemed like his guesses from when she visited were sound--not in life-threatening danger but highly unlikely to recover enough for field work.

She'd wanted to know. Now she knew. The scarring was unlikely to heal further, all but guaranteed limits to mobility... It would be a lot to handle. She wished she could be there with him.

---

C--

I wanted to let you know I'm thinking about you. I'm grateful we got to talk things out and more than satisfied with the conclusion. The only thing lacking is an easy way to be there. Looking forward to next time. x

--L

---

Between tracking down the Star Cabal and "official" assignments, she was too busy to dwell on anything outside work for several days. That didn't keep bashful smiles and warm brown eye from her dreams, of course, but she didn't have time to do much more than dream.

---

Odessa,

This datapad and contact channel each have about three layers of encryption on them. None SIS. Ardun had me trick them out before... you know. He didn't want them traced to the Republic if one of us got caught or one got lost. Point being, it's secure on my end if you want to be direct. We don't need to use spyspeak or vague generalities, just don't put so much traffic on this channel it draws attention and we'll be okay.

All that said, it's good to hear from you. I hope you're keeping safe, though I know that's hard under the circumstances. I'm in pretty much the same spot as when you were here. Can't go far without help, trying to balance progress with not making things worse. The doctor's happy with the rate, director isn't. We'll see how that ends up. I know the odds of it being any time soon are low, but I'm looking forward to next time. Helps keep me going.

Sollen

---

"You're remarkable chipper today, Cipher." Dr. Lokin still used her former title with such intentionality Odessa wondered if he'd chosen to forget her name.

"Am I? I don't feel much different," she said, tone light. She knew better than to lie to a fellow--more experienced--liar, but also didn't want to discuss the matter. The messages on her datapad were just for her.

"Mm. There's something about your mood..." He shook his head. "Forgive an old man his habits. We had a job to do, didn't we?"

She wasn't fooled; the good doctor suspected something now. She'd be under observation. Wish I'd brought Vector. She normally would have; aside from being her friend, he never pried for her thoughts before she was willing to share them. But with rumors of rakghouls or something like them infesting the swamps here, Dr. Lokin was the only logical choice. Even if it meant her balancing the risk of monsters against the risk of discovery. She wasn't sure which was more daunting.

---

Sollen,

I think in your situation, the doctor's approval of how things are going is more important than the director's, though I know it bodes certain things for your career. Look at it as time to think about what you want. Please don't push, take your time so the healing happens properly. I'm keeping busy, but rest assured the next chance to visit will be seized with both hands. Missing you. x

---

A week with no reply had her ansty-- last time he'd replied same day--and that was not a good frame of mind for what she was gearing up to do.

It's infiltrating an estate, she told herself, triple checking she had everything she might need. You've done similar jobs a dozen times. Stay focused and there shouldn't be a problem.

She wasn't expecting to encounter a familiar face, though the familiar part didn't register until she'd leveled a blaster at him.

"We have to stop meeting like this," she drawled, sotto voce.

A low, sardonic chuckle. "Agreed, but it's good to see you all the same, Legate."

She stepped closer, lowering her blaster and her voice. "Likewise, Ardun, but what are you doing here?"

"I suspect the same thing as you," he said with a thin smile. "The baron is a member in formerly good standing with the Star Cabal. Thought the galaxy might be better off without him roaming it unchecked."

"You suspect correctly, though I was planning to rifle his databanks before I did anything to the man directly," she confirmed with a nod.

"Then I have a proposition, assuming this is a personal mission rather than official one." He waited for her to nod again before continuing, "We should work together; you take the data, I'll take the baron. SIS has been pursuing objectives from the Codex and he's the next link in a chain that's very close to snagging some very big fish."

Odessa paused, considering. On-site backup would be useful, and she had been wondering how to handle the baron. "You have a deal. You'll pass along anything you learn from him?"

Ardun nodded. "Might even slip you an assignment or two, if we can manage it."

"Sounds like a plan." She gripped her blaster and gestured for him to take the lead. They accomplished both objectives with very little fuss. Just about the smoothest Odessa had ever seen an op go.

"Do you have a team to help extract him?" she asked, gesturing toward the drugged noble.

Ardun was already raising a comlnk. "Not far," he answered her, before clicking it on. "Saber, Coin, we're ready for our ride."

There was a pair of staticky clicks but no verbal reply.

Coin, hm? "Still enjoying sabacc, I see," she commented.

He shrugged. "It works, and I like to give the team a sense of stability."

"Do you..." she hesitated before gambling on the question, "know how Chance is doing?"

Ardun gave her a keen look in the starlight, like he'd heard her almost say Sollen, and smiled faintly. "Last I heard he was recovering well. Doesn't seem likely he'll be returning to field work, though, which is a shame. With the war and everything I can't keep as close tabs as I'd like on non-active agents."

There was a trickle of disappointment even if that was roughly the answer she expected. "Glad he's recovering," she murmured, looking off the balcony to scan for his ride. She wanted to be gone before they got here.

"Any particular reason you're interested?"

"We were working together when he got hurt, I just want to be sure he's alright," Odessa deflected.

"Mm. I'm sure he'd appreciated the concern," Ardun said with a half smile that was too knowing by half for her taste.

She grimaced to herself. Jedi. It was easy to forget his past life still clung to him. Wonder how much he can sense... "Good luck with your prize," she said, rather than follow that line any further.

There was a flicker of motion off the balcony, commotion stirring among the estate guards below.

"Same to you, Legate, but here's my ride, and I think that's our cue. I assume you're alright making your own way out?"

Odessa nodded. "I'm very good at making an exit," she said, sardonic smile curving her lips.

She ducked away before the darkened speeder pulled up, using the guards' focus on that to make her own escape easier. She wondered if the SIS would actually get anything from the baron, if he was as important to the Star Cabal as he seemed. Suppose I'll find out if Ardun passes anything along, but I think I got the better end of the deal.

---

Dessa,

Shouldn't I be more worried about you than the other way around? Seems like it would fit the circumstances better. I am listening to the doctors, I promise. But rehab is rehab, which sometimes means not much happens for a while. Think I'm in one of those ruts now. They had to do another surgery on something that wasn't healing right, which slowed things down more. It's boring when the therapist isn't here, being so limited in what I can do. I hope you're being safe. Keep out of trouble when you can, huh? For my sake if nothing else.

Sollen

---

Odessa bit back a giddy smile and tugged a lock off hair as she read the message that had been waiting when she returned to the ship. Vector and Temple were sifting through the data she'd found, Kaliyo and Lokin were running recognizance, SCORPIO was doing another 'self-improvement' update; this was the closest to safely alone she would get.

So she read it again. And again. Let the warmth bloom in her chest, running her fingers over the last couple sentences. You're too good for me, Sollen Rieves.

She tapped her nails against the edge of the datapad.

"I hope you're being safe."

She stared at the words a moment longer, then pushed to her feet. Four months was long enough.

---

She was a little more daring this time, slipping in at midday under an alias rather than play the evening ghost. The records would show her there to visit a completely different patient, if anything flagged enough for them to be checked in the first place, and she knew how to time things so the security cameras didn't catch her.

He was up when she reached his room, moving very carefully around the space. Odessa leaned against the wall to watch, not wanting to break his concentration(even though she was fairly certain he wasn't supposed to do this alone). He kept close to walls and furniture, she noted, even as he did his best to walk without touching any of them.

His limp was very pronounced; she could see why both he and Ardun had expressed doubt he'd return to field work. A limp like that was easy to clock, nigh impossible to conceal or alter, and would make quick escapes... tricky at best. And if it was still that bad after a year and a half of surgery, kolto, and rehab, it likely wasn't going to get much better.

Sollen's hand brushed the window sill briefly, then, two very deliberate steps later, grabbed for a chair as his knee buckled.

"Chance--!" It was knee-jerk to fall back on the code name as she bolted to catch him.

He swiveled to answer, all the same. Apparently old habits died hard for both of them. They stared at each other a moment, surprise and embarrassment warring in his wide brown eyes.

"..."Hi," he finally said.

Odessa smiled, hand still around his arm. "Hi."

"What're you doing here? Not that I'm unhappy about it," Sollen added, ears going pink. "Just... very pleasantly surprised."

It was her turn to flush, having to actually put it words. "You know what they say about absence and hearts," she mumbled as she shifted her grip to help him sit in the chair he'd grabbed for support. "I missed you."

"Oh." he sat heavily with a grimace and took a moment to catch his breath. The pink was spreading from his ears to his neck and cheeks. "Good timing. And, um, I missed you, too."

She sat in another chair, scooting it closer to his as she did. "Was this listening to your doctor, Sollen?"

"I am supposed to get exercise," he said. She didn't miss the way his hand massaged just above the bad knee. "And I have been doing better, this was just a cramp."

Odessa bit her lip. "I hate to be a nag our first time seeing each other in months, but are you supposed to be doing that alone? Everyone I know who's been hurt badly enough to require rehab was supposed to have someone with them whenever they worked on anything that could... stress their injuries." She rested her hand over his.

Sollen smiled. "They said as long as I'm careful, which I am. I appreciate you being worried, though."

"Of course." His hand was warm under hers, small rough patches speaking of scars not visible at a glance. She swept her thumb across his knuckles, relishing the simple fact she got to hold his hand. "A lot of my work these days is just watching and waiting, it seems your circumstances carry more risk," she half-teased lightly.

"Only from my own clumsiness," he snorted.

It's not clumsiness if you're healing from serious injuries. She pursed her lips and sent him a mischievous smile. "Would you like a shoulder to lean on getting back to the bed, in that case?"

"Might not be a bad idea, so I don't fall on my face if nothing else," Sollen said wryly.

"Well, we wouldn't want that." She stood and let him use her arm for leverage to do the same. He slid an arm around her shoulder and she instinctively wrapped one around his waist in response. "What are the odds of some orderly or medtech catching us like this and being curious?"

Sollen leaned heavily on her for a moment, his grip tightening. "Low but existent. Lunch was... not quite an hour ago, so we have a bit before they do rounds. And those can vary on timing; it depends on what --if anything--the people ahead of you need." They reached the bed, but he seemed reluctant to change position. Odessa caught him studying her when she looked up. "I'm... pretty stable, so I'm low on the list. You look tired, Dessa."

"I am," she admitted easily. No point lying. "Didn't you mention having another surgery in your last message?" Much as she too enjoyed their current position, she didn't want him to push it. She pressed a hand against his chest to nudge him toward the bed.

"Yeah, but it wasn't anything major this time," he said, his hand lingering as it slid down her arm when he sat. "Somethin' about muscles pulled too tight on the back of my leg."

"Major or not, I'd think a recent surgery would make you a higher priority," Odessa murmured as she helped him get settled. "And that sounds pretty major to me."

"It was a couple days in kolto to make sure things didn't heal to tight again and make the limp worse. No complications or anything," Sollen assured her, though he held his leg in a position that spoke to something still being sore. "They're still checking it a couple times a day, there's nothing to worry about."

"Alright, I'll take your word for it." She sat on the edge of the bed and tentatively rested her hand on his leg near where he'd been massaging. "Is the cramp gone?"

It took a moment from him to look up and meet her eyes. "Mostly."

"Good." She left her hand where it was. "Then we can enjoy what time we have before it gets interrupted."

"What, are you planning to leave if someone shows up?"

"Don't you think that's best?" Odessa sighed, her thumb rubbing arcs as the warmth of his skin soaked through the fabric. "I imagine I'll be difficult to explain."

"Not really." Sollen was studying her face again. "Odessa, are... are you having second thoughts?"

"Of course not!" Knee-jerk instinct put more vehemence behind the words than intended. She swallowed to rein herself in, and gently squeezed his knee. "I don't want to make trouble, or cause enough of an impression I get remembered. I have to balance wanting to see you with being a ghost, at least as far as the Empire's concerned."

"Ah. Well..." He sifted position with a grimace so fleeting she wondered if she imagined it. "That's easy; we can just say you're someone I work with. It's not even a lie, and the doctors know I'm SIS, so they'll just assume you are, too."

Also not technically a lie, even if only three people in the whole galaxy know that. "Smart man," Odessa chuckled. He was right, that was the most logical conclusion people would draw. She was being paranoid.

Sollen shrugged. "I dunno about that, I just... if it's going to be another four months--or longer--before we get to actually see each other again, I want to enjoy this visit as long as we can, rather than you skittering into the ether at the first hint of being seen, you know?"

She did know, and she agreed. But she was an allegedly loyal Imperial on the Republic homeworld, with no idea what other operative from "her" government might be active. Lokin's rubbing off on you. The thought made her shudder.

"I want that, too," She slid her hand from hiss lag to take his hand instead. "I know it's hard not getting to be normal about... a relationship, but I would very much like to enjoy the time we get as well."

"Good to know." He smiled shyly and squeezed her hand. "So, how much of what you've been up to can you talk about...?"

"Oh, most of it," Odessa laughed. "Official assignments have been light; I'm mostly working on my personal project." She paused. "I ran into a mutual friend on Alderaan..."

It was four uninterrupted hours later and closing in on dinner time when she finally--reluctantly--took her leave. "You need rest and I need to get back before my team wonders if I got eaten by a black hole."

He laughed as he let go of her hand. "Wouldn't want that. See you next time, Dessa."

She nodded, warmth spiraling in her chest. "Next time." She leaned in to brush a kiss against his temple and headed for her shuttle fighting a smile.

And losing.

[manor-tea-time]

@ask-the-identity-5-senses

[ At the door of Miss Ivy Nettle, the sound of eager knocks could be heard. Behind it stood three individuals, only one of them being familiar to her. The beaming woman in the middle.]

"Hi! Happy Halloween!" Chirped Therese, holding out a small candy bag to the woman, she seemed to be the most excited out of the curious trio. A man dressed in blue who looked like he'd rather be anyone else, be anywhere else and a woman with exquisite jewels adorning her ears, fingers, neck and wrists.

"I hope you don't mind the sudden intrusion but I felt like it was only fair to repay your kindness from when we first met! Also, I mentioned that I'd introduce you to a few of my match members. Unfortunately our fourth and fifth at unavailable. Lux Faromont here," she paused, gesturing to the man next to her who didn't spare Ivy a single glance, worth less than the grime he was working out from under his nails. "wasn't supposed to be, but much like a rescue dog, he needs to be socialised."

He only looked up briefly to scowl silently at the chipper princess next to him, before glancing at Ivy and visibly rolling his eyes.

"And I made the time when Miss Bernadotte here informed me that you are an artist of fabric as well." Spoke the third member, before she held out a gloved hand, a peculiar accent which was most assuredly Scottish could be deciphered from her words.

"Bonnie Blythe of Blythe jewelry. I'm sure you've heard of us." Her confidence was unmatched. Whether or not Ivy had indeed heard of her, it would probably not damage her pride one bit. THAT'S how strongly she came off.

As the costume maker peeked through the door, there was an air of tiredness to her, an already prepared speech tumbling out of her mouth before she could even register the three at the door. "If you'd like a last minate costume I'm afraid you're out of luck, I ran out of fabric hours ago-"

"Ah Therese! What a lovely suprise!" Ivy perked up with a speed rivaling that of a seasoned actress snapping into her role. Brushing of all the various stuck pieces of scrap fabric and thread from her dress as she widened the opening of the door to allow the three to see a full view of the woman.

In suprisingly casual attire, the costume maker stood. While her attire was similar to what she'd worn her first meeting with Therese, this time, it seemed she'd dawned a costume of a hunter for the spirit of the evening. "Bah! You're not intruding if I invited you to visit when you wished." Ivy waved a hand. Honestly, if anything it would be easier to find half of her teammates in case they wanted to introduce themselves now anyways.

"Ah yes, Lux. I do remember you mentioning him. Mapmaker, yes?" She asked, her question drifting to the man as she watched him with an unreadable expression. Her eye didn't leave him for a good while, if anything, looking for some sort of meaningful reaction out of the man she could note.

"Its quite alright to be shy, my dear," a hit of mock sympathy leaked into her voice. "This place can be quite overwhelming. You don't need to pretend indifferance." A smile crossed her face as she redirected her attention to Bonnie spoke up.

"Ah, yes I am! I am known as the Costume Maker here. Although, I did work under Hemmingway Boutique for a good while making attire as well." Ivy answered, extending her own gloved hand to shake Bonnie's. It had a cotton esque texture to it. "Its truely a pleasure. I'm unsure if Therese already told you my name, but I am Ivy Nettle."

Ivy thought for a moment, debating her options in answering the other. Tapping her mask for a moment. On one end, she absolutely was certain she had never sold their brand before - let alone seen it up close. However, on the other, she was sure it would ruffle the feathers of the rescue mutt with poor manners if she said she might recall such a thing. Ah what a dilema indeed!

"I can't say I'd fully know. Our partners for items such as jewlery usually sent over their own consultants to sell said items at dress fittings or fashion showings." She shrugged, struggling to recall any long interactions she'd had with said jewlers. From her memory, they usually kept to themselves. "I'd have to see if I wrote anything down in my old diary to be sure."

"Ah! Here I am rambling. Do please come in and make yourselves comforatable." She stepped back, gesturing to some chairs within her room. "There ought to be plenty of chairs - Plus I have some lovely cider I can pour for you all huhuhu!"

- ξ(❁) ⊕) ξ

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit​ for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact. 

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication. 

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive. 

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.” 

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both." 

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours. 

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?”

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it. 

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night. 

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again. 

Oh, he was so fucked. 

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you. 

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood. 

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you. 

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey. 

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.” 

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble. 

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek. 

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face. 

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” 

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.” 

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much. 

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends." 

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks. 

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises. 

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

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[asset35-maya]

MANMADE FATE

Summary: Connor and Gavin find an unresponsive RK900 android in an abandoned Cyberlife warehouse and take him home to fix. (Not so subtle plot twist: both of them fall in love with their secret science project)

//

PART ONE OF THREE:

The crew from Jericho led a successful revolution but there’s still a lot of work to be done. Markus may have won human hearts and gotten the federal government to back down, but Cyberlife is still at large.

Sure, hundreds of androids at the Tower escaped to march on the streets behind Connor, but that was just a little dent in the big machine. Cyberlife has tons of intellectual property and assets that could easily put them back in power.

Simon and Markus insist they can work with the authorities to regulate and ring-fence the massive corporation. Josh agrees. North laughs in their faces.

She goes to find the only other Jericho member who still has any grit left.

Connor.

The daring, brazen RK800 who stared down death and spat in the face of destruction. He blinks at her in polite confusion when she tells him what she wants to do, but the fiery LED tells her everything she needs to know.

They hatch plans behind Markus’ back. They steal and stockpile biocomponents. They sneak into the Tower to encrypt Cyberlife’s R&D files with codes that only RK algorithms can break. A few other Tracis join them and they slowly start gaining an edge.

Their schemes start getting grander and one night something goes wrong. North is shot.

Connor carries her to the only safe place he knows other than his stasis pod in Hank’s dilapidated garage. The DPD Central Station.

It’s way past midnight. It’s deathly quiet. Connor is sure no one will see them, and he can easily tamper with the security cameras.

What he doesn’t bank on is the over-caffeinated loser still bent over his desk in the bullpen.

A noise from the archive room breaks through the quiet. Quelling his fear of the supernatural, Gavin stands up shakily and goes to investigate. He flips on the light and sees blue everywhere.

Connor is bent over a badly damaged Traci and three other girls with identical tear-streaked faces are on their knees beside her.

Chocolate brown eyes meet storm green beseechingly, their rivalry forgotten in that moment of desperation.

Before he realizes it, Gavin is moving. He takes several packs of thirium out of the fridge and grabs the Department’s toolkit, praying that whatever’s in there can help.

Old engineering knowledge kicks in and Gavin’s hands join Connor’s over the cracked chassis, pulling out damaged tubing and securing the leakages. It takes a while, but North is patched up. She first recoils in absolute terror at the human man hunched over her but regains composure at Connor’s touch… interface. She nods briefly to express her gratitude, somehow regal and intimidating even after being so vulnerable. Gavin decides he likes this proud and brave creature.

He drives them all back to his apartment for the night. They’ll take North to a technician first thing in the morning and get her back to New Jericho before Markus even notices. Adrenaline pumps through Gavin’s veins. He hasn’t felt a thrill like this in years, not since… not since…

“How did you know exactly where to put your hands?”

“Eh?”

“A layman would have broken that biocomponent trying to take it out.”

“You know I’m not exactly a layman.”

“I also know they don’t cover Cyberlife’s proprietary designs in engineering school.”

Gavin stays quiet. Connor puts a hesitant hand on his shoulder, poised to jump away immediately should the detective revert to his usual self.

“Thank you. For everything you just did for us. I don’t know how to repay-”

“I want in.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re doing. I can help.”

Connor cocks his head. His LED goes berserk.

They make a great team. Gavin and Connor. North’s best men. Who the fuck would have thought. Breaking into high-security locations using police databases and surveillance resources. Covering for each other during extended absences from work. They start to take down Cyberlife in a such a precise manner, it’s almost surgical. The dissection of a multibillion dollar business.

Gavin has an intimate understanding of android technology and an even closer intuition of Cyberlife’s overall strategy. Connor thinks he understands why. There’s an undeniable resemblance between the only two men on earth whose motivations evade his understanding. But of course it’s just a coincidence that Elijah Kamski and Gavin Reed have the same jawline... facial structure... voice.

Connor says nothing... and Gavin is quietly thankful for that. And the chance to finally live the kind of exciting life he dreamt of since he was a little boy. To make a real difference. Just as he wanted to before it all went wrong.

Somewhere along the way, they grow close. Gavin and Connor. Two rival cops turned vigilante comrades turned something else... It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly it happened... perhaps sometime between the cup of coffee placed tentatively on Gavin’s desk the morning after North's near-fatal injury and the heated kiss they dragged each other into after a particularly dangerous mission.

North is unsurprised. She doesn’t bat an eye when the usually unruffled RK800 shows up to planning meetings shirtless and disheveled. Her lips even twist into a little smile as he drapes himself slovenly over the only human at the table.

Things fall into a pattern. A good one. Several months from where they started, Cyberlife share prices have fallen to an all time low and other tech enterprises have begun to move in, circling the troubled company like sharks. If North’s next heist goes to plan, the last shred of IP that brands Cyberlife as a robotics company will be out in the public domain for all to take.

 She is rapturous as she swings in through the broken window and rolls into a crouched position. Gavin and Connor follow her cautiously through the abandoned warehouse, weapons drawn and eyes roving. 

“What the fuck!” 

Connor throws a protective arm in front of Gavin, shielding him with his chassis. But North’s cry was merely one of disappointment. 

“Shit! We wasted so much effort. There’s nothing here!”

Where they had expected to find a secret server room or a high-tech vault containing the crux of Cyberlife’s groundbreaking designs... was a single android storage pod. North restrains herself from kicking it in frustration. She gestures harshly at it before leaving in a huff. 

“It’s occupied. Wake them up, Connor, whoever they are. It’s still our duty to set free any androids we find.”

Gavin tries to catch her arm in a conciliatory gesture but she shakes the human off easily. He shrugs at Connor and inclines his head at the android in the pod. Unfortunately, North’s annoyance has brushed off on the RK800. He glares through the broken window the Jericho leader has just jumped out of.

“Don’t you think she bosses me around a little too much?”

Gavin sighs and walks over to the pod, looking for the latches to open it. His boyfriend has a problem with authority... and so has he to be honest.

“Better her than Fowler, dontcha think?” 

“Hmmpff. At least Fowler doesn’t lead us on wild goose chases.”

“Come on, babe. None of us saw this coming. We really thought this was it. Maybe we’re at a decoy location? Let’s go back to the drawing board after we wake this guy... or girl up.” 

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who just scaled a building for nothing.” 

Gavin shakes his head as he smiles to himself. It’s true. Even the worst days with North’s crew are better than his best days at the DPD. Maybe it’s because he’s finally doing what he was born for. Using the knowledge and skills that practically run through his veins. Maybe its the man by his side.

He gets the pod open and steps sideways to avoid the swing of the door, and freezes.

“Babe.”

No response.

“Dipshit.”

“Hmm. Give me a second.” 

“Take a minute. You’re going to want to brace yourself for this one.”

The android lying peacefully within the pod is a stranger with a face entirely too familiar to Gavin. A face he was just looking at. A face he’d recognize anywhere, even without skin.

“Are their battery levels- holy shit.”

Connor’s LED spins faster and faster as he registers the sight.

“I thought there were no surviving RK800s apart from you and that grumpy SWAT guy Sixty.” 

“This... this isn’t an RK800.” 

Connor traces the serial number printed on the android’s cheekbone. RK900. 

“Shit. Did you know this model existed?” 

“No, did you?”

Gavin shakes his head. He hadn’t been privy to Cyberlife’s inner decision-making for nearly fifteen years, but he always answered Connor’s persistent questioning without losing patience. Honesty was what kept them together despite the hundreds of reasons to fight and fall apart.

“What should we do? If he’s your successor, I’m not sure waking him up is the safest thing for you to do...”

“We can’t leave him here, Gav. He’s probably been here from before the Revolution. That’s more than a year of being in a box. It’s not... fair...” 

“He’s not deviant, babe. We don’t know what his programming is like.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can turn him.”

Gavin sees the look in Connor’s eyes and knows he’s made up his mind already. He steps aside, hand flitting to the holster on his waist. 

Connor takes an unnecessary breath and reaches for RK900′s forearm with his synth skin retracted. His fingers hover over the motionless android for a moment and then he makes contact. Gavin tenses. 

Nothing happens. The RK900′s LED remains unlit. There is no sign of life.

The couple look at each other automatically. Their instinctive reaction when the inexplicable occurs. 

“Is he-”

“No, I don’t see any damage. I think he’s never been activated. Not even for quality testing.” 

“Did you see a request for manual code input? Did any interface pop up at all?” 

“I can only see that his power systems are functioning.” 

“And his thirium pump?” 

“Not active. No compressions at all.”

Connor presses both his palms down on the RK900′s face. Still nothing. He looks up, defeated, with a furrow forming between his brows.

“Help.”

Gavin scratches at his stubbled chin. He peers closer. The perfect face is so calm. So familiar. So... magnetic? His apprehension is replaced by intrigue.

“Huh. Okay. I could take a look... but I don’t wanna try using the computer set-up here. Can’t take a chance... leave any traces...”

“We could take him home.”

Storm green eyes lock with chocolate brown. There’s something in the depths of each pair that’s mirrored in the other. 

It’s foolish. It’s a waste of time. It’s a risk. North would probably smack the two of them if she knew. 

But the night ends with them gently lowering the unconscious android onto the squashy sofa in Gavin’s living room.

[script-nef]

Presents (and other things)

Category: fluff

2k words; Shopping date [3/6]

← Previous chapter | Masterlist

Out of everyone in the whole world, the person you love most in the world is Nanami Kento, your brother. He was the one who saved you from the cursed spirit that haunted you and took your parents’ lives. He was the one who took you in so that you wouldn’t be put in the system since you were still a minor. He made sure every day that you were safe and healthy even if he was injured or exhausted after a fight.

That's why in the weeks nearing his birthday, you made sure that he would have a relaxing time. He said you didn’t have to and he’d rather have you not fret over him, but that is unacceptable. He needs to have a good birthday. If you could, you would make the whole month just about him. But the last time you tried that he sat you down for a long, scolding lecture about how it’s unnecessary. So that’s out of the option.

Right now, just a few days shy of his actual birthday, you have a problem. Because you were buried in work and have a terrible memory.

His present.

You forgot to buy a present. 

“I forgot to buy a present! Why am I so dumb… Why am I like this, Gojou? It’s literally one of the most important things with birthdays and I forgot it. Because I’m an idiot. I wish the ground would swallow me up… I deserve it…” Thuds reverberate through the room as your head makes contact with the table. Repeatedly. Hard.

Wallowing in self-hate is great but your brain starts spitting out all viable present options. 

Shopping for Ken-chan is hard because he’s not materialistic in the least. He also doesn’t have a lot of hobbies. “I don’t need presents.” is a regular phrase every time his birthday or holidays come up, but then he gives presents to you and you end up feeling worse. This is all while your brain is getting thrown around. 

A hand comes between your forehead and the desk, gently bringing it up. Gojou has a small pout as his cold fingers try to soothe the burning sensation. 

“You still have a couple of days left! Don’t bang your head against the table, your brain doesn’t work enough as it is.” He easily moves out away from your slap. But returns in time to stop your head from falling again.

“I should have remembered this weeks ago. There’s no use trying to make me feel better, Gojou. I’m a terrible sister. I deserve this pain.” His fingers poke against your cheeks and he smooshes and stretches them. It’s uncomfortable but you let him.

“I haven’t bought a present either.”

“You’ve never given him a present.”

“This is the year to start! I have to get on his good side!” That’s weird since he never cared about what Ken-chan thought of him.

 “Why?”

“We can shop together!” Classic ignoring. His face comes to level with yours. “Let’s go to Shinjuku, I’m sure there are things even Nanami will like. Also, I found a new sweets shop.” You stare at him. “But I will focus on the present for today! C’mon, I can fly us there. You’ve never flown before, right? I think it’ll help.”

For some inexplicable reason, floating in mid-air with nothing to save you other than Gojou is amazing. Adrenaline pumps through your veins at the thought of crashing down to Earth if Gojou lets go. You know he won’t though. 

The air is chilly up here and there’s constant wind makes your hair whip everywhere, getting in your mouth and eyes. It doesn’t dampen your mood.

Your arms tighten around Gojou’s neck, watching the city blink with life way underneath your feet. Well, his feet, since you’re bunched up in his embrace. 

“This is so cool! Do you do this every day?”

“Yup.” He pops the p and slowly walks closer to your destination. The world looks like a child’s playhouse. 

“No wonder you’re constantly in an amazing mood! I would do this every time I’m feeling down!” Gojou’s chuckle reverberates through his chest and into your body. 

“I can take you out again when you’re sad.” A buzz takes over your body at the thought sparkles come to life in your wide eyes.

“You would do that for me?” Gojou is an incredibly important asset and therefore also very busy, needing to take care of special-grade curses that others can’t while also teaching and looking after his three students. He couldn’t be at your beck and call, you can’t ask that from him. But the gentle smile he gives is so warm and sure, assuring you that his words are true.

“Of course I would. Any day.” His grip around your body tightens.

Something weird fuzzes in your chest. It’s not uncomfortable or bad but… unique. And foreign. You got a good report back from your physical evaluation last month so it’s not something physical. Questions about what the cause could be takes over your mind but the sudden sensation of zero gravity makes all of them fly out the window. Burying your face into Gojou’s neck, you prepare for the worst.

“And we have arrived! M’lady.” Chipper as ever, Gojou’s feet touch the ground with a light plop and he lets you down gently. You look at him in confusion until realisation kicks in. And you kick him.

“Don’t do that! I think my heart stopped!” He cackles at that, finishing with a “Won’t do it next time.” If there is a next time. The probability is reduced significantly because of what he just did. 

Taking your hand in his, he escorts you down the stairs from the rooftop and into a department store. The people who couldn’t see mere moments ago high up in the sky.

As expected, it’s loud and crowded. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of people shuffling about and sweeping everyone to move even if they wanted to. It’s fortunate that Gojou has a firm grip on your hand because otherwise you’d be completely lost. Still, it’s nice to be buried in the commotion of everyday lives. It helps you forget about the whole war that’s looming over everyone.

“Any ideas on what to get?” The question you’ve been asking yourself for the past hour or so is echoed by Gojou. “We have all the time in the world, so don’t worry. I’ll keep you company for as long as you want.” 

Blisters form on the back of your feet thanks to the amount of times you walked around the huge place. Gojou bought you bandaids even though you said Shouko can fix you up. It hurts a lot less thanks to that. Finding a present is still a challenge. Every time you think you have one, your brain comes up with a rebuttal for why Ken-chan won’t like it. Two hours and nothing to show for it, you’re on the verge of collapse. Even a quick snack break didn’t help.

Gojou sets you down on a bench, letting your head roll on the backrest. The sight of thousands of coats and jackets running around upside down makes you giggle. Maybe the stress is finally getting to your head. The mantra of “I’m a terrible sister” tries to sneak in and wreak havoc. You’re just about to let it when the upside-down brand of a designer clothing shop catches your attention. 

“Gojou.”

“Yup?” His head comes into view as he copies your posture. It must look really weird to passersby but you don’t care at all. “Got an idea?” You point to the brand. Or at least you think you do. The lack of blood in your brain is making everything dizzy. “Clothes?”

“I wanna buy him a good suit.” Standing up, swaying a little from the sudden oxygen influx, you try to drag him towards the shop. He tries to make your attempt harder by using his weight and height, but a firm glare makes him concede.

“I thought he said he doesn’t want suits.” Oh yeah, you told him that when it was rejected. Ken-chan did say that, years ago, when you bought him one for your first present. While incredibly appreciated, he reasoned that there is a high chance of it being ruined since he has to fight in them. And this was around the time when you started getting paid. It was his way of saying that you should invest it in something more durable and preferably for yourself. How does Gojou remember this when it was just a fleeting complaint that you barely remember?

“He said it’s because there’s no point in spending so much money on something that might be damaged so quickly. But I’m going to buy it for a different reason.”

Collections of suits, varied by colour and pattern, line the huge shop. Skimming over a lot of them, especially ones with questionable designs, you turn to the monochromatic area. Simple is best when it comes to Ken-chan’s taste. Shuffling through the shades, you contemplate between either beige or blue.

“What’s the reason?” Gojou’s voice calls from the change room. You wonder when he got there. 

“For him to wear it if he goes back to work in an office after the war has ended. Or just when he goes out, without the worry of getting attacked and ruined. It’ll be like a promise! That he’ll do his best to survive the war to wear it.” 

Gojou is silent in response. It drags out and now you’re sort of embarrassed about what you said. Your partner loves taking advantage of others’ sappy moments, teasing them mercilessly over it. That little speech is basically perfect ammunition against you. You expect his high voice to make fun of you.

What you don’t expect is for him to pat your head, slowly and softly, like he won’t ever get to do it again.

“Nanami must have used all his luck when he became your guardian.” Voice low, bringing shivers down your body, he cards his fingers through your hair. Like he’s combing them. Seconds tick by and it feels sort of nice, telling you to relax, but your body’s on high alert for some reason.

“I think he’d like the blue one. Since he already has a brown suit, beige is too close.” A black suit adorns his body when he comes into view. Even the shirt is black. It fits him perfectly and he looks really good in it, courtesy of a good body proportion. He could possibly pull off the hideous suits you elected to shy away from at the front of the display. You clear your throat.

“Wow, you look really good in that.” His hands smooth down the creases on the jacket, preening at your compliment. “You should buy that. Wear it to dates or whatever. Ladies will fall to your feet if you show up with that.” Holding up two blue suits, your eyes scrutinize them and you try to imagine which shade will look better on your brother.

“Ladies will fall to my feet? Really?” Amusement tinges his words. The left one looks better.

“Yeah, probably. Girls love guys in suits. Well at least, I do. If they wear the right one for them, it’s really hot. Left one is better, right?” He gives a nod, a wide grin playing on his face. “Alright, this one then. Are you buying the suit?”

“Yeah. I think it’ll be put to good use.”

The checkout is quick, and it’s night when you step out. 

“You wanna go back by flying? We can try doing the Howl thing.” That’s really tempting, being able to reenact one of the most iconic scenes in the movie. But not today. 

“No, I prefer being in your arms.” Gojou stares at you with such intensity that you can feel it even with the blindfold. Then he immediately barks out a laugh, one so loud that people nearby flinch at the sudden noise. You flinch at the sudden noise.

“Ah… You really keep me on my toes, you know.” Before you can ask what that means, he takes your hand again and starts walking to the stairs. His steps are faster than usual.

Next chapter →

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 12 second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Funsies) 

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

After locking Wei Wuxian into some comically large chains, Wen Chao has him thrown into the dungeon, with an unpleasant surprise.

This Fucking Dog

Being a fan of The Untamed involves occasional second-hand embarrassment, like when they fly on their swords, or the zombies all have the same wig, or a fight sequence moves slower than everybody’s granny. It's ok because each of these things is offset by excellence in acting, story, costumes, weapons, sets, etc.

Then there's this fucking dog. 

The department of questionable practical effects really outdid themselves with this thing. Just seeing this awful creation on screen gives me so much cringe squick I can barely look at it. But for you, dear readers, I FORCED MY EYEBALLS to watch the entire dog sequence OVER AND OVER. Then I applied some brightness adjustments and looked at it EVEN MORE. 

Let's get desensitized! I’m going all in on this monstrosity.

First, this dog does not ever move its body or its feet. Its legs are totally immobile. It appears to be made of a big sawhorse with a stick for the neck. The head swings up and down and side to side. That’s it.  

“Animatronic” is too generous of a term for this thing. The animatronics at Chucky Cheese learned to play musical instruments and host birthday parties decades ago. This dog cannot play an instrument and it has to wait for Wei Wuxian to walk over to it before it can attack him. 

When it falls over after Wen Ning K.O’s it, it’s like a chair falling over. It just topples to the side, legs sticking straight out.  

(more after the cut)

Next, It has a mouth full of teeth, which opens and closes. And it has drool the texture of Astroglide Extra-Thick Gel. But...no tongue.

Seriously you guys, it literally does not have a tongue. They just sculpted a little bump at the at the bottom of its mouth, despite dogs being known for, like, lolling their tongues out of their mouths at every opportunity.

Moving along, it has dull, lifeless eyes, and its eyelids are visibly disconnected from the rest of its head, like a doll that mechanically shuts its eyes when you lay it down to sleep.

Finally, its fur looks like a fucking muppet, and it has random shiny spots all around its eyes and lips. These are probably supposed to be body fluids of some kind, but they just look like someone was careless with the cra-z-glue.

Xiao Zhan gamely tries to act opposite this ridiculous fail prop, but there is nothing remotely scary about it.  

Here is Wei Wuxian being scared. I replaced the animatronic dog with a reversed clip of my dog Pepper asking for a piece of cheese, and I think it looks more convincing this way. 

Ok, let's be done with this stupid fucking dog. Wen Ning knocks it out, Wen Chao criticizes it in the morning, and nobody ever speaks of it again. 

Wei Wuxian is so mortified to have endured this farce that when Lan Wangji asks him, much later, “why are you afraid of dogs?” he does not say “don’t you remember that time I got chewed on by a giant animatronic dog at Wen Chao’s place?” but instead pretends that this never fucking happened. 

Wen Ning to the Rescue

For contrast, the next dungeon scene is a really touching and important encounter between Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian. 

Wen Ning comes and knocks out the creature, and gives Wei Wuxian medicine. 

Wen Ning is doing this in defiance of his clan and his sister, simply because Wei Wuxian is his friend. Yes, he feels indebted, but Wen Qing saved WWX’s life once, so the tally is already even. Wen Ning is just super attached to Wei Wuxian, and vice versa; WWX calls him Wen-Xiong in this scene. 

When Wen Ning explains how to use the medicine, Wei Wuxian changes the subject to ask how WN and his sister are doing. He is bleeding, chained up, high on adrenaline and fear, and what he really wants is to hear how his friends are doing. When Wen Ning talks about Wen Qing’s troubles, Wei Wuxian wishes she would accept help, instead of always going it alone. 

Wei Wuxian thanks Wen Ning formally, and tells him no words can express his gratitude. Whether this is a literally correct translation, the gratitude both of these young men feel toward each other transcends words. It will become a driving force in both of their lives as they save each other from increasingly awful situations. 

Wen Ning tells Wei Wuxian about the burning of Cloud Recesses....the burning of the half we never visit. It would suck to damage that exquisite set, so I’m ok with that production choice, but creates some cognitive dissonance when characters get upset about the fire. 

Wei Wuxian reacts to the news of Lan Wangji’s injury by punching the concrete floor of the dungeon, which is dumb but also highly relatable. 

After Wen Ning leaves, Wei Wuxian decides to save the medicine for Lan Wangji, who might not even need it, while WWX is bleeding right now and definitely needs it. No matter how bad things are for him personally, Wei Wuxian is always thinking about ways to help the people he loves, and constantly seeing his own needs as less important than everybody else’s. 

Breakfast Time

After his night of terror and maiming, Wei Wuxian emerges as chipper as ever. Almost like he is already an expert at hiding his trauma from the people close to him. 

Lan Wangji gives him a careful look, taking in the sight of his ripped clothes and bloody neck and hands. 

Jiang Cheng is angry at Wei Wuxian for joking about his injuries, so he shoves him, potentially causing more injuries. 

Wei Wuxian laughs off the signs of torture and attempted murder and everyone goes along with it. Nobody knows what happened to him other than "dungeon" and what he looks like right now, and they’re all just like, okey dokey, I guess you’re fine.  

He’ll carefully laugh off his months in the burial mounds in the same way, later, and Jiang Cheng will accept it nearly as readily as he accepts this. But by that time Lan Wangji will see right through him.

Nie Huaisang mentions the Lan Clan in the course of discussing breakfast, and then everyone pauses awkwardly because they know that mentioning this will make Lan Wangji think about the recent attack on his home and the deaths of many of his fellow disciples. Whereas if nobody had mentioned it, he totally wouldn't think about it. That's how grief works, right?

Insult to Injury

Wen Chao decides to spend some time gloating about battles and insulting people's families, which he does with Wen Qing standing behind his eyeline so that she can warn Wei Wuxian not to let his brother go off. 

Jiang Cheng is not going to let anybody who isn't his mother insult his father like that, but in a reversal of their normal roles, Wei Wuxian restrains him and helps keep him from doing something rash.

Monster Hunting

Wen Chao makes everyone read out loud until Nie Huaisang wisely faints and gets carried off. Then he gathers everyone for a monster hunt.  It's unclear why he wants to go monster hunting but he sure does, and bringing the hostages along might make them all die, which would be a nice bonus.

The cultivators wander around en masse in a small section of forest, thoroughly covering every inch of it. This is a great way to hunt for a dead body but not so good for living prey. 

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng stand around like bitchy queens at a dance club, talking smack about Wen Chao and his girlfriend. 

Wei Wuxian brings out a salty phrase and Jiang Cheng wonders what websites he's been going to. 

Dude. Lighten up.

Leave that Boy Alone

Wei Wuxian notices Lan Wangji struggling, and now that he knows the backstory, he's determined to help. Jiang Cheng is determined to stop him.

This is, once again, the fundamental disagreement between the brothers, and it's never going to be solvable. Jiang Cheng's specific dislike of Lan Wangji may be rooted in jealousy, but his belief in not helping outsiders runs a lot deeper than that.

For Wei Wuxian, there is no such thing as having helped enough. If someone is his friend, he will never stop helping them, and he has a lot of friends, and makes new ones wherever he goes. He's always going to be giving something of himself, to the detriment of any conflicting obligations. 

Jiang Cheng tells him that Lan Wangji won't accept his help, and Wei Wuxian says that's not the point. 

What other people think, want, say, or do, is not going to have any effect on whether Wei Wuxian does what he feels is right. This is a bit of a problem where a person's right to self-determination conflicts with Wei Wuxian's need to help them, as Jiang Cheng will eventually discover.

Jiang Cheng's least effective argument is the one he relies on most often when they disagree: other people's problems are not our responsibility. He's saying this to an orphan who was eating trash and stealing scraps from dogs before Jiang Fengmian came into his life. 

Jiang Cheng doesn’t seem to realize the underlying logic of this argument. If it's wrong for Wei Wuxian to help the people he cares about, it was also wrong for Jiang Fengmian to help Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng loves Wei Wuxian and would willingly die for him, but he, like his mother, rejects the philosophy that brought them together in the first place.  

Wei Wuxian walks away from an upset and shocked Jiang Cheng to offer a piggyback ride to Lan Wangji.

...who won't accept it, but who will remember the offer forever.

Writing prompt: Thoughts of an animatronic dog

Soundtrack:  Five Nights at Freddy’s by The Living Tombstone

[surveillance-0011]

TBOI Headcanons: Horsemen

Death

He/him

He’s...nice. Not a good person by any means but he’s the most polite of the bunch. Kind of strange though. Creepily calm, a bit sarcastic, and he has a pretty morbid view on the world.

Reserved and usually grumpy. He can be rather chipper off-duty, though. Putting up with the others takes a lot of energy from him.

Tired....

A bit neurotic but good at coming off as a down-to-earth guy.

He’s the most book-smart of the bunch and he’s fairly wise. A bit emotionally stunted, but he tries his best to be mature and make the right choices.

Death is more than a bit nihilistic and pessimistic. He has a hard time just... caring, mostly about himself.

Not to say he’s completely apathetic, he can be pretty empathetic but he tries not to act on that too much because if he did his job would have broken him by now.

He likes to think he’s got it all under control, but he does not. He’s more prone to pettiness and stupid decisions than he’d like to admit.

That being said he’s been pretty good with like. Growing and maturing though. He’s changed more than he realizes in just in the past.... decade or so ago. A bit of a late start for an immortal but hey at least he’s slightly less of a scumbag.

It’s usually not easy to anger him unless he’s really tired or something’s already set him off. When something does piss him off badly he’s a bit prone to freaking out. He’s not very good at handling his emotions. 

Sees his own job as a necessary evil, because hey, someone’s gotta do it.

Interested in botany/gardening, as well as literature.

Genuinely nice- or at least polite- to the kids when he’s not supposed to be murdering them. He sees no reason to go out of his way to do so, especially since unwarranted cruelty towards others has only bit him in the ass.

Famine’s older brother. The two have always had each other’s backs.

Diligent, and always considers the logistics to things instead of acting on emotion alone.

Protective of the other horsemen.

Pretty short tbh

His horse’s name is Chili.

Famine

She/he (bigender). You can use both interchangeably or only use one set, she doesn’t care. Fine with they/them too but it’s never really clicked w/ him enough to be preferred.

Usually prefers more masculine terms (brother, sir, mr...) but fine with anything.

.Flips between bouncing off the walls and having no energy whatsoever.

Impulsive, she’s got terrible judgement and has the most idiotic of ideas sometimes.

Fairly easygoing, tries to forgive and forget and doesn’t let little transgressions get to her

Actually pretty damn sad. Needs some self care but never looks after herself.

I mean she’s optimistic and usually happy but like. There’s always just a bit of sadness, you know? He’s dealt with a lot and it’s definitely taken its toll on him.

Disaster Lesbian

Tries to be a graceful loser but she can get a bit more competitive than she’d like to admit.

Has a hard time relating to others and considering how they feel, at least when it comes to anything more complex than “bad thing happened now I’m sad/mad” He’s a drifter by nature, always onto the next big thing for a quick thrill.

Eats a lot. It’s never enough.

Plants and a good deal of food will decay if she touches them, or even gets too close to them.

Like his brother he has some interest in nature. Famine is more on the adventurous side, though. She’s tried to live off the land a few times with varying success.

Named her horse Frisk

Pestilence

He/him

Calm, quiet, but also a pessimistic jackass.

Always in a bad mood. I mean, he’s permanently sick with just about everything contagious and deadly. You’d be grumpy, too!

Surprisingly high pain tolerance. A good deal of his nerves have probably just.. shut down or something. Or maybe he’s just numb to everything after a lifetime of pain.

Sleeps a lot

Dislikes his situation a lot, but doesn’t mind the company of the others.

Lazarus is terrified of this dude. The other kids are mostly grossed out or annoyed by him.

Likes to be alone.

Fairly smart, but comes off as absent minded bc he’s pretty much too sick to function. He slips up a lot and he’s pretty damn clumsy

Probably the most rational of the bunch, when he’s not in airplane mode. 

He’s also got a fairly strong moral compass. He doesn’t really like fighting the kids unlike War and Famine. Or just having to go up against people in general. Hell he hates the fact people get sick because of him. At the very least Pest has higher standards and is fairly transparent

But that isn’t to say he’s a good person. Yeah he doesn’t go out of his way to hurt others for shits and giggles and He’s Not Conquest but he doesn’t ever object to any of the shit the kids are put through and well. Yknow he still does kill them. He will also encourage some of War’s antics when it’s against someone he dislikes.

Tries to be as supportive as he can for the others. He knows he can’t do too much without overexerting so he tries to be encouraging and comforting as he can.

This compassion usually isn’t extended to humans, though.

Not very emotive, the only emotions he ever really expresses would be disdain and mild concern.

Not very fond of Conquest but they don’t hate each other. They actually work together well, too.

Friends with Mahalath. They’re pretty close!

His horse’s name is Moses.

War

He/it

He’s not very friendly, he’s pretty defensive and always on edge.

Out of all the horsemen, he’s probably the one closest with the Beast.

Lots of scars n injuries, it’s practically stitched together

One gold tooth

Impulsive, prefers solving issues through violence than through reason.

He can be fairly clever, though.

Intentionally angers/upsets others, likes causing problems and ruining things for people.

Desires wealth and power

Gets burnt out pretty quickly.

Emotional, insecure, and sensitive, and he hates this part of him. Definitely overcompensates for it.

Explosive temper, quite literally. Catches fire when upset and explodes if it’s more intense. Damage done to him also makes it happen. It’s not entirely voluntary but can be held off, and his “sobbing” sprite is him doing exactly that (but he’s probably also trying not to cry lmao). In the Ultra War fight, however...

Its daily routine leaves a lot to be desired. It wakes up, goes to work, then it goes home and just. Sits and rots.

Also, his diet is god awful. Please just eat a fruit or vegetable for once maybe you’d feel better goddamn.

He cannot remember if his horse is actually a horse or not but uhh he named her Bellum.

Conquest

He/they.

High and mighty sort of attitude. Can be very selfish. Stubborn, set in his ways. Gets defensive if you call him out or tell him he’s wrong.

Gay + nonbinary but in the closet (and denial) about both of those things. They’re trying to unlearn years’ worth of internalized bigotry.

Used to be worse, now trying to unlearn his toxic behaviors. But he’s still awful.

Doesn’t remember anything before their death. However they’ve held very strong Christian (specifically Catholic) beliefs all their life and they have a pretty black and white way of thinking.

Very cold and clinical. He has a bit of a temper but there’s a sort of calmness to everything he does even when he’s pissed.

Just as argumentative and aggressive as War but like more of a threat.

The others call him Connie sometimes, especially Death, who practically almost always calls him by this nickname.

Doesn’t harbor ill will towards Pestilence. They might have been overshadowed, but it’s not Pestilence’s own fault. If anything, being out of the spotlight has been good for Conquest, even if they do miss the attention sometimes. The only reason the two dislike each other is because their personalities clash.

Now if there’s anyone he hates that would be the Headless Horseman. Fuck that guy amiright

Very protective of Death. The two are close, Death is probably the only person who is consistently nice to him.

Utterly terrified of needles (hypodermic, not sewing needles, though he’s not good with sharp objects tbh) and medical stuff makes him anxious

Seems very... off. Just weird vibes but no one can pin point what about him is wrong.

Oh uh and his horse’s name is Josephine.

[petri808]

Pranks Are So Revealing Sometimes…

@itafushiweek One bed prompt

After everything had finally settled and damages were assessed to Tokyo jujutsu high following the Kamo incident, the faculty decided it was time for a full renovation. They would fix the damaged areas but also update other undamaged parts. Including the dorms according to their teacher. The students were given a schedule of when each of their rooms would be worked on and given boxes to pack their belongings for temporary storage.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo grinned. “Shouldn’t take more than a day or two per room.”

“Yeah, okay,” Megumi stared back up at his teacher after reading the information. “But where are we supposed to sleep if our room is being renovated?”

“Oh, well since the unoccupied rooms will also be renovated during this process…” the man tapped his chin. “Got it! You bunk with Yuuji, then switch when it’s his rooms turn.”

“Cool! A sleepover!” Yuuji pumped his fists in the air. “We can hang out and watch movies and eat junk food and just crash from a food coma.”

Megumi swallowed thickly with a groan. “I’d rather you give me your credit card,” directing his comment to Gojo, “so I can get a hotel room.”

“No, can do buddy. Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

Yuuji threw an arm over Megumi’s. “It’ll be fine,” his brilliant smile causing the man’s cheeks to redden. “Movies and food, we’ll have fun.”

Megumi looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ugh! Fine!”

“Good.” Gojo patted his student on the shoulder. “Now that’s settled, get packing young Megumi. Tomorrow we’ll be starting with your room.”

With Yuuji’s help, it didn’t take long for Megumi to pack up his belongings. There really wasn’t much, fitting everything into 3 medium sized boxes. Mostly clothes, some books, and minor items. He packed a bag with just enough to be displaced a couple of days, and if the renovations took longer, he could probably just borrow clothes from Yuuji. They were roughly the same size anyway. The boxes were then taken to Yuuji’s room and stacked in a corner out of the way.

But the full toll of the situation didn’t really hit Megumi until the morning of the renovations. He was awoken around 7 am by Gojo, letting him know the construction workers would be there in 15 minutes. Great. So, he dragged himself out of bed and walked into Yuuji’s room planning to get a couple more hours of sleep. It should be fine considering Yuuji rarely got up early on a day off.

The problem was— ‘Only one bed…’ Megumi groaned internally as he swiped his hand down his face. Duh! How could he have missed this detail?! And there was no way to fit a second bed in the room since they were only designed for single occupancy.

“Ugh…” Megumi shuffled back out of the room in irritation. Guess he’ll just go get breakfast and figure out what to do next!

Look, he didn’t have a problem sharing a bed with another person. It’s just sleeping on a bed instead of the hardwood floor, what’s the issue with that? If it was anyone else, Nobara, Toge, Maki, Yuta, whatever— no problem. The PROBLEM is it’s Yuuji. Maybe one of them will let him stay with them? Megumi put his head down on the kitchen table with his arms over his head in frustration. No… that would be weird to ask. Gojo already made all the arrangements between everyone, so if he suddenly had an issue with it, they might find that suspicious and he really didn’t need them asking questions, or worse teasing him about it.

He could hear it all too. What’s wrong with Yuuji? You worried something might happen? Too afraid to confront your feelings. Wink, wink. Aww that’s so cute you’re embarrassed. But Yuuji’s a good catch. Yada, Yada. Maki’s monotone, “just man up” tone was not something Megumi wanted to hear. ‘It’s just a night or two… no big deal. He’ll sleep on one side; I’ll sleep on the other. What could go wrong?’

“Morning!”

Megumi’s body immediately went stiff at the sound of Yuuji voice. Damn guy was like a cat this morning, he never heard him come in! Or did he just miss it because he was too wrapped up in his mind?

“Yeah… morning,” Megumi responded as he sat up in his chair and pretended everything was fine. “Sorry, I didn’t make coffee or anything yet.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I can make breakfast. Want some?” Yuuji responded in his chipper way.

“Sure, since you’re offering.”

“I see they started working on your room. That’s what woke me up.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, That’s why I’m up too. Gojo kicked me out at 7.”

“Oh, if you were tired, you could’ve just gone back to sleep in my room.”

“Nah. I’m fine.”

“You still look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” Yuuji placed a plate of food in front of his friend, then sat down across from him with his own. “So, got any plans for today?”

“Not really.”

“I was thinking of grabbing some snacks from the store for tonight.”

“Something happening tonight?”

“Movie night! Remember?”

“You were serious about that?!”

“Of course! We rarely have time to relax, so this is a perfect opportunity.”

“Well, since I’m stuck in your room… what movie are you picking?”

“You can choose. I don’t really care. How about I’m in charge of snacks and you grab the movies.”

“Fine. I’ll dig something up.”

The pair part ways for the rest of the day. Megumi felt it best to keep himself occupied so he wouldn’t think about that night. So, after breakfast he got some training in with Yuta and Maki who between the two really kept him on his toes. The construction work on his room sounded a lot more extensive than Gojo had relayed based on all the noise coming from within. Someone had placed a “do not enter” sign on the door, and so when Megumi walked past it, he didn’t bother peeking. By the time he returned from shopping around 5pm, it was silent. ‘Guess they’re done for the day.’ But since the sign was still up, it wasn’t finished. ‘Ugh, it better be done by tomorrow night.’

“Hey, Megumi!”

Megumi froze in place. Damn it with Yuuji sneaking up on him! He turned around. “Yeah?”

“I got food!” Yuuji held up two plastic bags stuffed full. “Dinner, snacks, drinks. Did you grab the movies?”

Megumi pulled three DVD cases out of his shopping bag and showed it to his friend. Three movies would kill about six hours, which meant sleeping right after they were finished, equaled less dead time to worry about.

“Sweet! Let’s get started!”

The moment of dread was upon Megumi the instant he walked into Yuuji’s room and laid eyes on that single bed. And as the dorm mate puttered around oblivious to his nervousness, he just watched quietly as the man plopped the bags onto the bed and grabbed a laptop from the desk. This was it, no turning back now.

“Why are you just standing there?” Yuuji questioned with laughter in his tone and patted the bed. “Come on, before the food gets cold.”

Megumi rolled his eyes as if nothing was wrong, but his heartbeat picked up the pace with each step towards the bed. He should be happy that Yuuji was so oblivious to emotions, and yet a part of him was annoyed… maybe disappointed… Megumi quickly shut those thoughts down as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“So, just to get it out of the way. How is this gonna work? Like which side do I sleep on?” Megumi questioned.

Yuuji stopped fusing with a food container and looked over. “Oh, hmm, doesn’t matter to me. I can sleep on either side.”

Well since he was already on one side. “I’ll just take this side I’m on then.”

Yuuji gave him a thumbs up. “Pass me the first movie.”

The first movie… all the movies he’d chosen were just action types. Megumi wanted something with as little romance as possible and knew Yuuji didn’t mind action or horror. Frankly, he thought it was funny his friend still loved horror after becoming a jujutsu sorcerer. Don’t they see enough of it in real life? Between the movies and the eating, he was pleasantly surprised to find that Yuuji became so engrossed in what was on the screen, it helped his anxieties stay lowered.

Megumi had taken up a position with his back against the wall sitting upright, and legs stretched out in front of him, while Yuuji was next to him with about a foot of space between them. Mid-way through the third movie, Megumi was genuinely paying attention since he’d never seen it before, when he felt a pressure against his shoulder. His eyes flared, cheeks heated up, and adrenaline spiked his heart rate. Yuuji had fallen asleep against his shoulder. No kidding this guy could fall asleep anywhere! Versus him who was too wide awake now to even think about it.

The last thing he wanted to do was awaken the sleeping man and make things even more awkward. So, Megumi tried to gently push his friend away to simply rest against the wall. His first several tries failed, but on the fourth, success… briefly.

“Mmm,” Yuuji stirred without waking and shifted on his own to curl up in Megumi’s lap instead!

‘Fuck, my life!’ Megumi screamed in his head. Things just went from bad to a disaster!

Again, Megumi tried to shift the man away, but every time he tried Yuuji would whine.

“Stop moving…” Yuuji mumbled and wrapped his arms around Megumi’s waist, snuggling his face deeper into the man’s leg.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Megumi gritted out in a muffled anger. By now, his whole body felt like it’d been stuck in a furnace and was being roasted alive. Ugh! Yuuji had turned into a damn octopus clinging to its meal! And yet… Megumi had to admit the man was cute as he slept. Geez, he even smiled in his sleep!

Not much he could really do, Megumi exhaled in defeat. So, he did his best to turn off the laptop screen using his foot and shift it close enough to reach. He then grabbed it and placed it onto the nightstand next to the bed, leaving them in a darkened room with only the gentle breathing of Yuuji as any sound. Okay, fine! Megumi counseled himself. Just ignore the fact there’s someone attached to you and try to get some sleep. The faster he went to sleep, the faster the nightmare would end. So, he shifted his body to lie down, then turned over onto his side hoping Yuuji would also readjust.

And the man did, just not in a way Megumi wanted. Yuuji simply snuggled up to his back and weaved an arm around his torso like he was one of those giant stuffed animals you win at a fair! He pushed the arm away, but it sprang back into place.

Megumi screamed in his head. He was so tired… ‘just ignore it, ignore it, ignore it…’

The sound of birds chirping caused Megumi to rouse the next morning. Perfect, his torture was over, it was time to get up— ‘Why was the pillow so hard—’ his eyes opened in a panic as his hand felt the unmistakable sensation of muscle beneath clothing. Without moving an inch only his eyes shifted over and saw the outline of Yuuji’s body lying on his back and he was curled up against his side! ‘Oh, fuck!’

Fight or flight kicked into overdrive as Megumi sprang from the bed like a cat and bolted out of the room. Every nerve ending along his skin was on fire and his mind freaking out, praying Yuuji had slept through it all. ‘This is gonna be so awkward if— What the?!’

As soon as he made it out of the room, Megumi almost ran right smack into Gojo. The man had one hand on Megumi’s bedroom door and the other carried a cursed doll, like the one Yuuji had trained with to practice energy control. “What is that for?”

Realizing he was busted, Gojo slipped the doll behind his back. “Nothing. I was just gonna check on the progress.”

“Uh-huh…” Megumi’s eyebrow raised, instantly suspicious. “Well, let’s just check,” he opened the door himself and walked in. “What’s going on?!” He whipped around. “Are they finished?” Because his room looked exactly like he’d left it the morning before. And he meant exactly!

“Really?!” Gojo pretended to be surprised. “That was quick! Looks like you can move back in. Well, see you at breakfast.”

Gojo turned to leave but Megumi grabbed his shoulder.

“Oi! What the hell?! There was no construction was there you prick?!”

“Nonsense! They must’ve finished yesterday.”

Megumi narrowed a menacing glare at the teacher. “That damn doll was the one making all the noise, wasn’t it?”

“Um… no…”

“And you were about to plant it for a second day!”

“Of course, not! I’m just carrying it around…”

“You’re such a shit liar!”

“Careful Megumi, might wanna keep your voice down lest wake up Yuuji.”

“What do I care if he wakes up now?”

“He’ll find you missing and the bed empty and be sad.” Gojo grinned defiantly then took off in a sprint, cackling like a mad man down the hall.

Bastard pranked him! Megumi screamed as he took off after the man. “I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”

[darkestdalliance]

You saw me while I was grocery shopping and knew there was something off by how I was moving, rushed and twitchy. My face was hidden behind dark glasses and a fang print cloth mask (it’s easier to not look at people when they can’t see my face, but you wouldn’t know that yet).

You walked up to me and asked what was bothering me. What gall, I thought. What presumption, to approach a stranger and just start talking.

Oh, just thinking about how much I want to die, I answered, trying to put you off your footing. Who would really be prepared for that kind of honesty, after all, and maybe you’d go away.

But no, you don’t. You’re surprised of course, but you’re not too long in answering. You want me to know that you know what that’s like, and you introduce yourself.

I hadn’t planned on making a friend today, but I’m not used to rejecting people, so I returned your introduction and accepted your contact information.

We talked after that a few times. You caught on that this wasn’t standard depression, although that was there too. No, this was a fixation, more than a little sexual, but not entirely.

You sat on the question for a while. You could see that for as much as I want it, I was in a pretty stable holding pattern. I had people who cared about me, and I cared about them, as much as I was able, so you weren’t sure how I’d respond.

You asked me to go on a walk with you, because you had some stuff to talk about that you didn’t want a record of. That wasn’t anything new to me of course, so I agreed. We were a few blocks away from my home when you asked.

Do you want me to kill you, you asked, after an internal struggle. I paused, surprised, and watched the apprehension cross your features.

Yes, I answered. Do you have a plan? I’d hate for you to get in trouble on my account. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to let a couple people know that I’ll be going. No details, you can check the message before I send it, but I wouldn’t want them to worry.

Even knowing that there was a good chance I’d say yes, you were surprised. Um, yeah, that sounds alright, you answered.

I pulled out my phone and opened up my encrypted messenger. I typed in, hey, it’s time. I know you wanted me to stick around longer but I can’t pass up this opportunity. My friends knew me well enough to understand the message. I handed you the phone and you hit send, waiting for the message delivery confirmation before dropping it down a storm drain.

Well, that’s that then, you said, suddenly chipper. You led me back to your house, to a room covered in plastic sheets.

I don’t know if you have a preference, you said. If I didn’t have one you were going to slit my throat, but if I preferred you wouldn’t mind strangling me instead, or beating me until the internal bleeding got me, or other options as long as they’d let you dispose of the body in a timely manner.

If it’s not too much trouble, I answered, could you flay me? I know it takes a while, but it shouldn’t be too long. You’ll probably need to tie me down so I don’t move too much once I start to lose control from blood loss.

That’s a good idea, you said as you led me over to the table. You tied my arms and legs down and got out your scalpel.

Hey, I said, looking you in the eyes.

What, you asked, was I getting second thoughts?

No, I answered, I just had something I wanted to say. I love you. It was important to me that you knew that.

I love you too, you answered with a laugh, slicing into my wrist.

You worked slowly, peeling the skin back as you worked. I could still move my fingers a little when you had my arms bare, so careful were you to not damage the blood vessels early.

But all good things come to an end. My consciousness, already patchy from the pain and shock, started slipping further away. I could tell I wasn’t going to survive this even if the paramedics burst in right then. I gathered up as much focus as I could, pulling up from the deafening static. Thank you, I said, before falling under.

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [04]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 5k a/n; lot of angst in this one!! if your heart aches i urge u to do what i do and hug some stuffies (my current fav stuffie is my bt21baby cooky) i hope u enjoy more of w1!jk, ty for all the love pls share and like if you enjoy!  

[03] [04] [05] -> masterpost

W1. 

Jungkook is strongly advised not to visit you. 

Jungkook has been strongly advised over the past two weeks not to visit you, despite the fact that visitors have been allowed since two days ago considering the fact that you are confirmed comatose. 

A coma. You’re in a coma. It’s weird how much the notion echoes in Jungkook’s thoughts, constantly nudging the back of his mind like a petulant child wanting an out. He’s never met anyone who’s been in a coma before, the condition only reserved for late night melodramas and medical movies. 

And in all of those shows, the person bedridden until further notice always looks like a wreck. He feels like ripping his heart out at the thought of you with tubes and liquids going in and out of your body, face ashen and devoid of any thought other than pain. He needed to see you, to support you even if you didn’t know. 

After days of persistence and Namjoon’s inability to say no to Jungkook, Namjoon agreed to let Jungkook swing by the hospital after his solo recordings. He couldn’t get there fast enough, knowing Namjoon is already there and probably taking care of you. 

He takes slow steps to your room, as if trudging through a sea of molasses. Careful to not let his combat boots strike the linoleum, he catches the tail end of a conversation. Your room is large enough for two patients, but so far you’re the only one checked in. There are three other people in your room, concealed by a thin curtain revealing them as shadows. Jungkook lingers behind, staring intently at the shadow of your figure laying in bed. 

“How inhiberated was your friend the night of the incident?” Jungkook’s presuming it’s your nurse, going over protocol. 

The second voice is Sehlyung, the bubbly coordinator who immediately befriended you the week you got hired. Her voice is no longer chipper, but strained and weak, as if she’s been crying for days. 

“I don’t know exactly how much,” she sniffs, “but it was a lot. She had a rough day, I—I just wanted to help her forget a little,” her soft cries reverberate throughout the white-walled room. “I should’ve, I should’ve helped her upstairs. I knew how messed up she was and I left her alone!” 

Jungkook’s fists clench beneath his hoodie, familiar moisture creeping into his eyes. 

Sehlyung’s words felt like a jab to his form, already aching at the wounds in his own heart. It isn’t the answer the nurse wants, but it seems like the poor woman has been holding in a lot of pent up stress. Namjoon’s trying to placate her, and Jungkook can see the way he’s patting your friend’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “No one’s blaming you, so please don’t blame yourself,” Namjoon’s words are like a balm to the proverbial wound, “Nurse, is it possible to project how long it’ll take until she wakes up?” 

“Hard to say,” your nurse replies, and has the decency to sound sad, “it could be weeks, or even months. Judging by her high amount of brain activity however, she’s predicted to awake with very minimal brain damage.” 

Brain damage? 

“Eventually her insurance will run out however, the longer we need to sustain her will depend on how much her cosigner—”

“Money will not be an issue,” Namjoon cuts in smoothly, almost sounding insulted that the nurse would even bring up such a thing. “We can’t put a price on our precious friend’s life.” 

As much as Namjoon’s words alleviated Jungkook’s initial anxieties, the question still stands. Will you come out of this the same person you left? How long will that take, weeks, months, years? He’s extensively Googled before this, reading way too many WebMD articles that he probably shouldn’t have, effectively skewing his perception on the matter. 

He fiddles with his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his sweater, clammy from the heat. You’re suffering, and just like Sehlyung, he’s trying very hard not to blame himself. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W2. 

Angel’s Trumpet  Scientific Name: Brugmansia  Order and Family: Polimonailes and Solanaceae Summary: A higher order of nightshade, the Angel’s Trumpet is a show-stopping pendulous flower that hangs like bells. In myth, they were prized as chimes holding magical properties. In modern use, Angel's Trumpets have occasionally been used to create recreational drugs, but the risk of overdose is so high that these uses often have deadly consequences.

So you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. 

You push away from your MacBook, rolling over to your bed to mull. It’s near two in the morning, and you’ve channeled both your love for Buzzfeed Unsolved and your poster making skills in order to construct The Timeline. 

Using your somewhat solid memory from the past two weeks and Hoseok’s own timeline from his daycare shift, you spent the entire night plotting as to why you’re in W2 and how you can leave. 

Your plan of action is minimal, definitively so because there are no leads other than Sehlyung’s wine dealer, and Jungkook. 

Something must’ve been in the angel’s wine, something dangerous. You remember the sky flickering that night, wondering if you were hallucinating or very drunk. Scientifically speaking however, if you really are under the influence of this flower, the hallucinogens should’ve left your body by now. 

Unless it’s magic that brought you to this world. As absurd as it is, the notion of magic gets easier and easier to cite as the days go on. 

And if it is some form of magic, something tells you that Jungkook has something to do with it. But why? 

One: Jungkook’s birth flower, you muse. You think back to how vivid the ink appeared on Jungkook’s skin, how precious the design meant to him. It made you think back to your Jungkook, who couldn’t stop fidgeting as he was so excited to get some serious ink done when visiting a friend in Jeju island. How bright his face glowed after it healed and how proud he was to show it off. 

Two: The last thing Jungkook said to you. How coincidental must it be for him to specifically cite your relationship could work in “another world”? 

You’re definitely overheating your brain at this point, and you trudge yourself out of bed to make something to eat. If you were going to spiral, you were going to spiral with a full stomach. 

The pot as the water starts to boil, crackling and bubbling angrily because you are impatient and cranked up the heat to high. An open ramen block sits on the counter, ready to be softened. Suddenly, the door unclicks and you point your fork at the door. Panic fills you, wondering who could be visiting at this hour. 

“Home sweet home!” Taehyung cries, swinging the door open so hard that it reverbs and hits him in the forehead. However he is unfettered, flashing you a toothy smile as he dumps his luggage at his feet. “Care to open another ramen packet for me, roomie?” 

You lower your fork, remembering that Taehyung’s due to come back sometime this week. “Welcome back,” you exhale, forcing a smile as you watch Taehyung arrange his mess in a corner, “did you have a good trip?” 

“Yeah, Busan’s nice,” he replies easily, dumping his body on the couch. He looks the same, shaggy brown-black hair and mischievous chocolate eyes. He still has an affinity for earth tones and long coats that make his shoulders look good. Despite the fact that you always expect that their counterparts will look alike, it baffles you how easy it is to forget you’re not in your world. “What about you? Why’re up so late?” 

“My thesis was bugging me,” you lie easily, “I’m gonna work on it in the library tomorrow.”

“Ah, is that why you’ve been ignoring Jimin’s texts?” 

You stop swirling the noodles in your pot, looking up from your spot at the counter. “He told you?” 

Truth be told, you haven’t been exactly comfortable conversing with Jimin. You feel a little bad if your alternate self had a thing for the young man, but you know in your heart you definitely did not hold any romantic or sexual attraction towards him. 

“Duh. You’ve hurt his heart.” 

You scoff, dividing the pale yellow noodles and soup between two bowls. “Jimin’s a big baby, that’s why.” 

“C’mon, you love that big baby,” Taehyung jests, “have lunch with us tomorrow during his break,” his eyes are glued to the bowls in your hands, as you carefully walk over to place them on the coffee table. Like an eager puppy, he scrambles off the couch and onto the floor, joining you in your meal. 

You bite back a sigh, stuffing your face with hot noodles to give yourself some time. It still grossed you out that you supposedly hooked up with Jimin on the regular, but at the possibility that you were potentially messing up your alternate universes’ life still held you back for telling Jimin to kindly stop sending dick pics. 

“If you pick me up from the library tomorrow I’ll come,” you concede, “just don’t make it weird, okay? I’ve had a hard week.” 

“Done,” and that became that. 

Taehyung and you cite the silence as being exhausted from today’s events, and you two quickly scarfed down your meal and headed off to bed. Another day gone, and another day longer it takes for you to return to your world. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“Your life’s totally an anime movie,” 

As much as you love Hoseok’s support, the fact that he’s so excited is a little unnerving. 

“You’re like an alien! Or Phil of the Future who’s trying to get back to his timeline!” 

“Hoseok…” 

“Right, right. Sorry. But think about it,” he jabs a finger in your notebook, citing the pastel pink sticky note where it’s crossed out. “If you fall in love with W2 Jungkook like W1 Jungkook implied, it’ll fulfill your prophecy and you can go back home! And then when you go back home, W1 Jungkook will realize he was being a pussy and then grovel at your knees for forgiveness and—”

“Please stop,” your head is throbbing. The fact that you’re talking about two Jungkooks is terrifying, because it was hard enough for you to handle one Jungkook on their own. “Even so, what’s to say that Jungkook and I really aren’t meant to be? It’s not like W1 Jungkook was wrong. He has a busy life and I know a romantic relationship could add extra stress on him.” 

A little part of you felt good to tell another person about your struggles between Jungkook and yours’ unnamed relationship. Of course, you had to catch yourself sometimes when you delve a little too much. Hoseok after all, doesn’t know either Jungkook. You also forget yourself, often muttering a variant of  “shut up Hobi you absolute Fruit Loop” when Hoseok gets too giddy. The Hoesok next to you is still just as new of a friend, not this co-worker you’ve spent the better half of two years with. 

But back to his theory, while there was no symbolic chime that signaled the start, it grew into a slow, easy love, at least for you. As your and Jungkook’s feelings grew, the more your panic bubbled to the surface. Was it a risk you were both willing to take? Evidently not, from the way Jungkook had slammed the door in your face. 

Another reason why you’re hesitant to test the falling in love theory—it’s too easy to fall in love with Jungkook all over again. It scares you. Without his music career in the way, what’s stopping you? 

Hoseok squeezes your hand at the way you stare so intently into your timeline, sending you a tender smile, “Don’t think so hard. Even so, a little date won’t hurt, right?” he whispers, picking up his things, “text me if anything happens. My kids are coming soon.”

You give him a halfhearted wave, leaving him to his shift at the daycare. You were so engrossed with the influx of information yesterday that you failed to ask Jungkook for his phone number. This meant that you had to do some intense social media stalking in order to find him. If he’s anything like W1 Jungkook, you’re going to have a hard time finding any updates from him.

“Excuse me? Professor?” 

Tilting your head from your notepad, you notice an undergrad had replaced the seat that Hoseok previously occupied. She’s a pretty thing, with long raven black hair and almond shaped eyes. You suddenly feel very ratty and underdressed as a professor, the leggings and oversized sweater with a questionable stain really giving off baked-potato vibes. 

“Do… yeon?” you say, remembering her from an email thread you sent a while ago. 

She beams, “Yeah! I’m so glad I found you. I know Professor Kim said he’d be absorbing your classes since you’re on leave, but I really need help with my final draft. Professor Kim tried to help me and…” 

“Let me guess,” you smirk, “his thoughts were way too convoluted and you need me to get straight to the point.” 

Doyeon snaps her fingers, “Exactly!” 

While apprehensive with medical knowledge, you can still find confidence in your essay grading skills. You spend the next half hour looking over Doyeon’s paper, pointing out how things she could improve on or articles she could cite. Soon enough, Doyeon texted two other members for her study group, saying that it’s a once-in-a-semester-offer to get some time with you. 

And you’re baffled at how easy it is to fall into this professor role. It makes you believe that if you really wanted to, being a professor would also be a perfect job for you. The students are buzzing around your table, excitedly whispering how happy they are to work with you after so long, and that they miss the way you teach your lectures. For two blissful hours, you forget your circumstance and keep your focus entirely on your students. 

A loud, obnoxious cough breaks you and your students out of their work bubble. Taehyung is tapping his Valentino loafers impatiently, holding a very large back of what seemed to be you and Jimin’s lunch. 

“Sorry kiddos,” Taehyung sing songs, already stuffing your work stuff in your bag, “she promised to go out and have lunch with mature adults.” 

“We’re literally like, a couple years younger than you,” Chan scrunches his face, sending you a pleading look. 

“Sorry Chan, I did say I was going to have lunch,” you concede, “but please email me if you have any more questions. Otherwise, you’re right on track!” 

You wave at the thankful students happily, and Taehyung literally has to drag you out by the arm and shove him into his Uber before you could relent. 

“Damn girl,” Taehyung chuckles, relieved to finally get you out of the library, “you didn’t hear me the first three times I was calling you. Chan looked like he was about to rip my head off!” 

You shrug lightly, “What can I say, the time really flew with them.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

What a coincidence, you’re in the same place he is, again. More specifically, his new workplace. 

How is it possible that you have so many handsome friends? Jungkook is baffled by the way Park Jimin and the dark-haired friend feed you fries like you’re their precious daughter. In response, you scrunch up your nose and push them off, instead deciding to shove five fries in your mouth all at once. 

As much as he wanted to ask you out since you admired his tattoos yesterday, he can’t find it in him to go up and interrupt your lunch. Besides, he has work and he doesn’t want to complicate things if Jimin finds out he was the one responsible for nearly running you over the other day. 

If he walks fast enough, he can avoid any awkward interaction and make it to his office so he can give the day’s full report—

“Jungkook! Get your cute butt over here and meet my friends!” 

Crap. 

Trying not to glare daggers at his new co-worker, he places a thin smile on his face as he moves to your table in the corner of the cafeteria. He lets Jimin give the whole spiel on how he hired him, and Jungkook decides to hover awkwardly while the rest of you are sitting. The sun filters its way through the windows and bleeds brightly onto your body, making his throat dry and constrict in awe. Your expression is definitely more positive since that time at the library, and he wonders what he has to do to reach that level of contentment you’re sporting. 

“Guys, this is Jungkook. I just hired him last week. He’s like my son.” 

“Ewh,” the dark haired guy upturns his nose. “But hi, I’m Taehyung.” 

While Jimin goes into detail about how amazing he found his work, he can’t help but notice the fond smile that melts upon your face as you listen intently to Jimin. Jungkook wants to archive that expression on your face and save it to memory, the way you look so pretty with your chin nestled in your hand, turning your head slightly to gaze at him with a look of what—pride? Affection? 

“You sound like quite the artist,” you muse, “I would love to see some of your work if Jimin says it’s that good.” 

He rubs his head bashfully, clutching the camera hanging on his chest like an anchor. “Oh no, I’m just starting out,” he replies shyly, although he would be lying if he said he didn’t crave the attention you were bestowing on him. 

“He’s actually going out to Dongdaemun to get some stuff done for his portfolio,” Jimin pipes up, “hopefully get some good content for the commercial he’s filming.” 

“Oh, do you mind if I tag along?” you ask, picking at a hangnail, “I’ve always been so curious about the producing process.” 

Jungkook’s eyes dart between Jimin and his friend, noticing the telepathic conversation they’re exchanging between you two. Jungkook’s palms start to sweat, not because Jimin definitely wants to probe, but because you made the first move. You pay no mind to the boys, nonchalantly pushing in your chair as you practically float to Jungkook’s side. 

“Wait,” Taehyung recovers first, “you know him?” 

You agree with a vague wave of your hand, “we work in the same area.” 

Jungkook knows for a fact that’s not true, as you only started appearing in his life when he almost knocked you out. But Jungkook can only nod like a bobblehead, not wanting to get into the nitty-gritty. 

“I promise to stay out of your way,” you say, “but don’t feel pressured if you don’t want me to go at all!” 

“No no, I want you to come!” and Jungkook raises his voice a little too high to be deemed mannerly, and he watches you step back a bit at the sudden intrusion. His face is on fire, especially when there’s a little smirk grazing your lips. 

“Well if you want me, you’ll have me.” you flirt, gesturing for him to take the lead. 

Jimin and Taehyung’s faces have fallen flat. There’s a stray bit of limp lettuce hanging sadly  from Jimin’s lip as he watches Jungkook escort you out of the building. Meanwhile, Jungkook is swallowing the biggest smile on his face. He’s going to spend the rest of the day with you. He doesn’t know if he’s going to get a decent shot in because you’re a definite distraction, but it’s totally worth it if he can get to know you a little better. 

You mention that you haven’t walked around Seoul in a while. Jungkook wants to ask more about it, but as open as you display yourself, there’s definitely something guarding you. Jungkook wants to chalk it up behind the whole fiasco of mistaking him for someone else the other day, so he doesn’t want to step on those eggshells again. 

But Jungkook is here to work. So he tells you to walk on and lead the way to Dongdaemun while he gets ample footage of the city. 

He’s taking pictures of you along the way, but he decides to leave that part out. He likes the way your long red dress swishes in the breeze, the tail end of the fabric brushing against his legs whenever he gets too close. 

You stop in front of a pet store, face glowing as you point to their aquarium tank. “Look!” you cry, tugging his sleeve over as if you’re long lost friends, “it’s my boi Nemo!”

He cracks up at your joke, as you excitedly shout to Jungkook that “you found your son!” and it spurs him on to continue his peals of laughter. The joke isn’t that funny but it’s humorous enough coming from you and the smile on your face is enough for him to return one equally as big. 

“C’mon,” his fingers brush over the bare skin of  your forearm, sending sparks straight to his heart, “it’s getting dark. Just keep swimming.” 

Jungkook manages to get some good sunset content before the sky turns navy. He’s not a big fan of photographic tourism spots, but Jimin insisted that the big boss wanted a specific style for their company and he needed to get used to making the usual seem unique. 

Looking over his shoulder, he sees you swinging your legs on a nearby bench. You’re munching on a bubble waffle, cheeks puffed as you concentrate on the Cheonggyecheon stream, water babbling. 

He’s about to ask you if you want him to take a picture of you, because he thinks you would look beautiful with your dress billowing as you hop over the stones, but he notices the sadness in your face as you gaze at the water. 

Lowering his camera, he sees the way your chewing slows, as if you don’t feel like putting anymore effort in the action. Your dimmed gaze seems to peer into a different world, as if you could dive right into the water and transport yourself far, far away from here. 

Jungkook takes tentative steps, crouching down from your space at the bench so he would have to look up at you. His hand hovers to balance himself on your thigh, but he thinks better of it and decides to hold onto the wood. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

He doesn’t comment on the strain in your smile, “Sure.” 

“Do I remind you of y’know, him? Your Jungkook?” 

Your smile increases, and he doesn’t expect it. Shifting over, you pat the space next to him. It’s a tight fit, and your thighs brush his. “Yes and no. It doesn’t hurt or anything, really,” you answer softly, and you reach for his hand, pulling the long sleeves apart to reveal his tiger lily tattoo. He doesn’t believe your excuse for a damn second, but decides better than to speak against you. “He’s still around, even if he isn’t here. I guess I was just thinking about how we could never go out like this.” 

He tenses under your ministrations, and you immediately pick up on it like a sixth sense. “I’m not trying to replace him,” you add, and he tries to relax as you trace the petals on his arm, “I’m sorry if you felt that way. But it’s... impossible to compare you to him, really.” 

“So, would you be interested in seeing me again?” 

“I’d be upset if you weren’t, Kook.” you manage to pout, and you slide your hand down to thread your fingers between his. “Can I take you out on a date?” 

“Only if I can take you out on one after.” 

And it’s easy for the both of you to forget your circumstances, at least for tonight. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Jungkook drops you off at your apartment soon after, and it feels nice to kick off your shoes and place your bare feet on your soft carpet. 

Your roommate’s feet are propped up, covered by a fuzzy grapefruit-colored blanket. Taehyung stretches his head from the couch to throw you a teasing smile, “Sooo, how was your night?” 

Instead, you point a finger at the flatscreen playing some Korean drama. “Is that Jin?” you balk.

Taehyung cranes his neck to where he paused the drama. The man on the screen is definitely Kim Seokjin, judging from the plush lips and irritatingly symmetrical face. He looks absolutely comical in his Joseon get up and mustache, and you’re not surprised that he made it to the acting industry. 

“Kim Seokjin? Yeahhhh,” Taehyung melts, relaxing into the couch, “that man is so fine I just want him to bend me over that little well and—”

You physically gag, causing Taehyung to break into peals of laughter, forgetting about his fruitless celebrity crush. Only you would never forget this interaction, the words currently searing  into your memory at the thought of seeing Seokjin and Taehyung in the same room when you manage to return. “So?” he goads, “Jungkook? He looked like a scared bunny when Jimin glared at him.” 

“It was… good,” you settle as an answer, reaching over to ruffle Taehyung’s messy bed head. “I like him, Tae.” 

“That’s good,” Taehyung nods, “you deserve more happiness in your life.” 

“You think so?” 

“I know so!” Taehyung jerks up, punching his fist in the air. You giggle at his antics, and he ushers you over to the couch, “good things are coming, y/n. I can feel it.” 

You don’t tell him, but you can feel it too. Sharing his blanket you snuggle further into the couch, asking questions about the famous actor Kim Seokjin and his litany of dramas he’s filmed under his belt. Tonight, falling asleep next to Taehyung, you have the best night’s sleep in weeks.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1. 

Jungkook sits in your sickness. 

Namjoon says he doesn’t have to, doesn’t need to stay the night. You’ll be fine, your family will come in the morning and care for you. For once, Jungkook tucks his tail and says he wants to, even compromises to bring his work so he doesn’t miss a deadline. 

But he can barely get a bar in because he’s too focused on you, your form all-encompassing as he makes sure you’re well-taken care of. Sehlyung dropped off your things from the apartment, carefully packed neatly in a duffle bag you’ve never used. 

Soft, lo-fi hip hop plays from his computer speakers as he takes the time to nurture you, care for you. It’s dark outside, the only light emanating from the hallway and a dim desk lamp. He’s done his research, making sure to keep you as clean as you would like to be. He brushes your hair, takes the time to remove the tangles and pin it out of your face. His hands are slightly greasy when he’s done, and his hand falls to your hospital sleeve. 

“I wonder how I should wash your hair,” he says aloud, “maybe I can get a small basin or something? It’s not the first time I washed your hair, remember when you sprained your arm after we snuck around in Dongdaemun?” he smiles at your peaceful expression, neutral, “you were such a baby, didn’t feel like shampooing with one hand.” 

Talking is also good, too. They say that sometimes the patient can hear and recall conversations family and friends have shared. It’s a little jarring to them, almost like they’re drowning in their heads and unable to bubble up to the surface to reply, but it’s still reassuring to hear familiar voices. 

He massages your limbs with lavender scented baby lotion, making sure your body isn’t wasting away and stretches your fingers and toes. You’d have a fit if you didn’t do your whole lotion routine daily, wanting to be soft and huggable at all times of the day. He puts on a pair of pink bunny socks, making sure your feet don’t get too cold in the sterile room. 

Running out of things to talk about, he settles for singing along to his playlist, knowing how much you loved to fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He’s tired and he doesn’t feel one-hundred percent, but he hopes you appreciate the sentiment either way. 

Weaving through the wires and cords that sustain you he places your hand in his larger one. Jungkook wishes he could care for you everyday like this, treat your body like a temple and wait for you to wake up. Resting his head on the mattress, his soft locks brush against your thigh unkempt as he focuses on tracing words on your palm. 

Lavender. Chicken. Netflix. 

Your nurse steps in, giving Jungkook a polite wave as she does her nightly rounds. He mumbles a half-hearted greeting in response, immersed in working between the lines on your soft skin as he traces character by character. Your nurse is quick with her work as she checks things off on her iPad and checks the machines that keep them informed. As if she’s intruding on an intimate moment, she types her findings faster. 

JK. y/n. Still with you. Sorry. Love. 

Your hand twitches in his grasp. It’s minuscule, a brief curl of your fingers. The pad of your thumb barely brushes his knuckle and Jungkook’s reeling. It’s only half a second, but Jungkook cries “whoa!” and sits up straight, startling your nurse, “she’s moving!” 

Your nurse smiles sadly at the sparkles of hope in his eyes. “It’s only muscle spasms, Jungkook. It happens sometimes,” and she catches herself before Jungkook’s shoulders deflate and sink into the floor, “but see her eyes?” 

He blinks, watching as the nurse gestures to your face. She’s right, your eyes are movie, flickering back and forth. Your lids may not be open, but the movement is there.

“She’s either dreaming or really listening to you, Jungkook,” your nurse murmurs fondly, “make sure you keep her entertained, being in a coma is awfully boring.” 

Jungkook thanks her, sending a terse smile as she whisks herself away. He squeezes your hand firmly, wishing you would give him another sign. He feels like he’s chasing you now, reaching out to you, talking to you in hopes you’ll reply. It’s ironic, considering this time he’s not sure if you’ll turn around this time, bounce back as you once were. 

Wiping the wetness from his eyes, he tucks you in and scoots his chair closer to your bed. “Wake up soon, yeah? We’re waiting for you,” he whispers, holding your hand next to his head as he tries to fall asleep. 

Tonight, he’s dreamless. 

[builder051]

The talk

Chasing Ghosts

(I generally do not play in this arena; DO NOT ask for other stories with PMS, etc., as illness features. I do loosely plan to continue this thread, though. Or @mohini-musing might pick up for me.)

Warnings: weight (though not ED context), SA inc. prostitution, blood, emeto

____________________________

Tasha comes down the hall and stands like a ghost behind the sofa.

James is in the recliner across the living room, and he barely looks up from the textbook he's pretending to peruse. The quiet music he's had playing in one ear has long since captured his attention more than the multiplication of matrices. He's fairly sure he'll never use the skill lest he become a software engineer post-graduation, and the prospect of that's looking pretty slim.

He sees Tasha out of his peripheral vision, but doesn't move his head or lift his eyes for acknowledgment. She's probably drifted down from her weekend high, realized it's Sunday night, and gotten up for a Gatorade and maybe a glance at her homework.

Steve, though, who's lying on his stomach and taking up the whole of the couch, practically jumps to attention. He stands, scoots, and sits again in the amount of time it takes James to blink and make the first inhalation of a laugh.

"Sorry," Steve says, as if he's personally offended Tasha and just been called out. "I didn't mean... I was just, like, studying..."

Tasha shrugs. "Didn't come to sit with you," she says, in a voice that recalls the 'boys are gross' tone of young teenagerhood.

"What's up, then?" James asks, trying to bring back the balance of the room's atmosphere.

Tasha makes an ugly face. She opens her mouth, then shuts it. "Can I talk to you alone?"

James scoffs. "You think there's privacy in this apartment?"

"I can go, I don't know--" Steve looks around.

"Just talk," James says. He almost rolls his eyes, but the undercurrent of Tasha's affect seems to hold an air of seriousness. If there's something she needs to confess or ask for help with, he doesn't want her to feel less than secure.

Tasha lets out a breathy sort of sigh. "Blood," she says. "There's blood."

"Huh?" Steve responds first. "Where?"

James takes a little longer to contemplate the admission. Has she cut herself? There's no visible damage; Tasha's not holding an injury or howling in pain. Bloody vomit? That's nothing new, really, and even with vampire-red teeth, which she doesn't have, Tasha probably wouldn't come crying to him.

James is still thinking when Tasha points vaguely down the hall and to the left, which is, technically speaking, her side of the apartment. Or at least the bedroom and bathroom they'd parceled out for her when they'd unofficially moved her out of her dreary campus housing.

"What, in your room?" Steve asks.

"No." Tasha screws up her eyes. "I mean... I'm bleeding."

The cogs continue to turn in James's head, and just as he lands on an answer, Steve gives up, shaking his head and saying, "I don't get it."

"Fuck you," Tasha mumbles. "Both of you." She turns and starts to head back down the hallway.

"Tash." James jumps to his feet, his algebra book falling to the floor.

"You guys are fucking gay..."

"Hey!" Steve interjects.

James flaps his hand at Steve to shut him up. "Maybe we're gay, but I'm your big brother." He shoots a quick glance at Steve, hoping this won't surpass his no privacy promise. They've done some pretty wild stuff together: partying, puking, cleaning the carpet... Period talk shouldn't be too far out of their wheelhouse. At least, not if Tasha wants to talk about it.

Tasha huffs and rounds the edge of the sofa. She stands beside the arm, leaning her hip against it for a moment, before finally deciding to sit down, as far away from Steve as possible.

"I..." James starts, assuming it's his responsibility to keep the conversation going. "I assumed you hadn't been, um. You know."

Tasha's 100 pounds soaking wet. In her usual cutoff shorts and tank tops, he'd give her 95. Maybe 92 if she's detoxing. James assumes she has something like female athlete triad going on, except without the athlete. He doesn't like to think she's just too skinny to go through... normal biological processes. If he blames the drugs, sees them as wrecking her body instead of bringing her solace, then he'll have to turn eyes on himself, and there's no way in hell he wants to do that.

"Smart one," Tasha says. "And exactly how much thought do you give to the functioning of my uterus?"

Steve gives an 'oh shit' face, looking from James to Tasha and back again as if wondering how he's been so thick headed. James agrees, but is also relieved, in a way, that his boyfriend hasn't been thinking about his sister in, well, that way.

"Seeing as I have, more than once, pulled you out of an R-rated situation with iffy consent, and you have yet to become pregnant--" James starts.

"Yeah, ok, you don't have to..." Tasha shakes her head.

James decides not to stop his momentum. "Do you know how much sex you're having? How often you're using protection?"

"I said, you don't have to." Tasha glares at him. "I don't have one. A cycle, or whatever. I can't get knocked up."

"Well, I figured that, but you can still get an STD--

"I don't think you're hearing me," Tasha says. "I don't have one. I haven't. Like, ever."

"But--what?" James squints and cocks his head. "What about, what was it? Cheerleading camp?"

"That stupid summer program when I was 16?" Tasha bites her lip. "Yeah, that was a lie."

"You're losing me." Steve reminds them he's part of the conversation as well.

"What, didn't your mom send you to cheerleading camp when you were a sullen teen?" Tasha asks him, seemingly in all seriousness.

"Um. No." Steve withers a little under her stare. "There was a threat to beat it out of me with a bible when I was that age, but that never came to fruition."

"Mm. Fun times." Tasha scrubs her hair back from her face. "I told mom of the moment I started at camp, so then she couldn't go nuts about the moment I 'became a woman,' or whatever."

Tasha has always seemed like a little kid to James. Her stint at camp had only taken place... he quickly calculates... 3ish years ago. Tasha is a kid. She hasn't busted 20 years old yet. But, for the first time James wonders if other, more metaphorical factors are at play.

The idea quickly fades, though, when he remembers the actual topic at hand. "Ok, but Tash," James says. "What's actually going on right now?"

Tasha practically sinks into the couch cushions. She wraps both arms around her abdomen. "Blood," she says. "Kinda...everywhere."

"We'll clean the bathroom later," James says dismissively.

"And I'll do laundry," Steve offers. "I used to be the scrawny kid who got beat up a lot. I can do bloodstains."

"Not helping, babe," James tells him before Tasha can get a word in.

"Feel sick," Tasha admits, rather suddenly.

"Bathroom it is, then," James decides. "But, let's use mine."

Tasha seems to have turned into a shapeless blob on the corner of the couch, her chest meeting her thighs with her arms still wrapped around her stomach. Her face is in her knees, which James has to admit, would be easier to clean than the carpet.

"Come on," he says gently, taking Tasha's shoulder. "If you're gonna puke, don't do it here, please."

"But I already diiiiid," Tasha complains, drawing out the last word and adding the hiccup of a fake crying fit.

"Sorry." James hooks his flesh arm across Tasha's chest and lets her cling to him down the hall. He takes her into his and Steve's disorganized yet bleach-shined bathroom. Cleaning was practically Steve's hobby. Yet keeping down the clutter? Not his strong suit.

Unsure of exactly what kind of sick his sister intends to be, he sets her down, fully clothed, on the toilet, which, of course, has the seat up. Then he dives for the trash can and shoves it into Tasha's chest.

She gives James an appreciative glare, then sets her chin on the edge of the trash can, ostensibly to wait for an upcoming retch. James can practically see it, rising from the bottom of her spine, up her back, to her neck and throat before finally pushing a pitiful amount of spit and bile out of her mouth.

"Ok..." James sighs. If she's down to just that, she's been at it a while. Lost a lot of fluids already.

"Gatorade?" Steve asks in a chipper tone, putting voice to what James is thinking without a trace of delicacy.

"Hmph." Tasha spits. "If it'll... make it stop burning..."

"Lemme guess, vodka last night?" James tries to make her laugh. Maybe cough.

"Fuck you."

"Eh, we'll talk about that later," James says, hoping he doesn't sound threatening. "For now, how about I go with you?" James pulls on Steve's arm and heads for the bathroom door.

"Hey, you said no privacy here..." Tasha's irritated and sickly voice trails after them.

"Yeah, well, puking people aren't allowed to leave the bathroom," James says. "That's the house rule that trumps all the others."

"But I puke on the couch all the time--"

"That's because it's too hard to get your fucking limp-ass octopus body into the bathroom in the first place." James rolls his eyes. "Just sit tight."

He quickly drags Steve into the kitchen. "Ok," he says. "You have to know about this stuff. You took health class in high school, right?"

"I've lived with a woman," Steve reminds James, a little shamefully. "But Peggy was super private. You know, like inhibited, about, like, um..."

"Yeah, I get it." James shrugs. Then, "Did you know you can stem a nosebleed with a tampon?"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know..." James shakes his head.

"Why do you?" Steve looks a little take aback now.

"The field. Desert air's pretty damn dry."

"Ah. Ok."

"We'd get donations of shit from the states. Care packages, Costco overstock, you know. Just, whatever. When we got pads and stuff, whoever was unloading the box would just hold them over their head and yell 'who needs them?'"

"And I'm assuming people would just raise their hands?" Steve postulates.

"Yup." James pops the P. "No privacy. Everyone knows everyone else's bathroom habits. When you're deep in the field, there's no men's and women's facilities. Half the time the privies don't even have doors."

"Ok." Steve nods. "Experience, then. You have lots of experience."

James shrugs again. "You have to be chill, ok?" He opens the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Gatorade. He holds one to either side of Steve's neck, as if to physically cool him. "This is, like, super weird and awkward for her. She's really scared, I think, and her brave face just looks...jerk-ish."

"Yeah." Steve takes the Gatorade. "I can be good with this. I really care about her, even if she doesn't think I do."

"I know you do," James says. "It's all in the presentation right now, though. She's skittish. But, also, for some reason, willing to talk. We have to tease it out. And you can't ruin it, ok?"

"Ok, ok." Steve seems to understand, even if he doesn't appreciate the words.

They head back to the bathroom, where Tasha has, for whatever reason, decided to heave into the toilet instead of the trash. She squats awkwardly, sitting on one heel. From the angle he's at, James can see a spreading stain on the back of Tasha's shorts, which has made an imprint on her ankle and the bottom of her foot.

"Don't move," James says, reaching for a towel.

"The fuck would I?" Tasha coughs, holding her stomach and moaning.

"Well, when you're done, stand up slowly and wipe your feet."

"...Shit..." Tasha spits. "Like I said. It's fucking everywhere."

"Yeah..." Menstrual blood, James has no experience with. But blood in general, yeah. It does get fucking everywhere. There's that first moment when the entire body and all its systems are still in shock, like when the arm is first blown off, and then all he can see is red. Even the bone that was white just a second ago is lost in a sea of scarlet--

"Well, I suppose congratulations are in order," Steve says with a grin, clearly trying to be friendly, but missing out on one, or more, of the points. "You're not pregnant."

"Well, of course I'm not, you dingbat," Tasha replies, rolling her eyes so hard that James is sure it must give her a headache. If she doesn't already have one. "And besides. He used a condom."

"Wait," James says. He's been preoccupied by not looking at Steve. "You know that?" he pokes cautiously. "For sure?"

"...Yeah..."

"Every time?"

"To be honest," Tasha starts, spitting and pushing herself away from the toilet. She crab-walks to the towel, wipes her feet, then sits on it, criss-cross like a little kid. "I don't know if he actually gets off every time." She draws her mouth into a straight, defensive line.

"The fuck does that have to do with anything?" James asks.

Steve looks very much like he wants to get the bleach from the cabinet under the sink, pour it into one ear, tip his head, and see if it comes out the other.

"He pulls out," Tasha says bluntly. "And there's never any, you know. Gunk."

"Wait, he does both?" Steve's eyebrows disappear into his hair. "A condom and--"

"Ok, ok." James puts up his hands to shush them both. "And this is, what, this is your dealer we're talking about?"

"Yeah, I guess, if you want to call him that," Tasha says with a shrug.

"What else would we call him?" Steve now looks disgusted. "That'd be stupid to let him just, like, defile you every week."

"He doesn't--" Tasha starts, but then she hiccups, and maybe thinks better of what she was going to say. She still stares Steve down, though, then looks to James as if grasping at straws of support.

"He's, like, a manufacturer?" Tasha turns her gaze sideways.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." James puts his hand over his face. He'd assumed Tasha was getting her stuff on the street, through a framework of various interlopers. Now he's getting news that his kid sister is taking substances thrown together in some coed's bathtub? This is too much.

"Tash--" James starts, trying hard to keep his bubbling anger and concern from spilling over.

"He's a PhD candidate," Tasha says defensively. In Chemistry. And--" her eyes flicker from side to side as she seems to wonder what's appropriate to spill. "I won't tell you his name. But... I'll tell you that he got kicked off the football team for being too violent, but he still wears his green jersey all the time to prove how much better and calmer he's become since that happened, which was only in the freshman year of his undergrad..." Tasha babbles on.

The more she defends the guy, the more James hates him. He feels bad for him a little, slinging synthesized crack to get by. He feels better for Tasha, knowing that what she's taking is most probably pure. But the sex thing is--

"It's kinda creepy," Steve says, taking the words right from James's mouth. "Like, how much older than you is he?"

"I don't know." Tasha shrugs. "Not that much, I don't think. Started school early, finished fast. And I'm not sure this is his first post-graduate program..."

"Maybe shouldn't've added that last part," James says, screwing up his eyes. "So he's had, like, however long to prey on girls who are barely legal. Who might not even be legal..."

"Well, I'm legal, and I can do what I want." Tasha crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"Yeah," James sighs. "Unfortunately."

"But what about the thing with the handcuffs? The gang rape? Losing your bra?" Steve blurts out.

"Wait, you..." Tasha's eyes flash with anger. "You told him?"

"What did I say about privacy?" James quickly reminds her. "The non-puking kind? And, um," He looks to Steve. "Maybe a little respect?"

"Sorry," Steve mutters. "But--I really do--"

"I don't really remember that stuff," Tasha says.

James studies her face, but he can't tell if she's lying.

"Probably just party stuff that got out of hand."

'You mean you were too stoned to know the difference between your regular and some random dude off the street,' James thinks. 'What do you do at parties? And how the fuck do you slip past me?'

"He's your pimp, too, isn't he?" Steve asks, pointing at Tasha rather accusatorially, in James's opinion.

"No!" Tasha leans forward and brings her arms down to cover her clearly still sore abdomen. "Bruce wouldn't--" She swallows. "I didn't-- You didn't hear--"

James hasn't been a student long enough to know who was on the football team 4, 5, 6-odd years ago. He supposes he could look it up, crossing the name with accounts of any violent incident that amount of time ago. He's not sure he wants to, though he'll probably wind up looking it up later. Either that, or Steve will. James still has his ex-mil connections, a few of which were absorbed into the local police force. Steve, on the other hand, is better with social media and navigating the niceties of such mysteries as SnapChat and TikTok.

"Ok, fine," James says, just ameliorate his sister's panic.

"He doesn't even drug me at parties," Tasha goes on, probably unaware of how terribly young and desperate she sounds, making lame-ass excuses so she can keep her boy toy.

"And you've had other guys who did?" Steve asks incredulously, even though James shakes his head frantically at him to try to get him to shut up.

"You know Rumlow?" Tasha asks, since apparently she's now all about spilling names.

James shakes his head, but Steve screws up his eyes and says in a disgusted voice, "him?"

"Yeah..." Tasha sighs and looks down at her fingernails, which are stained rust-red at the root. "Remember the night I didn't come home?"

"Yeah, and scared the living shit out of us because your phone was off," James fills in the blanks.

"Well, I didn't turn it off."

"You mean that asshole kept you overnight without any means of getting yourself out of there?" Steve looks downright sick. "I mean, I know he looks slimy, but that?"

"I think Maria accidentally slept on the couch and found me at, like, 6am trying to stick my head in the linen closet because I couldn't find the bathroom." Tasha laughs, though the situation is anything bur funny.

"And I was so pissed at her for having you out all night..." James trails off.

"Yeah, maybe respect my choices a little more?" Tasha glares at him. "I mean, Maria's studying to become an EMT now. You can't think that badly of her."

'Great,' James thinks. 'Someone who'll drug Tasha to the gills every weekend.' She'll be less likely to overdose, but James has seen it all too often in the field. Newly minted medical personnel eager to sow off their skills and rushing into action.

"Yeah," James says, trying not to smirk. "So you got a girlfriend and a boyfriend now?"

"Ew, no," Tasha replies. "Friends with...benefits, I guess. If you even want to call it that. Folks who look out for each other, using a barter system?"

"Did you recently take World History?" James can't help but poking at her vocabulary.

"Fucking-a, I don't know. Once I pass, it's in my past."

"That's actually a good motto," Steve points out.

"Anyway," James says, bringing the conversation back to topic. "None of your...friends... are invited to this house."

"It's not like I want to bring them over for dinner," Tasha replies. "I guess drop off and pickup might happen, since, well, you know now, and I don't have a car." She shrugs. "Cool?"

James hates the idea of someone inebriated driving a car in which his sister is a passenger, despite the fact that he's done it before. Regularly, actually. Maybe he just hates the idea of the driver being someone who Tasha just fucked. The air might be heavy between them. They might smell like each other's deodorant and musk. They might kiss each other good bye. The thought makes James's stomach turn.

But, "sure," he says. "That's fine.” At least she'll come home.

James shares a glance with Steve, which seems to confirm the same sentiments, "Yeah," Steve echoes, as if his opinion counts for anything. "Fine."

[thebadchoicemachine]

The egg and the Carrys

Nat frowned at Charlie- the currently possessed Charlie- as he fought to get up. For a moment Quackity breathed a sigh of relief watching his friend struggle, he had never been more glad the old women were so much stronger than they let on. He never wanted them to lose, but he especially didn't want them to be pulled into this mess. Even with all his efforts of isolation it was getting out of hand. For just a moment, Quackity bathed in the joy of their victory. Then Bonnie kicked Charlie; as he fell back to the ground with a pathetic yelp the moment ended.

--

Bonnie tisked, pulling out a tube of lipstick to fix her makeup as the young man flailed on the ground. He was much stronger than he ought to be in that scrawny body of his but she trusted her dear Nathan wouldn’t let him up. She finished up and tucked the tube back into her purse, straightening and preparing herself for a lecture. She’d never needed to give one to Charlie before, he was always very kind if a bit vulgar but that was to be expected. Honestly he reminded her of Nat when they were young and on the scene. He’d never needed more than a swat to fall back in line. Today though, he had crossed a line. 

Not only had he run up and bombarded them out of nowhere but he refused to leave and even had the audacity of attempting to physically drag them away. Whatever he wanted to show them she hadn’t bought it for a second. There was something rotten going on in this town, something a field’s flight away from liquor, and everyone knew it. The police knew it, the gangs knew it, the children knew it, and her and Nat certainly knew it. Though, the problem wasn’t the strange air that had opened up like a gravity well (they could deal with new trouble just fine). No, the problem was how so many seemed to be exited by it. Intrigued to the point of erratic behavior. Really, what people these days wouldn’t do. 

Now, Bonnie Carry had no intention of ending up some old fool rambling on about traditions and the proper way things ought to work. She’d gotten her fill of that already being a double breed. However, the way people were changing, the way everyone rushed home rather than going out to party, how cops and mobsters alike would suddenly act like the best of friends and turn on their own kind, it was suspicious at the very least. Not to mention the way every now and then certain reds seemed to stick around outside. She didn’t care how pretty or awe-inspiring it was, colors in the outdoors was unnatural!  

With all that in mind, you can imagine how she went from taking her weekly stroll with her wife to peering over the knocked-down figure of a boy named Charlie.

“You don’t- you don’t know what you’re doing,” he wheezed, fighting to catch his breath but smiling. He looked deranged. “You don’t know what you’re giving up. We’ll forgive you though. When you join us, we’ll forgive you.“

Bonnie turned her nose up. “Manners, child. Manners,” her voice was firm but proper, as though she was scolding an unruly customer rather than reprimanding a crazy man try to drag her into some unearthly love of unnatural colors. “You are in desperate need of them. I don’t know why you think it’s alright to harass your elders when we clearly told you we were not interested, much less lay your hands on two old women simply out for a stroll.”

“Ha... hmm, I’m only trying to help,” he grinned deliriously. “Trust me! My buddy didn’t care for it either but... we set him straight. If you won’t look, why don’t you to come have a stay at the Chip? Deluxe, youse can have whatever you want to eat or drink or spend, on the house! No wooden nickels or nothing.”

“Oh, sure.” Nat rolled her eyes sarcastically. 

“I mean it! I just want to help you sweet ladies. You’re so kind, I want to give you something nice. I want to show you the best thing you’ll ever see. Make you feel like a real egg, promise.” 

“Well, thank you for the horsefeathers, love. I’m afraid we’re rather comfortable remaining in our own home. In fact, we’ll be returning there now.” Nat looked over at to Bonnie who nodded. 

“Yes, I think we’ve had quite enough of your business for today.” The two set themselves in the opposite direction, Nathan making sure to step on his stomach rather than over him, ensuring he wouldn’t get up right away and attack them again. “Oh, go chase yourself.”

“Wait,” he rasped. They didn’t turn around, moving steadily forward as they heard him struggling to his feet. “WAIT, PLEASE!” They stopped. Bonnie could see Nat’s ears twitch although her face remained neutral. Bonnie heard it too, you didn’t need any canine genes to understand the desperation in his voice. She sighed, already regretting her decision and slowly turned to face him. He was barely on his knees, scrambling like he was weighing himself down. They frowned, there’s no way Nat had hurt him that bad. She’d barely done anything other than restrain him a little roughly and knock him down. 

He was far too strong to be so weak and he had no right having such strength in the first place, being just a little frog. He was no willow but should not have been able to match with Nat as he did, yet he took on damage like a sponge one water. This wasn’t something you could excuse even if he was half-seas over, and she was fairly certain he was dry as a match. They shared a look, something was off here and it wasn’t just some trendy infatuation. 

“You... alright, son?” 

“You should... please... you should really come by!” He snapped his head to a tilted, awkward, angle, smiling wide and clicking his voice back into its chipper mockery of itself. “We’ve got something new there, something you’ll love. Something everybody loves! The Red Room... it’s what changed my pals mind, you know the one I mentioned before? He hated it at first, didn’t care for the blood vines at all, he tried to-” Charlie broke himself off to laugh. “He tied to take me away from them! Can you believe that? Just drag me away from them and Quackity, oh... but he’s never leave Quackity behind. So in the end, I was able to teach him better. A few days in the Red Room and he came around like the sun. Bright as the sun! He’s happy now... ahah...”

Bonnie placed a hand on Nat’s wrist, slowly dragging her backward. Careful, like so not to disturb a rattling snake. She cursed her age, something she rarely found herself doing, wishing nothing more than to be able to sprint like she used to. He mirrored their movement, dragging himself forward ever so subtly. “Goodness, child,” she felt herself murmur “when is the last time you slept?”

He either ignored her or didn’t hear, continuing to ramble and force himself to his feet. He had one foot upright now but remained crouching much longer than he should have. It was almost like he didn’t really want to get up. “You want to be happy too, right? Otherwise would you have stayed to long? You’re waiting for me to help you, aren’t you?”

Oh, of course not you blithering fool. Bonnie snapped in her head, haughtily straightening her blouse. We can’t be expected to just leave your poor soul the way you’re acting, can we?  

“You should just come with me. I came for you on purpose, you know! You’re so kind to us when we stop by. My friend really likes you, he calls you his nans sometimes, did you know that? You’re good people. You deserve good things. I want you to-” he swallowed, faltering for a split second. “I- I don’t want to hurt you. You have to believe I don’t want to hurt you.” He was fully standing now, hand reaching for something in his belt. The smile remained gone from his face but his tone grew forceful and fake again. “But if you make things difficult then they will be difficult.” He took a full step towards them. “I promise you they will be difficult. That’s why I came to find you, to try to be nice. I can be nice. I can give you everything you need to be happy!”

“Thank you young man,” Nat firmly spoke, placing an arm around Bonnie and turning as though to leave. “We are plenty happy on our own.”

“Oh...” She caught a flash out of the corner of eye. Charlie was now holding up a knife, walking towards them so slick as if the ground move beneath him. “I really wish you’d just let me be nice,” he glowered. All hesistence gone from his movements, he drew closer, brandishing the weapon as if it would magically force them to change their minds.

“Hmph.” Bonnie scowled. She wanted to help but had absolutely no intention of being chilled off nor pushed around by this palooka. For a moment she pondered the idea of just trying to leave, before he was stumbling over himself as though he’d struggle just to stand up. There was the possibility he couldn’t or wouldn’t go after them. Then he tensed, as though ready to make a point, and she realized that simply wouldn’t do. “Oh,” she sighed, disappointed as her grip tightened on her smasher. A purse filled with stones made for a rather cruel and subtle weapon, one she never left home without. “And I thought you were such a nice young man, too.” 

“WAIT!” A shout rang out, causing both parties to halt. They all turned their heads to spot Quackity sprinting up the otherwise empty road. He flung himself between them, hands gripping Bonnie’s arm, and shook. “Wait, don’t hurt him! Please, it’s not his fault...” he gasped, clearly out of breath. “It’s not his fault... it’s not his fault, I swear...” 

Bonnie spluttered. “I- Quackity, dear, he’s pulled a knife on me!”

“I’m only trying to help!” Charlie cheerily called over Quackity.

“Charlie, go home,” Quackity ordered. 

“But-”

“NOW!” He whipped around, snarling. Charlie backed off a bit. He frowned, looking from Bonnie and Nat to Quackity with genuine concern. His mouth opened as if to question or protest. Insead, his face went blank and he followed the order, turning to ankle off rather robotically. Quackity turned back to the ladies, huffing as though he’d just been through a marathon. Nat reached out for his shoulders, probably fearing he’d collapse, but he jerked away. “DON’T TOUCH ME.” 

“Quackity?”

“Oh, dear boy, what's gotten into everyone?”

He ignored them, preoccupied with growling and pulling at the headband on his head. The bright... vivid... red... headband. Bonnie took a step back. His eyes flashed up, pupils shrinking at alert. He held up a hand, not to grab or push them, but to say stop. “It can’t control me!” He exclaimed, as though that was meant to clear something up. “It’s infected me but it can’t control me.” He rubbed his arms, for the first time Bonnie noticed how red and sore they were. “Karl- you know Karl? Of course you know Karl- I think it has something to do with him. I don’t know. Yeah. He left... um- uh...”

“Oh... you poor thing,” Nat took a step closer, reaching out to examining his arms. He absentmindedly allowed her to as he rambled on with his stammerings, tying his tongue in circles. “He really left you?”

“Uh- yeah.”

“What about Sapnap?”

“Karl took him with him when he left.”

“Oh, I am so sorry Quackity.”

“It’s- oh, it’s not like that,” he laughed exhaustedly. “They would never... they would never, right? Of course not. It’s good! It’s so good they’re away, everyone should be-” he yanked his arms back, realizing what she was doing. “Everyone should be away. I’ve been trying to isolate it, it’s been working but only to delay. A bunch of workers fell and several customers too. Charlie got it real bad... and then Schlatt... at this rate it’s only a matter of time until I’ve lost control completely.”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to clue us in on what “it” exactly means, dear.”

“And don’t think you’ve gotten out of explaining your arms, young man,” Nat scolded affectionately. 

“Oh,” Quackity laughed again. “Right. I uh... there’s an- an egg.”

“Some rich bastard is behind all this? Should have seen that coming,” Bonnie scoffed.

“No, it’s an actual egg. I think? That’s what we call it, it hasn’t hatched anything but it’s red. It likes power, it grows and grows and takes all it can. Infects everything like a disease. Gets in your mind. Makes you... love it. Love it more than anything else in the world. A-and the worst part is it lets you stay yourself just enough for it to hurt everybody else. That’s why Charlie wanted Schlatt so badly and it worked! Ain’t no reason Schlatt got stuck other than it was Charlie he was dealing with. They’ve been trying to cheer me up but... y’know... it’s not really them.” He paused. “I- I guess that’s why he came after you. Oh, hell, “He ran his hands up his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, shush.” Nat tisked. “If it’s not his fault then it’s certainly not yours either.”

“Of course not.”

“Heh... thanks,” Quackity sniffed. “He really didn’t want to hurt you, he thought he was doing what was best.”

“I do have a question, how did you know what was happening?”

“And again, how did you get those injuries? They’re minor, sure, but don’t try to play them off to me. Friction burns are still burns and you deserve some treatment.”

“Well- I- this is strange to say out loud...”

“Try us.”

“The egg... likes me. I don’t know why but it refuses to get rid of me. It can’t control me so you’d think it’d just drop me and save itself the trouble, right? But it just keeps trying to make me give in willingly so I can be the rng leader or whatevers. Everyone infected seems to take orders from me.”

“That sounds good.”

“Well, it’s somethings of a silver lining, sure, but some of them started calling me a prophet? Which, I guess? I can hear it and see through it which is how I knew what what going on with youse. As to my arms, it can’t control me mentally but apparently decided it was gonna keep me in my room, the bitch,” he snapped at the vine around his head like it personally had upset him. “So, yeah. It kept grabbing my arms.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Nat reached out to Quackity’s shoulder but pulled back, remembering his request for space. “I can’t imagine...”

“No, no, it’s- it will be fine. Karl’s coming back soon. He will... he will.”

And when he does he’s going to answer to me. Bonnie humphed internally. She didn’t dislike Karl, far from it, he was rather like an old friend, but he clearly was used to being the one in control. That didn’t make him bad at all, he just needed a reminder of etiquette. There’s no way she was letting him off the hook for up and leaving his partner, no matter the reason. He simply needed a smack on the wrist every once in a while. She did hope he was alright, and dear Sapnap. Poor Quackity, this all was terrible. “Ugh, all this over some gross little red weeds,” 

“Yeah, it- wait- you don’t like them?”

“Ha! Not at all,” Nat scoffed. “They’re just despicable, especially now that we know what they’ve done to you. How could you even ask such a thing?”

“Everybody... likes them...” he began carefully, forming something in his mind. “No- Schlatt didn’t... but...”

“Dearie, what do you mean to say?”

“I HAVE TO GO!” Quackity jumped up suddenly, backing away. 

“What?”

“Quackity?”

“Trust me!” he smiled, exhausted but genuine, filled with relief and nervousness. “R-remember, it’s infected me but it doesn’t have me! It can hear everything I hear... the egg is the cause...” he winked with a shaky smile and abruptly hurried away. 

“Wh-” Nat turned to bonnie, stammering. “What in the world was he trying to say do you think?”

Bonnie frowned, squinting at the distance. Not a speck of vibracy from any color, especially not red, yet still she played coy. She turned to Nat and smiled sweetly, “Nat, my love, lets head back home now. I do believe we’ve got some work to do, with a recipe that calls for one egg.”

----

@thecatchat I finished hurray. Haven’t revised it at all just wrote it out. 

[ickle-ronniekins]

head in the clouds

request from @mycupoffanfictionreplies : Hi! I'm loving your writing! Please may I request something where George takes a shine to the really short in height, shy, 'weird girl' in his class (sort of like Luna but more shy) and she's far too shy to admit that she likes him until they are assigned to work in a pair on a project and she accidentally blurts out to George that she likes him and George thinks it's the cutest thing ever. Is that too lengthy and specific? I'm sorry if it is! Thank you so much, I hope you're keeping well 💖

word count: 1.6k

A/N: ugh. okay. just imagine—george weasley falling in love in the middle of care of magical creatures with some whimsy, magical, beautiful, slightly different, shy girl who fawns dramatically over every creature they have the chance to study. i’m super emotional. i just love him a lot, okay????

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 | message me if you’d like to be added, loves!

“Don’t you just find them absolutely mesmerizing?”

Mesmerizing isn’t the exact word that comes to mind when George thinks of blast-ended skrewts. In fact, he kind of really dislikes them, but he’s so enthralled by your wide eyes and bright smile, that he doesn’t seem to care about anything else.

He glances over toward Fred, who looks rather disgruntled to be paired with some annoyed looking Slytherin girl, and rolls his eyes in the direction of Umbridge, who is standing next to Hagrid at the front of the class. In an attempt to separate the twins—purely because Umbridge is supervising the class—George had ended up with you at Hagrid’s request. And if he’s being honest, he doesn’t dislike it one bit.

You—the shy one. The strange one. The one whose interests seem to differ from everyone else’s, the one who marches to the beat of her own drum. The one who others always seem to talk about, including those strange likes of yours. The one who, George realizes now, is quickly stealing his heart.

He grins lazily, watching you as you bend down to get closer to the strange looking creatures in front of you. You stick out your hand, as if to pet them, and George nervously grabs you by your shoulders. “Careful!”

You let out a soft giggle, and George can’t help but notice the sun glistening in your eyes and across your hair. He can feel a slight pull at his heart when you peer up at him, and hold out your hand to guide him closer to the skrewts. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” His head is saying absolutely not, get the bloody hell away from those things, but his heart wants nothing more than to feel your fingers interwoven in his.

“They’re just.. different, is all,” you say quietly, looking down at the skrewt as it lets out some strange noises. George notices every other student in the class backing away from these odd looking things; but there you are, going against the norm, slowly inching closer to them. He bites down to suppress a grin. “Reckon you just have to do a bit of research, right? Just to understand them a bit better?”

He can almost hear Hagrid in the back of his mind. Misunderstood creatures, is all.

He notices Fred standing up straighter with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised at the sight of you two hand in hand, but George ignores this. He’s too focused on the moment. His heart sinks a bit when he hears Umbridge let out a sickeningly sweet laugh, and Hagrid clears his throat gruffly, signaling the end of class.

“What’re your thoughts on fire crabs?”

You take George by surprise; he stops in his tracks as he walks next to you, side by side, up to the castle, completely ignoring Fred calling out to him from behind. Instead he clears his throat and replies, “Erm—I dunno, really—never studied them, have we?”

“They’re quite cute, actually,” you tell him, and George laughs sweetly, “their tortoise-like appearance makes them look less threatening, you know? And that jeweled shell they have—well, it’s rather beautiful, isn’t it? The bright, shining colors..”

Your voice trails off and floats in between you both and George can’t shake the feeling like there’s something lodged in his throat. He clears it once, twice, and replies back, “Yeah.. I reckon you’re right.” He sounds as nervous as he feels, and he prays you won’t notice. You don’t. It seems that your head is high in the clouds; or, perhaps, it is still back with the skrewts. George, thinking of his own favorite magical creature, asks you, “How about Nifflers?”

“Oh, the cutest!” you tell him excitedly, your eyes sparkling in the sun. Then, you bring a hand to your chin and pause to consider things, thinking a moment. “Although—I do have quite a lot of jewelry at home, so I reckon they wouldn’t be the best creature to have around.”

George laughs again; he cannot get over how absolutely adorably soft and sweet you are. “Probably not, but—would be perfect if you’re ever in search of a treasure of sorts?”

“I couldn’t agree more! Wish we could study those, too.”

“Imagine all the damage they’d cause in the castle?”

“Imagine all the damage they’d cause in Umbridge’s office?”

The two of you fall into a little fit of laughter as you trudge up the hill toward the castle for the next classes; when you reach the front, you can both still hear Fred calling out to his brother rather wildly. “Well—see you next class, George. The skrewts will be nearly three feet by then! Aren’t you excited?!”

A few girls nearby snicker at this, but you don’t seem to notice; your mind is elsewhere. George’s insides tighten; he suddenly feels very defensive of you. But then, he realizes, looking at you now, that he doesn’t need to be. It’s obvious to him that you don’t care what they think of you, and neither should he.

Not thinking much on the skrewts at all, he smiles at you and tightens his grip on his bag. “I can’t wait.”

It’s a bright and sunny day; George is nearly skipping down to Care of Magical Creatures (which nobody ever seems to do—nobody, except you), while next to him, Fred is looking positively woebegone. George slings an arm around his twin’s shoulder and says, “Brighten up, Freddie! Just a few more afternoon classes separate us from the weekend; we still planning on wreaking havoc in the fifth floor corridors tomorrow night?”

“I can’t even think about that right now, Georgie,” Fred replies, taking his brother by surprise, “not when I’ve got to spend the next hour and a half fawning over these stupid skrewts.”

“They’re not stupid,” George tells his brother. “They’re actually quite interesting. Y/N says—”

“Oh, Y/N,” Fred says teasingly, almost immediately reverting back to his normal self. George spots you already down near the forest, twirling on the spot, peering up into the trees and humming slightly to yourself. “Is that why we’re so strangely chipper for this class today?”

“No,” George lies, his voice suddenly very hoarse. He can’t take his eyes off of you. “I’m just—I’m enjoying this lesson, alright? Bugger off.”

With a click of his tongue through a smirk so painfully mocking, Fred laughs, “Mhmm—sure, mate, whatever you say,” and shoves George into a nearby tree before begrudgingly trodding over to the Slytherin, who rolls her eyes rather noticeably at his arrival.

“Hi, George!” you say excitedly, tugging on his arm to bring him closer to you. You point over to the area where Hagrid has the skrewts secured; George can see creatures much larger than the ones from the last class. He swallows over a lump in his throat, and suddenly feels butterflies flood his rib cage; but is it from the massive skrewts, or the fact that you’re still holding onto his arm?

“I reckon this will probably be one of the last lessons on the skrewts,” you say, frowning slightly. “Once they’re about three feet or so, they become difficult to get close to due to their bad temper, and they probably won’t react very well to humans.” Your frown quickly turns into a cheeky grin and your eyes widen in wonder. “But this means we’ll move onto something new soon!”

George is grinning from ear to ear at your undeniable excitement for any new creatures that will make their way into the upcoming lessons. “Rumor has it,” George tells you, leaning in closer to you, “that kneazles are next.”

You gasp audibly. He peers into your bright eyes. “How d’you know?”

He smiles sweetly at you. “I have my ways.”

“How exciting!” you reply, clapping your hands together in amusement. “They’re quite intelligent creatures, aren’t they? And absolutely beautiful—I’d love to have one, you know, as a pet or something. I reckon that would be absolutely wicked.”

“You know,” George says, suddenly feeling very keen toward kneazles, “that would be! You wouldn’t have to worry about them growing ten feet in size; plus, they won’t steal all of that jewelry you have.”

A laugh escapes your lips with no effort; you grab onto George’s wrist as it happens and clap your other hand onto your knee. He’s looking at you with nothing but admiration. He swallows thickly as he listens intently to your laugh. When you catch your breath, you place a hand to your chest and say breathlessly, “I knew there was a reason I like you, George Weasley.”

George is quite sure that his heart is in his throat; he is suddenly extremely aware of the way his feet feel in the grass. He feels as though, when you look up at him with panicked eyes, that he’s being carried by large, easy waves—his stomach is fluttering and dropping every few seconds, making the nerves throughout his body accelerate, but then a calmness takes him over, if only for a moment, before the fluttery feeling comes rushing back. You begin to stammer, “I—erm—”

And before he can fully register what he’s doing, or what Hagrid is saying to the rest of the class, George grabs your hand and squeezes tightly. He notices your face flush, and says, “I like you, too.” You swallow over a lump in your throat and proceed to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from smiling too much. You tug nervously at the bottom of your sweater when George begins to pull you toward the skrewts. “Shall we go see how much our tiny creature has grown?”

You’re suddenly looking rather anxious and shy; George can sense this, but he can’t help but wonder if it’s really the three-foot long skrewts making you feel this way. Somehow, he can tell it’s probably not. He grins at you, pulls again on your hand to bring you closer to him and says, “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

reblogs & feedback are always appreciated, lovelies x

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Alright, and I am back with another update! But first, some stuff a friend noticed in the first few pages and mentioned to me that I didn’t take in when I went over them on my own the first time:

The park they’re in as kids is pretty close to the apartment complex Izuku and his mom live in! Considering that said apartment complex is right there in the background. Which probably isn’t a huge thing, but a neat thing to note.

The age these kids manifest their quirks at seems to be more preteen / teenage years, though I don’t know whether that’s just because it is later activation or because there were (subtle) quirks before that, with the glowing baby just being the one that had people sit up and realize something was actually going on.

Endeavor ad! And it has the time of that event that day, too - 8:14 AM! I wonder what he’s advertising… or perhaps it’s a news report? An interview of some kind? It might just be a ‘breaking news, we got Endeavor on our channel’ sort of thing. The only part that I can read is the first three katakana for the biggest text, which is ‘E-n-de’ and matches the wiki’s katakana for ‘Endeavor’. If anyone can get a good enough look at the smaller text in order to tell me what the rest says, I would appreciate it!

Just a few things, but obviously I need to up my observation game if I want to catch all this stuff!

[No. 1 - Midoriya Izuku: Origin]

So now we’re at Aldera / Orudera Junior High, with Izuku’s class being in their last year before high school. Since Japan’s schools start on the second week of April, we know this has to be that first week of school, because Katsuki’s still 14 and his birthday is April 20th, which would almost always be the third week of April / second week of school. 

What is that writing stance. You are going to have an old man’s back by the time you graduate high school. I mean, I wouldn’t know anything about that personally, cough cough…

Anyways! We get a look at Izuku’s class and their quirks, and what a collection. Also, with an attitude like that, no wonder this school is seen as bad, like, what the fuck dude. Not exactly a competent homeroom teacher, are you?

The ones that I can see, from leftmost row to rightmost row, are [1] floating hair, stretchy fingers, dark matter, [2] smokey arms, spike fists, stretchy eyes, frog throat, some sort of flash/illumination quirk, [3] rocky body, ???, stretchy neck, flamethrower arms, extra arms, [4] sharp hair, big chompers, wedge face, [quirkless], mouth face (seen in the next panel and holy FUCK new sleep paralysis demon), [5] horns, telekinesis, [explosion], buff bod, ???, [6] wind control, ???

WHY.

But yeah, this also establishes the first rule of ‘don’t use quirks in school’ thing that… also gets promptly ignored the several other times we see stuff set in this school. Which, what a shock, people sort of sliding around inconvenient rules.

Anyways, Katsuki has proven that he hasn’t changed since those first few childhood panels way back (checks) ten pages ago. And Izuku is being… very shy and trying to avoid drawing attention. But no shaking, particularly, just… wallflower mode, more like.

But yeah, Katsuki is not exactly on great terms with the rest of the class, who are rightfully pissed off at him treating them rudely and calling them extras. Though honestly, I’m surprised that they’re surprised he’s aiming for UA, it’s not like he wouldn’t have been obvious about that for, like, years at this point. You’d think they’d all roll their eyes and be like ‘yeah yeah we’ve heard this spiel before’ or something. IDK.

Oh man, and Izuku already KNOWS what’s coming, look at how he’s hiding his face!

Katsuki is, of course, Fucking Extra and hops on his desk, and gets right into bragging, where, AGAIN, this should have been stuff this class has known about for ages, why are they so shocked?? And huh, interesting, he’s not only interested in surpassing All Might, but also in being one of the richest people in the world. Wow, I cannot even with him, especially knowing he lives in this house in particular:

Which, it should be clear, is an EXPENSIVE lifestyle when most families live in modest apartments because of space being so valuable in Japan. 

God this is a fantastic image. I wanna frame it on a wall somewhere. Hori managed to convey all the emotions in one face and I admire the man for it. 

With the whole class laughing, there’s a thing I want to note that fandom seems to not pay attention to: they note that Izuku gets good grades! I’ve seen fics that basically have him forced to sabotage his own grades to avoid getting backlash, but like… no, I don’t think that’s actually a thing. 

[Also an aside, we finally see one more class quirk, which seems to be some sort of bulked up arm? It looks a bit like mummy bandages, as far as I can tell.]

Izuku gets into defending himself, saying there’s no precedent, but he IS defending himself against them, so again, he’s not cowering as much as some people seem to think he does based on fics, and clearly he’s still willing to stand up for himself to some degree. 

...then of course, Katsuki blows up Izuku’s desk and sends Izuku sprawling. And is pissed that Izuku apparently thinks he, who is quirkless, can somehow be on the same level as Katsuki. Izuku swears up and down that it’s not about Katsuki, that he just really wants to try, and this somehow pisses Katsuki off even more. 

I want you all to remember this image - save it on your computers, bookmark this post, whatever you need to do. We’ll come back to it in, oh (checks watch) about 284 chapters. Or maybe sooner in a separate post where I can put it under read more and avoid spoiling people more than this does. Because DAMN can I gush on this moment.

Anyways, we have a change of scene, right after noon, with a thief with a sludge transformation and,,,,,,,, legs and pants,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Where the fuck did those pants go, sir. Sir. What the fuck, sir.

Also, we get our first meeting with the OG dad, the sunflower man himself, who blooms into 255 kilos of muscle in one panel. Also, man I forgot about the fucking giraffe neck Hori used to draw him with, holy heck, why are you so l o n g.

L O N G.

...right, anyways, back to the school, which is apparently over for the day. The rest of the class is heading out, and Izuku’s back to his chipper self, even humming a happy note as he grabs his notebook-

Before Katsuki nabs it from his hands. There are a few people who’ve hung back who notice the title and pick fun at izuku, so I guess Izuku actually… doesn’t talk about his desire to be a hero that much in middle school, if the others are all so surprised about it. He apparently doesn’t even make his notebooks obvious to them, since this is the first time any of them seem to be seeing it. Which I mean, it makes sense if the class will tease him for it, but like. Even with Katsuki stealing the book, Izuku’s not super panicked or having a nervous breakdown.

But yeah, Katsuki just blasts the book, but! It’s just the cover singed (and edges) when we know he could have demolished that book entirely. Again, he’s definitely being a bully and a jerk here, but he’s got way more self-control than fandom likes to assume. 

Izuku’s upset because of his damaged notebook, and Katsuki just huffs and throws it out the window while saying he’s gonna be the only kid from Aldera to go to UA. And Izuku, EVEN WHILE STRESSING, thinks of him as vain for thinking that way! That’s not the first thought of someone too terrified to do anything.

Edit: As pointed out to me in [this post], it was Katsuki’s crony who was thinking of him as vain, not Izuku. My bad!

Also note the lack of damage to Izuku’s school uniform. I know I’ve seen fics where there’s a hole made and a burn scar left that Izuku has to tend to, but Katsuki, again, has not directly used his quirk against Izuku. We’ve never seen it, just the smoke and flash used for intimidation. I’m getting more and more confident that Katsuki has never actually used his quirk against a person, which I’m probably gonna get a bit more into during the battle training in a few chapters.

But yeah, the cronies / extras basically call Izuku lame and that he can’t face reality. And then we get this scene:

That’s not the face of someone afraid. That’s Izuku’s determined face.

Izuku is about to stand up to Katsuki again. The way he always has, the way he always will. There has never been a point in the series where Izuku has NOT stood up to Katsuki when he feels it matters, and that’s part of the reason Katsuki is so pissed with him every time he does - because Izuku REFUSES to see his place! Not once!

(Please, for the love of god, respect the Izuku who didn’t need a quirk to stand up to others. Who isn’t ‘broken’ or ‘terrified’ of Katsuki or anything like that. He’s a stubborn kid and we Stan That.)

Izuku, however, is not confident enough in this situation to want to press the issue, so he relents and says nothing when Katsuki prods him to escalate things. And then we immediately get to the ‘you idiot, don’t fucking suicide bait!’ but you can tell it’s been a stressful few moments for him. 

So yeah, the summary of this section is ‘Izuku is not an uwu suffering babey, and Katsuki is way more restrained than people seem to think.’ 

I’m cutting it off here since, again, we got a lot of info and character examination, and honestly this whole chapter is a long ass one (55 pages!!!!) and it’s establishing the entire setting from the ground up. And honestly, I’m just vibing in being Right about how I’ve been viewing the characters at the start of the series… even if i am guilty of sometimes playing with fanon for my own means…

Still, this is fun! Hopefully y’all are having fun too!

[galaxy-parchment]

Nepotism at its Finest

I’m back on my bullshit, fellas! This time we’ve got something fun. A fic that I wrote based on another TMA AU, ‘Timeline of Theseus’, by @creativitycache.  All you need to know is Jon has been the Archivist since he was 8 because time-travel shenanigans and now Elias is his reluctant dad, I would highly suggest reading ToT if you enjoy this fic and even if you don’t. This also hasn’t been beta-read because this is spoiler-y and my usual beta-reader hasn’t listened to TMA and honestly this is pretty self-indulgent.

--

Jon, despite being an Archivist for as long as he could remember, only got the ‘official’ title of Head Archivist once Gertrude finally died. He knew Jonah was the one that did it, but honestly, Jon was just glad he didn’t call in someone else to do his dirty work for once. He always hated when a random avatar barged in and somehow always left some kind of damage in their wake.

Working as an archival assistant wasn’t so bad, other than that. After a while, just to justify him hanging around the Archives all day reading statements, Jonah had given him a position as Gertrude’s assistant. Not that she ever asked him to do anything. It was just a formality.

At this point he’d given up on only reading statements that included people that were already dead. He’d take one over the newer statements, certainly, but the problem was that there’s only a certain number of people that have had supernatural experiences, and if they survived the encounter, they don’t tend to die as quickly as the ones that didn’t make it.

He still occasionally got odd flashes of things he never actually did, but it wasn’t like they had a manual about how his powers worked. Jonah just half-explained that it was probably something to do with his omniscience filling his head up with blanks that didn’t exist. The fuzziness and lack of detail certainly matched up with that theory. Just one of the perks of suddenly gaining knowledge powers at the age of 8, he supposed. At least he’d finally managed to get a grip on what exactly he Knew at random intervals. The Eye still liked to give him the odd unwarranted insight or two, but he didn’t mind all that much.

Strangely, though, he did ‘remember’ all of the assistants Jonah had chosen for him on his first day as the Head Archivist. Sasha, Tim and Martin, although for some reason Sasha didn’t look like how his ‘memories’ picture her.

—

Jon was weird, to be honest. Tim knew it the moment he walked in and saw the guy. Looked like he’d been raised by wolves then taught how to act like he was a respectable academic. Sure, he looked the part, but you could tell he didn’t care about being a ‘scholar’, he only cared about the statements.

He also obviously had some weird tension with Elias. Whenever Tim mentioned him Jon would always change the topic and refuse to acknowledge the man’s existence. He’d worked here for a while, though, probably just a standard ‘gradual resent for your boss’ scenario.

At least Tim thought that was it until Monday.

They were all in the break room, Jon included, eating their lunch, when Elias wandered in and gave them all a polite smile.

“So, Jon,” He said pleasantly, “I was wondering how you were settling in as Head Archivist.”

Jon glanced back from the coffee pot, “Doing fine, thank you…” he grumbled.

“That’s great to hear,” Tim could hear the condescending tone dripping from his voice, “I know that you’re not used to such an active role in the Archives, is all,”

“What? You don’t think I’m capable of the job? You didn’t need to give me the position you know, I can do what I need to do here without it,”

“Oh, goodness, no, you were fully deserving of the promotion,” Elias said, raising his hands in defence, a knowing smile on his face.

“And as I told you when you promoted me, theres no need to worry about me,” the archival assistants stayed silent and glanced at each other awkwardly.

Elias grimaced, “Is it really so bad that I just wanted to see how you were? I have every right to worry,” Tim didn’t know what the relationship there was, but that was definitely a weird thing for your boss to say in his books.

“Elias, I am 24 and an adult who’s been working here for a while, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Jon said sternly, turning to face him with his arms crossed. Okay, that was definitely a weird thing to say. Sasha hid her face in her mug and Martin was fiddling with his hands and staring at them.

“Fine, but you know where to find me if you need anything,” Elias sighed. He turned and walked out the door.

Jon scowled for a moment, the tension in the air thick. He suddenly marched up to the door and yelled down the hall, “You’re not my father, you know!”

Tim was about to ask what the hell that was about before he heard Elias call back.

“I have paperwork that says otherwise!”

Well, that certainly explained a few things.

—

The ‘break room incident’ was still a talking point among the assistants, but at this point it was mostly just Tim complaining that Sasha just didn’t get the job because of nepotism. Jon didn’t even have a degree of any kind, he just got a position as an assistant and then got the Head Archivist promotion.

Martin tried to connect with Jon, though. He’d heard about how all of the old assistants just went missing over time. That must’ve been lonely for Jon. So he brought him tea every day. Sure, Jon didn’t always drink it, but hopefully it helped him feel more comfortable with them.

He did give Martin odd looks occasionally, though, as if they’d known each other and Jon was trying to place his face. He certainly would have remembered meeting someone like Jon, though.

When he wasn’t reading statements, Jon actually came out and spoke to all of the assistants directly when he needed something, which was a bit odd. Not spooky odd, but still odd.

Jon was instructing Martin on some follow-up he would need to do at his desk when Elias made his second appearance of the month. The others stayed quiet, knowing how things went last time.

“Jon, I have some good news!” Elias said, unusually chipper.

Jon seemed unimpressed, “Do tell.”

“Peter and I are getting married!” Martin was about to congratulate him when Jon beat him to it.

“I give it three months,” he deadpanned, not taking his eyes off Elias, who seemed far less offended than Martin would have been in his situation.

“Give me some credit, Jon”

“You’re right, he never even replaced the vase he broke before the last divorce did he? Make it two.” Wait, divorce? Last divorce?

“He’s changed, really, he even said he’d actually replace it once it was official,” Elias defended. Martin spotted Tim in his peripherals jamming his face into his elbow to stifle his own laughter. Sasha had a not-so-subtle smile creeping onto her face.

“Oh, and let me guess, he also promised you he’d ‘start trying to really connect with Jon’ like he does every time, as if he doesn’t literally feed off of doing the exact opposite.”

“No, but he did-“

“No, wait, I’ve got it this time, he said that this time, he’d keep his voyages short and make more time for you!” Jon guessed, intently waiting for Elias’s response

“Yes.” He said curtly. What on earth was happening? Martin wanted nothing more than to be anywhere but this exact position, right next to both of his bosses having a family squabble.

“Let me guess, you came down here to tell me right at this moment because you need me to drive you? Of course,” Jon ran his hand flat across his head to give his hair the gelled flatness Elias’s always flawlessly maintained, “I’m Elias, I’m going to ask Jon to drive me and my fiancee to the courthouse for our tenth marriage! I can’t drive myself, though, because then Peter is going to insult my driving and then I’ll tell him that he has no place to do so since he doesn’t even have a license! Then we’re going to cancel and try again the next week!” He ranted in a tone that was obviously meant to imitate Elias.

“We’re going next Wednesday.” Elias said.

“Fine.” Jon replied without a second thought, turning back to Martin, who hadn’t realised he was holding his breath. Elias silently turned and headed out of the Archives.

The room was silent for a moment. Sasha spoke up first.

“Did you say tenth time?” She asked incredulously.

“Yes, and that’s only the legal ones. I’ve seen them ‘get married’ one night and the next they’ll swear vengeance on each other. Peter gives excellent Christmas presents, though, what with the insurmountable wealth.”

Tim barked out the laugh he was suppressing, “Jon, I just really want you to know, that is the funniest thing I’ve witnessed in my life, thank you,"

--

For the record I’ve changed a few rules of how the whole Jon situation works and I mostly just took the concept of adult Jon and Elias father-son dynamic and sprinted with it.