#he was just pen at first and then I did the grays cause…. he didn’t look right | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zelphin124 · 2 months ago

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LCB-3: Chapter 3

Third session yayyyyyyy- This one took so long but so much happened and it was all too important to cut out! Enjoy!

Masterpost Chapter 2 <--> Chapter 4

~o0o~

The week that surpassed on the bus was nothing short of troublesome, however, most of the information was discarded as unimportant for the story. It was full of memorization of contract terms, cleaning, cooking, gauntlet grinding, and team quarrels.

The team quarrels didn’t seem to let up. Even now, Jekyll knew Mark and Othello were arguing in the back as the rest sat up front to keep their eyes on the road. Their shouts gave her a headache. She wished to go sleep in a little bit more before she had to work, but she considered the trip not worth the trouble of getting between the two airheads.

Lenore was adjacent to Jekyll on the other side of the bus; she spread across two chairs with her eyes closed. Jekyll admired how she could take a nap everywhere. Her form was so peaceful, and not anxious about anything around her.

Mallo sat in the seats in front of Lenore, her legs also spread across both chairs. She was sitting upright with her hair tied back, looking straight ahead at the front of the bus. Between her fingers was a cigarette, as usual. Jekyll had lost count of how many she had. It came to the point where she wondered where Mallo got all the cigarettes from.

Pen rested behind Jekyll, sleeping on the window and not being disturbed by the bumps on the road, as if he was passed out cold. Jekyll marveled at his ability to sleep anywhere. It was as if he could see the stars wherever he was and rest in their presence.

Jatayu was adjacent to him. He simply stared at the ceiling with his hands in his lap. He didn’t seem interested in anything. Part of Jekyll wished to go and talk to him, but his mind seemed to be somewhere else, and she didn’t feel comfortable reaching out to start a conversation.

Jekyll decided to stare at the window. She noticed in the blur of the gray slum buildings outside, immediately telling her she was in a backstreet of sorts. Little to no color besides the purple decorated the richer buildings. Everything was in precise ruin and gloom. It was clear that this corporation was downtrodden and poor. The sky too, was covered in clouds, hiding any form of sunlight. It was a horrible day, and not one person was in sight.

“Alright, at attention everyone,” a raspy voice sounded from the front of the bus.

Jekyll lifted her head just in time to see Vergilius turn around to face them. His hands were clasped behind his back and his eyes were more tired than usual.

“This is your first mission,” he began. “I expect you all to be on your best behavior. You will retrieve the golden bough from the lobotomy corporation facility here in Q Corp. In addition to this, we’ve also made a contract with…” He let out a disappointing and terrifying sigh. “Where is Mark and Othello?”

“They are in the back of the bus,” Pen answered. “If I remember correctly, they were fighting over something again.”

The Red Gaze’s eyes turned sharply toward the door, a slight flash of annoyance woven in his mouth. His head gently turned toward his assistant next to him, his voice more gentle than the anger on his face. “Kuvira,” he bent slightly over to meet her eyes.

Kuvira’s head looked up like an alert rabbit to a twig snapping. Her gaze relaxed as she saw Vergilius. “Yes sir?” She implied a tone of willingness and patience, something he did not return to her.

“Check on the sinners in the back, Mark and Othello. Fetch them for me, and make sure they aren’t causing a fuss or doing anything stupid.”

Kuvira stood up immediately, giving a quick bow of respect. “Right away, sir.” She nearly skipped away with a smile down the bus hall before reaching the back door and closing it behind her.

“Sinners, any notable questions about the place before I continue?” Vergilius turned his gaze back to the crowd as Kuvira left. “Your task is to find the golden bough and return it to Dante.”

“Hold on, we?” Pen gestured to his coworkers, a look of confusion on his face. “Aren’t you coming too? I thought you were our guide.”

“I am the bus guide,” Vergilius replied, moving his hands from his back to grab his book resting on the bus dashboard. “I guide the bus, not the sinners on the bus.” He sighed. “I… assist now and then, assuming you guys don’t do your job and get lost… but I cannot guide you to the destination per contract regulations unless in dire situations.”

Mallo raised her hand, her gaze fixed and stoic as usual. “You informed us that we were picking up a person. Who are they? What do they look like?”

The only detail Vergilius gave of the person was the brown suit he would be wearing. Mallo didn’t seem to appreciate the vagueness of the answer.

Lenore also made clear she had a question. “Aren’t we looking for the golden bough?”

Vergilius stared at her as if she was deaf.

“I mean, why do we need to sign a contract with someone with a simple task?” Lenore elaborated, rubbing the back of her neck.

“The person in charge of the signed contract will guide you to the facility as they are well situated with the environment,” Vergilius explained. “They have additional tasks for you to complete on the way.”

Lenore said her thanks and rested back in her seat.

Jekyll adjusted the monocle on her eye, her gaze twitching slightly. The voice… well, Hyde, was strangely quiet.

Not that she was complaining, but it usually didn’t mean anything good. “Where are you?” She muttered under her breath.

I’m here, idiot. There’s nothing important to say.

Jekyll rolled her eyes, regretting that she even asked.

“Any other questions?” The guide sighed, waiting a moment before flipping through his book. He turned toward Charon and gestured for her to stop.

Jekyll didn’t realize the bus had slowed, but she did notice the sudden jolt when it came to a full stop. Charon’s expression was blank as always, as if she had done nothing wrong, and nothing right.

When the door opened, there was a man who stepped into the bus. As Vergilius had described, he had a prominent brown suit. He carried a gray suitcase that was the same shade as his combed-back hair. His face was square and he adjusted the large glasses on his face, giving a disgusted look at the state of the vehicle before speaking. “Is this Limbus Company?” He asked, his voice snarky and high-pitched.

“Yes,” Pen answered faster than anyone else could open their mouths.

The man alternated his stance to lean more on his left black boot. He seemed unamused. “I am supposed to meet Dante, I assume?”

Quicker than anyone else once more, Pen pointed to the manager.

Dante quickly thanks him before standing up. “Right, I will need a translator to talk to our coworker.”

This would be a good time to show my good work ethic, Jekyll thought. She began to stand up, willing to offer her assistance.

“Jatayu, can you translate for me?” The manager turned his head toward the veteran.

“Oh, uh, sure,” Jatayu gently nods and hoists himself out of his seat, adjusting his jacket to look more presentable.

Jekyll frowned, sitting back down in her seat. A wave of disappointment washed over her. She knew managers tended to choose people they trusted for various tasks, however, she couldn’t help but feel useless in that moment.

Get over yourself, Hyde scoffed. Pay attention to what they’re saying.

Jekyll had nothing better to do than oblige.

Before Dante could start the conversation, the back door opened. Mark came out with a strangely calm look on his face. His white shirt and black pants were drenched in blood and reeked of guts. His pipe hung on his shoulders as he observed the situation before him.

Kuvira was not far behind him, gently swaying to the side slightly behind Mark. She seemed to be completely unscathed, except for the end of her scarf which contained the same color of blood on Mark’s shirt.

“Where have you been?” Dante turned around, confronting his tardiness.

“Sorry, Dante, I was-” Mark paused, his gaze snapping back to normal. “Wait a minute, why am I apologizing to you? I was at the ordeal gauntlet, pansy. None of your business.”

Jekyll’s eyes narrowed, observing Mark closely. The blood on his shirt was definitely not ordeal blood. She knew what human blood looked like, to her dismay.

Oh my gosh, the idiot killed Othello. She heard Hyde rant in her head. No one is going to believe his pathetic lie–

“How did you beat them all by yourself?” Pen stared at Mark with wide eyes in amazement. “Identities,” he replied. “Easy.”

These idiots.

Jekyll couldn’t help but agree with Hyde. Was it really not that obvious?

Mallo shot a similar glare that Jekyll had in her eyes at Mark. Mark made eye contact with her. “The hell is that look for?” He snapped, his demeanor becoming harsher by the minute.

“Mm, none of my business.” Mallo returned the glare before turning around, taking another breath from her cigarette.

“I’m glad you got the use of IDs down, pal,” Jatayu smiled towards him.

Mark turned his gaze towards him. “Who are you?”

The veteran looked confused. “Uh, I’m Jatayu?” He glanced at Dante before looking back at Mark. “Your coworker?”

“Hmmph,” Mark looked away and took a seat in the back of the bus, irritated.

Kuvira gently passed Jatayu and Dante as she headed to the front of the bus. Jatayu adjusted his coat once more and also turned around, rather embarrassed. His body language told everyone observing that he wished to move on from the subject.

Dante didn’t seem convinced. “That’s strange, I don’t remember pulling out any ID cards for you…”

“You got flames for a brain, pansy,” Mark retorted.

“It’s not that, I just hope another Ithas situation doesn’t happen… Eh, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Pen had a second take as Dante said that. “Is he lying?” He asked Dante, glancing at Mark.

“He has no reason to lie,” Dante’s flames flickered as he turned towards the man. “There would be no other place that the blood could come from, anyway.”

The hunter’s eyes lit up. “Well if he used an ID all by himself, that’s even more impressive.”

Jekyll twitched her head as Hyde ranted. Idiots surround me… these people can’t come to a logical conclusion for sh–

“Do ID injuries usually transfer over?” Lenore asked, confused. “I didn’t expect the injuries to stay when switching back to our normal selves.”

“Everything is usually fine after combat,” Dante scratches his head. “The IDs usually don’t remember what happened, and I heal whatever ID that fought after combat, anyway.”

“Don’t mean to barge in this situation,” the snarky voice from the new guy stung the noise like a scorpion. “But can we get this contract settled? I want to get a move on.”

Jekyll didn’t care for how nastily and pushy the man was being. She knew she would be polite when working with him, but his comments were unnecessary.

“Yes,” Dante turned around to face the man. “Jatayu, please translate what I say.”

“O-Oh, yes,” Jatayu shook his head, snapping himself back into focus.

“We as Limbus Company are a proud establishment,” Dante began. “We deal with distortions and collect golden boughs. Your contract has been made to help both of us with our personal goals. Things are going well, and we wish for things to continue going well.”

Jatayu clears his throat. “Uh, we as Limbus company are a proud establishment that uh… deal with distortions… and things are not… well?”

Everyone on the bus looked at Jatayu as if he was high. Dante tilted his head as a strange ticking noise sounded. “Jatayu, that’s… not what I said.”

“Uh, sorry,” Jatayu stammered, scratching the back of his head as his eyes winced. “I’m a little antsy, I will focus better, manager.”

The new guy had a disturbed look on his face subsequent to everyone else’s reactions. “Right… Anyway, the insurance company of mine wishes to hire you. There has been an astronomical rush of MK-Falons with so many people exploring the old lobotomy corporation facilities. As a life insurance company, we have good business keeping people alive. We have people’s well-being insured and compensate for those who pass into the next life. However, with the large rush of people exploring the facilities, they never come back up alive and are presumed dead. People keep exploring these facilities and we aren’t financially equipped to keep paying their relatives for their poor decisions that cost them their lives.”

“You’re still paying for the deaths of those who effectively commit suicide?” Lenore questioned. It was a respectful and logical question, and Lenore asked it professionally.

“Usually, we wouldn’t fund those. However, they are not… classified as suicides, and not many suicides occur in the backstreets of Q Corp. Higher ups did take that in mind, but because of their classification as a casualty and not a suicide…” The man sniffed as if to clear his throat. “The point being, my company has been in a downward spiral because of this rush of enkephalin. To save our hyde from–”

He said my name.

Jekyll winced and gently replied. No, he’s talking about a different thing entirely.

That’s still my name, moron. No one just says ‘Hyde’ out of the blue.

Shut up–

“We want you all to delve into this and save us money.” The man finished, taking a deep breath.

Jekyll scowled at herself. She didn’t even get to hear the reasoning and the final part of the explanation. She had no doubt this would lead to further issues down the line.

Mallo seemed pissed off with how the man pronounced enkephalin. She proceeded to argue with him many times about how the word was said, before giving up as his accent didn’t change how he said the word at all. Lenore tried to convince them both it was the same thing and to move on to more important topics at hand.

Pen whispered something in the background, and Jatayu stood up to relay it. “So how does all this relate to distortions?” His voice was hoarse, exposing his exhaustion.

“So, our company tried to take care of the issue on our terms, however, we are not exactly fit for combat, despite having a few combatants left… We tried to go ourselves, but while we were down there we found very… grizzly things.” He shuddered at the mere mention of the description, his hand going to rub his back and neck to calm himself down. “After that first failure of an exploration… we decided to call the experts – you all �� knowing you are better trained and more prepared than us.”

“This implies that you know what’s down there,” Jatayu pressed.

“There was… a lot of beheadings, and we didn’t make it past the first floor.”

The silence that captured the bus was loud. The man uncomfortably adjusted his feet as he waited for someone to speak up, getting more nervous by the second.

Pen was the first to break his anxious bondage. “So, you’re saying we are going to fight distortions?”

“I believe so,” he stammered. “Are there other monsters that are not in that classification?”

Jekyll watched the rage immediately take over Mallo’s face. She took another breath of her cigarette to calm down before she spoke. “Abnormalities.”

The man looked bewildered. “What’s that?”

Mallo pinched her nose with her free hand, her mood becoming more irritated the more this man spoke. “You idiot–”

“Did we hire the wrong company?” The new guy backed up nervously, his hands raised as his expression revealed his new fear.

Jekyll watched as Mallo stood to her feet immediately, towering over the man. She walked up to him, bending down before breathing out one last cloud of smoke. “Abnormalities are feral monsters who exist for one purpose. They are crafted around a singular desire and will never change. They used to be people, but will never return to their former state. Distortions, however, are people who are consumed by a belief and an emotion to a mental breaking point. They can be taken care of and returned to their former state. Knowing the difference is key.”

When the fear on the man’s face didn’t subside, Jekyll felt compelled to step forward. “Uh, distortions are killable! Unlike abnormalities, they are usually a one-and-done situation.” Jekyll stood up and walked to Mallo’s side. “Either way, we can take care of the monsters down there.” She let out a nervous laugh, clenching her hands together.

You absolute idiot–

Although the man looked relieved, Mallo immediately became more angry. She turned toward Jekyll, her gaze piercing her soul. “I didn’t ask you for your opinion. You speak when spoken to, understood?”

Jekyll took a step back, her posture shrinking inward. The fierce threat written within Mallo’s words sent shivers down her spine. Her gaze did not let up, and it only made Jekyll more afraid.

What the hell are you doing?! Hyde barked. Don’t let her walk over you like that! Fight back!

Hell nah, Jekyll argued. I’ve already upset her enough.

Jekyll I swear, you never stand up for yourself. Hyde hissed, more irritated than Mallo. This is why I took action with Danves, you need to–

“I suddenly feel that this is an unsafe working environment,” the new man was clutching his suitcase to his chest, glancing between Mallo and Jekyll.

“Every place in this God-forsaken city is an unsafe place to work,” Mallo turned back towards him.

“Ah–” The guy raised his finger to protest, but then clamped his mouth shut. “Fair point…”

“As I was saying,” Mallo shot one more threatening glare at Jekyll before turning her feet toward the man, her gaze turning into a stoic glaze. “Abnormalities have their differences, but if you beat either of them up enough, they will go into submission.”

The two continued to exchange information about the subject; Jekyll zoned out and went to sit back in her seat, making herself as small as possible.

Are you done sulking like a dog without its owner?

Jekyll’s eyes narrowed, not wanting to address Hyde.

Don’t in all hell dare ignore me. Hyde snapped. You are such a wimp. Where is your strength to stand your ground? Do you even have the brain to notice they’ve been walking all over you?

KNOW YOUR PLACE! Jekyll screamed in her head, wiping away a tear that never fell. Know your place in this, Hyde. You are not the boss of me. Shut the hell up, or I’ll make sure to charge these moonstones real good.

Hyde didn’t speak another word after that. Jekyll could feel her sulking in the corner just like she was. She figured she would get to hear all about it later. Hyde always complained that she didn’t know what she was doing wrong when everything she suggested was horrible. Jekyll knew she wasn’t bound by the same morals she was, but the lack of remorse her internal companion had was the most scary part about her.

“Oh, there is one more group I should tell you all about,” the new man stepped away from Mallo to face the group again. “Other groups are searching for the golden boughs, and we’ve encountered a few of them. Have any of you heard of the demon syndicate?”

There was a noticeable sound of a grip tightening. Jekyll looked up from the floor to see who it was. The only person who changed their demeanor was Jatayu. Jekyll had often taken Jatayu to be a relaxed, patient man. However, the rage on his face completely changed how he came off to everyone else. He gripped his tonfas mercilessly as if he was going to shatter them with his bare hands. His eyes were like fire.

What’s his deal? Hyde piped up.

Jekyll didn’t answer as she took a closer look at him. She didn’t know much if anything about his past, but she could immediately recognize the symptoms he was going through. From the clients she worked with to her personal experience, Jekyll could see the anger of uncertain origin fuel Jatayu. When the mere name of the Demon Syndicate was mentioned, the anger stemmed from a place of trauma as many memories flashed before his very eyes. It was a very common form of post-traumatic stress disorder, however, Jekyll knew every person responded to tragic events differently. She couldn’t tell what exactly was traumatic, but she knew it was causing Jatayu to boil in anger. If her knowledge didn’t fail her, it meant he was about to do something very brash and out of character for his normal composure.

The man continued to speak as Jatayu walked towards him. “They’ve been lingering in this area, and we have lost many customers to whatever practices they’ve been– oh, hello–”

Jatayu paid no regard to the man as he walked out of the bus and into the haze of the backstreets.

“Clockhead, or anyone else listening, fill me in, I ain’t listening to this trash,” Mark got up from the backseat and rushed past Dante and the new guy, scurrying after Jatayu.

“Are we supposed to be heading out?” Pen asked quietly.

“Someone’s got trauma,” Mallo muttered under her breath.

“Well clockface, if we die, don’t let it be permanent,” Lenore gently demanded before getting up from her seat and following the two men out the bus door.

Pathetic speech anyway, let’s rush after them.

Jekyll disagreed. She knew when meetings were interrupted like this, it meant not all the key information was given. She clutched her hands together before walking up to the contract man. “Well, you can always give me the remaining details and I will pass them along,” she suggested, casting a quick glance at Mallo to make sure she wasn’t going to yell at her again.

Ew, boring, I don’t want to stick around for information. Jekyll could feel Hyde rolling her eyes.

“Oh, alright, let’s head on out after the others and discuss–”

“No, no,” Jekyll interrupted him, her eyes widening slightly as she motioned for him to not move. “The… backstreets are not safe to discuss important contract business such as this.”

“Good point,” the man adjusted his glasses and sniffed again, his voice becoming less constricted. “We want you to take the demon syndicate out, as they are also bad for our business. We can’t protect those whose souls are stolen, anyway.”

Jekyll took a mental note of the new information. “Anything else we should know about the journey, the layout, the enemies we will be facing?”

“Why don’t we walk and talk? I see most of your group has started already,” the man suggested.

Is he deaf? You JUST recommended to stay inside. What an NPC… Hyde insulted him for her.

Jekyll couldn’t help but agree. She glanced out into the fog where Jatayu and Mark had disappeared, and Lenore slowly caught up to them. She heard a brief command from Dante for Mallo and Pen to follow the others, which meant she would have to go too.

As Pen walked to the door, he pointed at Charon. “Is she not coming?”

“Mephi needs company. Charon stays,” the bus driver replied in a simple tone, not looking his way as she swung her feet off the edge of the seat.

“Huh, okay then,” Pen shrugged it off and walked into the haze, patting the bus as he left. “It’s okay you have Charon to be with you.”

Mallo after observing the situation, followed Pen without a word to anyone.

“Are you absolutely sure there is no more information you can give us?” Jekyll turned her attention back towards the contract man. “No loopholes, no hidden surprises that you know of, no hidden information about who we might be facing?”

“All I know was there was a lot of red and beheading in the facility.”

“That’s all?”

“There was also a lot of laughter, but that is all I can give you. I am not combat efficient, so my job is to guide you to the entrance of the lobotomy corporation facility. After that, it is up to your company to complete the rest.”

This bastard had better pay a large sum to the higher-ups if he expects us to charge in with the pathetic information he’s given us.

Jekyll sighed, realizing she was not going to get any more useful information out of him. She glanced behind her shoulder to see Dante gesturing her towards the door. She took one look at Vergilius, Kuvira, and Charon before she walked past the contract man and stepped into the fog herself.

“Dante,” Jekyll heard Vergilius’ voice behind her. He paused for a moment. “...Do not let them lose their heads like last time.”

Jekyll didn’t hear the manager’s reply as she stepped into the fog. She barely caught a whiff of Jatayu and Mark as they took a turn down a street. As soon as she spotted them, they went out of her sight.

The backstreets were oddly quiet. Jekyll had never been to Q Corp, but after seeing it, it would not be her first choice. The buildings much like the ones she saw on the bus were slightly in ruin and had a grand presence similar to a ghetto. The houses were more like slums, only varying in color by their different shades of gray. The richer parts of the backstreets that she could see, or at least richer objects had purple and violet hues. The only sound was the constant dripping of water off the broken roofs. The smell was horrendous, like the stench of cow dung and ash. It was difficult to make out any specific details due to the haze. The dark clouds above didn’t help at all with the gloomy and nihilistic environment. It was truly a terrible day.

There were little to no people out. There was one person in front of them, and he seemed to be of no importance. The eerie silence made Jekyll feel the man was about to get jumped.

“It’s nice to be out again,” Jekyll glanced to her right, spotting Pen in the middle of a stretch.

“Weather’s hell as always,” Mallo adds a dark cloud to the fog with the smoke from her cigarette. Her hair gently swayed behind her, and her glare didn’t resist piercing into anyone who got in its way.

Feeling that Hyde was distracted by something else, Jekyll took a step towards Mallo. I might as well try to make things right… She thought to herself. “H-Hey, Mallo?”

Mallo barely turned her head towards her. “What?” She snapped more than asked.

“U-Uhm I w-wanted t-to apologize f-for earlier… I d-didn’t mean to s-step out of line I-I-I am sorry…” Jekyll gripped her hands tightly, looking up at the woman who stood over a foot taller than her.

Mallo’s gaze seemed to relax, even if it was only a little bit. “Hmm. Just remember not to step out of line. It will lead to more problems.” She gestured down the alleyway that Jatayu and Mark went down. “Like those two.”

When Jekyll turned her head to see where she was pointing, Pen and Lenore were blocking Mallo’s preferred intention. “Are you going to follow them?” She heard Pen ask Lenore, who was too quiet for her to hear the response.

“Uhm, I a-assume you meant t-the two that a-already left, yes?” Jekyll stammered, turning back to face Mallo.

“Yes, I did. Congrats on noticing,” Mallo took a breath from her cigarette and sighed. “Talking takes too much effort.”

Jekyll nodded solemnly, relieved to have cleared that up. She didn’t ever wish to upset Mallo; Jekyll was quite fond of her. However, she couldn’t say the same about Hyde.

That bastard walks all over us, she heard Hyde mumble in her head. Jekyll decided to ignore everything else Hyde ranted about after that.

“Aren’t you supposed to direct us, Dante?” Pen appeared next to Jekyll and in front of Dante as if he teleported there. “Three of our companions just walked off.”

Pen’s immediate presence made Jekyll jump. It took her a bit to consider his words. When Jekyll took a glance at the left alleyway, she realized Lenore had disappeared down it as well. She sighed. Really?

“I wish I could tell you why they’ve gone off…” Dante sighed. “Perhaps they are trying to catch up with Jatayu? I have never seen him act this way before; he’s usually not like this… storming off to hell knows where. Either way, Maut is supposed to lead us to our destination, we should follow him.”

It was about time Jekyll learned the contract man’s name. She nodded towards Maut before turning to Dante. “S-So are are going to wait for them t-to come back o-or are we following Maut t-to the destination?”

“I mean, we need our entire party,” Dante answered. “So I guess we are following them to grab their attention.”

Mallo didn’t think twice. She turned her heel and trod across the left alleyway where the others disappeared.

This company’s organization is absolute garbage. Hyde sighed in annoyance as Jekyll watched Mallo walk off. You traded M Corp for this?

We… I didn’t have a choice. Jekyll replied, sighing.

You had every choice, and you chose the wrong one.

Choosing the wrong one would’ve been to continue letting you be free, Jekyll hissed.

I had everything under control!

We were about to get arrested, Hyde! Jekyll’s breathing quickened as the memories came back. You committed horrible acts!

Horrible? How were they horrible? Are your stupid morals getting in the way again?

“Shut up!”

“Is everything okay?” Dante approached Jekyll, his hands gently extended toward her.

Jekyll looked up immediately, forcing a smile. “Uh- uh- yes! Everything is fine, Dante.” She sighed.

This pansy ain’t seeing nothing yet. Hyde took a strange control over Jekyll’s smile, tweaking it slightly.

“If you’re sure,” Dante nodded, the flames on his head dwindling.

I cannot believe that worked, Jekyll inhaled a deep breath of relief. “I suppose we follow the others, like you mentioned earlier?”

“Yes, that is the initial plan,” Dante glanced over his shoulder. “Can anyone ask Maut, though?”

“I can,” Jekyll immediately stepped up on the opportunity, not letting it get away this time. I need to prove myself to Dante.

Screw proving yourself. Get all the information you can since we are choosing the boring route.

Jekyll cringed at herself before walking up to Maut and waving her hand to get his attention.

Maut’s voice was as snarky as ever. “What is it, miss?”

“Hypothetically,” Jekyll began. “To get to the Lobotomy Corporation facility, which direction would be the best to go in?”

Maut’s finger pointed towards the alley more colored in purple and violet to the right. “Straight that way.”

How convenient, Hyde snapped.

“Uhm… how long would it take to get there if we went left where our other companions went, versus right?”

“Turning right is naturally faster, as it is a direct shot. However, it shouldn’t take more than a few hours more if we went left. Turning left leads to a worse part of town, where my work residence lies.”

Lovely. Ask him about supplies, and if there’s any information about the town we should know.

Jekyll hated that she agreed with Hyde. “Would it be beneficial to stop at your work? Perhaps we could grab some necessary supplies and you can give us more information.”

“I’ve already told you all the information about the facility,” Maut said, clearly annoyed.

Is this bastard deaf? Information about the city– Hyde proceeded to curse the man out.

“W-Well, at least we could go left to gather supplies and devise a plan to go through the city and facility, anything you can give us will help.”

Maut’s demeanor changed immediately. “That’s a good idea!” He smirked. “Why don’t we do that?”

Jekyll thought it was a sound plan. She turned around to see if Dante would approve.

The manager seemed to be reassuring Pen that they would be getting a move on soon, as Pen appeared to have grown restless with the rising tension.

Jekyll faced the left alley before walking down it. “Come along now, the backstreets are never safe for anybody.”

The rest of the remaining group followed close behind Jekyll, traveling in silence. The haze thickened and the smell worsened, forcing Jekyll to plug her nose as she continued forward through the streets, twisting and turning with the roads. The atmosphere itself got darker and gloomier, but it wouldn’t be long until the gang reached an opening.

“Is this a safer part of town?” Pen strolled to match Maut’s pace, looking up at the tall man with curious eyes.

“No, less safe by a lot,” Maut answered curtly.

Dante shuddered as he eavesdropped. He ticked gently, about to say something, but the narrow backstreet opened up into a small courtyard. There were dim purple lights to light up the main business buildings and their entrances. All the buildings were covered in chains and jail bars to keep anyone from going in or out without being tracked. To the left were more streets that drove further into Q Corp, and to the right were a bunch of buildings. Straight ahead was a more lit-up path with a broken sign.

The party’s gaze rested on the only person out in the open. He wore a large purple coat and had his hair slicked back like Maut’s. The black suitcase resting at his side matched his boots perfectly in color, and it was easy to tell he was looking back at the party with a stoic face despite the glasses that covered his eyes.

“Do you know him?” Jekyll lowered her voice, talking to Maut as she gestured towards the purple-suited man.

“Yes! That is one of my coworkers, Mr. Fylar,” Maut wore a quick smile before it faded. “He’s a good companion of mine.”

Bro’s got a nice drip. I would love to paint that, Hyde smirked. I wonder if his blood would complement the violet.

Can you stop? We are trying to focus, Jekyll pinched her nose, adjusting her monocle. She made an effort to distract herself from Hyde’s comments as she observed her surroundings. It would be hard to navigate the backstreets without proper guidance. Having been on a similar mission before, Jekyll wondered if there was a backup plan in case the group got even more separated for navigation. “Do we have a layout of the city, Maut?” The doctor asked randomly, not looking at the contract man. “A layout of the city?”

“I’m sure he does, quite,” Pen added.

With the lack of response from the man, Jekyll snapped her fingers to get Maut’s attention. “Hey, sorry for all the questions. Do you have a layout or map of the area?”

“Oh!” He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat once more. “I do work here so I have a general layout… but because this place is so filthy and grimey I don’t know it too well, as I usually stay in the nest.”

“Okay, can you draw a general layout or a map of some sort, on the ground or verbally relay it?” Jekyll pressed, begging for any new information she could get.

“I can… do you have a piece of paper?”

Jekyll looked up to the sky momentarily, pulling her jacket forward so her other hand could rummage through her pockets. It took a long time sorting through the various jars and rocks to find paper and pen. However, she immediately handed it to Maut the moment she found some.

Maut thanked her before placing the paper on a nearby wall and started to sketch out the section of the backstreets they were in, humming to himself as he did so.

Finally, some useful information. Hyde rolled her eyes. Maut isn’t useless after all.

Eventually, Maut handed her the map. Jekyll took a moment to observe it, holding it up to the sky to get a better look. A slight ray of moonlight in the sunset peeked through the clouds, giving her light.

Hey, watch the rings! She heard Hyde snap. You promised you wouldn’t charge those.

Sorry, Jekyll replied, glancing at the rings as they lit up. I can’t see the map otherwise.

Do I sound like I care? Put them away.

Jekyll sighed, putting the map down. She could make out the general details of where to go, but not much more than that. The rings eventually died down, the red light shining from them fading.

“Dante, you need to get a better grip on your sinners,” Mark’s voice echoed as he stepped out from the shadows of the street straight ahead. “They’re going on about the fact that ‘family matters’ or whatever.”

Dante tilted his head, confused. “Family… does matter?”

“You’re delusional too?” Mark rolled his eyes, swinging his pipe around his shoulders. “Everyone knows that family is just some stupid concept, they always sell you out in the end for a price.”

Jekyll froze at that comment, taking a step closer to the conversation. Family is… a stupid concept? Does someone else actually think that way?

Hyde laughed manically so loud it rang through Jekyll’s ears. Hah! Markie the clawless cub… It’s about time he finally learned that.

Dante lifts a finger as if to protest, but he pauses. “I… met someone who thought that way. He was betrayed by his family often. He didn’t make up everything with them, but he ended up forgiving them and he lives a good life now.”

“Sounds like an idiot,” Mark scoffed.

“He knew what he was talking about,” Dante defended, his voice getting more serious with each syllable.

“Anyway, pansy, Jatayu, the gal with the cigarette, and the gal with the glaive are up straight ahead. All of them seemed pretty ticked off by the truth.” Mark shrugged toward the alleyway before setting his pipe on the ground and leaning on it.

Dante sounded even more concerned. “Did… you tell them that family doesn’t matter?”

“Is that wrong?” Mark mocked, giving an uneasy smile.

It’s not wrong, Jekyll added in her head. Just… sensitive people can’t handle that.

She was surprised to hear Hyde agreeing with her. Dang right. Family never matters, it’s always wise to get rid of them first before they hurt you anymore.

Jekyll barely noticed Hyde’s voice was getting stronger, and her grip on reality was loosening. Her vision became blurry as she thought about what Mark had said, and how she agreed with him.

She could hear Dante’s voice in the distance. “I’m… gonna check with them, and ask them what happened…”

“You suck, you need to keep your opinions to yourself,” Pen stepped forward to confront Mark. Jekyll could barely make out the outline of the hunter’s figure.

“Are you all delusional?” Mark seemed taken aback by the negative responses to what he said.

Why don’t you tell him, Jekyll? Hyde’s voice sounded as if it was right in her ear. Why don’t you tell Mark you agree with him?

I… Jekyll blinked, her heart stopped beating for a moment.

I thought your whole thing was to relate to people, to validate their feelings. Hyde sneered. Go on, tell them that you agree.

“I don’t know how you came to that conclusion, but please keep it to yourself,” Pen continued.

“How old are you kid? 16?” Mark changed the subject. After the hunter’s shrug, his smirk faded. “Let the grownups handle this.”

“Your truths are disrupting the hunt.”

“The only issue I see lies in the hunters, not the hunt itself.”

“That hunter with the issue is you.”

“Put some earwax in your ears if it bothers you, then,” Mark retorted, the grip on his pipe tightening.

“If you disrupt my journey to the star, I will make you shut up.”

Mark broke into a burst of laughter. “Try me.”

That laughter blurred Jekyll’s focus entirely, it was too real, too terrifying… Too much like… me.

Jekyll’s grip on reality loosened before she realized it. She could hear Hyde clearer than her own thoughts. Finally.

The last thing Jekyll saw was Mark standing down, being intimidated by Pen and his spear. Her legs became weak, and she fell to the floor, clutching her head. She tried to fight it, but because of how distracted she became, it was already too late. “No, no, no, NO–” she screamed, her consciousness becoming locked in a cage, her body no longer in her control. Her vision became blurry, and the familiar feeling of being trapped in her own mind returned.

Hyde had finally taken over.

The cry of pain stopped, turning into a maniac laughter. Jekyll banged on the prison of her mind as Hyde rose to her feet, flipping the monocle over to reveal her diseased red eye. She slammed the paintbrush onto the ground, making a dent in the road before she stared at those in front of her.

Oh no. No Hyde please don’t do this–

It was the first time Hyde saw a confused look on Mark’s face. “Oi, clockhead, your sinner is going crazy again.”

Dante turned around from his previous wandering down the straight alleyway. “What?”

“Are you okay, Jekyll?” Pen approached Hyde slowly, and one of his arms in a concerned position reached out to her.

Jekyll begged them to run, but no one but Hyde heard her cries. Hyde simply ignored her. She laid eyes on the manager, and without another word to anyone, walked up to him and grabbed him by the scruff.

Dante grunted in surprise. If he had eyes, they would’ve widened at the sudden movement.

It had been a very long time since Jekyll heard Hyde’s voice audibly. “Let me make this clear, clockhead,” she sneered, rage boiling inside her. “Jekyll is the one who signed the contract, but I am not she. I do not follow your pathetic excuse of a life and commands from your waste of air.”

Dante cowered under Hyde’s grip, terrified. He couldn’t reply audibly to her in any coherent words. His hands rested around Hyde’s, the one that was gripping the scruff of his uniform.

“Uh, kid, we might need to knock her out,” Mark started to speak with a new uncertainty, uncommon for his character.

Pen nodded and raised his spear. “As long as I’m here, Jekyll–”

“Jekyll?” Hyde turned her head toward the two men, dropping Dante onto the floor.

Oh boy, here we go… Jekyll thought nervously, having no choice but to watch everything unfold.

“No, no, I am not Jekyll, that lowlife wimp is not me. Please, call me Hyde.” Hyde extended her hands and bowed mockingly, before non-verbally asking for a handshake.

Reluctantly, Pen shook her hand. “Are we playing pretend?” He asked genuinely.

Oh no, oh this is so bad–

“Dante,” Mark shouted at the manager on the floor, actually using his name this time. “Turn her off and on, reset her, or whatever?”

Hyde lifted her head to stare into Mark’s soul. She recognized him immediately now that she was fronting. “Off and on? Reset? Come on, Mark. You know that doesn’t work, it didn’t work for your hustle, now did it?”

Mark looks Hyde up and down, laughing. “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

Only Jekyll could feel the hint of frustration Hyde chose to hide. Hyde walked up to the man with pride, a sly smirk on her face as her red eye gleamed with delight. Her voice lowered as she whispered like the wind.

“Split Shards. 11th Day of Year. 04:56.”

Mark’s eyes widened in fear. He stared at Hyde in unbelief, before uttering a single curse word under his breath. It was noticeable to anyone watching that he suddenly became very, very nervous. “Yeah, let’s reset her.” He barely got his words out as he took a step back.

… That was the birth moment of your bestseller, wasn’t it?

Yes, see, now you remember who he is, Hyde replied to Jekyll quickly. “There will be NO resetting, Dante,” she raised her voice like a lion. “Unless you want your head on a stick.”

Dante could only stare and nod in horror.

Pen also seemed intimidated by the sudden change, and could only back off and watch the chaos Hyde brought happen.

“Uh, hold on–” Mark stepped forward. “Hyde, would you really want to limit your canvas to a pathetic piece of hell like Dante? He’s only one body, even if that. However, if you go along with our original plan to kill these demon syndicates… you have many bodies to work with for your next…” Mark struggled to find his words as Hyde glared at him. “...Masterpiece.”

Hyde smirked. “I like the way you think,” she rotated the paintbrush flawlessly. “Very well, where is this… demon syndicate?”

Much to Jekyll’s relief, Hyde didn’t wait for an answer. Taking a quick look at the map Maut had given her, she followed the straight alleyway until it led to another alleyway.

Jekyll’s efforts to take back control were useless. Her cries and pleas were ignored. She figured she deserved it; locking someone up for three years never leaves them happy.

Hyde soon approached another plaza, where she found Jatayu and Lenore. There were a few seats to the left for restaurant dining, which no one was sitting in. There was a torn purple flag flying high in the air; everything else was the same as the previous opening.

“Ah, yes, the other two wimps this stupid company hired.” Hyde’s comment was oddly passive, but it drew enough attention to her anyway.

“Are you okay, Jekyll?” Lenore stopped leaning on a lamppost as she gently approached her.

Hyde rolled her eyes, showing an aggressive face. “Don’t call me that!”

Lenore was taken aback. “Do… you have a different name you wish to go by? What is going on? I am… very confused.”

Jatayu tilted his head towards Hyde. “Same…”

Hyde pointed to the red eye that was now revealed and not hidden under the monocle. “Call me Hyde, and it will always be Hyde. Unless you can actually come up with an acceptable nickname.”

She didn’t pay attention to anything else the two said as she continued down the alleyway for some time. Jekyll watched the sunset and the moon rise. She tried to plan how to get the moonstones charged whilst she was not in control.

Don’t. Even. Think. About it. She heard Hyde snap at her.

Hyde, please, we are stuck with these people for a long time, Jekyll pleaded, realizing Hyde was finally listening. Please, do not be rude to them…

That is the least of your concerns, idiot.

Two lamposts signaled to the doctor that another opening was up ahead. This plaza had the look of a marketplace… after it was raided and murdered. Bloodstained almost every stone on the cobbled road. Every building had boards to block the entrances from this area. This is where the stench of dead ashes came from. The former marketplace had clearly turned into a battlefield not too long ago as if a gang had just claimed it as their territory.

Unlike Jekyll, Hyde was able to observe the scene efficiently and faster than Jekyll ever had looked at anything in her life. She gathered Mallo was walking towards another road further right, her hair swaying and not bothering to acknowledge who just came in behind her. To her left, she noticed three strange-looking creatures with green gloves and hostile faces. Their robes were also green and carried a dark presence about them. Knowing a bit about the area, Hyde reasoned they were the demon syndicates she was looking for.

“You three!” She shouted, spinning the brush in her hand. She smiled wickedly at them. “Are you the demon syndicate?”

The three men looked towards her in a confused manner before the second one stepped forward with a piercing glare. He seemed more outgoing than the other two and had a finer jawline. “What is it to you?”

Hyde strolled across the cobblestone road towards them, dragging her paintbrush behind her as it left colors on the floor. Her posture was one of pride; anyone remotely knowledgeable of her occupation would recognize her. She admired how the second demon syndicate looked, and her thoughts filled with various poses she could use his remains to paint on her new canvas. “Answer me this. To be the canvas, or to receive the canvas?”

The first and third demon syndicate looked at each other in confusion as if she spoke in riddles. The second one copied their confusion and pasted it on his face. “You’re not making any sense.”

Jekyll started screaming in Hyde’s head as she gripped the paintbrush tighter. Hyde no! No, do not start this fight, please! We are alone!

“Relax, I got this under control,” was the last thing Hyde muttered to her before she lunged forward.

Hyde’s attack was swift, completely catching the second man off-guard. She swung her paintbrush at him, retracting his blood and painting it across his face with multiple strikes. The man retaliated, shooting her with the green glove he had on his hand.

The third one also shot her, and it ate away at her soul. Hyde finished her attack before resting on her paintbrush, smirking wildly at them. She hid how much pain she was in, as she realized this type of attack was a sin she never came in contact with before. It hurt more than the others, and left a dark, black impression on her mind, unlike the other sins that left colors.

…You’re staggered, aren’t you? Jekyll sighed anxiously.

And? They don’t need to know that.

Mallo was already making her way over to Hyde with a pissed-off expression. Hyde turned her head to see Lenore right behind her. Hyde then leaned on her brush and smirked at the enemies as they cowered into the back, realizing reinforcements had arrived.

Lenore immediately raised her glaive and struck the second man, scratching his face. Her eyes were strangely mello, and the man hissed at her when she struck, waving his free hand through his long black hair.

Jatayu and Pen were close behind Lenore. Despite Jekyll's rant in a panic, she and Hyde went silent as they watched Jatayu’s entire demeanor change.

That same rage that enticed the man on the bus multiplied the moment Jatayu laid eyes on the enemies. He raised his tonfas in defiance, lunging towards the first syndicate member and bashing his skull with his weapons. Despite the man attacking him back, he struck four times in a blind rage. There was no room for mercy in his soul.

Hyde figured it was because of the trauma she and Jekyll had spotted earlier. There was something this chill man held greatly against him. She figured it must’ve been a horrible, horrendous crime to make someone like Jatayu so upset.

Not that Hyde cared. Much to Jekyll’s dismay, Hyde’s attention turned elsewhere.

The big sombrero hat resting on Mark’s head as he entered almost made Hyde laugh. She knew what IDs were but didn’t consider them to be that… ridiculous. His entire attire was something straight out of a J Corp gambler.

Lenore took the opportunity proposed by the distraction. She clashed with the second enemy, trying to break through his attack. She would’ve won from the force she used against the man before the green glove lit up and struck her with the same black, hopeless sin that caused Hyde to stagger.

Jekyll’s voice only got louder. Is she okay?!

Hyde rolled her eyes and glanced over at Lenore, who was standing just fine. She smirked. “I like you.”

Lenore met her gaze and simply nodded in response. “I think we can get along.”

Jekyll.

She seemed taken aback that she was called. Y-Yes?

Gather as much information as you can about this… type of sin attack. It’s deadly, more than the other sins. As I’m fighting I will be expecting some information.

Hyde seemed satisfied that Jekyll agreed to do so.

Their attention turned toward Pen, who tried to attempt a surprise attack via his light teleportation. To his unfortunate circumstance, the third enemy was ready, and fired the black sin right into his face, eating at his health.

It does damage based upon our health… Jekyll considered. But it seems they have to spend some type of energy to use it.

Do they fail to use it if staggered?

…Yes?

Good.

Mallo’s clothes folded and twisted as she stepped into combat, next to Hyde. They quickly turned into white silky chef clothes stained with blood. She turned her now pinned-up hair and glared at Hyde. “You’re an idiot, Jekyll.”

Hyde rolled her eyes, still leaning on her paintbrush. “Yeah, I’ll catch you up after I turn one of these morons into a beautiful painting.”

Mallo simply glares with rage but turns that rage towards the threat ahead.

Jatayu let out a grunt of rage, not letting up on his attacks. He swung heavily at the syndicate member, but the first man was prepared. Despite the blind rage, the enemy evaded each of his attacks, analyzing Jatayu’s rage and using it against him.

Mark decided to attack at the same time to confuse the enemy. He shook his maracas back and forth as he swiftly approached the second man. Once, twice, before he bashed the maraca across the head of the second man, making him crumble to the ground.

Pen attacked at the same time Mark did, swinging his spear and piercing it into the third man’s side. The enemy countered, lighting up his green glove and shooting Pen with the deadly attack once more. Pen – to Hyde and Jekyll’s surprise – immediately got up and stabbed the man again, scratching his neck.

Hyde stood up straight, adjusting her shoulders. Her strength returned, and she was ready to kill. “Perfect~”

Hyde, please, be reasonable with this–

Mallo was faster. Pulling out what appeared to be kitchen knives, she lunged for the second man, cutting his body like a vegetable. The man screamed in pain as he watched his blood soak into his skin. He was motionless on the floor.

What a beautiful sight, what glorious inspiration! She smirked at the man on the floor, pointing her paintbrush at him. “Time to create art.”

Hyde didn’t miss a single step in her calculated approach. Wielding her paintbrush she swung it and struck down on the man, then up, then to his left side, then up again, and finally ending her attack piercing his right side. Many colors covered the scene as the man cowered in fear. She pierced the man over and over again until he was nothing but a pile of rubble on the ground. The man’s bloody remains were scattered across the floor and her paintbrush. Hyde’s eyes widened in delight, seeing the blood everywhere; she couldn’t control the maniac laugh that escaped her throat.

She bent down and pulled out a few jars from her coat, using her brush to collect the blood and scraps of the man’s guts. The combat around her did not matter so long she could gather the scraps while his heart was still beating. She stored them in special jars that wouldn’t smell as horrendous as the corpse did, despite Hyde finding the scent pleasing.

Jekyll noticed how Hyde’s vision became blurry from delight, and Hyde’s grip on reality started to fade from the pure ecstasy she was experiencing. Now’s my chance.

What?

Jekyll used all of the energy she had left to force Hyde to blackout, immediately taking the reins of control the moment Hyde was too distracted to stop her. She heard Hyde’s laughter fade, but it was too late for Hyde to stop Jekyll from taking control. Jekyll immediately chained Hyde to the back of her mind, as she stood up, glancing around in horror. It’s over… oh my gosh…

Mark imploded the first man’s head like a balloon after Jatayu’s staggering attack of rage. To her right, Lenore and Pen worked together to stagger the third enemy before Mallo obliterated his remains as if she blended him into a smoothie.

The fight was over quicker than Jekyll expected. She dropped her paintbrush in shock, looking at her bloodstained hands in horror before touching her jacket, realizing she had succeeded in taking control. With the force she used, she hoped Hyde wouldn’t recover for at least an hour.

The party’s gaze turned toward Jekyll as her paintbrush clashed with the ground. Jekyll adjusted her monocle to hide the red eye before she started speaking. “Did… did she hurt any of you…? Are you guys okay?”

“Who?” Mallo and Pen said in unison.

Perhaps they didn’t notice, Jekyll sighed. “Oh, never mind.”

“So… Hyde,” Pen took four steps toward Jekyll, his gaze curious.

It visibly hurt Jekyll to be called that name, “Oh, oh my gosh she did the… uh…”

“That’s not her name, idiot,” Mallo interjected.

Confusion clouded Pen’s face. “That’s what she told me to call her–”

“I’d know whether or not she wanted to be called by a different name moron,” Mallo snapped, her gaze fixed on the hunter.

Jekyll couldn’t find her words. She had never explained her situation to anyone, and the first time wasn’t ever going to be easy. “That’s not… okay… she…” She paused. “Let me gather my words…”

Some of the party members started to whisper to each other as if she was insane. Jekyll’s heart started to beat faster, and she shoved her hands into her pockets to hide how much they were shaking. It became difficult for her to catch her breath, let alone the words to explain.

Suddenly, Jekyll’s feet were lifted off the ground and she felt her scruff being grabbed. Her eyes widened as she came face to face with Mark; his eyes were boiling in hatred. “You. Me. Talk now.” He demanded, before dragging Jekyll across the room.

Jekyll tried to stop Mark, desperately trying to find her footing. However, Mallo stopped Mark with her stave, glaring at him.

“Listen, I don’t have time to deal with you. I have a private problem with her, it doesn’t concern you.” Mark explained, attempting to move past the obstacle.

Mallo stood in front of Mark, her stave blocking his way. “Well, I have a problem with you.”

Jekyll looked back and forth between the two. What the heck happened while I was not there?

The two picked up an argument right where they left off. Jekyll didn’t catch all of their heated banter, but she gathered it had something to do with family, being worthless, and not being able to land an attack. She didn’t have all the context, but apparently, the banter had been so bad, that the environment suddenly transformed.

Jekyll knew immediately Mallo had summoned her EGO, as it shared many symptoms similar to her own. Mallo’s sword transformed into a shovel with a chained base. The handle cracked under her grip as she swung it towards Mark, pure rage and a hint of regret flashing in her soul. “It’s not over until I say it’s over!”

Mark acted fast, he pushed Jekyll aside and barely ducked under the attack, completely evading the EGO. He stood up as Mallo caught the shovel, both of them breathing heavily. “You prove me right with every single miss.”

Mallo’s face sank with despair, and her eyes widened as she stood back in disbelief. It was clear she didn’t know how to respond.

The tension in the air made Jekyll incredibly uncomfortable. “Guys, please, let’s not fight. Mark, if you want to talk we can talk–”

“Stop, this doesn’t involve you!” Mallo snapped, a familiar rage overtaking her face. “Remember what I said! Speak when spoken to!”

“At least make yourself useful,” Mark rolled his eyes in a taunting manner at Mallo. “Follow tonfa guy, he’s wandered off again. You seem to be better at following anyway.”

Mallo couldn’t formulate words within the rage that fumed inside of her.

Mark scoffed with a smirk. “I know a guy that could get you moonstones to help with those emotions, your anger is bad for aging.”

“Your face is bad for my eyes!”

Pen gently approached the situation, but Mark stopped him. “Kid, don’t pick on me; she started it.”

“Hopefully, these quarrels will resolve in time,” the hunter sighed.

Mallo only muttered under her breath. “At least some of you have common sense…”

“Anyway,” Mark’s gaze snapped to Jekyll, making her wince. “You can explain to them, but don’t take too long or I’ll bash your head in and drag you over to explain.”

Mark ignored the seething glare he received from Mallo before walking toward the alleyway that the party came from.

Jekyll gently raised her hand to the sky, charging the moonstones on her fingers, praying it would at least reach one percent soon before she faced the crowd. “Ah, okay… There’s no easy way to explain this… Two people are living inside me.”

Pen was the most curious out of the three that listened. He ignored Lenore who also approached the group.

“It’s… too long of a story to explain how it happened,” Jekyll continued. “But I am constantly fighting for control over my body from… Hyde, whom most of you… met…”

“Sounds like hell,” Mallo commented.

“Y-Yes, it very much is,” Jekyll’s heart rate picked up again. Mark’s glare only made her hyperventilate more.

“So who’s the original owner of the body?” Pen asked, clutching his spear.

“I-I-I am…” Jekyll stuttered. Her heart rate was through the roof, and it thumped into her head all the way to her fingers. “Hyde o-only comes out w-when I lose grip o-on reality and m-my sanity drops…” She took a moment to try to catch her breath and stop her shaking hands by gripping them with one another, but it only made things worse. “B-But sometimes s-she c-comes out and i-it’s out of m-my control…”

Lenore looked the most concerned. “How did this happen?”

Jekyll opened her mouth to explain, but the intimidating scowl from Mark terrified her. “I-I don’t have time to explain I… Another time when we a-are off t-the job–”

To her surprise, Mallo and Lenore seem to understand, and both of their gazes soften. “Hey, Jekyll, look at me,” Lenore began. “Breathe slowly, count to three.”

Jekyll averted her attention from the man threatening her to the woman in front of her. She nodded and tried to breathe; Lenore’s calming gaze assisted her more than she could put words for. It took a moment, but Jekyll calmed down, recovering from her initial panic attack.

By the time she calmed down and turned her head to face Mallo, she was surprised by the face she was greeted with. Mallo’s eyes had softened to an extent that the doctor had never seen before, as if the woman felt pity for her. Her shoulders relaxed and her vibe drastically changed to what Jekyll could only describe as… motherly.

Mallo dug through her pocket before pulling out a cigarette, and offering it to Jekyll. The moon gently lit her face. “It helps calm the nerves,” she offered, her voice mello.

Jekyll didn’t object; she took the cigarette and observed it. Not another moment passed before Mallo pulled out a unique lighter to light it.

Jekyll observed the lighter. It was oddly childish. It had small stickers across it, ones that a child would use in a coloring book. The lighter itself was tattered and bruised as if it had been through the rough and tumble. It showed it was reliable. The stickers were also tattered, and Jekyll spotted a number sequence across it. She could only catch the number four before Mallo’s fingers covered the rest as she put it away.

Having the cigarette lit, Jekyll holds it professionally between her two fingers before gently blowing on it. “If… If I’m ever telling myself to shut up or mumbling under my breath, I’m probably j-just talking to Hyde…”

“I did hear Hyde muttering shut up, too,” Lenore confirmed.

“Yeah, we both just wish the other would stop talking…”

“I would love to hear how it all happened,” Lenore added. “I don’t expect it, as everyone has their secrets, but I’d be willing to listen to that story.” She put her glaive behind her, freeing her hands. “Perhaps it would be best if you let us know how to deal with her when she does come out?”

Jekyll let out a small laugh as she took in another breath from her cigarette. “I wish I knew how to deal with insane people…”

“And reckless,” Mallo added.

Jekyll lifted her cig in acknowledgment. “If you figure out how to deal with someone constantly trying to kill you, let me know.”

The group disbanded, and the anxiety that was in Jekyll’s chest returned when she made her way over to Mark, gently putting out the cigarette. She knew it wasn’t going to be a fun conversation; all she wanted was to come out alive.

Before she could reach Mark, however, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to find Mallo with the same somber expression as she had before. She sighed. “Listen, we are all team players here. If anyone causes any problems,” she gestured her head toward Mark in anger, before pointing to herself. “Tell me. I will have some words to say.”

Jekyll nodded her head gently before giving a bow of respect. “Thank you, Mallo. I appreciate you.”

It was the first time Jekyll saw Mallo smile. “No problem.”

The warm feeling inside Jekyll’s heart eased her anxiety, and she smiled back. To have Mallo smile at you must’ve meant you were somewhat special to her. She did not take advantage of that and treasured that memory.

Ugh, affection.

Jekyll’s smile faded the moment Mallo turned her back. “You’re already awake?” She mumbled to herself.

You know what happens when people get too close, Jekyll. If it happens again, you know I will take action.

Jekyll shuddered, recalling what happened last time. She treasured Mallo’s smile in defiance against Hyde, before finally closing the distance between her and the man that threatened her with his glare.

She briefly eavesdropped on Dante and Lenore talking about Jatayu’s disappearance, informing her he had run off in another blind rage again. However, that wasn’t her biggest concern. She couldn’t look Mark in the eyes as she glanced over at Pen, who had finished talking with him.

“Took ya long enough. I was considering bashing your head in because you decided to take your sweet little time,” Mark snapped, his grip on his pipe tightening.

“Pen… I need to talk to Mark… alone…” Jekyll ignored his retort and gave the hunter a solemn gaze.

“Feel free,” his response was short and quick before he joined Dante in conversation.

Jekyll immediately felt her scruff be grabbed as Mark dragged her into the alleyway. She could barely feel the gentle breeze of the night as she tried to find her footing, not resisting Mark’s strength.

He didn’t speak as he continued down the alleyway, before finding a brick wall and slamming Jekyll to it, his voice harsh and cruel.

The collision made pain snap through Jekyll’s neck, and the force of his grip was so hard she wouldn’t be able to cry out for help.

“Imma need to make this clear,” he sneered straight into her ear. “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. If you say a single word otherwise, I will rip your body to shreds and make sure no one finds the body.”

Oooh, blackmail against Mark eh? He has regrets after all.

Jekyll muttered to Hyde to shut up, but the words were intelligible.

Mark finally released his grip, taking a step back as Jekyll stumbled to the floor. “What’d you say? Speak up if you want to be heard, pipsqueak! No one is going to be gentle with you here!”

This motherf–

Jekyll stood on her feet and dusted off her jacket from the duty floor, dried blood falling from her fingers. Despite her fear, she gives him a neutral glare. “Okay.”

“And secondly,” Mark growled. “Let me speak to your… disorder.”

“She can hear you,” Jekyll explained. “We share the same mind–”

“If you want to do this the hard way, I’ll bash your head in until she is forced to come out!”

Jekyll felt a lump form in her throat as her hands started shaking again. Hyde, come out now…

You have me locked in here, idiot.

Then I shall force you to come out.

There was one way Jekyll always got Hyde to come out. She hated the method, and she swore to herself that she’d never do it again. However, Mark wasn’t letting up and growing impatient by the second. She had no other choice.

Jekyll flipped her jacket to appear on the inside of it. There were many straps across its cloth, each of the straps holding a certain bottle. Some were empty, some contained blood and guts, and some contained various types of moonstones. Jekyll ran her fingers along the top of the jars before resting on the one in the very back; the one that was the most inaccessible. It was encased heavily and had warning labels all over it. Jekyll gently pulled out the jar.

Anyone looking could’ve read the warning on it. Split Shards - Version 3. Do not use unless supervised. The drug looked like it was crystalized despite being a liquid; it reflected any light that bounced off it. It was a clear liquid and the jar’s lid was attached to an eye dropper.

Jekyll let out a shaky sigh. Why did I ever create this horrid thing?

Mark’s rage quickly vanished the moment he saw the drug. He took another step back, almost as if he was afraid.

Jekyll glared at Mark one last time before she unscrewed the lid, removing her monocle from her red eye before placing two drops into her eye.

The effect took place immediately as expected. Jekyll screw the jar up and placed it back in her collection before clenching her face. Tears streamed out of Jekyll’s left eye as her consciousness was thrown into a sharded place. Her spirit didn’t feel as heavy, and the eternal bliss she felt being free from the shackles of morality was too much of an addictive feeling to quit.

Hyde was immediately forced to take the reins as Jekyll got lost staring at the various mirror worlds the drug opened her eyes to. The sensation would’ve been almost painful and overwhelming to anyone else, but for Jekyll, it was normal.

Hyde rotated the paintbrush in her hand, slamming it onto the ground as she smirked at Mark, glad to be fronting once more.

If Mark could even have an expression that read horrified, it would be the face he made as Hyde fronted. “Alright,” he began in a tame voice. “The incident, that was a single trade. The event will stay between us. The company, the others, no one needs to know about it, do I make myself clear?”

Hyde simply stared at Mark.

“Did I make myself clear?” Mark spoke faster. “Or should I threaten you like your painter friend?”

“Relax kid,” Hyde shrugged, leaning on one hip as she looked up at Mark, smiling in a wicked way. “Bygones be bygones, I just had to remind you who I was.”

“I did not want to remember who you were,” he hissed. “You paid me to do that, and I will never do it again!”

“I’d say it’s money well spent,” Hyde smirked, finding his aggressiveness and frantic plea amusing. “That was my best-selling painting, after all.”

Mark was confronted with confusion once more. “What painting?”

“Oh right,” Hyde forced a pout face, mocking him. “Your little… arrest happened before I could show you. Don’t worry about it though, lioness.”

Steam was blowing out of Mark’s nostrils. “You’re just trying to rally me up, this is not worth it.” He stood still like a soldier, tensing as if he was about to get shot. “As long as that whole thing isn’t brought up, neither of us have problems.” Hyde noticed how he tried to use his fear as a weapon. “As much as that painter girl has control over you, at least she knows what kind of situation she is in, because of how docile she is.”

“She’s weak,” Hyde muttered under her breath. “Bound by the mortality she was taught.”

“I’ll make sure you’re never heard from again if one peep of it comes out to anyone,” Mark sneered; it was less intimidating and to Hyde more like a plea.

Hyde simply stared again, feeling part of her head spin from the drug that distracted Jekyll.

Mark stared back silently as if waiting for something to happen. “I don’t have much else to say, go into your little cage now.”

Hyde scoffed. “Please, you of all people should know the intensity of this drug lasts for two hours, not mere minutes like whatever crap you–”

“Then figure something out!” Mark interrupted.

“Come on Mark, you’re better than that,” Hyde teased. “Or have you already forgotten what happened?”

Mark spat onto the ground. “Get the painter girl back. Should I threaten her to cage you up?” He forced a laugh. “Sit there spacing out, it’s honestly pathetic how helpless you are against that pipsqueak.”

Hyde smiled, thrilled by the banter. “Helpless? You seem to be helpless and desperate for the situation to go under the radar.”

“I will kill you and make sure Dante never brings you back.”

“Then bring it on,” Hyde bowed mockingly. “Kill me if you dare, you’ll do me a favor and kill Jekyll too.”

“I don’t give a hell, if she dies, you die too. I’d kill you both right now,” Mark pointed his pipe at Hyde. “You can’t escape that.”

Hyde cackled, pressing the pipe down with her finger as she stared up at Mark. “What’s got you so convinced that I’m not trying to kill us both?”

Mark looked disgusted. “You’re sick, it’s a good thing she has control over you and locks you up. You are just a dog on a leash, Hyde.”

“And you’re just a clawless cub who was betrayed by his own pride.”

Something snapped in Mark. He swung his pipe with full force at Hyde’s head. She was faster; she immediately blocked, raising her paintbrush to stop his assault.

To both of their surprise, the rings on Hyde’s fingers sparked, lighting up and glowing a soft red color. The moon had barely grazed them with light, charging them just enough to work for a moment.

Hyde shrunk back and clutched her face, suddenly being hurled into the back of the mind where the drug was still taking effect. Jekyll immediately fronted, her sanity being brought to a stable place. She backed up, looking around as if she just had a nightmare. When she realized she was back in the Q Corp backstreets, she sighed in relief. Her head spun as the drug still took its effect, but her vision was more clear.

Mark lowered his pipe, noticing Jekyll had returned. He pointed at her with his free hand. Jekyll could’ve sworn she saw it shaking and heard fear in his voice.

“Keep that thing caged,” it was more of an ask than a demand by his tone of voice.

Jekyll quickly gathered Hyde’s thoughts to analyze what happened before she held her hands together. “I’m trying…” She sighed, looking at Mark with a hopeless stare. “I wish she would stay caged.”

There was a moment of silence before Mark cursed under his breath, marching back up the alleyway.

Jekyll figured it would be best to stay behind Mark as much as possible. She adjusted the rings on her hands before taking slow steps into the night. She followed Mark from a distance, keeping a tight grip on her paintbrush in case she got jumped.

The two crossed the courtyard without a word to one another. As they continued down the alleyway, they walked over dead demon syndicate bodies. They all had horrific expressions on their face as if they were attacked by a blinding, raging force. Mark followed the bodies before he stumbled upon the group surrounding Jatayu and asking him questions.

From the looks of the situation and the appearance of Jatayu’s tonfas, Jekyll gathered his rage and soloed all of the combatants that stood in his way. She had no idea if he died or not because he appeared unscathed, but she would admit she was impressed. Seeing Hyde struggle to fight these guys and Jatayu blowing through them was amazing to her.

Mallo turned around, glaring at Mark before looking at Jekyll. “You good?” She asked quickly.

Jekyll met her eyes and sighed. “I’ll… explain later…”

“Maybe we should do some team-building exercises,” Pen suggested, walking up to Dante.

Dante adjusted his gloves as he sighed. “I would, I just don’t know which ones to do at the moment… tensions are high.” He did a head count of every sinner. “Wait a minute… where is Othello?”

“You didn’t notice he was not hear this whole time?” Mark scoffed in disbelief. “You lack a spine. Let’s just go already.”

“No, let me make sure he’s okay,” Dante took a step back and turned back the clock hands on his face. His flames shook in pain.

At first, nothing happened. It took about ten minutes for Othello’s body to finally start forming. Some of the gunk on Mark’s pipe flowed down to piece together Othello’s body.

Dante stared in disbelief. “Mark… did you kill Othello?”

“He shot first.” Was all Mark said as he walked into the facility.

Jekyll turned her eyes towards the building they approached. It was gray and black, with a simple box structure on the surface. It was clear that the building was mainly if not entirely underground. A large Lobotomy Corporation symbol sat on top of the entrance; it was torn and beaten by the weather and the passage of time. A strange, nostalgic smell flew into the air as Mark opened the door. The way the building loomed and creaked was enough to make Jekyll shudder in fear.

“Looks like you guys didn’t need my guidance after all,” Jekyll turned around to see Maut before he turned his heel and walked back the way he came.

Unlike Mark, the rest of the party waited for Dante’s command. Dante relaxed his shoulders and walked up to Jatayu before resting his hand on his shoulder. “You ready, bud?”

Jatayu turned his head and gave Dante a soft smile. “It’s one step closer to getting them back.”

No one else said a word as they entered the facility.

#limbus company #jatayu lcb #kuvira lcb #project moon #jekyll lcb #hyde lcb #mallo lcb #pen lcb #othello lcb #mark lcb #vergilius lcb #charon lcb #lenore lcb #dante lcb #limbus fanfic #writing #chapter #lcb-3

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1d1195 · 5 months ago

Note

So I finally got around to reading protection and I thought it would be funny if I wrote down all my favorite parts bc I always wanna point them out, but I FORGET. It’s late and these are actually my live reactions bc im writing them in my notes as I read This will be long, this will probs be verryyy dumb (so if you don’t want to, pllsss don’t feel obligated to answer it, let it rot in your inbox😭)

The part where she’s like “hey niall! :D” and then switches up and yells at the supervisor 😭😭 AND NIALL IS JUST SHOOK BAHAHAHHA

Protocol.

'He knew that she ended a lot of her doodles with little hearts'. As someone who always draws hearts every time I get my hand on a pen, I ADORE this little fact (there’s a statistic that says 56% of Americans write their first name when testing out a new pen, and I always say ‘well what’s the percentage of people who draw a heart cause it cant just be me’)

Left covered in glitter and with a printed card that said Happy Holidays, but the L was a middle finger emoji. Funniest thing you’ve ever written actually.

The whole codename talk OF COOURSE

protocol.

If he were my boyfriend this would be so controlling, I would be out of there in two seconds flat. Why am I liking all this? bc its harry duh, that man could throw me in the back of his trunk, leave me there for days, and I’d still be obsessed w him

It was next to impossible. She invaded his every thought. Like a little flower, a wildflower, poking through the cracks of his brain and growing where it shouldn’t.

Even if it was beautiful and lovely where it grew.

“I don’t care if y’don’t like me,” Harry knew that was a lie. He wanted her to like him so badly. unbelievably real, I get like this too harry dw

“Hate ‘em,” he nodded. She liked them. So, there was that; the olive theory would apply to them. THE OLIVE THEORY AWWWWWW

I was super psyched about the part where she cut her hand bc that literally happened to me today and ive got a huge gash & the napkins taped on me to prove it😭 (no harry to cheer me up tho smh🙄)

If I drank enough water, I would be too much for the world. She told him. I’d be unstoppable. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

he pressed his lips to her ear. “Is that why y’tense all the time? Just need t’come?” I SCREAMED

THE WHOLE SCENE AFTER THAT HELLO ???? DID YOU THINK THAT WAS OKAY ??? // tell everyone my cause of death was this: “Gonna listen t’me?” He asked. She nodded, gasping for air that didn't smell like Harry but enjoying that it did. “Say it,” he murmured. “For all the times y’didn’t.”

protocol !!!!!

Literally nothing abt chapter 7 because where the fuck would I even begin

Everything about chapter 8 was PERFECT I have no clue what you were worried about because girl I was HOOKED it was just PLOT PLOT PLOT the writing was AMAZING, the twists were AMAZING, her planning (or yours ig) AMAZINGGGGG, THE SHOOTING HER AS A DISTRACTION ????? HOLY FUCK

I will say tho, L harry cause I really wanted him to kill the dude😞

“Feel like this’ll be more paperwork for you. Just shoulda died,” ROLLING OVER IN MY GRAVE SHE’S SOOO FUCKING FUNNY HAHAHAHAHAH

cant believe u almost killing her was not enough for you LMFAOOOO

It wasn’t the time, but it was quite hot the way he held her trapped against her bed. She’s literally just a girl🎀

“What’s your favorite song?” She asked so innocently Harry could have cried. Your honor I LOVE her

I cannot believe that she literally got kidnapped AGAIN ???? BY HER FATHER ???? THIS POOR POOR GIRL

It was quite a humble moment for her. All those years of torturing agents and creating mountains of paperwork, building walls up so she didn’t even need protection...now they would probably let her die as the opportunity had presented itself. OUCH OUCH OUCHHHHHHHHHH

Harry’s gonna go gray before I finish this chapter

He was strongly considering (and hoping) asking her if they could just put a chip in her. HAHAHAHAH as if. I will deadass settle for like a 200 hundred blurb JUST of that conversation between them

Diving into the chilly winter water, he hoped it wasn’t too late to save her again. This might be your most committed couple yet omg (no pun intended)

Ive never been happier to have not read a fic as you posted it because Samantha I SWEAR TO GOD this woulda drove me insane😭 IT DID DRIVE ME INSANE AND I WAS BINGE READING (I would’ve turned gray faster than harry)

“The hell is that?” He mumbled trying to make sense of the monstrosity on her lap. PFFTTTTTT love that crocheting is a styles’ family thing in this bc yes absolutely. im just picturing lil harry staying up late watching videos online to try to learn so he could be better than Gemma

im ADORING his constant worrying abt her getting a headache😭 its the sweetest thing ever

It was a crochet kit: a beginner's book, a set of hooks, and three different colored yarns. SHUT UPPPPP ITS AN INITIATION AHHHHH

“We’re gonna have to cope the way we need to. I will be my usual, hilarious self. And you can be mopey.” She’s literally me thank uuuu

The whole scene?? Youre my whole heart, completely exposed to the world ???? RIP me, rest in peace me, I. Died. Dead.

“Wildflower, definitely wildflower.” 10 dead. 29 injured. ahhHHHHHHHH

Girl I am soooo sorry and like I said you absolutely don’t have to reply I just thought this would be fun and it might make you smile, also u deserve to know just how greatly appreciated your writing is, every bit of it <3

~🎶

So I truly enjoy everything I write (except Love and Dryer Sheets). I know inherently that Traditional is more popular but I think if I had to pick a favorite, Protection is by far my favorite story. I guess if I had to qualify maybe my favorite of 2023 at least. Idk what it was about it, I just loved writing every moment of it, I enjoyed my weird little dialogues and the silly little inside jokes. I thought the MC was really strong and wonderful--I aspire to be like her, ya know? Writing Harry's parts is always fun too but I think Protection Harry is the mushiest but shyest of them (probs because of his job) so getting him to open up to her was really fun to write too. idk.

ALL OF THIS TO SAY this is quite possibly the sweetest and nicest thing anyone has done for one of my stories. I love this so so so so so much. There are so many parts you pointed out that I cared SO deeply for that didn't necessarily get pointed out when I originally wrote it. It was so sweet to read them again from someone else's perspective. I probs won't catch everything but please know that I got this from you at 5 in the morning yesterday and I have read it no less than 100 times because I'm so honored that you enjoyed it enough to take notes 😭😭 and every single one made me SO happy and smiley.

I just read about the statistic about writing your name when handed a pen in a book I was reading! I bet the heart thing is a pretty cool stat too (whatever it is!).

PUTTING ME IN A TRUNK SAME.

nothing about part 7 I'm screaming 😂

I've mentioned it in another ask but when I write suspenseful things I already know where the suspense is leading so I just get super in my head about it because I think it's obvious about where it's leading?

You have ignited a new extra regarding putting a tracking chip in her 🤭

she is really funny tbh hehehehehe I like to believe I'm funny too because I like to think that's how I would react to a lot of these scenarios.

she IS just a girl (and she really just wants to get railed by Harry quite frankly. I think she deserves it lol she's been through a lot)

Almost killing her was the main part the kidnapping was extra because I was like "Aw crap, I forgot to tie up the daddy issues line" whoops hahahahahahaha

Idk if they crochet, I hope they do. I just needed something that siblings could argue over. I would kill to know what the sibling dynamic is between Harry and Gemma. It's gotta be hilarious.

I think Harry is going to worry about her the rest of his life and you're so right, he would go gray because of her hehehehehe

SAMANTHA hahahahahahaha I was thinking you would have hated to read this as I was writing it lol

10 dead 29 injured 😭💕 - I think most endings of my stories suck but again, I love this story so much, I humbly think I did a better job on this one 💕

in general the bullets where you quoted some of what I wrote was really sweet too. The part about not getting help because of how she treated them, the olive theory, the part about water, harry wanting her to like him, etc. etc. That really means so much to me that it seemed worth pointing out again 😭 thank you thank you thank you.

If there was anything I didn't reply to, it wasn't intentional, I just know this is the longest ask ever and I love it so much but I feel like it's going to continue forever if I don't stop 😭💕💕

YOU ARE THE BEST THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS! IT'S SO WONDERFUL 💕

xoxo

#🎶#protection

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kyberphilosopher · 3 years ago

Text

Androphobia

Requested? No Word Count: 7014

An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.

Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man.

This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off.

There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men.

This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.

Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot.

Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried.

(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”

“Shut the hell up.”)

The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one.

You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point.

And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day.

And then...

As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.

So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man.

[Sort of.]

“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”

“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”

“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”

He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn.

“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”

Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering.

In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard.

“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”

“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above.

He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you.

You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible.

“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”

Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman.

But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath.

It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do.

You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks.

The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?”

You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”

Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.

“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”

Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”

“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”

Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something.

“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”

“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that.

“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”

“But the bias is the whole point.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’.

“You talked to Connor about this?”

“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”

Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”

You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch.

“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”

“Yeah,” you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”

“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans.

And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even.

But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...

You snap your drawer shut.

What’s wrong with you today?

You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again.

“Doctor L/N?”

You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person.

And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark.

“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”

“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair.

“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins.

Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close.

“When?” you question.

“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”

Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement.

“I know that this must be difficult for you-”

“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”

The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”

And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.

“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”

“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”

“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.

“He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”

There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine.

And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself.

And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half.

“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”

Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”

Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones.

Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response.

“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”

You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”

“It’s just-”

“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings.

As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused.

Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike.

A man, as usual.

Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory.

On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will.

You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time.

“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand.

“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually.

“The kid?”

“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment.

Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change.

“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”

You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all.

“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot.

“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”

Yep. Thanks, Hank.

The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again.

Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all.

“You coming?”

“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”

“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”

“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”

“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately.

Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth.

“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”

“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”

“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something.

“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”

Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last.

“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed.

Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away.

Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him.

You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around.

“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly.

“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly.

“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”

“Alright. I’ll get you some.”

And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes.

“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time.

“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him.

“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl.

“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally.

“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”

“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”

“Well... how would you like to address me?”

Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it.

“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding.

He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”

“What would you prefer?”

His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”

This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject.

“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food.

Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”

“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat.

Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”

“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”

Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.

“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”

“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”

Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question.

“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”

You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond.

The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought.

It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible.

“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.

“Yes, thank you.”

You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.

Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.

“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.

“Hello,” Connor chirps back.

You just shoot Hank a glare.

“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.

“It was fine,” you tell him.

“Fine?”

“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump.

You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one.

Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense.

Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend.

Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe.

The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt.

“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded.

“Doctor L/N?”

No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help.

“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder.

You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes.

“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips.

“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly.

“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it.

“You have... drool on your lips.”

You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”

“Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building.

“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

That night, it rains.

Thunder echoes, with ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands.

You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes.

A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning.

You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it.

You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual.

Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.

Come on, Hank, you think. Please protect me. Please do this for me.

And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android.

A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are.

Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you.

“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now.

“Can I come in?”

Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in.

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good.

“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor.

That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?

Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”

Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself.

“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”

Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”

“I just- I can’t-”

You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes.

“Can’t sleep.”

When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea.

He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators.

“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him.

He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy.

“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”

Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”

“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does.

You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying.

“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead.

“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”

A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second.

Then it goes quiet.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”

You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.

Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”

Connor’s led goes yellow.

“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”

Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.

It sounds like he really cares.

You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”

The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.

1K notes · View notes

runawaymun · 3 years ago

Note

Might I request Elrond x Platonic reader h/c and fluff fic, where reader comes home after a hunting trip etc. with a minor injury like a bump in the head or something and Elrond gets very fussy about it. Extra points for parent/child relationship cause I have problems.

Dad!Elrond x Platonic!Reader ~ Iris

Genre: hurt/comfort/fluff Warnings: mild blood and injury cw (reader has a broken nose). For: @tuuliii Reader pronouns: she/they

Sindarin Translations: Ada - informal: dad/papa Tithen pen - little one

You’d spent most of the day out hiking in the surrounding woods gathering wild herbs and other plants for your own experiments. Usually you’re pretty sure-footed, but there had been a hard rain the night before and you completely misjudged how slippery a certain slope would be. The rain had loosened the soil and clay and you’d slipped, rolled down it, and managed to crack your nose-- which, in your opinion, was marginally better than spraining something. At least you’re capable of getting yourself back home.

Lindir walks past just as you cross the bridge back into Imladris and, as he turns to look at you, his eyes widen to saucer-proportions. You’re painfully aware that you look awful-- covered in mud from head to toe, hair askew, scrapes along your arms and and knees from where you’d broken your fall. And, of course, your nose was starting to swell. You’d managed to stop the bleeding on the way here but it had to be bruising by now.

“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” you insist. “I’m going straight to the healers. Don’t you dare tell Ada.”

Lindir swallows and you brush by him up the road and into the house. It takes some maneuvering (the last thing you want is to run into Elrond on the way in), and you garner more than a few concerned looks. When you reach the healing halls, you head for one of the unoccupied surgeries and find Mírion inside, mixing up some tinctures and poultices. You set your travel bag unceremoniously on one of the chairs and hop up onto the bed.

He turns to look at you, first taking in your disheveled state and then trailing to the floor, where you’ve tracked mud all the way in.

“What happened to you?”

“Don’t ask. It’s too humiliating. Can you just patch me up before Ada sees? He’ll throw a fit.”

“Lia will throw a fit about the floor,” he scolds.

“Tell her I’ll mop it.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh and gathers up a few items: bandages and plasters, a bowl of hot, clean water, and some honey and strong spirits and brings them over to the table by the bed.

Just as he starts examining your nose, Elrond bursts in.

“What happened?” he exclaims, rushing to your side. Mírion backs up to give him space as he takes your face in his hands, turning it this way and that, gray eyes filling with worry.

Lindir is right behind him, hovering nervously in the doorway. You shoot him a betrayed look which he returns with a helpless (and rather apologetic) shrug of his own.

Elrond prods the bridge of your nose with his thumb and you hiss in a breath at the sharp burst of pain. “Ai! Ada!” you try and brush him off but he won’t be moved. “I just had a nosebleed, that’s all.”

“It’s broken,” he scolds. “What were you doing?”

“I lost a fight with a riverbank,” you say dryly. “Slipped and fell. I’m fine.” Your nose, the treacherous thing, picks that exact moment to start bleeding again. You roll your eyes as his mouth sets into a thin line. He produces a handkerchief and presses it to the bridge of your nose.

“Lean forward,” he commands, utterly unamused. You obey and replace his hand with your own, pinching to stem the bleeding and wincing at how that just makes everything hurt more.

Mírion slips out with Lindir and Elrond washes his hands and returns back to the bed to examine all the little bumps and scrapes, making little disapproving noises in the back of his throat. Once the bleeding has stopped he takes the handkerchief, sets it aside, and takes your face to glower at your eyes, then holds up a finger for you to follow. You do, glaring at it as he drags it left, and then right. Satisfied, he asks:

“Your ears are not ringing?”

“No, Ada.”

“And you aren’t dizzy?”

“No, Ada.”

“You did not lose consciousness when you hit your head?”

“No.”

He sits on the edge of the bed to take cool, wet cloth and make you press it to your nose to help with the swelling, and then sets to work cleaning the mud out of all the little scrapes. “If your sight blurs or you begin to feel nauseous or have trouble sleeping, tell me.”

“It’s a nosebleed,” you complain. Your voice sounds nasally even to your own ears.

“It could have been a concussion,” he clucks, “Or a septal hematoma and neither of those ought to be taken lightly. You are fortunate it’s not necessary for me to reset anything. You are not to go out on your own for the next week.”

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” you mumble.

“Which is why I am glad Lindir did,” he replies back, because with that superior hearing and experience raising two very mischievous twins, you have never ever been able to get anything past him. “And Mírion would have anyway. Sleep with an extra pillow to keep your head above your heart until the swelling reduces.”

You pout while he plasters up the scrapes, applying the alcohol as disinfectant and the honey and plasters where needed. If you’re honest, though, the attention is kind of nice, though you would never admit it out loud.

“What were you doing climbing down a muddy riverbank in the first place?” he asks at last. “You know better.”

You have the decency to blush and you reach for your travel pack and pull out a now rather smashed up bouquet of purple crested irises. You’d seen them growing at the base of the bank and, to your credit, had actually gotten ahold of them before picking your way back out.

“I know how much you like them,” you say, but you’re far too embarrassed to look at him.

He’s quiet for a bit too long, and when you glance up at him at last he looks completely torn between laughing, scolding you profusely, and crying. He takes them from you and kisses your forehead.

“You are so dear to me,” he murmurs. “Thank you, tithen pen. I love them.” He can’t keep from adding: “But you must be more careful.”

“I promise not to go climbing down any riverbanks after it’s rained,” you say.

“Good, but don’t think that will get you out of house arrest. You still are stuck here until I am certain you have not given yourself a concussion.”

You sigh. He presses his hand to your head and hums a tune in the back of his throat, and you feel the pain in the bridge of your nose ease. He brushes your hair back from your face with another affectionate kiss to your still-muddy forehead and says: “I will bring you some new shoes before you get up so you avoid tracking more mud everywhere. Be sure to apologize to Lia and Lindir for the mess.”

“Yes, Ada.”

He stands from the edge of the bed and takes the wilted irises over to the the poultice-mixing station to find a glass to stand them in, and the next time you go into his office, you find that he has dried them and put them in a vase as a permanent fixture on his writing desk.

#elrond x reader #elrond #lotr #lotr imagine #elrond imagine #gif cw #(gif not mine)#And Rohan Will Answer! (Requests)#this was so nice to write #thank you for the excellent request!#i hope it hits the spot <3 #also the because I have problems made me laugh because that's SUCH a mood #me? keeping background OCs consistent between my fics and other imagines? never

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stephreynaart · 3 years ago

Text

Gravity Falls - “Waiting”

Pop-Pop AU

Stan sits in a hospital waiting room, thinking about his life and the people he loves.

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This is kinda old, but I realized I never posted it on tumblr. Hope ya like it!

Lots of fluff, the only ships are Soos and Melody.

AO3 LINK

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It had a square aspect ratio. Ink pen and watercolor on white heat pressed cotton paper in a bland white frame. One single blue flower in a red vase with what looks like a yellowish shadow. One shadow going left, the other going right. The lack of confidence and inexperience was obvious, the lines were unfocused and jagged, the color plainly filled the shapes and gave no other visual interest to the image.

Below the frame was a small white card that read “Painting donated by Jessica Blaise from Gravity Falls Elementary School”

Stan scanned the painting at least 20 times while sitting in that chair. The too rough and too soft at the same time chair that had similar copies populating the almost white room he sat in. The wallpaper bouncing off light pinks and blues with tiny ducklings as a makeshift wainscoting was starting to irritate the old man. It was too bright, and the consistent buzz of the fluorescent lights seemed so loud. Stan adjusted himself in his chair, switching his crossed legs to a wider spread and leaned his head against the wall.

The only other stimulus in the room were a few posters promoting proper hand washing techniques, the play area with a small table and chairs with large blocks, crayons and that weird “game” with the metal wiring and wooden beads that’s in every waiting room Stan’s ever sat in. He played with the toys to give himself something to do after he read all the magazines. The novelty wore off fast.

The television mounted on the wall was airing some cooking channel with no sound and no subtitles. Looking at food when you haven’t eaten in a few hours was practically torture, so Stan had been averting his eyes.

There were other paintings on the wall, one was less of a painting, but instead a print of a painting. He doubted that the artist got any compensation from it, if they were still alive. The other was a charcoal drawing done by a student from the community college a town away. Another square, but the entire image was black, the brightest thing on the page was an intruding infant hand coming from the left with the arm fading into the dark background. The fingers seemingly mid-twitch and grabbing at something. The lighting was dynamic and interesting. Stan swore it was a drawing of a penis the first time he glanced at it, which resulted in his brother’s laughter. Stanley smiled at the memory, it was only a few hours ago, but he relishes any time he can make Stanford laugh.

Stan’s eyes darted at the door in the far corner when it opened suddenly. He eased back into his chair when the nurse crossed the room to talk with the receptionist. He couldn’t hear the conversation very well, but could tell they were just gossiping and making jokes. Nothing that was of his interest. So he looked back to the elementary school child’s painting and analyzed it again. His eyes were dry and he was tired. He wished he could sleep, the chair wasn’t comfortable enough and when he did managed to sleep, his neck was sore when he woke up. He was only lucky Ford let him use his shoulder as a pillow for a while. He looked to his left and noted the book his brother placed in the seat. It seemed thick and in what looked like Hebrew. Stan wasn’t very surprised Ford was fluent in the language they were acquainted with as children. Their grandparents on their father’s side were the last to be fully fluent in Hebrew. It was like his brother to be curious of their heritage, but Stan only remembered a few phrases and words he learned from holidays and special event when he had to recite anything in Temple.

Stan crossed his arms and glanced at the clock on the wall and let out an exasperated sigh. It had only been 10 minutes since he last checked the time. He wanted to be at home, be in his soft warm bed and getting ready to eat pancakes at this time in the morning.

He and Ford were on the porch of The Mystery Shack when Soos rushed them off to the hospital the yesterday afternoon. What he originally thought would be a couple of hours of waiting turned into almost twelve. Apparently labour can last a long time.

Stan wished he could be a witness for Soos and Melody like he was when Dipper and Mabel were born, but Melody wanted her privacy, which Stan could respect, but Soos wanted him there…..so he and Ford waited in this bright, annoyingly pastel waiting room, twiddling his thumbs awaiting the arrival of the new member of the mystery family. He was glad he was in at least comfortable clothes, some gray sweatpants and a sweater Mabel knitted for him that read “godfather”.

He was never clear on what the title entailed, but it was mentioned a few times by Soos’ grandmother and the kids insisted that Soos was intending to ask him. He hadn’t, but he didn’t protest Stan wearing the sweater. Whatever job godfathers had, he was willing to play the part if Soos were to ask him.

Stan looked at the double doors a few feet away that lead out of the waiting room and into the halls. His brother left to find something for them to eat, but was taking his sweet time. The turkey being basted on the television was no help in aiding his growling stomach.

He distracted himself by returning his thoughts to Soos and Melody. Just down the hall they were experiencing the strange and beautiful phenomenon that was witnessing the arrival of a brand new person. Stan remembered the feeling so clearly. His entire life he’s felt the presence of human beings. It’s inherent in most people to feel when someone is in the room with you, the other soul sharing the same space as you. Imagine being in a room with a set amount of people and someone else comes in, but imagine they came in without using a doorway. Just appearing seemingly out of thin air. Suddenly another person is with you, and they’re brand new to the world, a life full of potential and power. Yes, today is indeed a happy day, but no amount of positive thinking would ease Stan’s nerves. His foot began to bounce and his hands unconsciously began to fiddle with each other. He didn’t want to think anything would go wrong with Soos’ baby, but anything can happen and life is so fragile, especially at the start of it.

He recalled his nephew’s nervousness the day Dipper and Mabel were born. His hands were shaking and he was constantly checking on his wife and asking the doctors loads of questions. He didn’t fully understand the twins’ father’s behavior until the end of that day.

Mabel’s birth was swift and easy. Her mother only needed to push one and a half times before she was here. It was as if she was eager to meet everyone waiting for her. She cried like most babies do, but Stan could’ve sworn they were tears of joy. While Mabel was greeted with, “hello, beautiful”, “hi, sweetie” and “she’s perfect”, Her brother’s introduction to world started with, “what’s wrong?”, “wait, let me hold him”, and “he’s not moving”. Dipper was rushed out of the room before his mother got a chance to look at him. Stan managed to catch a glimpse of the horrifyingly blue tint on his great nephew’s tiny face. The memory still gave him chills. He remembered how much he wanted to hold Mabel, who began to fuss and cry, obviously missing her brother. He was terrified at the prospect of another incomplete set of twins in their family. After the longest 30 minute of his life, Stan’s great-nephew returned with a bright pink face, wailing with all the power his little lungs could produce. Once the twins were reunited in their mother’s arms, they settled down almost instantly. The doctors told their parents Dipper was significantly lighter in weight than his sister, but both were very strong and healthy. Every so often Stan thinks about Dipper and how much he has impacted his life. His thoughts lead to darker places and he questions if Ford would be here if Dipper wasn’t there to find the third journal. He shook his head as a cold shiver went up his spine.

Stan did his best to distract himself from revisiting the scare that Dipper caused him 16 years ago.

16 years…..17 in August

Stan blinked. The squishy, bright faces that stayed with him that first summer had changed significantly. They stayed in contact all year round and visited every summer since they were 12. But every in-person meeting was always a shock. Dipper was developing the square jaw Stan, both his brothers and nephew shared. He started to regularly wear glasses their second summer with the Stans. Poor kid will grow up looking like Filbrick like the rest of the Pines men. He reminded Stan of Ford at that age.

And Mabel…..

Stan will never get over how much she looks like his mother. It didn’t strike him until Soos and Melody’s wedding and she put her hair in a bun. She’s calmed her hyperactivity down a bit, but not by a lot, she still brightens his day with her wit and creativity. They’ve both matured physically, but not much has changed personality wise and they still acted like big children when they’re around each other. Stan loved them very much, and wished he could see them more often. He wondered what the future held for all of them. Would they still visit town after going to college? Would they move here? Or somewhere else?

He’s had several conversations with them to see how they’re managing the prospect of separating. They’re much better at communicating than he and Ford were and they seem actually excited to have some independence. It made Stan nervous, but he was sure their close relationship wouldn’t suffer.

Wendy chose to be elsewhere for the next few years. She and her friends booked a plane ticket and plan to backpack and hitchhike around Europe and the UK. Stan hopes they stay safe and watch out for each other. Lotta weirdos in Amsterdam. She was set to leave in the coming days, Wendy wanted to wait until today arrived so she could meet Soos and Melody’s kid before going away for who knows how long.

A tap on the shoulder woke Stan from his deep thoughts. His brother arrived with some warm sub sandwiches and coffee.

“Any word yet?, he asked Stan

“Nothin’ yet”, Stan felt helpless not having any clue how Soos and Melody were doing.

Stanford took his seat next to Stanley and they both silently enjoyed their late breakfast. Since arriving they’ve witnessed families reuniting and going past the door in the far corner to meet their children, grandchildren or siblings. Stan looked at the clock again. How has it only been another 5 minutes? He sighed, leaned back and finished the rest of his sub. One hand holding the sandwich, the other went back to gripping the arm rest, then a six fingered hand went down to rest on top of it. Stan let go of the armrest and tangled his fingers between Ford’s and held onto it with a, hopefully not too tight, grip. It was like an anchor to reality, much better at easing his anxieties than any words could. Over the past 4 years, Stan and Ford’s bond grew stronger. Stan still feared one day he would wake up and find himself still in that basement surrounded by broken machinery and languages he didn’t understand. He hasn’t yet, and was enjoying the time he had left with his twin. Stan took a moment to look at his brother again, Ford made eye contact and smiled then continued to read his book. Hands still intertwined

Stans thoughts went back to Soos…

It amazed Stan how much he had grown and it still baffled him that Soos idolized him as much as he does. Before Soos, Stan had no one. His brother was….gone, the rest of the family didn’t talk to him much outside of the holidays and special occasion. There hadn’t been any sense of consistency in Stan’s life for years, decades even, until he hired the chubby little kid he barely glanced at one random Saturday. Soos always arrived to work early, sometimes with breakfast for both of them. Stan didn’t know how much he needed a reliable companion until he had it and he enjoyed the 10 years he had with that kid… or man he should say. Here he was…a few rooms away, becoming a father.

Stan used to daydream a lot about the prospect of having kids when he was younger. He’s was always good with them when he had the chance to babysit his nephew, then later Dipper and Mabel when they were toddlers. He loved having kids in his house that first summer. He loved the energy and the sense of adventure the twins brought. They gave him a sense of purpose and belonging he hadn’t felt in years. He wished he was brave enough to have his own children. Not that he was ever with anyone long enough to want to have kids with him. He supposed it was for the best that he didn’t subject a child to homelessness or an unhappy marriage. He was also terrified at the idea. His dad used to say having kids ruined his life. He wondered who his father was before his older brother was born. Did they really ruin his life? Stan often wondered if he would be like his own dad if he has children of his own. Would he change and become that annoyed parent that resenting his children?

He thought about Soos again

That was probably the closest to parenthood he ever experienced. The first time he felt like one was when Soos asked him for homework help after closing. He initially told Soos no, he wasn’t exactly smart and didn’t think he would be any help. It apparently upset the kid, so Stan sighed and gave it a try. It was fairly simple middle school math, he didn’t remember everything, but helped Soos do more than half of it. Soos thanked him and went home happy. Stan felt weirdly proud, he was glad he made a small difference and managed to teach Soos something he didn’t even know he knew.

The second time was when Soos was a teenager. His grandmother wasn’t able to teach Soos to drive, since she had forgotten how and her late husband used to do the driving, she mostly walked everywhere. Soos offered to work for free so Stan could teach him. Stan loved driving and found teaching Soos cathartic. He was a fast and eager learner, he only bumped Stan’s car once while trying to figure out parallel parking. Little did Soos know that he was getting paid for his normal work hours. Stan just put it away long enough to help buy the kid some old used truck in the junkyard for getting his license. They fixed the truck up and in only a few weeks it was ready to be on the road. Soos has taken good care of it and it’s still his ride to this day

Stan was very proud of Soos. He taught the kid some basic self defense and managed to be a decent influence in his life. Soos at least has his priorities straight.

Stan was even glad to see that Soos was willing to question him. When the portal was reaching the final countdown, he didn’t hesitate to protect the kids from him when he thought Stan was dangerous. He didn’t know, none of them did, so he didn’t blame Soos for distrusting him. He hoped he never had to betray him again. They both had crappy dads, and Stan knew how Soos saw him. Stan was never really sure if he reciprocated those feelings. It felt natural to act the part, but to put a label as important as “dad” on Stan was daunting. Soos definitely deserves better than what he was given, Stan wasn’t sure if he was it.

Stan looked up at the familiar voices running towards him from the double doors.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” Mabel waved to them

The two teenagers and Wendy walked in holding a balloon and various toys. They took some seats across from the Stans and asked how everyone was doing and if the baby arrived yet.

“Not yet, hopefully soon” Ford answered

Stan relaxed and silently enjoyed his family’s company. He laid his head back and leaned slightly on Ford to rest for a minute. His eyes shut as he listened to the kids joke around and talk amongst themselves. He squeezed Ford’s hand one more time before drifting off.

He knew he should’ve tried sleeping earlier, he wasn’t out for more than 15 minutes when Soos came into the waiting room. Stan’s eyes shot open and he was on his feet faster than he did when he was being chased by angry costumers as a door to door salesman. Soos’ red eyes sagged and he seemed exhausted, but carried a proud, wide smile across his face. He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

“It’s a boy”, he squeaked, “mom and baby are okay”

Dipper and Mabel were first to start the hugs, and the room filled with cheers of congratulations and love. Stan felt light as a feather giving Soos a hug and joking about child labor.

“Can we see him?”, Mabel bounced with anticipation

“Yeah, dudes!”, Soos gestured everyone past the corner door and into the suite. “But only for a little while, Melody has to sleep”

The room was small, dimly lit and warm. The Pines crew collectively lowered their voices as Melody came into view on the bedding holding a bundle of blankets decorated with small yellow ducklings. She was leaned back on a large pillow, covered in blankets and toted a soft smile on her face. Soos stroked her hair and picked up his little son to show to the Pines’. The younger twins got a look at him first,

Mabel squealed and cooed at the tiny infant. Then Wendy, who said hi to the baby and told Soos she’d make sure to send him gifts while she was away

“What’s his name?”, Mabel asked Melody

“I named him after my dad”, Melody replied, “Jacob”. She smiled sadly at the memory of the father she lost the year before.

Soos approached the Stans, Ford smiled and complimented the couple on a having such beautiful little boy, but shot Soos a look, who silently replied with another one. Something was up.

Finally Stan got a look at baby Jacob. “Wow” Stan smiled, patting Soos’ arm. “He looks exactly like you”

Soos laughed, “really? I think he looks like Melody”, there was a short silence before Soos spoke up again.

“Do you want to hold him, Mr Pines?”

Stan looked at Soos and smiled, “heh, sure”. He held his arms out. Soos lowered his arms to pass the baby to Stan, who scrunched his face up and started to fuss. Stan took the infant and managed to hold him with one arm. He bounced and shushed little Jacob until he calmed down. “Heya kid”, He’s held babies dozens of times, but something felt different about this one. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Stan felt an almost magnetic pull towards him. Jacob settled comfortably against Stan and continued his rest. Stan softly beamed at the tiny person in his arms.

“Hey, Stan?”

Stan lifted an eyebrow and looked at Soos, who was fidgeting with his hands and nervously smiling.

“Uh..”, he paused, taking in the sight of Stan holding his child. “You know about my dad”, Soos looked at Ford again, who shrugged and nodded. Stan studied Ford’s face, who’s eyes strayed away as he hid a small smile. Soos got his attention again.

“You uh…he wasn’t…”, Soos choked up, his voice strained a bit, “I met you when I was probably the loneliest I ever was in my entire life”. Stan pictured the little boy he hired on the spot, he didn’t remember him until Soos showed up at his door step the next day ready to work. He didn’t know how much that quick, thoughtless decision would change his life.

Soos perked up and walked across the room to a table and picked up the piece of paper sitting on it. Soos glanced at it, then at Stan and smiled, gaining some emotional strength it seemed.

“You mean a lot me”, Soos, “you were there when I really needed it, you gave me a job, taught me just about everything I know. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that”

Stan got a bit nervous, Was this him asking to be the godfather?Everyone was silent and curiously watching. Soos held his hand out and handed the paper to Stan. He adjusted his arm to properly hold Jacob in his arm and took it. Stan flipped the page and noticed it was the baby’s birth certificate. Stan eyes bounced off the page and read the various information: birthdate, weight, parents, but he froze when he read the full name. Stan’s wide eyes questioningly studied Soos’ face.

“Are you…”, Stan felt his own throat tightening, crap. Come on, not in front of everyone “really?”, he asked. Soos gave a genuine nod and sniffed.

“I uh” Soos cleared his throat, “I was wondering, since Jacob doesn’t have one…if you wanted to be…. his grandpa?

There it was

Stan felt dizzy and took a small step back before remembering who was in his hands and regained his balance. Ford came to his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Stan decide not to look at his brother and chose to stare forward, then his eyes went back to Soos, who look deflated. Oh man. Stan was terrified, he didn’t want to say no and hurt Soos, but if he said yes….he wasn’t sure what made him so nervous. The entire concept sounded so alien to him, like he didn’t deserve the title. He always considered Soos, Melody and their son a part of his family. But to bare a title like “grandpa”, had to mean he had children that that children. That he was already a parent without his knowledge. It all felt so natural to want to lean into this and become part of this family like Soos wanted.

He heard something make a noise from beneath himself. Stan looked down at little Jacob, who was mid yawn. The baby’s mouth grew wide opens and inhaled, scrunching up his face and suddenly shut. Suddenly two tiny eyes opened for just a few seconds, enough time for Stan to make eye contact before Jacob shut them and got comfortable again

Everything was different now.

Stan didn’t notice how quiet the room had gotten nor the tears forming in his eyes. Stunned by beauty and overcome with pride and a sense of purpose. The pride he felt teaching Soos math, how to drive and attending his graduation all combined just looking at the perfect being in his arms. If he said yes, he would want everything that came with it. Stan lifted the birth certificate up to read the name again.

Jacob Stanley Ramirez

“Y-Yes”, he heard a shaken voice say, almost not realizing it was his own “of course”. He looked at Soos, tears in his eyes and a bright smile on his face. He still wasn’t sure if he deserved this, but Stan wanted it. He wanted it all. Why not indulge just this once? He gave the certificate to Ford and used his now free hand to pull Soos into a hug. Gently sandwiching his…..grandson in between him……and his son.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fan fiction #stanley pines #stanford pines #soos ramirez #melody #mabel pines #dipper pines #wendy corduroy #pop pop au #poppop!stan #dad!soos #dad!stan

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eideticmemory · 4 years ago

Text

the day | matthew gray gubler

In which Matthew is a pisces and you’re a writer.

Word Count: 1.6k.

Warning: Tooth-rotting fluff that I cannot believe I actually wrote. Featuring ‘Lover, you should’ve come over’ by Jeff Buckley, if you wanted to listen while reading.

Matthew never wears his airpods.

They sit there, charging on his desk, all day long, all week long. He doesn’t wear his airpods. You know that, it is a fact. They’re trinkets, decoration, a little bit of a flex, but, Matthew never wears his airpods.

So, the question is: Why the hell has he had them in all week? Every hour, of every day — those little, white airpods hung from his ears like an aura of isolation.

It must be revenge, you thought. It must be his way of coping with the ridiculous amount of time you spend in his office. Alone, putting pen to paper. Initially, he’d peek his head in every once in a while, after you’d been of a bit of a writer’s bender, just to remind you that he loved you. That he was proud of you.

Yet, when it’s your wedding vows sitting on the desk, waiting to be written — when you need him to come in, give you that sweet smile and tell you how much he adores you . . . he’s wearing his airpods.

Matthew never wears his airpods. Your fiancé nevers wears his airpods. And for such a small thing, it’s starting to freak you out. Because one week before your wedding is not the time to do this. Not the time for distance, and insecurity. Not the time for Matthew to be walking around the house, constantly, wearing those fucking airpods.

He coasted his way past the office doors, your eyes following his figure like a light. You trained in on his ears, the white specks clear and visible as he walked right by you. Once he was out of your sight, you released a frustrated huff and set your pen down atop your note pad, put your face in your hands.

You sighed, spoke in a sad and quiet voice, “Matthew Gray . . . what the hell are you doing?”

You didn’t see him at all the day before your wedding. He facetimed you that night to say goodnight, that he loved you, and he would see you Saturday. His voice was so soft, so genuine, so full of love. And all you could focus on was the airpods hanging from his ears.

“I’m ready to marry you, Matthew Gray,” you said. “Are you ready to marry me?”

His face transitioned to a gentle, ever so slightly confused, expression, and he replied, “Believe me . . . I’ve ever been more ready for anything in my life.”

You smiled, “Then I will see you at altar.”

He grinned, “See you at the altar.”

You had stars in your hair. Little clips in the side of your head that made your eyes sparkle. As you were dressed and assisted throughout the big day, you held a crumbled, jumbled, scratched up piece of paper in your hand. It wasn’t perfect, hell, you weren’t even sure it was good. But it was honest, and it was loving, and it took you months to write. Your biggest project yet, if you must say so yourself.

At last call, you were alone, staring at the words as if you didn’t already know each one by heart.

“[y/n],” your friend called. “You ready?”

And, not for the first time, you crumbled the paper up between your fists. Crushed it, smushed it. Threw it to the ground, looked yourself up and down in the mirror. Glitzy, glammy, gorgeous. Dressed in ivory — not white, wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.

You exhaled, whispered, “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Your hands shook. From the start to the finish of the aisle. You sought comfort in Matthew, never taking your eyes off him. But damn, if he doesn’t look so good that it’s nerve racking. He held your small hands in his palm, told you that you looked beautiful, with tears threatening to roll down his face, already.

He’d insisted not too long ago that you be the first to read your vows. Just the thought made you tremble, anxious at the vulnerability, and the hundreds of eyes and ear waiting to hear what you’ve got. Matthew noticed this, and put his hands on around your forearms.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey . . . just talk to me.”

You did. You held his eyes on yours, you recited your poetry, you silenced the entire building. Only pausing to inhale shaky breaths, and to wipe the tears from his face.

“And I love you,” you choked on your words. “And I thank you, so much, for showing me what true love is, Matthew Gray. Thank you for being . . . the absolute love of my life.”

Matthew could only reply would a somber laugh, wiping away the excess tears from his face. “Whew . . .” he breathed out. “Wow . . . how the hell am I supposed to follow that?”

The space erupted in soft laughter.

Your own laughter included.

The two of you were formally introduced as Mister and Misses Gubler, surrounded by a wave of applause within the reception hall. Matthew raised your bound hands into the air, proud, joyful. He had you, he finally fucking had you. Until death do you part.

He left you centered in the middle of the dance floor, illuminated by the soft light, as he made his way upon the stage, located right in front of you.

“Hi, everyone,” he waved. “I’m Matthew Gubler, I’m [y/n]’s husband —“

You laughed along with everyone else, who hooted and hollered at his declaration.

“Thank you, thank you . . .” he smiled. “Thank you all for being here, for supporting [y/n] and I, it means so much.”

You tilted your head at him, his focus finally being directed at you once again. “[y/n] . . . my love . . . I’ve waited forever for this day. Forever. And if you will do me the honors, I’d like nothing more than to dance with you . . . to have our first dance as husband and wife to — to a song that I first heard when I was fifteen. To a song that . . . I’ve been listening to ever since we first met three years ago, a song that . . . has been on repeat in my head in preparation for this moment, right here, right now.”

As you held your hand out for him, gentle guitar flowed from the speaker, though it wasn’t any riff that you recognized. Matthew joined you in the center of the dance floor, pulling you close as you whispered, “Matthew Gray . . . what are you up to?”

“I’m dancing with you . . .” he smiled, setting his hands tightly on your waist, your arms draped over his shoulders. “I’m serenading you.”

Looking out the door,

I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners.

“Parading in a wake of sad relations, as their shoes fill up with water,” Matthew sang, gently.

“Oh, he’s singer, too,” you giggled.

He chuckled, “Shut up — Maybe I'm too young, to keep good love from going wrong. But tonight, you're on my mind so, you'll never know . . .”

Broken down and hungry for your love,

With no way to feed it

Where are you tonight?

Child, you know how much I need it.

“Too young to hold on, and too old to just break free and run,” setting your head on his shoulder, you let him sing in your ear. “Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun , much too blind to see the damage he's done. Oh, sometimes a man must awake to find that, really, he has no one.”

So I'll wait for you, and I'll burn,

Will I ever see your sweet return,

Or, will I ever learn?

Lover, you should've come over,

'Cause it's not too late.

Matthew’s grip tightened around your waist, his long arms engulfing you in an effort to get closer to you, closer than humanly possible.

Lonely is the room the bed is made,

The open window lets the rain in,

Burning in the corner is the only one,

“Who dreams he had you with him . . .” slowly, your husband, your husband, looked in your eyes, “My body turns, and yearns for a sleep, that won't ever come.”

“It's never over,” he sang to you. “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder . . .” following the words with a small kiss to the top of your shoulder. As if in immediate response to the words, and the physical touch, tears began to pour down your face.

“It's never over, all my riches for her smiles,

when I slept so soft against her.”

“It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter.”

“It's never over,” and these lyrics, he sang with your face in his hands and his lips touching to your forehead. “She’s the tear that hangs inside my soul forever.”

You sobbed, pulled him closed, nuzzled your face into his neck, held on for dear life to the back of his head.

But maybe I'm just too young,

To keep good love from going wrong.

Oh lover, you should've come over.

I feel too young to hold on,

I'm much too old to break free and run.

Too deaf, dumb, and blind,

To see the damage I've done.

Sweet lover, you should've come over.

“Oh, lover, I've waited for you,” when he said this, it wasn’t a melody. It was spoken, softly, soulfully.

“Lover, lover, lover, lover, love, love, love, lover, you should've come over . . . ‘cause it's not too late . . .”

Every word.

No stumbles, no stutters, no faltering.

Matthew never wears his airpods.

But when he does, it’s for a good reason.

#mine #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg fluff

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lepusrufus · 3 years ago

Text

To bargain for immortality pt.5

Another few good weeks passed before they heard from their so-called goddess, gone who knows where. Not that anyone would ever question her absences, even the lords knew better than to stick their noses in her business.

When Nicole found herself once again following Emma through blue-lit underground corridors, there was an odd determination in her strides. She wanted to figure out what the hell was going on with her and Miranda, if nothing else, was a scientist who above all loved solving an equation. And what else could her situation be described as if not an intricate equation with a bit fat X as her missing factor.

She was right in thinking that Miranda would find her issue of interest, as when she finally brought it up the woman furrowed her brows and turned to face her, a clipboard grabbed from a nearby table.

“And there was nobody else?”

“No. Just me, Cassandra, the pharmacist and some guy that came for his medicine,” Nicole answered with a barely contained huff.

“What for?” Miranda tapped her pen against the paper in anticipation, a clear sign that she may be onto something and was only putting together some puzzle pieces that nobody but her could see.

Nicole had to dig through her memories for a moment. “An infection. At least that’s what the pharmacist mentioned.”

Miranda hummed and scribbled something else. There was no point in trying to decipher what exactly, the woman had the handwriting of two drunk doctors put together. How very fitting for her.

Without another word, she was on her feet, unbuttoned lab coat flowing after her the same way her black robes did when in goddess mode. “Follow me. I want to test something.”

And what else was she supposed to do really?

Quick steps took them down the hallways, black stone walls surrounding them and taking on an odd shine under the unnatural neon lights above. At least Nicole didn’t have to jog for once, Miranda not being that much taller than her.

The journey was short and they reached their destination quickly, which seemed to be a door not unlike the one belonging to the lab they had just vacated, except this one had the number 24 engraved on a small plaque on it. Miranda pushed it open to reveal a small hospital looking room, four beds divided by grey curtains but only one seemed to be occupied, a sleeping woman hooked to a heart monitor whose rhythmic beeping caused some memories to resurface in Nicole's mind.

Those memories however were quickly pushed down by a sudden burst of nausea at the decaying smell that seemed to forcefully crawl its way down her throat. Nicole all but slapped a hand to her face and turned around in a pathetic attempt to block out the overwhelming sensation. Some blood also started to trickle down her face and past trembling fingers, although thankfully not an ungodly amount like before.

By some mercy of well… herself, Miranda didn't stop her when she decided to do a wobbly turn and hastily exit the room. She followed Nicole out and observed as she slumped against a wall, pulling a tissue from a pocket to wipe at her face.

"What… the fuck," Nicole breathed out.

"Was that the same as before?" Miranda's eyes were full of a weird kind of glee that could only belong to a mad scientist. Not that that would be an inaccurate description for the woman.

Nicole only nodded, trying to get her face on a more presentable level before speaking again. "Is she-..."

Miranda scoffed. "Are you deaf? I can assure you the woman is quite alive," she responded with an eye roll.

The soft beeping monitoring the heartbeat could be heard faintly from behind the closed door, so her words had to hold some truth to them. Though her intentions were still shrouded in mystery.

"Then why the hell does she smell like that?"

"She doesn't," came the nonchalant reply and it had Nicole almost seething.

Is your ego stuffed up your nose, is what she wished she could snap and say, but she knew better.

If Miranda noticed the daggers in her eyes, she paid them no mind. Instead she noted something down on the paper precariously attached to the clipboard she got a hold of before exiting the lab they had been in previously. When she finished, she simply motioned for Nicole to follow and continued further down the hallway, without a second glance.

She only stopped once to exchange a few words with an unfamiliar assistant on the whereabouts of certain patients. Patiens. Why would Miranda keep any sort of patients down there?

Before she had time to dwell on it, Miranda pushed another door open, this time leading to another corridor dimly lit by strategically placed torches. Apparently nobody bothered to get electricity to this particular part of the underground maze of tunnels, the warm light so pleasant on the eyes as opposed to the harsh neons of the previous area. The tunnel was also long, way too long for it to be an often used path, especially given how awfully humid the air was becoming. Nicole tried to take a mental note of where they were heading, squinting her eyes in an effort to imagine what was above them, but with how convoluted the tunnels down there were, it was fruitless.

After maybe fifteen minutes of walking, awkward silence -at least awkward on her part, Miranda didn't seem to care- only broken by the echo of steps and the soft sounds of crackling fire from the torches, the tunnel ended in what looked to be a far too modern stairwell. Nicole had to pause for a second, looking at the unnerving contrast where dark ancient stone gave way suddenly to gray concrete and steel, going up in sharp angles and blocking the view to whatever laid above. The overall architecture did look vaguely familiar though, but Miranda didn't seem to have the patience for sightseeing as she quickly started walking up the stairs.

At the top of the staircase stood a steel door that was quickly unlocked to finally reveal a place that Nicole recognized. She blinked rapidly in surprise, all but freezing in the doorway at the sight of the hospital corridor she had walked down on so many times before, complete with a handful of nurses discussing in a corner. She shook her head and slowly followed the woman, not wanting to remain behind. It didn't take long before they came across the one person Miranda was apparently searching for.

"M- Mother Miranda," Salvatore's voice came in an oddly high pitch, at least for him, when he almost crashed with her in his hurry to get somewhere.

"Moreau," Miranda greeted with a nod and unreadable expression. "I need the documents on each of your patients and where they're staying." Straight to business apparently.

He simply nodded and moved his attention to one of the nurses standing nearby, instructing him to finish whatever task he was supposed to before their arrival. The man moved rigidly, painfully aware of Miranda's presence. Then, Moreau led them to his office, starting to pull out a consistent number of files from a large bookcase.

His office was, unsurprisingly, a mess aside from the one place he held the documents keeping track of all his current patients, complete with a few books and office supplies haphazardly placed on the desk. A few spare white coats were hanging just by the door, together with a long and worn leather jacket that he often times wore when outside the building. A familiar string of bones was also peeking from one of its pockets, nowadays worn as a necklace since, after the effects of his mutation were lessened, he found the crown quite unsightly.

"Are you coming by anytime soon," his voice came from behind, snapping her out of her exploration. "We could use a hand sometimes."

Nicole turned to give him a polite smile. "I may, but I have some things to get out of the way for now."

A glance in Miranda's direction revealed the woman hunched over the documents on the desk, writing down a list with the aid of whatever she was reading. They could do some small talk for the time being.

"How have you been," Nicole asked, turning to him again.

She and Salvatore were on quite friendly terms ever since she started occasionally helping out in the hospital that he was in charge of. Not that they had much time to ever hang out, but the few times they did, it's always been a pleasant interaction among colleagues.

"Some days are better than others," he responded with half a shrug.

Judging by the deep purplish circles under his eyes, today wasn't particularly stellar. He was slightly hunched, whether it was out of habit from a time when sitting straight was quite impossible or from tiredness, she couldn't tell.

"Any news from the castle?" He asked with a chuckle. He was rarely welcomed in Alcina's home so the curiosity wasn't unwarranted.

Nicole shrugged. "Same old same old. Bleeding out prisoners, stopping Daniela from breaking vases and all that boring pseudo nobility stuff."

He let out a quiet laugh. "Nobility? Should I start calling you my lady?"

Nicole snorthed, giving his shoulder a small shove that didn't make him move in the slightest.

Their joking banter was interrupted by Miranda all but shoving her way in between them and out the door, calling for her to follow. With a small wave, Nicole was quickly after her, falling in step just slightly behind the other woman. Though it was a small building after all, so it didn't take long to reach the first door on Miranda's list.

"I want you to tell me exactly what you feel," she flatly told Nicole while pushing the door open.

She frowned, eyes slightly narrowed in confusion and glued to Miranda's back as she stepped inside the small room after the woman.

Any incredulous question died on her tongue when she seemed to be yanked back in time, to the yearly family trips her father insisted they all go on. It was to a relative, or family friend, Nicole couldn't quite recall, who owned an old cabin near a lake. Problem was, the lake was always murky and full of algae, the water gaining an unpleasant scent under the August sun. She and Alex never tried swimming.

"Well?" Mirada raised an eyebrow, impatient.

Nicole scrunched up her nose, both wanting and desperately trying not to take a deeper breath. "Pond water? The kind of water that's stagnant and muddy in summer, full of dead fish and weeds."

She tried not to fidget, her mind running a thousand miles an hour. The so-called goddess seeming completely uninterested in shedding light on what the hell they were doing was not of much help either. A frustrated sigh threatened to escape when another person spoke up.

"Doctor?" A meek voice came from the only bed in the room, from a young woman who seemed asleep when they had walked in. She looked between the two of them confused and with squinted eyes.

Miranda simply raised a hand, not even sparing the girl a glance. "Pay us no mind, we're only here to check on something. We'll be on our way in a moment."

Nicole couldn't help the confused look she threw the girl's way. Was she not recognizing the woman this whole town worshipped? An amused snort almost escaped her but she knew better. Besides, who could really blame her? Mirada was wearing an oversized lab coat, blonde hair held back in a ponytail and there was no trace of the makeup that usually accompanied her ceremonial robes and mask.

Not that Nicole had time to appreciate the odd humanity of Miranda's outfit, as the woman turned on her heels and exited the room as soon as she was done writing. She was starting to grow annoyed with the uncooperative and know-it-all attitude, but decided against voicing any opinions and settled for following along to the next door.

It kept on being a rinse and repeat of the first room, only variables being the patients inside and her answers. Sometimes the change wasn't too obvious, maybe just a more metallic undertone or a new faint smell latching onto her senses, like the sickly sweet aroma of honey. A handful of times though she had to all but slap a hand over her face to not be overwhelmed by the enveloping stench. One room in particular made her almost stumbled backwards and out the door, when a strong metallic smell contrasting the accompanying one of decomposition hit her like a slap in the face. The man inside, who was evidently not doing particularly well, didn't seem appreciative of the apparently crazy woman coming in and rudely interrupting his rest.

Nicole didn't look forward to lingering around by that point, but there was one more room to check.

They pushed open the door, and the familiar stinging scent of decay immediately overtook her senses, seeming to latch on to the very inside of her throat. A small rivulet of blood also started dripping down her face, and Nicole quickly pulled out a paper tissue from her pants pocket to press against her nostrils. It was both to stop the bleeding and to shield her senses from the smell.

Once outside, Nicole was trying to catch her breath while Miranda was simply writing something down. Another set of steps approached them, who turned out to be Moreau coming to check on their findings. Upon being given the clipboard to read -he could actually decipher her chicken scratch, really?- he let out a curious hum.

"I need to go over John Abbott's file and compare them," Miranda started, clicking her pen and putting it back into her pocket. "I'll send an assistant after it later." Then she looked her way and waved a hand dismissively. "You're free to go, I'll send Emma after you when you're needed."

Nicole blinked, dumbfounded, her voice coming out harsher than she probably should've allowed it to be. "That's all? What did you find?"

The exasperated edge in her voice did not go unnoticed nor was it appreciated. Miranda rolled her eyes slightly and gave her an answer. "You can distinguish illnesses by smell. We'll do a more comprehensive test and list, but for now we have enough to say that's how the Mold manifested with you," Miranda explained, half turned away and ready to leave.

And she did turn to leave as soon as she was finished. With a nod towards Salvatore, she made her way back down the hospital corridor and presumably towards the passageway that led back to her lab.

Nicole wasn't particularly keen on going down there again if she could help it, so she instead stuck by Salvatore's side as they walked back to his office.

That day wasn't the first time Nicole had entered that room, so the fact that it also served as some kind of archive did not go past her. The office itself was decently sized, and even had a storage room attached to it with the sole purpose of keeping old files that may be important but Miranda didn't need at hand. Although, in all honesty, Salvatore wasn't particularly skilled in keeping everything organized. That's what my secretary is for, he would say, ignoring the fact that Miranda would gut anyone who touched those documents if they weren't part of the small group of people she deemed worthy. Therefore, the files were a mess, the only saving grace being that he at least had the foresight of organizing them by decade.

With a sigh, he started looking through the binders all but stuffed on one of the many shelves. Nicole sat down at his desk, occupying herself with a crayon that she started twisting around her fingers absent mindedly. There was some semblance of relief in finally figuring out what had so cruelly changed in her body, and what an ironic twist of fate said change was. To have spent years pouring over books learning about the illnesses that now were recognizable by something as simple as an acidic smell of blood. On the other hand though, the knowledge that Miranda had a tendency to find some kind of use for all her experiments left a sensation of dread slowly making its way into the deepest crannies of her chest, where a certain parasite had burrowed and made a nest for itself.

"Mind if I call the castle, I don't really feel like walking all the way back," she asked, eyes settling on the phone pushed to the side by a couple books and scattered pens.

"Sure," he responded without moving from where he was pulling out papers, only to shove them back inside their folders when they weren't the correct ones.

Her hands hovered over the keys for a moment. She wasn't about to call Alcina's personal phone to ask for a ride, heavens no. The phone in Carolina's study, where the Constable would spend her time when not in the stables, would be the best choice if only she could remember the number from memory. Nicole decided that the one in the main hall was the best next thing, where one of the guards at the entrance would probably hear the ringing and answer.

She dialed the number and listened to the typical ringing sound once, twice, until she thought nobody was actually around, but at last, a voice came from the other end.

"Alo?"

Nicole took a moment to recognize the voice as Dalia's, the head chambermaid.

"Hey, it's Nicole," she started toying with the pencil again. "I'm at the hospital, can you send Carolina with a horse to pick me up?" She sensed the slight hesitation on the other woman's side and thought to clarify. "I'm not injured, just with Moreau."

She heard a slight exhale from the other end of the line and had to entertain the thought of whether the woman was relieved due to genuine concern for her wellbeing, or she was well aware of how irritable her wife could be. Her being injured definitely made its way on the list of things that would bring out the anger and cruelty carefully crafted over almost a century.

Before hanging up the phone, she sighed and thought better of her request. "Actually, tell Cassandra to come."

She could almost feel the slight grimace from Dalia at being asked to go talk to the most sadist of the sisters, and with a request no less. Oh well, there's to hoping that Cassandra wouldn't be too peeved at said request coming from her wife.

She hung up after hearing an of course, my lady.

With a way to get back home without having to do the trek on foot assured, she leaned back in the chair, watching Salvatore continue on his search. He was standing with his hands on his hips, eyebrows pulled into a frown that slightly wrinkled the already rough skin of his forehead. He looked almost as if he resorted to glaring at the piles of papers, hoping that enough intimidation would scare the right file into jumping into his hands.

It almost made Nicole snort, were it not for the curiosity that both acted as a distraction and pleaded to get some more answers. "So, who's this… Jack Abbott?"

"John Abbott," he corrected without tearing his eyes from the shelf in front of him. He grimaced then. "He was one of Mother Miranda's earlier experiments, and had a very similar mutation to yours."

At that Nicole's eyebrows shot up past the low line of her fringe, interest successfully piqued. She turned in her seat to fully face him, one arm thrown over the back of the chair. When he didn't continue talking, instead pulling out one of the last binders on the shelf labeled 1930's, she impatiently prodded for more information. "And?"

Moreau pulled a face, probably wondering if he was even supposed to talk about it. It didn't take long for him to let out a defeated sigh, the demand to play dumb were Miranda to ever ask about this going unspoken, but more than understood. "Same thing as you really. He could tell what illness someone had by a specific smell, down to the nasty nose bleeds whenever it got too much," he started, noticing a few drops of blood that had dried on her upper lip.

He turned back to pulling out the very last binder dedicated to that decade and relaxed his posture ever so slightly when he saw JOHN ABBOTT written in big letters and black ink on one file. Another frown tugged his cracked lips downward, the information written in such a clinical way only mudding the memory of the frail man he had briefly met so many decades ago. "His body took well to the Cadou until… well ,until it didn't. I don't know what went wrong, but his body just rejected it at one point and he died being slowly consumed by the infection."

At that Nicole's face fell, dread now overtaking her usual curiosity. He must've noticed, for his next words came the slightest bit rushed and with a strained kind of reassurance that wasn't convincing to either of them.

"It may very well not be connected."

Nicole almost scoffed, not at him but at the situation at hand. The hand holding the pencil was tense and, had she not been as weak as she was, the wood would've probably cracked by then. "Did you know him?"

With a slight shake of his head, he answered, not a negation but more a gesture of pity. "Barely. I was brought here only after he started," he narrowed his eyes at a wall somewhere behind Nicole trying to find the right word. He didn't. "...deteriorating."

That was about as much as her brain wanted to know at the moment, letting a heavy silence fill the space for endlessly too long. She was caught in her own thoughts that started to twist and turn into countless what ifs. Thoughts that crashed to a halt when a nurse knocked on the half open door to announce her presence.

"Lady Cassandra is waiting outside," she told Nicole, expression pulled in a poker face that could only belong to someone who had to deal with her wife and tried to seem unbothered. Tried and failed.

Nicole sprung to her feet, circling the desk and about to make her exit when he called out. "Take care of yourself," Moreau told her, looking up from the papers he was reading.

Her lips turned slightly upwards into a smile. "You too." And then she left, rapid pace taking her through off-white hallways and slight smells that she was now painfully aware of.

Stepping outside was a breath of fresh air in more ways than one, the orange hue of the setting sun welcoming her after the hours passed under the harsh lab lights. How ironic was her hatred for the damned neon lights, when not too long ago she would've gladly spent her life under their bluish glow.

Even better than the warm sun on her skin, was the sight of Cassandra, dressed in her usual riding attire and absent mindedly scratching the furry muzzle of one of the castle's Clydesdale horses. A big beast of a horse, black and white with its feathery legs that, Nicole realized with an eye roll, she wouldn't dream of getting on without help.

Her pace quickened until she found herself embraced by a pair of strong arms, the stable smell mixed with Cassandra's cologne filling her senses with something finally pleasant. She didn't let go until she felt a gentle kiss placed on top of her auburn hair.

"Darling," Cassandra greeted her once she pulled back, gloved hand coming to rest on a pale cheek. "How are you?"

Nicole sighed and pushed into the touch, the kind of tiredness that could only be felt after a day spent bending over backwards to every one of Miranda's whims settling into her bones. "Ready to go back home."

Cassandra simply nodded once and moved her hands on her hips, getting a good enough grip before picking Nicole up to where her foot could reach the stirrup so she could pull herself up. Her wife decided that climbing in the saddle was below her at the moment, choosing instead to turn into a swarm, only to retake her human form a mere second later, on the horse's back, her front comfortably against Nicole's back. With a few taps of her boot against the stirrup still occupied by Nicole's foot in a silent demand to let her guide the horse, she took a hold of the reins and they finally started moving down the stone paved road.

There was no complaint on Nicole's part, taking it as a good opportunity to sit back and enjoy the ride, pressed to her wife's chest.

A few eternally long minutes were spent absentmindedly scratching the horse's muscular neck, where short black fur met the mane held in a beautifully done french braid, that only their Constable could pull so seamlessly. A few long minutes spent mulling over what she had found out, thoughts twisting cruelly with every worst case scenario her mind could conjure. Had she made a mistake? Was the infection a mistake to begin with? How cruel could fate be sometimes. Back in New York she had come to terms with a meaningless life, the only truly important thing she had amounted to at that point being choosing a career path to spite her father. But now, after finding a place to call home where she ached to stay to the point of seeking eternity for it, the very thing that could allow her to remain there forever could also take her life away, miserably so.

"What's wrong?"

Cassandra's voice snapped her back to reality, so much so that she even shook her head a couple times to chase away the lingering thoughts. She gave an inquisitive hum in an attempt to play dumb. The attempt was met with an incredulous eye roll.

"You're quiet," she simply responded.

"I'd think spending decades with Daniela would make you appreciate quiet people," Nicole jokingly threw back.

"Not you," came the reply, one hand leaving the reins and coming to rest on her thigh. "I love hearing you talk, even when you're blabbering about proper medical technique."

At that Nicole let out a light gasp, turning around with mild offence written in her eyes. She couldn't find anything to retaliate with for once, setting instead for giving her wife a slight shove with her elbow, that only elicited a laugh.

She shook her head and let out a sigh. "We did figure out what's with the damned nosebleeds." At a curious hum and Cassandra's chin coming to rest on top of her head, she went on. "Apparently I can distinguish illnesses by smell. Now that would've been useful during med school," she finished with a bitter laugh.

Her wife responded with a snort. "If I were Daniela, I'd say you're joking to hide how you really feel." She shrugged. "However I'm not her, and I'm assuming you'll simply tell me without the need of an impromptu psychoanalysis," she said almost smugly, the hand that was until then lazily placed on her leg finding its place around her waist.

The times when Nicole wished to curse her wife's apparently impeccable observation skills were rare, but this was one such occasion.

She almost let out a groan, pushing further back into Cassandra's form. "There was this other man, John Abbott, with the same mutation. Except his body rejected the Cadou and he died slowly and painfully," she explained, her voice quieting halfway through, but almost flinched when the arm around her went stiff with an almost vice-like grip. The realization of how long Cassandra has really been in the Village for slowly crept its way from Nicole's memory, having been filed away and almost forgotten in a metaphorical drawer of obvious things that however were rarely brought up. "Did you know him-"

"You won't end up like that sorry bastard."

The conviction behind that one simple sentence almost had Nicole letting out another short bitter laugh. Not out of bemusement of course. Irony perhaps, at how determined her wife was to double down on cheating death, not only for herself but her too. Even when death could be brought by the very thing keeping them alive.

"Not much we could do about that," she said in a small voice, one hand toying with the black fabric of Cassandra's sleeve.

"Don't think for one moment that I'm joking," she started, an edge of a warning behind her tone. Her hand came to rest more gently on the bottom of Nicole's sternum, where the skin had healed in a dark scar that seemed to send jagged cracks all the way to her stomach. "I'll pull the wretched little thing out of your chest myself if I have to."

At that Nicole actually let out a laugh. "Way to go with something morbidly romantic."

Cassandra chuckled close to her ear, bending down slightly to leave a peck where her neck and shoulder met. "You're not going to die. I won't allow it."

A silent possessiveness accompanied her words. An implication that she now belonged there, in her arms, and frivolous things such as death had no place to come between them. She should flinch at such implications, were it not for the fact that it was mutual and Cassandra knew better than to recklessly throw herself on death's path, knowing well that soon her wife would follow in her steps.

The soft kiss was returned when Nicole bent back again, until the angle between their bodies allowed for their lips to meet tenderly, in a way that anyone would believe was so utterly uncharacteristic to the both of them, ruthless in their own ways but soft like velvet running on smooth skin with each other.

They rode in comfortable silence up until the gates to the stable, where they dismounted and handed the reins to one of the servants waiting there. The sun had set by then, purple and dark blues reigning the skies as they entered the castle through one of the secondary doors.

She parted ways with her wife, saying that she would soon join the rest of their family as she headed up the stairs. A change of clothes was due. That and a request to their seamstress.

Oh her way back down, she stopped by the open door to the woman’s studio, busy with readjusting some garments for one of the ladies. A curt knock on the wooden frame of the entrance got her attention and had her pulling a face upon realizing that she had probably lost count of whatever she was mentally keeping track of. Nonetheless, she offered a polite smile when greeting Nicole.

“My lady, what can I do for you?”

“I need a facemask,” Nicole started.

The woman’s eyebrows pulled in a confused frown. “I thought a new batch of surgical masks just arrived the other day.”

Nicole raised a hand when she went to check on the shipments list. “I meant something I can wear for longer and outside the lab, surgical masks have a tendency to clash with an elegant gown, you know,” she explained with a chuckle. “Preferably that can filter out any smells?”

“Oh. Of course, I’ll just need to take your measures to make sure it’s fitted for you.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” she proposed and, after the seamstress gave her an hour, she continued on her way down the hallway to where the rest of the Dimitrescus were gathered.

Being home brought some peace of mind, thoughts of dying and being forcefully ripped away from her life momentarily placated in favor of enjoying a few hours by the fireplace with her family. Leaning against Cassandra as she draped an arm around her shoulders and listening to Daniela and Bela have a hilariously heated debate over the latest book they've read felt downright blissful in its mundane aspect.

Although no matter what, the little parasite that now called the inside of her chest its home, was quietly gnawing at her worried mind.

#unhinged maiden™ my beloved #cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #mother miranda #salvatore moreau #to bargain for immortality #fanfic #big reveal is big

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randombtsprincessa · 3 years ago

Text

Brush His Picture

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Words: 12.6k I am sorry for getting carried away...again.

Genre: Fluff, Angst cause it’s me

Rating: General!

Summary: Your job of writing a bio for Kim Namjoon is thrown for a spin when feelings get involved...

Warnings: It’s Namjoon. I have gushed. I am not sorry.

A/N: Firstly a warm and cuddly hug for @wynniewright for whom this fic is written. I enjoyed our conversations and look forward to more of those! Secondly a big hug and heaps of thanks to @casuallyimagining for the gif banner because I suck at those. Thirdly thanks to @thebtswritersclub for hosting the wonderful exchange!

Smeraldo Books, in your opinion, was the best building in the small corporate complex located just a little walking distance from your little apartment. It was slate gray; concrete and glass which gave off a cold, aloof appearance from outside, but when you entered it, it was rich creams, warm browns with tons of plants and flowers. The smell followed you, as you climbed up the floors, multicolored as should be the place where you entered new dimensions via books.

Your own floor was pastel blue, pine wood and deep tones of red and browns sprinkled here and there. If you looked hard, you’d find some pink nestled somewhere too. Today it was on your own desk. You had outdone yourself to be early today. You’d packed up everything you could think of in a sensible tote – notepad, tablet, pens, pencils, heck you’d even thrown in a sharpener and ruler scale. You’d grabbed your hello kitty travel mug, filled it with yummy hot chocolate with a touch of espresso and strode down the street to work.

You would be getting the first assignments of the incoming season today and since it was your first writing assignment overall, you wanted to make a good impression – a very good impression. Your pressed clothes and smart shoes were testament of your frazzled fluttering last night, preparing for today. Making sure you had everything; you took a deep breath and made to enter the conference room at the back of the floor.

Each floor had one, for on-floor calls and projects undertaken by the different subsets of the publishing house you worked for. Yours, in particular, was the same blue and pine, a long oval table in the centre with purple and blue mismatched chairs around it. Light streamed in clearly from the high wide windows, with glass animals on the sill throwing rainbows on the wall. In the very centre of the table was a vase, sporting the very flower that the company was named after. The ethereal blue petals blushing with pinks and violets at their veins curled delicately, recently sprayed to look dewy and fresh.

You adored these flowers; you had three pots of them at home.

***

Rena arrived at sharp 9:45. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek high ponytail that you were semi sure could cut if she – ahem, whipped her hair back and forth fast enough. You’d mentioned that during a drinking night, and had been friends since. She was your mentor in more ways than one, and you relied on her heavily, this being your first year at Smeraldo. Your appearance today would reflect on her too and you wanted her to know that she could trust you.

“Good morning, Y/N.” She smiled at you.

“Good morning, Rena. Any news for the morning?”

She shrugged, unbuttoning her navy suit. She crossed her legs. “I know seasonal meetings are important, but you don’t have to be quite so stressed about them.” She winked at you. “Don’t worry, you’ll ease into it.”

You sighed in relief. If Rena was this unbothered, you had absolutely no reason to worry.

Your steady breathing remained until about ten minutes, when at 9:55, the door was opened and the head walked in with her assistants and the other members of the floor. You shuffled to the front of your chair as the meeting commenced.

As Rena had said, it really wasn’t anything to worry about. Your head was chill enough when she presented spreadsheets, delegating people to watch the stats and curves before the real reason for the meeting was dealt with.

The ‘projects’ were the writing, the works, the foundation of Smeraldo. Every ‘project’ floor had three to four of those. The stars, who would usually grab the opportunity to head out there, do the work your creative writing professor preached about and bring in the digs. The rest of the floor was the sheep, handling excels and graphs – like commoners.

This season began with two fantasy drafts, both quickly given out to the oldest, most experienced Stars, no questions asked. They were to draft first, present later before Smeraldo published them under their banner.

“Right then,” She looked up. “Now, I don’t suppose you need to be reminded that last year we joined hands to collaborate with HYBE. It is an honor that they chose us and we intend to honor them right back, don’t we?” The words were intimidating enough for us to all nod.

“We have already worked with them so it should be easier for us to get going on the contract this time around. Right Kayla,”

We all turned to look at each other while there was silence from where the Head pointed.

***

As a part of the Smeraldo-HYBE collaboration, personal booklets for each member were released along with quarterly albums, as a sort of promotion. Last quarter, it was Min Yoongi. Now the big season project fish was Kim Namjoon. These works were separate from Smeraldo fictions but equally as important, and if the Head was to be taken seriously, even more so.

After all, BTS was worldwide famous. To do them wrong, would mean our name was mud.

Kayla was the third writer on your floor, senior to you and she had handled Mr. Min’s book. It was a given that she would take charge for the other member’s books as well…

…only…Kayla was absent…at a seasonal meeting…

The fuming ears of the floor Head suddenly told you that maybe you did have something to worry about. With all due respect to Rena, you quietly celebrated showing up an hour early.

“Where the hell is she? What’s going on?”

We stared back dumbly.

“She didn’t call in sick or called off today.” One of the assistants supplied helpfully but cowered when the Head glowered at her.

“Well, that’s all very well, but who do I brief now?”

“Not to worry, you can brief Y/N.”

There was a longer pause in which the members of your floor, simultaneously, turned to look at you. Your jaw nearly dropped, head whipping to look at Rena; the picture of ease. She looked at you and smiled.

To her credit, the Head looked equally thunderstruck. “I…Y/N?” she asked.

You looked around meekly. “Yes ma’am.”

She looked at you askance, before resolutely glancing at Rena. “You will watch her, yes?” At Rena’s nod, she turned back to you. “Miss Y/L/N, I won’t remind you that this project is extremely important to Smeraldo. I would expect your utmost best, understand?” You quickly nodded your head.

“You will be meeting with Bang Sihyuk and Namjoon himself in two days. All information about the album and the HYBE workings will be in a dossier in your mail. Don’t disappoint me.” she cast another look at Kayla’s empty chair, sighed in annoyance before swiping her files over to her assistant.

“Until next time, people,”

When the room finally emptied, you immediately turned to Rena, “Why would you do that?” You demanded.

Rena looked exactly the opposite of how you felt. Stretched onto your nerves now lay the weight of the world, your world. You had been thrilled to get an internship at Smeraldo, working your entire life around the business and after scoring an actual job here you had never thought that one day so soon you’d be at the risk of losing it.

If Kim Namjoon’s book tanked – you were dead. Dead, dead and very much dead…

“I told you, Y/N, you worry too much. This job is probably the easiest ever and since Kayla decided not to show up…I mean, come on, you’re one of our writers…the job was bound to come to you. Head madam just needed some time before she came to you. I hurried the process up. Besides, how will you learn if you don’t actually do the work?”

“But…it’s Kim Namjoon…” You mumbled.

“He’s hardly going to bite your head off, Y/N. Chin up and head to the meeting like the champ you are. You’ll be fine.” She tipped your head back with her hand before walking out herself, leaving you to scurry to your desk, feeling nowhere near as consoled as you should’ve been.

***

Two days in and you were getting dressed up yet again. Only this time, your nerves were sparking like a frayed wire no one was paying enough attention to. You chose a simple but professional outfit, worrying if there was any way anyone could nitpick on it. You ended up switching to something much more formal (and in your opinion, stuffy) attire in the wee hours of the morning, unable to get back to sleep.

HYBE’s building was situated in one of the most upscale business locales in the city. You had to take a cab to get there, already deciding that no way would you have enough time if you took a bus or the train. Already the buttons on your top felt like an over-tight corset. Thankfully, you seemed respectful and important enough to the cab driver that he stepped on the gas pedal, having you step out on the pavement in front of the building with almost twenty minutes to spare. You swigged at the espresso chocolate mix in your cup before stuffing it back into your tote.

You could do this. You had all the qualifications…if not the experience.

You could not possibly screw up that bad, could you?

According to the dossier, the meeting was set in the lounge, somewhere comfortable and open, probably a request of Namjoon’s himself. You knew enough about the man to take a guess.

Inside the building, security quickly but thoroughly sorted you out. You were patted down by a friendly lady, who smiled as she scanned you out an ID and rifled through your purse. She spotted your Hello Kitty cup and chuckled, giving you a wink that had you blushing all the way to where you were supposed to meet – directions given very kindly.

Along the way you knew. You knew that if you ever had to change jobs, you would dearly love to take one at HYBE. The place was an eclectic mix of practical and fun. There were artist posters and records and awards sprinkled around, the most prominent being BTS of course. Sunny gold lined the areas, with crisp blues and greens.

You might have even passed a little park arena.

When you reached the lounge, a sprawling area of lush moss like carpets and pink and purple art work on peach walls, there were only two other people in. The ones you were here to meet.

You recognized Namjoon from the door itself.

Insanely tall and thickly built in all the right places, he stood at a window. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his baggy khakis, a thin blue sweater hanging over his frame, hiding just how muscular he truly must be. Your lips twitched at the deep rose pink hue of his hair.

The other man must have been Mr. Sihyuk, grey suited and glasses perched on the tip of his nose, steadily going through sheaves of paper. Both men looked up at your knock on the glass doors.

Mr. Sihyuk stood up first, hand outstretched but his smile looked a little confused.

“Um, Miss Kayla…how nice to see you, again…”

It seemed like a question, his eyes scanning over your face as if trying to place you and you froze. Your hand paused just a little away from his, eyes darting around to the Idol who joined his CEO.

“It was wonderful to have you with us again on the bio projects for the albums,” He continued, seeming unfazed by your gob-smacked face. “You did a brilliant job on Yoongi’s. I was sad to be unable to meet with you before.”

Oh…dear…they didn’t know it wasn’t Kayla who was going to be on the job. Suddenly you felt like sinking through the soft carpets, right underground. They probably had dossiers of their own, with Kayla’s name across them. They didn’t know that she had slept in that one day and they didn’t know that they were now stuck with you.

“I’m – I’m afraid there's some misunderstanding, Mr. Sihyuk. My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m afraid Kayla was unavailable for the project.”

There was absolute silence on both ends after you finished. Mr. Sihyuk’s shoulders fell at your words, mouth parting as his eyes went scanning you again. This time you could distinctly feel him sizing you up. His eyebrows twitched up just so.

“Well then,” The other man, Kim Namjoon, the one you were supposed to write about, extended his hand. “I suppose we should rehash that welcome. Hello Miss Y/L/N, my name is Kim Namjoon. I look forward to working with you.”

You jolted a little, even stumbling forward to shake his hand, now thoroughly shaken out from your humiliated stupor.

“Forgive us, we must not have read the email citing the change.” Bang Sihyuk continued, spreading his hands genially.

“Don’t worry about it. These things can happen.” You fiddled with your bag strap with a tight smile, ignoring the urge to sway on the balls of your feet. The thick tension had still not dissipated as the three of you stood in a triangle, wondering who was going to make the first move.

It had to be you, shockingly. “So, um, shall we begin?”

You were shown a plush red armchair, Namjoon and Bang-PD taking the matching sofa as you were given the preliminary data. A small biographical book of sorts, more of a booklet if you were being honest; talking about an important segment in Namjoon’s life and his process and journey throughout the inspiration and creative take of the upcoming album. Standard, new age stuff…same as Yoongi’s…you already had Kayla’s old notes on the write up forwarded in your email.

You scribbled in small notes in your notepad while Mr. Sihyuk slid a small calendar across. “This is the tentative production and release schedule that we want to follow. There is, of course, plenty of time for you to follow Namjoon around and get a feel of the work environment, the studio life and of course, Namjoon himself. You’ll have quite a lot of time to write. The book will be issued and launched before the press conference and promotions will be done along with availability of the bio in stores.”

You studied the calendar before slipping it into your bag. “Thank you, Mr. Sihyuk. This is most helpful. We’ll be starting work from next week then?”

You were met with nods.

“Well, I’ll be off. It was wonderful to make your acquaintance, Miss Y/L/N. Please, forgive us about the whole Kayla mishap.” Bang-PD stood, you and Namjoon following and with a parting handshake he marched out of the lounge.

You began to slide in your pens and notes back in the bag when you noticed that Namjoon hadn’t followed his CEO out. Instead he stayed back; hands behind his back, watching you pack up.

You glanced up at him in question, meeting his impish small smile with a confused one of your own. “I’m sorry, I just feel so bad about the…thing before.” He said.

“Oh please, really, don’t worry. I’m, like, very new to this so it was bound to happen.” You waved a hand, slinging your tote on your shoulder, preparing to leave.

“Drive safe.” He said, gesturing for you to walk before him.

“Don’t have a car,” You blurted out instinctively before mentally slapping yourself.

“Oh, do you need a car? I’m sure we can get one to take you back to the office.”

“No, no, please.” Your ears burned at the thought of taking one of HYBE’s no doubt lavish company cars to simply take you back to Smeraldo. “I’ll just take a cab.”

You didn’t wait for his reply, shooting a quick smile and wave as you nearly rushed towards the exit.

***

Next week saw a dip in temperature, with you arriving at HYBE wrapped in a coat and scarf. You pulled off your beanie when the kind lady at the desk handed you your lanyard, this time stamped across it were the words EMPLOYEE/ COLLABORATOR. It felt heavy around your neck, the figurative noose as it were, in case you messed up.

Namjoon met you near the reception desk, jogging over from one of the elevators. “Hey!” He smiled wide, rosy hair glinting under the lights. “You’re right on time.”

“Oh,” You wondered if they were watching you for slip-ups and punctuality was one area they were scrutinizing. “On time for what?”

“To meet up; it’s so cold we’re all taking coffee breaks every ten minutes. I thought we could just work in the café?”

Namjoon rubbed his large palms together, drawing your attention to his fingers – soft and perfectly formed. You cleared your throat, shocked at yourself – tightly smiling back.

“Sure, lead the way.” As if you were going to refuse a request from Kim Namjoon himself, you and he walked the same route as you had the first time you’d come here. Only this time, you passed the lounge and followed another hallway which led to what was obviously the cafeteria. The back was lined with counters and serving tables of buffets. There were couches strewn about, booths, and tables. You felt like you were back in school. You hoped the food would be better.

Namjoon led you first to the serving tables. Stirring himself a simple cup of coffee, he turned to you. “Anything you want, you can find here. Sandwiches, subs, ramen, noodles, yeah, we have to go out if you want something more…sustainable.”

“No, this is great.” You gratefully tore open a mixer packet of hot chocolate, bringing out your own mug to put it in. you’d sipped the drink in the journey over, before finally realizing you’d emptied it.

Your new muse raised his eyebrow at the Hello Kitty but didn’t say anything, only suppressing an amused smile. You pretended not to notice that.

Once you were sitting at one of the tables near the windows, you spread your recorder, notebook, pens and cup, ready to work. “Ok, shall we start?”

Namjoon took the final gulp of his coffee, nodding.

“Right so, you’re going to be writing the prologue of the book yourself.” You muttered, flitting through the primary requirements.

“Yep, it’ll be more of a front to my thoughts which you’ll be writing about. It’ll be a personal note to the members, the staff and ARMY from me. Something that is completely mine but it will set the tone for your work.” Namjoon turned his phone to you, tapping a note on it. “I already have the first draft for it. It’ll be revised of course but I’ll email it to you so you can start with that.”

You picked up your pen and then it was only Namjoon talking about how the primary idea for the album came to life and began to gestate in his mind. You found it incredible, how a small incident or a sound could inspire someone like that. You’d never had any experience that moved you like that. You told him as such, wistful of the kind of inspiration that might never ever come.

Namjoon placed an elbow on the table, looking keenly at you. “You’re a writer.” He pointed out.

“Not really; I am working as such, yeah, but I wouldn’t say I’ve been inspired by anything. You have. I think you’ve been inspired since you were…what, fifteen?”

“I had a different beginning than yours, yes. But you can’t compare inspiration with experience. Experience comes after inspiration. Before, there’s only the feeling, the emotion that leads to it. Would you say that you started writing out of just an everyday inspiration, or did you feel something for the craft that drove you to it?”

“I wouldn’t say that’s a fair comparison.” You fiddled with the pages of notes. “I know your beginning, of course, everyone does. I didn’t have that kind of harsh circumstances pushing me to motivation. To be very honest…I’d say I’ve breezed past life. I love my job, but I don’t have much to show in the journey to it.”

Namjoon was silent for a few moments. His tongue poked into his cheek as he regarded you shrewdly. Finally, he gave you a sweet smile, eyes scrunching and dimples popping. Your pen stopped twirling in your fingers, blood easing in your veins at the simple change of expression.

“And that’s okay,” he said, “Not everyone should have to suffer through awful situations to achieve things they aim for. Success shouldn’t be measured in tears, Y/N. The point of life, in my opinion, is happiness and in the end that is what matters; the fact that you end up happy.”

You blinked as Namjoon’s blinding smile dimmed, turning into moonshine as he ran a finger over the rim of his empty cup. The seconds stretched by, you silently removing your gaze from his and taking down everything he had said. Your eyes wanted very badly to return to his face but you kept them firmly on the page, pondering his words, until you realized through your daze that he was speaking again.

“I’m sorry again, about PD-nim and the whole Kayla thing. The email we got was sitting in the inbox but we weren’t informed and neither did we think of checking the company email before the meeting itself.” His voice had softened, turned apologetic that had you hurrying to ease his conscience.

“I already told you, it’s no biggie, really.” You insisted.

“It must’ve been nerve-wracking, especially on the first day.”

You huffed, air whistling from your lips at him, before acquiescing, “Yeah, ok, maybe a little.”

That moonshine smile brightened again, defeating the sun beams that streaked through the windows. “Allow me to make up for it by giving you a tour of our studios. Same time, tomorrow.”

At that time, you were only glad that you could gaze at his face without an excuse.

***

It took you a few days, getting used to the new schedule. You were used to the short walk from your home to Smeraldo. You were used to the morning crispness on your cheeks, the thud of your feet on the pavement and then the warm confines of your office cubicle.

The new pattern involved you having to catch a cab everyday to HYBE. It wasn’t too expensive thankfully, and the hours you spent in the expanse of HYBE, shadowing Namjoon to his haunts and work areas was starting to prove much more enjoyable and rewarding than anything you’d be doing in Smeraldo.

You were drawn into the chatter and gossip of the makeup artists, the lady who intercepted you daily at the desk struck up more conversations with you when you entered. She had a son, you’d learned. Her husband worked away from the city but he commuted every weekend and they found time for getaways whenever they could.

The most jolting experience was meeting the rest of Bangtan.

Namjoon had asked you to accompany him to one of the group practices and when you entered the huge mirrored room, you spotted the rest of the boys sitting here and there, some on their phones, the other stretching.

“Hey guys,” Namjoon slipped the strap of his work out bag over his head, turning slightly to the side to show you standing behind him to the rest of the idols. You raised a hand awkwardly, waving.

“You brought a friend?” One of the men at the back asked – Jimin, with his baby features and an inquisitive smile.

“Actually, this is Y/N. She’s the one doing the bio book for the album for me this time.” He placed a hand gently on your back, pushing you ahead when you failed to step forward.

“Uh, hi,” you mumbled, “nice to meet you all. I’m Y/N.”

“Yeah, Hyung just said.”

Your cheeks immediately heated, helplessly turning to the one who’d spoken.

“Yah, Jungkook-ah, be nice.” A taller man – Jin - smacked the back of the maknae’s head, before smiling at you. “It is very nice to meet you, Y/N. Are you going to be working while we practice?”

The gentle voice of the older man did wonders for you. Reminded of Rena’s composure, you immediately brightened, bowing to them naturally. “Yes sir, I am supposed to be shadowing Mr. Kim so…I hope you don’t mind.”

This made them burst out laughing – Namjoon included.

“‘Mr. Kim’, wow, Namjoon you’ve traumatized the girl. Please don’t be so formal, we’re not used to it.” Jin chortled.

Namjoon rolled his eyes, taking your elbow gently to guide you to sit on one of the cushions against the back wall. “You can sit here and watch. We won’t kick you in the face that way.” He winked and you managed a weak giggle back when you had recovered enough.

Why, oh why did he have to be so attractive? In those loose black shorts, that blasted white tank, you hadn’t been able to quite meet his eyes ever since you’d met him today.

You decided to obey the laws of ‘work’ as BTS practiced their routines. You pulled out your usual supply of pens and your trusty notebook and began to scrawl everything you’d observed, this time the process of choreography and how the dynamics between the group members and Namjoon worked in these hard routines. It took you about five pages, filling out and circling details that you would highlight in the bio.

Soon enough, you ran out of work to distract you. You folded your hands in your lap neatly, simply watching in awe. Each member hit the beat with a different type of attitude. If Jungkook was sleek as a panther, Hoseok was a coiled serpent, but none of them ever missed a beat. There was a tandem between them all, which made you sure that they took this very seriously. After all, they were known for their work ethic and it was their bread and butter.

They couldn’t slack in this just as much as you couldn’t slack in the bio.

Your eyes drifted back to Namjoon. Even though you knew, he wouldn’t describe himself as a dancer primarily, he was no less behind in his steps than his members. He moved with an awkward grace not unlike people of his height. God of Destruction – you remembered – and yet, you couldn’t help but watch when he moved. His chin jutted in concentration and you balled your fist under your chin, chiding yourself.

You were self aware enough to recognize the flow of your emotions and right now, they were particularly worrying. You were in awe of Kim Namjoon, anyone with any semblance of sense would be. He was intelligent, chivalrous, generous, charming, thoughtful, and humorous and in the days you’d worked with him, more than just books and music. He was a fun and charming person to be around and he attracted people like moths.

But…he was way beyond human leagues.

Someone like Kim Namjoon couldn’t be human. He had to be some eldritch being, put together into conception out of pure matter and stardust. There was no way his mind and his soul were meant to be meandering on this planet. And while you were aware he was far from purposeless, you wondered if he would ever be satisfied with his purpose in time.

Maybe…maybe not…

And you, as the self aware person as you were, couldn’t – shouldn’t – be having such tumultuous emotions regarding him. He was pink roses, a dusty shade of gold that had been polished and made to shine from a young age and he basked in the glow of adoration. He was at a peak you couldn’t hope to touch.

Never mind the fact that feelings mixing with work were always dangerous. You had no room for failure if these got in the way. You couldn’t afford to lose your job. You would lose everything you had staked and for what? You couldn’t throw your life away for an unattainable man. You sighed, closed your eyes and ducked your head before any of the men could notice your hard stares.

***

If you had to pick a climax for your journey with Namjoon, you’d pick the day he texted you a weekly schedule filled with interviews and media covered events that you couldn’t shadow him to. What would you do? You couldn’t exactly carry a notepad and pens in your mouth after him like a loyal puppy while he did his job. The interviews were okay, all you had to do was stand at the back behind the camera and note the way he answered his questions and if it was an English interview, the way he deflected stupid and rude questions from his members. Although it was clear by their now unimpressed faces they knew exactly what was going on.

The trouble was the red carpet event that you couldn’t push through. It would be a shame too, since this would be one of the prime times to jot a piece of Namjoon down. In front of flashing cameras, strutting with his head held high, knowing and projecting assurance. It would’ve been a great detail in the bio.

Apparently Namjoon thought the same, because as soon as he saw blue ticks in your text chat, he called you.

“So, what do you think?” He asked.

“About what, the event…? It’s too bad, I’ll watch it on TV and you can tell me how it goes over ice-cream.” You answered, in the face of his snort.

“Or…you could just come with me as my plus one. As a friend, of course, you can sit with that little note of yours and keep writing while people scream in my ear.”

You clutched the phone hard. He wanted you to come with him? He wanted to take you with him to an event? A red carpet event at that…on his arm, with people around…but as friends of course…

“Um…it’s kind of short notice…I don’t even have a dress.” You hedges unsteadily, hoping he didn’t notice the abrupt breathiness of your voice.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I have a fashion extraordinaire handy. Text me your dress size,”

The next you heard from Namjoon was when a huge, pure white box made its way to your apartment door. The delivery man took your signature on a tablet, wearing a sleek blue shirt and pressed pants that nowhere in the world could be a uniform for couriers.

You carried the heavy box to your couch in confusion, fingers fluttering with the navy blue ribbon around it in trepidation. Should you dare open it? It looked very expensive. Maybe this was a mistake and it got delivered to you in a mix up. But it couldn’t be. The name on the tablet was yours, the address yours…

You took a deep breath and pulled the knot loose.

The ribbon fell away gracefully, the top of the box grasped in your fingers and then you opened it up.

If you weren’t holding your breath…you’d have gasped.

Inside was a gown. Ok, that was a massive understatement. The fabric was thick, layers and layers of silk and glitter draped over each other to make a thing of dreams. The delicate straps of it felt like gauze, slipping over your skin when you pulled it out in pure awe.

You couldn’t possibly wear something like this. You could never pull it off. You glanced at the mirror near your door, the skirts catching the light of your room and sparkling.

You’d be wearing a million stars sewn on your body.

Your phone chimed the very moment your weak fingers were about to drop the dress, a sacrilege that proved you unworthy of it.

Hope you liked it J I’ll pick you up at 7.

And he didn’t take your calls. He didn’t hear you out. He didn’t listen to you list the reasons why you couldn’t do this, shouldn’t do this.

Your heart was already beating drums in your chest, each set letting you know that it was misreading this gesture. Namjoon wasn’t wooing you with this dress. He was simply making sure you didn’t look like a garbage can next to him. After all, red carpets meant celebrities, paparazzi, superior expectations. He couldn’t afford to show up with someone looking like they had barely been able to put together an outfit fit for the walk.

After hours of trying, at five you gave up, beginning to get dressed.

You washed and dried your hair, putting it up in a roll that was easy and you had mastered for your interview. It couldn’t be faulted…maybe it was a little simple but hey, you hoped the attention wouldn’t be on your hair. Not with that dress…

As you had guessed, the dress was heavy, weighing your body down till you had to carefully bunch handfuls of the sparkling skirt just to walk. You paired it with the lowest heels you owned, and a simple silver set – a gift from your parents upon graduating.

The brilliant shade of lipstick applied, you prayed and prayed that Namjoon wouldn’t find you disappointing. Of course, only so; that you wouldn’t be a source of embarrassment to him and HYBE and Smeraldo. It had nothing to do with you wishing you could be swallowed by the earth if Namjoon looked even slightly put off.

He arrived sharp at seven, even climbing out to greet you. Your trip in the elevator had been thankfully solo. No peeking neighbors to comment on your appearance but of course the building manager caught sight of you, gaping through the glass door of his office. You hoped he wouldn’t attempt to raise your rent.

Sleek and pristine in a black suit and silver shirt, open at the throat, your breath did catch at the vision he made. His hair was pushed back now and he grinned when you slowly tottered over. “Hi,” he said simply, eyes glinting in the glow of the dress.

“Hey, you didn’t take my calls.” You blurted out, again wanting to smack yourself.

“Yeah, I’m sorry; I got busy with speech training and fittings. They messed up though; I’m wearing shoes one size big.” You and he both glanced down at the polished black shoes with silver toes. you shook your head at the distraction.

“Namjoon, this dress…it’s too much; I can’t say anything right now but thank you.”

“Don’t thank me – it was Taehyung who picked it out.” His eyes moved down the dress before he looked away suddenly, hand moving to rub his neck. “You look great – beautiful, I mean.”

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?”

Namjoon helped you climb into the car, bending down so he could collect about nine drapes and pleats of silk to lay them on the car floor before shutting you in. You glanced at the driver of the Cadillac that Namjoon had brought and decided to stay mum for the drive.

The sprawling expanse of the hall where the gala was taking place sent you into nervous jitters. You touched the edge of the top, wondering if it was tight enough, if the necklace was enough to draw attention away. Of course, the dress was the highlight of your outfit, but suddenly all you could think of were the faux pas that could get you kicked out and possibly fired.

You had no time to turn to Namjoon with these worries, to beg him to allow you to stay in the car when valets were opening the doors.

Flashing lights, camera with too bright heads blinded you momentarily and all you heard was a quiet ‘wait’ from Namjoon before he was exiting the car.

He shot easy smiles at the front line of the media before turning to assist you. Maybe they realized that Kim Namjoon had indeed brought someone with him because the screams increased in pitch and volume, deafening you as well.

You were completely disoriented when you felt Namjoon’s arm go casually around your waist, one hand still holding your skirts so he could walk you at least to the main photo calls and away from the paps.

“Hey, easy, okay, they’re always like that. Are you okay?” Namjoon mumbled in your ear when you were a safe distance away, turning you to face him.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay…I just…wow, it’s a lot to take in.” You grabbed the skirts that Namjoon had let go and began to set them around you properly.

“Okay, all we have to do is walk this bit, get some photos, talk to that man at the end and then we can head in.”

You followed Namjoon's instructions quietly. Smiling lightly, when Namjoon posed in the centre of the carpet with the logo of the sponsors behind you two; Your posture probably wasn’t the most glamorous because the camera man shrugged before letting you pass – to the interviewer.

“Kim. Namjoon.” The white suited man gasped as if Namjoon had just landed from outer space and said something scandalizing.

“Oh dear, should I be worried?” Namjoon laughed breezily but his hold on your back stiffened.

“Not at all, it seems…who is the lucky lady? We’ve never seen you. Are we finally seeing the elusive RM being snatched up off the market?” The man took the time to level a polite smile at you before Namjoon waved his hand.

“Rubbish; I could never hope to snag someone like her. This is my friend; she’s accompanying me as part of a job.”

You noticed he never gave your name, thankfully.

“Ah…just friends? Pity, you look stunning together.”

“She is stunning but I would never claim to be as lucky as that. Do please excuse us, heels and all.” The interviewer laughed as Namjoon ushered you inside the hall.

Your smile had glazed over by now and when Namjoon sat you in one of the chairs next to him, you made sure to not move too much while he had to mingle.

As heavy as the gown was, the weight of it was something completely different now. Your wings had wilted back into nothingness, bringing you down to the earth with a less than pleasant thump.

Here, in the hall with actual stars around you, it didn’t matter if stars covered your body tonight. You couldn’t be part of this. You belonged in your cubicle at Smeraldo with books that had been your lifelong companions.

You weren’t stupid. You knew Namjoon being an idol was a consequence as well as reality. His proximity had blinded you, with those bewildering smiles and irresistible dimples. He’d poetically woven a spell that with him being now gone was breaking.

You were worlds apart.

Maybe this could be a story someday.

But it would never be reality.

***

Your realization couldn’t have come at a more opportune moment. As days went by, time spent with Namjoon waned; instead you went back to your little pastel cubicle, typing away at your laptop, pouring facts mixed with sentiment onto the digital document.

Soon, pages of this would be flying off the shelves along with an album. Your connection with Namjoon would be severed and you both would part ways as acquaintances.

That would be that. You tried not to think too much of it like that. It colored your work a little melancholy and you’d have to go back and redo it so it would be upbeat.

It was one of those days of you clacking away when a shadow fell over your cubicle. You didn’t lift your eyes at first, engrossed in the mild noises your keys made when the presence started to…feel hostile. You glanced up curiously, meeting the curve of an arm first and perched on it, was the weight of Kayla.

She wasn’t looking at you; instead her eyes were on the screen of your laptop, reading your work with a tilt to her head that – to you – was condescending.

“Kayla,” You called in confusion and her eyes flitted to you.

“Carry on, carry on, I’m just going to watch. I want to see how you’re going to do this.” Maybe you were paranoid…but she definitely sounded snide.

“Do what, type…?” you mumbled under your breath, about to turn back to work but she heard you and decided to answer.

“I want to see the new worker ruin Namjoon’s story. That way we can all go back to our normal lives.”

You stopped. Your eyes widened in surprise at the blatant vehemence. You turned to her.

“Excuse me, but I’m not ruining anything. It was you, who decided to sleep in and you who missed the meeting. If anything, you’re the one who ruined your shot.”

“It wasn’t a ‘shot’ for me, Y/N. It was a guaranteed project. I was sick, it happens. I’m just surprised they let the newbie take on such a big collab. But then again, being a lapdog pays in this industry. Connections are more important than talent, I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, you definitely would be the one doing Namjoon’s story justice with that attitude.” You snapped back. If there was one thing you wouldn’t stand for, it was her sullying Rena.

She smiled again, removing herself from your cubicle wall. “Petty fights don’t matter to me, Y/N. I’m still your senior and soon enough I’ll be back to doing my rightful share of work.” She walked off in a very final manner, leaving you to stare after her a good while before you could turn back to your screen.

The blinking cursor taunted you, each second that passed without it budging, a point in proving that Kayla may have been right. You growled internally, rubbing your dry eyes.

You needed a change of view.

***

Your laptop was now perched on the same table you and Namjoon had sat on that first day. Your back was to the rest of the café, eyes free to drift out the window. You sipped on a simple smoothie and tapped away, making good progress. At this rate you could hand in the first draft in less than a week. A hundred pages worth of a booklet formed much easier when your mind was clear. You wondered again if you could change places here.

You hoped at least this way you’d be safely out of Namjoon’s path and could also enjoy the lovely environment of the building. After all, one sin didn’t have to equate to ditching another, did it?

No sooner had your mind finished that thought when you heard his voice. Your fingers rattled over your keyboard, printing the stupid version of words on your screen and you had to halt in case he had seen you and was coming over.

When you didn’t hear that cheerful deep voice that was now uncomfortably familiar to you approach from behind, you took the chance to peek over your shoulder, just to see how he was – just that.

He wasn’t alone, thankfully. Next to him stood another familiar figure; much shorter and just as broad. Min Yoongi hadn’t been very verbose with you when you’d been introduced but then again, you knew the man wasn’t a fan of small talk with strangers. He was under no obligation to chat you up and you weren’t expecting him to either.

They finally picked up their orders, sitting at one of the tables in your line - Comfortably far away so that they wouldn’t notice you; but also within earshot of you. You sighed, returning your attention to the document on your screen.

“So, how’s the book coming? Any news yet?” You heard Yoongi’s baritone.

“Not yet, but I’m sure it’s going to come along fast. Give or take a few days maybe,” Namjoon took a loud gulp, scrolling through his phone.

“I hope so. She was new, wasn’t she? I didn’t remember seeing her when it was my turn. It was that other girl…Kayla something. What’s your girl’s name again?”

You silently cleared your throat, expecting Namjoon to snap in that you weren’t ‘his girl’ but he only hummed. “It’s Y/N. We messed up that day, called her Kayla. Guess we must have thrown her off her game that whole day, but she was amazingly professional. It was stupid too, that email was sitting right in the office email, and an intern missed it and didn’t tell us.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t treat your workers right. Even interns are deserving of respect. Maybe if they were catered to the way the company expects them to cater to it, it would -,”

“Hyung, I love your rants – but please.”

Yoongi shrugged, taking a bite out of his sandwich. You cracked a smile, biting your lip to stifle a giggle at Namjoon’s dazed expression.

“So, what’s she like? You hung out with her quite a lot.” Yoongi’s voice dipped, muttering something to Namjoon whose fingers stopped scrolling, a pensive expression on his face now. You glanced back at your screen, frowning, wondering what Yoongi must’ve said.

Namjoon didn’t answer for a long time and you had to keep glancing over, just in case he was actually muttering too and you were just not hearing anything but nope. He remained silent for a good long while, staring down at the coffee cup in front of him.

“I think…I think I would’ve preferred to work with this Kayla.”

You froze, your fingers hovering over the keys, making zero noise. You wished the other people in the café would quiet down and Namjoon would repeat himself but only this time you’d hear something else, something positive, something not so utterly crushing.

“Oh, she’s not up to the standard?” Yoongi asked.

“It’s…its stupid. I know it’s a shitty thing for me to say, but -,” But he was still going to go ahead and do it. He was still going to get those words out, unaware that you were able to hear him and have your gut wrenched.

What was wrong with you? Why were you not good enough to work with Kim Namjoon? Was it the rambling or blurting out thing? Was it the inability to retain composure? Had you messed up during a meeting that he was holding a grudge against? Did you somehow embarrass him during the gala? Had he already complained about you to his management and members, told them that this was the last time you were to work with them?

They had hushed up now, clearly having a private conversation and you were thankful. You didn’t know how you could handle hearing more. And you definitely didn’t want the rest of HYBE staff to hear how pathetic you were to their stars. If word got back to Smeraldo, you’d be fired. You’d lose everything.

You shut the laptop screen quietly, a hand sliding your things from the table top straight into your bag. Slinging your stuff onto your shoulders, you walked out of the room – out of the building – away from anything related to BTS.

***

You were resolute the next day, walking into Smeraldo with no words of greeting spoken to anyone. You got to your floor and then marched straight into Rena’s office, hurriedly knocking the prologue to the urgency of your matter.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Rena frowned, actually getting up from her seat when you stumbled in.

Something did happen, yes. I got way in over my head.

“I…I…need to um, change – the BTS project. I can’t do it anymore.” The words rushed out, thick and unintelligible but Rena apparently got the gist of it because she dropped her shoulders, crossing her arms.

“What happened?” she asked flatly.

I have a crush on my subject and he thinks I’m the worst thing to happen since the rise of patriarchy.

“Nothing serious; I just…I’m not cut out for this Rena. I told you that day of the meeting. It’s too much, I can barely sleep, can’t eat.”

Ok, provided that was only one day because your mind was too obsessed thinking about what you heard but still – you could definitely apply the cases.

“What are you talking about? You just gave me your stats two days ago. You were fifty three pages in and climbing.”

“Yeah well I’m not happy with it. I’ve been writing in a daze. Please Rena.” You begged; you’d have gotten on your knees at that point but mercifully, after about nine seconds of shrewdly eyeing you, she finally sighed.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed – and very, very surprised. You’re one of the better writers at Smeraldo, Y/N; I wouldn’t have pushed you for this if you weren’t. I believed in you. But I can’t make you work if you’re not happy and I certainly can’t let it affect this collaboration. It wouldn’t help anyone – so…fine. We’ll make the change. I’ll have the boss send an email…and you can personally go and hand Kayla all your material on the job so she can start as soon as possible. We still have time to make it up I think.”

You nodded, surreptitiously wiping a streak of moisture that had escaped without notice before you paused. And then you put in a request for Rena to consider before grabbing all your notes, drafts and your work laptop and walking up to Kayla’s more spacious cubicle.

She was reading a magazine when you tapped the side wall, eyes rising up to yours before her eyebrows raised at the amount of things you were carrying. Without preamble, you let them crash on to her neat desk.

“Uh, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not doing Namjoon’s bio anymore. They want you to do it.” Namjoon wanted her, in particular.

Kayla stopped scowling, looking at you in confusion before her face darkened again. “Listen Y/N, I don’t care much for charity -,”

“It’s not. I swear it’s not Kayla. I really, really can’t do it anymore. Please…please just take it off my hands.”

Slowly, her face cleared, eyes still examining yours for any insincerity before she picked up your notebook, carding through the pages.

“It’s a little shocking, I’ll admit but fine. But you…why are you giving it up? It’s BTS. It’s probably the biggest break you’d ever get.”

You shrugged, unwilling to converse more than necessary about this. “I just felt bad…and ill about it.” You didn’t exaggerate and Kayla didn’t ask you to elaborate. You glanced down at the biggest bag which you’d placed under her desk. The box was still exquisitely white and unblemished.

“Can you just do me one last favor?”

“What?”

“When you see Namjoon, can you give that bag back to him? Tell him thanks for everything.”

***

The days passed quickly, each one easier than the last as you decided to stuff your stupid, pointless feelings – hurt and otherwise into one single compartment: DO NOT TOUCH.

Namjoon had had to meet with Kayla quickly, to put in effect the plans that the senior writer was going to play with. She already had your notes, but they would still have to spend some time together just so she could get a feel of his prologue and run with it.

It had taken about two visits from Kayla before your phone started to act up.

He sent a text first. At a decent time…you were at work, taking a small break when the ping came. You promptly slid the notification aside and pushed the nagging in your head to look at it into that one compartment. An hour passed…then another before another message came. You couldn’t help but glance at the words even as you slid it out of focus.

Are you ok? What’s going on?

Namjoon didn’t text again for the remainder of the day and you heaved a sigh of relief. It would be easier to not mess with that box of goodies in your head if only anything pertaining to Kim Namjoon was taken out of your path.

Only…he decided to call you…

As soon as you entered your little apartment and took off your shoes, flexing your toes, the trill of your ringtone made you fumble in your bag. You almost slid the call to accept, catching yourself just in time when you saw the big white KIM NAMJOON flashing on the ID.

You stared at the name, a proverbial finger dancing over the latch of the compartment. But you couldn’t…you couldn’t mope over him again; you had given an entire day of wallowing up to his name.

Again, you heard him preferring Kayla. You placed the phone onto the coffee table and went into the bathroom to change.

Namjoon’s persistence remained impressive though. He called and texted every day ranging from thrice to five times. Almost every time you frowned. You had given him Kayla. What more could he want? He was desperate to know if you were okay, wondering if something had happened to you and that Smeraldo was trying to cover it up but you couldn’t bring yourself to put him at ease.

Also, it was getting steadily difficult to keep his name out of your life. BTS was worldwide, he was a global entity. He was everywhere…the media, the news, there were even fucking standees in malls for them.

But your job was keeping you busy, mercifully.

The day you had gone to Rena to ask her to put Kayla on the bio project and take you off, you’d also asked to be moved to a different section of jobs, just for the time being – till you could come back to yourself, or so you told her.

In reality, the editing and beta reader position that you now held was time consuming and kept you focused and engrossed enough to not think about the idol. Not every piece of writing was amazing, but fiction was fiction and you gladly succumbed to romances and fantasies that were wildly improbable - simply because they were possible in their worlds.

You could not be more grateful to Rena for this. You finished more than your quota of three manuscripts a day, sometimes even staying up at night if one was particularly interesting. You knew you’d have to go back to writing someday but for now, you wanted to do a good job so you wouldn’t let down Rena more than you already had.

You shuddered to think of returning to your laptop. It was a mistake to think that you were cut out for this job. There was a certain level of coldness required to be a writer – the sheaves of paper in front of you proved that. You had none of that ruthlessness in you. You were too soft, too sheltered. You had grown attached to a subject that you were supposed to present as facts. Instead you had painted him in a fantastic palette of misdirected emotions that he was under no obligation to act upon.

And so now you were hurt…and it was your own fault.

To write again, you would first need a spine, one forged in titanium instead of the malleable clay that had wrapped around the fingers of others so easily.

In some days of your ruminations…Namjoon stopped calling and texting and you were then rudely interrupted by Kayla, striding over to deliver news you hadn’t asked for.

“Mr. Kim took the dress back.” she announced as soon as she pressed herself at your desk. You looked up from your fourth manuscript of the day, peering at her through your glasses. Your back was sore and your neck felt lodged.

“He’s asking about you.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, clearing your throat before reaching for a bottle of water. “I’m okay.”

“He said he reached out but you never responded. Why don’t you respond? He’s obviously concerned.” She continued, putting an unnecessary emphasis on ‘obviously’. It irked you.

“He was my subject matter. Now he’s not. It’s inappropriate.” You barely kept from snapping, shrugging noncommittally. Kayla was still there, eyeing you in that way, that made you feel smaller than her.

“Well, I don’t think he feels it’s inappropriate. He’s enquiring about someone he considers a friend. He’s been known to care about friends.”

You put the manuscript down finally. You looked up at her blankly but she didn’t flinch. Instead Kayla returned your heavy look with one of hers, raking you down with an appraising look. After a few moments of silence she gracefully straightened and turned on her heel, returning to her cubicle.

You picked up your manuscript again.

***

The cursor was blinking again. The walls of your cubicle needed a wipe down. Some of the pens in your drawer needed replacing. You revolved on your chair once – twice – thrice before facing the darn cursor again.

It had been two days since Rena had asked (basically commanded) you to return to your original post. One because you had gotten through the work she’d set aside for you. Second because Smeraldo’s projects were lining up and they needed their writers to buck up. You being one of them now needed to get in the game.

Or you would lose your job. After all, even though Rena treated you like a sister, it didn't mean she was going to baby you forever. Her own job would be on the line.

So you returned, starting out slow, with slogans and advertising scripts. Only…advertisements meant media research…and you knew what you were going to see the first thing you delved into that.

When your phone rang, you were almost eager to get to it. Namjoon hadn’t called in a while – it was safe again. You glanced at the unfamiliar number once, curious before you pressed the accepted call to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,”

The deep thrum of his voice reverberated in your ear, travelling straight through your heart – setting it to thump unsteadily – and landed deep in your belly, burning uncomfortably.

Your fingers tightened around the device, unable to speak, unable to pull it away from your ear, unable to comprehend simply hanging up. Instead you helplessly muttered his name. The two syllables were heavy on your tongue, some emotion injected in them that you doubted he could sense over the phone.

It irked you that you had so easily been caught unaware. You had paid attention to every text, every call for so long, swiping him out of your sight to avoid the temptation and here he was, smartening up and using another number altogether.

You guessed his IQ really did pay off.

When he spoke again, there was no weight in his tenor, no sense of concern that Kayla had said he felt about your absence. If anything he sounded cold, indifferent – as if you were just another person he was talking to.

And you were...you couldn’t mean anything to him.

“How have you been? It’s been quite some time.” He said, formal, aloof.

“Yeah, I’ve...I’ve been keeping busy. What...about you? How are you?” You mumbled.

“I’m fine. The bio is going on fine, I heard from Kayla.” He seemed to be moving while he spoke, you could hear distinct shuffles around him.

“That’s nice. So, is something wrong? Did you need something? If you lost Kayla’s number –”

“Can I not call you unless there was something wrong?” he cut you off smoothly, pleasant while you stumbled to correct yourself.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just –”

“Anyway, so the boys wanted to throw a party in celebration of the album finalization. It’s a dinner and games thing so be prepared to be bored if you’re not into that. They wanted to invite you because you were part of the bio making process.”

They...they were inviting you, not him. It seemed silly, to be stung by such a tiny little detail but you couldn’t help the down-turn of your lips, the frown settling upon your brows. “What about Kayla?”

“I don’t know, maybe one of the boys will get to it. So, do I count you in?”

“Why me, Namjoon, I left the project, didn’t I?”

“Is that a no?”

You sighed, annoyance surging at the way he deliberately ignored your pointed remarks. “Fine, I’ll be there.”

“See you at 7. You know where the dorm is. Just tell the front desk you’re here for BTS and give them your name.”

He hung up before you could spill out another question, pose another objection. You looked irate at the blackened screen, feeling used and mocked yet again. He had reached you so long after you cut him off and he had had the gall to sound miffed with you? You stuffed the phone back into your back.

The evening would last long. You vowed that this would be the last time you would have anything to do with Kim Namjoon.

***

You had been intimidated by the idea of BTS before. After spending a few days with Namjoon, you could appreciate them being normal men, seven men who just wanted to make music, who were young, a little dorky but overall just themselves.

Coming here, standing in front and looking up at the gigantic building that housed the dorm of BTS and their separate private apartments, you could only feel the previous nerves spiking again.

Your fingers were shaky as you pushed open the heavy glass door, thick enough to stop bullets and made your way to the marble front desk.

The concierge, decked out in a cream vest outfit, politely smiled at your approach – too professional to not rove his eye critically over your modest dress. You were at the dorm of BTS, after all. You couldn’t show up in jeans for a dinner party.

He nodded when you relayed your name, giving Namjoon’s reference which had them flurry to get you an elevator. Once trapped in the sleek metal box, the chiming numbers indicated your rising panic.

What were you doing?

Why were you here?

You had cut them out of your life for a reason. Why would you willingly show up again? Inside, of course, you knew the reason. You had unsettled issues. You wanted to talk this out with him. But you couldn’t – which again, added to the question as to why you would accept his invitation in the first place?

There was no way you were brave enough to stand in front of Kim Namjoon and ask him to explain himself.

When the doors opened; the wide hallway only led to one set of double doors. You looked around once; just to make sure that you were on the right floor and not about to barge into some unwitting souls’ suite.

Walking to the etched wood, you knocked a hurried patter that sounded abnormally loud. You didn’t even have to wait long. The door swung open almost immediately, as if he was waiting right inside for you.

Namjoon stood in a simple black long sleeve, rolled up till his elbows. His jeans stretched tightly along the length of those legs. Huh, he was wearing jeans...go figure...

“Come in Y/N.” He said, walking back into the house. You followed, slower, clutching your bag strap like the first day.

It was...relatively clean, being the house full of men. It was also too big for you to take in everything. You supposed they needed the space, each one with a personality of their own but together all the time. You wondered if they had studios in the two storey house too.

You focused on Namjoon, who had by now moved to the sitting area, flicking through some pages, not paying any attention to you. There was no sound. No one came to greet you, not even Jin who you thought was the actual host.

It was...suspiciously quiet.

“Namjoon,” You called. “Where is everyone?”

The man only shrugged his shoulders for a second and it seemed that he wasn’t about to answer your question at all. However, at the very last moment when you were about to repeat yourself unwillingly, he muttered. “They went out to eat.”

What?

They were out to eat? After calling you over to have dinner and play games?

“So...we have to go and join them or something?” you asked.

Namjoon sighed painstakingly, as if you were disturbing his peace but he finally dropped the papers onto the coffee table and stood up, hands in his pockets.

“No, Y/N, we’re not going to join them.”

What the hell was going on here exactly?

“We’re going to talk.”

You had opened your mouth when he finished his sentence, pausing in contemplation to what he could possibly want to talk about. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying I want answers, Y/N. Why did you stop coming over all of a sudden? Why did you stop working on the bio and give it to Kayla? Why didn’t you pick up your phone when I called you? Why didn’t you answer my texts? What the fuck happened?”

You blinked, once, staring at him in shock mingled with annoyance. There was a lot to Kim Namjoon; you would be the first to admit it. But you never took him to be this cruel.

“Why are you even asking me these questions? I wasn’t competent enough for you. So I did the right thing, I gave the work to someone who could match your standards. End of story; I don’t understand why you had to bring me here.” Your vehemence faded by the end of it, leaving you to drop your head and mumble half the words at your shoes.

You kept staring down when Namjoon didn’t say anything in retaliation. Seconds ticked by and finally you had to glance up to see Namjoon’s face tight, jaw clenched and he drummed his fingers over crossed arms.

“Unfortunately,” He began when your eyes met. “Doubt and Insecurity are two things that every artist struggles with in their line of work. There are no ways around them; you simply have to push through them. Work through them, Y/N; but you can’t let it take you away from your passion. If you felt doubtful of yourself, you should’ve talked to me, or any of us...you didn’t have to brand yourself incompetent and give into this negativity.”

If you had two cents of courage you would’ve screamed at him. Indeed, Kim Namjoon was a cruel man – a blind man.

And your nerves had finally grown into something more ferocious.

“I gave in? I’m sorry, Namjoon, but when your client is the one that ‘brands’ you incompetent, you kind of have to give in. You are the one who said you preferred Kayla. So I gave you exactly what you wanted. So stop pretending like you care about my insecurities and my doubts.”

Namjoon gaped at you like a fish, eyes wide and thoroughly confused. He held up a hand immediately. “What the hell are you talking about?”

You snapped. “I heard you, that day, talking to Yoongi about how you would’ve preferred it if it was Kayla who was working on the bio rather than me. If I was bothering you that much or if you found me – I don’t know, not a good writer, you could’ve at least been professional about it. You could’ve emailed the company and asked for a switch, instead of bad-mouthing me to your damn members!”

Both of Namjoon’s hands were up in the air now, defensively. His eyes flickered around his house as he attempted to place the scenario you were describing to him. You saw the light bulb go off about a few seconds after. His demeanour changed immediately. His hands lowered, face cleared and his eyes scrunched before he did the worst thing imaginable that he could’ve done at that moment.

He laughed.

His body bent forward, hands clasping his stomach as his shoulders shook. His head dipped, chortles echoing around you as you stood rooted to your spot, stricken by his mirth.

In the moments that he managed to raise his head, he caught sight of you and laughed again, eyes watering.

You were seeing red. His frame lit up in flames in your head, fuelling you to whirl about on your heel. You marched away, almost at the door when fingers wrapped around your elbow, stopping your next steps.

You turned, seeing Namjoon already there, still smiling.

“Let me go.” You said firmly.

“I didn’t say I would’ve preferred Kayla to you because I thought you weren’t a good fit for the job, Y/N.” He said instead, hand loosening on your arm but not quite letting go. “I said it because...well, I was afraid I would be breaching our contract. Since...I kind of wanted to take you out.”

You stood there, watching Namjoon’s eyes flicker between yours, waiting for a reaction. His hand was still loosely cupping your elbow, fingers warm and splayed out over the skin. His thumb briefly brushed over the bone as if checking that you hadn’t frozen over.

But you had...you were standing stock still, staring up at the idol, uncomprehending the words that had spilled out of him. He had just said something very controversial, very brave...and very confusing.

You thought back to all your hangouts. The long talks that you scribbled down with your tongue poking out the corner of your mouth, the walks that you took, sometimes huddling together with shivers due to the cold weather, sharing hot coffees and chocolate ice creams. Telling him about yourself when he wanted a break and needed to listen instead of supply conversation. Then they changed to his texts, the good morning or good night texts that he would send, the occasional music recommendations and book suggestions.

And then the night of the Gala...that stunning dress...his behaviour...

Nowhere in any of these cases had you seen anything that spelled anything other than friends being friends. He had never flirted brazenly with you, simple banter being the only form of cheek you could recall. He was after all; your client and anything that could offend or upset him would result in your suspension.

“That’s...that’s...impossible. You never – not even once – I didn’t ever get the idea, not ever,” You fumbled over your words, pulling away or trying to once again but Namjoon shrugged, smiling sardonically.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly come out and say it, could I? You were working with me, for my company. I know the kind of pressure you must’ve been under. If I did say something, you’d have been obliged to agree because you’d think you owed it or something, just to keep the job. I didn’t really want to put you in the spot like that. The night of the gala I got carried away. I had a plus one and if I had to take someone, I wanted it to be you. I begged Taehyung to put the outfit together because I’m shit at high end fashion but you looked absolutely gorgeous and yeah, I owe Tae a thousand favours now but it was worth it.” He took a breath.

“I was waiting for the project to be over so I could actually, properly ask you out but well, I guess you heard me being an idiot that day and...” he waved his free hand vaguely.

“Oh,” you mumbled, your eyes leaving him and travelling back down to the floor. What else could you say? Sorry, I was eavesdropping on your conversation and got my feelings hurt and acted like a child? Yeah, you didn’t think that’d go over well.

“Which brings me to the question, why did you stop?” His thumb brushed over your skin again, prodding your attention to him and you shrugged like him, mumbling something about doing right by the client.

“Bullshit, if you wanted to do right by the client, you would’ve waited for me to say something. Changing people like that could’ve resulted in a breach lawsuit and I doubt you’d have risked that.”

You looked up at him again, irritated. Why did he have to poke holes in your admittedly stupid story? Hadn’t he shaken your world enough by telling you that THE KIM NAMJOON wanted to ask you out?

“You hurt me.” You hissed. “You made me think I was inept and it hurt my feelings because I’ve been attached to you and this book since day one. I finished the bio at home, for fuck’s sake. I lost objectivity when it came to you because you’re adorable, scary smart, caring, generous, a total goof and it doesn’t help that you look like a damn sculpture all the time.”

You yanked your arm one last time, successful this time around because Namjoon smiled widely, shyly, deep dimples poking into his cheeks that had you internally melting from how cute he was.

“I want to kiss you.” he said simply. “May I?”

What were you going to do, say no?

Instead, horrifyingly you started to sniffle. “You better, because I’m really ashamed right now and I will start crying.”

Namjoon was quick to cup your face, cooing over your squished cheeks in his large palms and he brought you closer, closer and closer to himself. Your hands clutched at the sleeves of his shirt while he pecked you lightly, dropping a flurry of equally soft and fast pecks on your cheek, the tip of your nose and chin before returning to your lips, delving deeper, testing the waters.

Your eyes fell shut, revelling in the plumpness of his lips as he delicately trailed them over yours, smacking kisses over you till you let out a giggle.

“Finally, she smiles.” Namjoon beamed at you, leading you back until you were gently propped against the door, your head comfortably resting on the wood and he deepened the kiss, bowing and moulding his body with yours.

“Should we be doing this here?” You asked nervously, when his lips began to travel over your jaw.

“The boys won’t be back for a while but we can head to my room if you want?” He wriggled his eyebrows at you, heat pooling into the skin he still held between his hands.

“Uh, I’m good here.” You muttered to his amusement. His eyes travelled back to your mouth, eyes hooding and then he was slowly leaning in again. You met him halfway and his mouth opened with the barest brush of tongue when loud pounding sounded right on the other side of the doorway, laughter and footfalls sounding the arrival of the rest of the band.

You moved away just as the door flung open, six boys piling in, “Can you believe none of us thought to grab our wallets, we have to go back and tell manager-nim to get the car again –” Jin grumbled with the boys stopping to gape at you in Namjoon’s arms as the two of you blinked at them like deer in headlights.

Then chaos erupted.

The whoops and cheers of ‘finally’ made you drop your head in a shy grin with Namjoon groaning behind you.

“Namjoonie finally got some!”

“OH SHUT UP!”

#thebtswritersclub #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #btshoneyhive #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts #namjoon x reader #namjoon

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acreativeme · 3 years ago

Text

Mobster’s Daughter

Kenny Crobsy x Reader

Y/N was not used to working with a team. She spent most of her career as a UC with the Organized Crime Unit. After nearly ten years, Y/N put in a transfer to the fugitive recovery unit. She wanted something new, something that didn’t remind her of her childhood. She knew that working with a team meant forming close bonds with people, but she didn’t expect to fall in love. When she meant Kenny Crosby, the communication specialist with anger issues, it was like the world stilled. It was almost like how the wolves in Twilight describe imprinting.

They had started dating only three months after she joined the team, and disclosed it to their unit chief. Jess just said that they needed to keep it professional at work, or he was going to have to transfer one of them. Y/N had spoken with him privately, telling him if anything happens to transfer her not Kenny. That had surprised him, but he agreed.

She had been with the unit for almost a year, when her old unit chief called her--- needing her for a very important case. Her father’s case..Y/N’s father had walked out on her and her mother when she was 4 years old to run the Russo Crime Family. Though Y/N’s mother, Ivy, was embarrassed and hurt, she never lied to Y/N about who her father was. He would send money for her schooling and presents on her birthday, and Christmas, but he didn’t know anything about her or her future. He didn’t know that she had joined the FBI as she had changed her last name to her mother’s maiden name.

Things were getting out of control with the Russo Family, so she needed to stop them. She just didn’t know how to tell Kenny, so she took the easy way out and broke up with him.

Y/N paced in front of his door, waiting for him to open up. “...I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore..” she muttered, trying to find the proper words.

She jumped as the door opened, “Kenny!” she squealed, clenching her chest.

He laughed, leaning against the door frame. “You musta been thinking really hard.”

She shot him a glare. “Are you going to let me in?” She pushed his chest playfully, hoping that she was playing off her anxiety.

He grinned, stepping aside so that she could come in. Y/N looked around, noticing that he was probably using his day off to clean his apartment. “Do you want anything to drink?” He asked, shutting the door.

Y/N shook her head, “No, I am good. I can’t stay for long, gotta meet my mom for lunch. I just stopped by to see if my gray cardigan was here, I can’t seem to find it..” She chickened out. She couldn’t break up with him.

Kenny look around, noticing it hanging off the back of his recliner. “Here you go,” he picked it up, “but you are going to have to work for it.” He held it above her head.

She rolled her eyes, moving to give him a kiss. As he leaned down, Y/N jabbed him in the stomach-- which caused him to double over. She pulled it from his grasp, quickly pecking his cheek. “Nice try.” She whispered in his ear, quickly turning to leave.

He gasped, “Not so fast.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground.

Y/N squealed, disregarding the cardigan. “Kenny!”

He laughed loudly, spinning her around. “That was so underhanded! I didn’t think that you had it in you.” He spun her around in his arms so that he could look into her eyes.

She smirked. “There is a lot about me that you don’t know.” She leaned down to kiss him, forgetting the real reason for her visit.

He wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her against his chest. She knotted her fingers with his hair, trying to memorize his lips. “Are you sure that you have to go to lunch with your mom?” He asks, pressing kisses to her neck.

She bit back a moan, nodding. “Yes, I haven’t seen her for ages.”

He nodded sadly, sitting her back on the ground. “Fine,” he rolled his eyes playfully, “but we are still going running tomorrow, right?”

She looked down at the cardigan, not wanting him to see the pain in her eyes. “Of course! It’s not safe for attractive men, like you, to be running by yourself, so I gotta be there to protect you.” She looked up at him with a cheeky smirk.

He rolled his eyes at her again, moving to tickle her. “So cheeky.” He walked her to the door with a loving grin on his face. “I will be at yours at 6AM, is that okay?”

She sighed. “Yeah, I guess.” She bit her lip, trying to hide her smile.

He leaned down and briefly kissed her as he showed her out. “I will see you tomorrow.”

She bumped her nose against him. “See ya tomorrow.” She walked away, tears rolling down her cheeks.

...The Next Morning…

Y/N’s POV

Y/N sat at the counter of the now empty kitchen, a piece of paper and pen in front of her. She had decided to leave him a letter, knowing that was not going to be able to lie to his face.

Kenny,

I can’t do it anymore. Please forgive me..

Don’t look for me…

Y/N

Tears stained the paper as she laid the pen down. She couldn’t write anymore without breaking down and telling him the truth. She grabbed her duffle bag and walked out of the one place that felt like home.

Kenny’s POV

He raced up the stairs to Y/N’s apartment, not wanting to bother with the elevator and wanting to warm up his muscles. He had decided to skip out of coffee in favor of downing two glasses of orange juice. He glanced down at his watch as he stepped out onto her floor, 5:50AM. He’s early. He sighed, slowly walking towards her apartment. It took him a moment to realize that her door was cracked, which scared him.

He slowly pushed the door open, calling out her name. “Y/N?” No response. He dialed her number, hoping that she had just left it cracked for him. He pressed the phone to his ear, hearing it ring twice.

“We are sorry. The number that you are trying to reach is out of service. Please hang up and try again later.”

Kenny looked around the apartment, taking in the emptiness. After exploring the abandoned apartment, he found the note on the counter.

Kenny,

I can’t do it anymore. Please forgive me..

Don’t look for me…

Y/N

He read those words over and over, knowing that something wasn’t right. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that she would just up and leave him like this, like that they hadn’t been talking about their future just yesterday.

He slid down the wall, to sit on the floor and cry.

6 months later…

Y/N’s POV

Slipping back into her ripped jeans, Y/N looked down at the henchman that her father had guarding her. A henchman that also happened to be his right hand man. She had seduced him, which made her feel as if she had cheated on Kenny, to get access to her father’s computer. She hadn’t actually slept with him. She had fixed him a drink, laced with a strong sedative, and made out with him.

She snuck out of her bedroom, tiptoeing down the hallway to his office. Anyone that lives or had been invited to stay the night had been in bed for hours, so she didn’t really have to worry about anyone catching her. Her father’s office was on the first floor near the kitchen, as he always had to be near food. With the amount he eats, Y/N was surprised that he was still in great shape…

She made a pit stop as she passed the kitchen to grab the container of cookies that she made as an excuse to be in her father’s office. She had hid them in her cabinet, which her father had given her as soon as he welcomed her into his home. He had sat her down in his office and they talked for hours. He had shared that he had missed her, and her mother, and that he wanted them to get to know each other. She had to remind herself that he was a bad guy, that had murdered a bunch of people and broken a lot of other laws.

Her father had given her a key to his office, for emergencies, so she didn’t need to pick the lock. She crept over to his computer, knowing that she didn’t need to turn it on as he never turns it off. She pulled out a cloning device and plugged it into the main port. She typed in his password, quickly scanning through his emails and internet history. She then scanned through all of the other documents on his computer, finding spreadsheets that explained where he was hiding the money. She pulled up his calendar, which he seemed to use to keep track of his special shipments. She made sure to clone that and mirror it to her phone. Using a USB, Y/n downloaded a keystroke logger on his computer. She was going to use her computer to keep track of his computer usage. She had already cloned his phone and bugged each of his cars, using her scrunchies, which he happily keeps in his cars as reminders of his daughter.

She looked up as she heard footsteps coming towards, so she quickly finished what she was doing. Y/N slipped the cloning device and USB into her pocket, moving the cookies so that they were sitting in front of his keyboard.The door opened, revealing her father in his pajamas.

“Y/N? What are you doing in here, love?” He rubbed his eyes, having just woken up.

She gulped, nerves bubbling in her stomach. “Well, it’s your birthday pop. I wanted to surprise you, but I guess the cat is out of the bag.” She held up the container of cookies, double chocolate with white chocolate chips.

He grinned, walking towards his desk. “How’d you know that these were my favorite?”

She opened the container for him. “They are my favorite too!”

He took one, taking a large bite out of it. “These are so yummy.” He did a little happy dance as he shoved the rest of it into his mouth.

She forced a smile. “I am glad that you enjoy it.” She passed over the container, “I am going to make some breakfast, would you like some?”

3 months later…

With the help of the cook, Y/N put together a wide spread of food for her father and his group of elite members. She had planned this evening as a way for her team to arrest all major players of the Russo Crime family without any of them going into hiding. Y/N worked out with her handler that she would also be taken into custody.

She and Mariana, the cook, set the table and placed each dish around the table to make it look appealing to the people eating. Once everything was set, Y/N called everyone in to eat. Her father grinned at the spread, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “It looks great, doll.” He kissed her head, moving towards the head of the table.

She took her spot next to him, feeling a pit in her stomach. “Thank you, dad!”

Everyone followed suit and took their seats. Her father said grace and started dishing out his portion of food. He passed it to Y/N, so gave herself a little bit and passed it along. She felt too nervous, so she wasn’t going to be able to eat much. Everyone was chatting aimlessly as they made up their plates. Y/N knew that no business would be brought up until everyone was digging in.

“This brisket is so delicious, Y/N. You’ll have to give me your recipe.” Gina, Rickie’s wife, stated from her spot down the table.

Y/N smiled, “Thank you, it’s my grans recipe. I think she’d come back and kill me if I share it.” The whole table laughed, muttering that their gran would do the same thing.

Y/N zoned out as she moved the food around her plate, taking tiny bites. Her father called attention as he began talking about the plans for the coming week. The women focused on their food as the men talked about shipments of drugs and weapons. As they were talking about times and locations, Y/N reacted into her pocket and clicked her pen-- which signaled her team to come in.

She counted to 15 in her head, taking a long sip of her wine. She was sitting down the glass as the FBI swat team broke down the front and back doors.

“FBI swat!! Put your hands up!” A strong confident voice screamed, as several other officers surrounded them.

Y/N jumped, pretending to be frightened. She looked at her dad, panic in her eyes. “Daddy? What’s going on?”

He took an aggravated breath. “I am not sure, but everything will be alright.”

An officer pulled roughly at her chair. “Get up. You are under arrest.” He pretended to get rough with her to draw a reaction out of her father.

He jumped out of his chair, the force knocking it over. “Do not touch her! She has nothing to do with this.”

The officer that stood behind her, pushed him back. “Stay back. We will determine whether she played a role or not.”

Y/N’s captain stepped into the dining room, a bulletproof vest over a white button down shirt. “Vincent Russo. You and everyone in here are under arrest.”

3 months later…

Y/N stood outside of Kenny’s apartment, nervous to see him for the first time in a year. She had just finished up her father’s case and everything that was related to him. In the end, he told her to snitch on him to avoid any prison time. He told her that he would do anything to protect her, so he wanted her to testify against him. He had instructed all of his men that he could that he wanted her to testify against him, so they were too not go after her. She told him that the FBI wanted her to work for them as a consultant, or she would spend time in prison-- no matter her role in the organization. That hurt him, but he told her to do it- which surprised her.

After he was put away, she returned home. She had talked with Jess LaCriox about the mission that she had been sent on and how she wanted to return to the team. He talked with her captain and let her return to the team. The only stipulation was that she had to talk with Kenny, who had taken her leaving extremely hard.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N knocked on his front door. It took him a moment to answer, and she shook with nerves the whole time.

“How can I--” Kenny stopped mid sentence, surprise evident on his face.

Shoving her hands in her pockets, Y/N smiled. “Hey, Kenny…”

Without thinking, Kenny pulled her into his arms. He held her to him, not wanting to let her go. “Where did you go? Why did you leave?” He whispered into her hair.

She squeezed him tightly. “I think that it would be best to tell you inside your apartment.”

He picked her up, not wanting to let her go. They sat down on the couch and held each other as she explained that she had been called in to take down her father. She had to do some things that were against her morals, but it had to be done-- which is why she had to end things with him. Kenny just sat back and listened to her as she talked, glad that she was home safe.

“I don’t care what you did, Y/N. It was work, we’ve all had to do things we wouldn't do for work.

I am just glad that you made it home safe.” He stated, understanding where she was coming from.

She kissed him, not being able to hold back any longer. “I love you, Kenny. I didn’t tell you before I left.” Tears were now rolling down her cheeks.

He wiped them away, caressing her cheek. “I love you. I’ve loved you for the last two years and I plan on loving you for many more years.”

#requests #Kenny Crosby #Kenny Crosby imagines #FBI Most Wanted #fbi most wanted imagine #imagines #one shot #mobster #undercover #sweetswriting

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twst-campos13 · 4 years ago

Note

headcanons for Rook, Malleus, Silver, and Vil when their m!s/o jumps on their back biting their head screaming nonsense like a mad man. the first year gang coming running and one explains wheezing “mistake in potions, physical capabilities inhanced, out of control, immune to magic, help”

the rest of the day is spent with literally all the twst boys chasing after their insane boyfriend. tears were shed, dignity lost, pride scratched.

by the time he’s caught it’s nearly midnight and none of them know what’s real anymore since he kept screaming very philosophical things.

i await your answer with anticipation~

*weakly grips you,,,*

it is...finished....i will leave most of my commentary in the notes...also please read the warning tags carefully!

Warnings: language, mild physical violence, implicit dementia (Vil’s part!), poison, blood, depiction/description of death, goofy’s trial dialogue (Vil’s part), mild gun threat (Vil’s part) << no actual guns were present but was mentioned Tags: male!reader, angst, crackfic

This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Ace started it. Deuce aided. Epel volunteered. Jack said it was a bad idea and Sebek warned them. Yet in the end—in the end—they contributed. They helped. And when the smoke cleared from the explosion that shattered the laboratory's windows, beakers, and test tubes, spilling chemicals on the ground—on you—it was too late for Crewel to protect you. For your friends to protect you.

Grim called your name. Once. Twice. Thrice in a yowl of panic as Deuce held him back and carried him away when he tried to get closer to your unmoving body; it's laying in a puddle of liquid. Black? Brown? Gray? He doesn't know the colors—how doesn't know what's happening—he doesn't know and he doesn't care because he just wants you to be safe.

Ace couldn't speak. Deuce couldn't move. Epel started shaking but hid behind a mask of control. Jack's ears and tail were erratic and Sebek broke the silence with a firm command of retreating. Let the professor handle this. Let the adult handle it.

Then you moved.

They watched you rose from the ground like a corpse from the grave.

And hell breaks loose.

➸ Why did you bite his head and messed his hair up

➸ He got no time for games, fool

➸ KIDDING

➸ Granted you did jump at Vil when his Flying Class was done. It startled him and shocked everybody. His face flared because he thought your surprise hugs had gotten too far. It took Mr. Ashton and a few of his classmates to get you off him. He's pretty sure you managed to tear off a few hairs from his scalp—and skin apparently because he felt blood drip down his lashes.

➸ Okay, that's not normal behavior for you-

➸ You were more than disheveled; your lab coat was torn and singed, blood was seeping from your clothes, and you had a dazed look. Vil fixed himself immediately, of course, but it's natural for him to get worried about you. You looked awful. Vil was sure the chemicals splattered on your skin and uniform was what was making you disoriented. What are these fools doing still holding onto you? You should be taken to the infirmary this instance!

➸ Vil wasn't prepared for what you did next. The moment Mr. Ashton held your shoulders to lead you to the infirmary, you knocked him out with an elbow strike. What the fuck.

➸ Okay, obviously, you're defensive. Vil took out his pen and—along with a few other students and the professor??—tried to restrain you. Vil was careful not to cast any harmful spells on you but for some reason, the professor and the other seniors seem to go off on casting advanced spells that could quite literally kill you! Du spinnst wohl are they insane?

➸ It took a lot from Vil to not be hysterical. Panicking will not do him any good but having to witness you get blasted by magic and only shake it off while maddeningly laughing is frustrating. He couldn't bear the sight of seeing you get hurt and argued loudly with one of the seniors to go easy on you. The fact that you were spouting nonsense doesn't help your situation at all, especially when you declared this, "ah-hyuck! I'll fucking shoot 'em again."

➸ "Love, will you please cooperate!" was what Vil wished to say, but seeing you in this state brought a jab of pain in his heart. The familiarity of this situation—the confusion, the frustration, the worry, the pain—adds up to the pressure and desperation of just saving you from whatever the fuck this is.

➸ Vil doesn't even want to look at himself in the mirror. He fears that he'll end up breaking the mirror from what he'll see, but he's pretty sure, with the fight and the chase you're giving everyone, that his makeup is running and his hair is a mess. Amidst nausea and chaos, Vil came up with a solution to restrain you. So, gathering what is left of his dignity and pride, and his love for you, Vil wiped the sweat and smudged makeup off his face and ran back to Pomefiore.

➸ Don't ask why he has a ready-made collection of poisons. Just don't. It's for emergencies—such as this.

➸ Rook found him hunched over his table with the vials of poison. He calmed Vil down and assured him that you'll be alright. The only fear that Vil has is losing another person he cares about—that includes you. Rook kissed his hand and told him he will bring the poison to you. Rook knows how much you mean to Vil, and because of his devotion to his roi de poison, he will do whatever he can to ensure your safety for Vil's sanity.

➸ Rook advised Vil not to come with him, but he wants to. Vil wants to be able to hold you in his arms and be the first to make sure that you're okay.

➸ When the deed has been done, Vil rushed to your side. He expected your body to be as cold as a corpse but still, it shocked him. He ignored the whisper of doubt and tended to the wound Rook made to put you to sleep. You've been taken to the infirmary along with everyone else that you caused inconvenience. Vil didn't come for the anxiety settled with the fatigue in his body.

➸ When Vil came back to the Pomefiore common room, sluggish and tired, he found Rook holding Epel's shoulder. The little potato couldn't look at him in the eye and frankly, Vil just wanted to spend some time in his quarters. However, Epel's confessed, and a little bit of energy came back to Vil so he can process what the little potato said to him.

➸ He what.

➸ His hand sprung up instinctively and Epel flinched. But Vil knew this wouldn't undo what happened. He knew it isn't worth it. Vil doesn't have the strength to be angry or blame Epel. It was a mistake, after all. A very stupid mistake. Epel looked pitiful crying for forgiveness so Vil asked Rook to send him back to his room.

➸ It's proven enough just how Vil cares about you.

Vil sat down in front of his vanity table. He could not bear to look at himself in the mirror. All he could do is stare blankly at nothing. Your words made no sense and Vil feared the worst when you wake up. If you wake up.

"Great Sevens..." he muttered and wiped the tears that fell from his face. He knew what he had to do next. He just had to be prepared for it.

➸ Imagine Rook saying "oh mon Dieu" with the most neutral face and surprised eyes as if the explosion was just a mild inconvenience.

➸ POV: you're Trey Clover

➸ He and Trey were just cleaning around in the greenhouse when the explosion occurred. Rook knows that you have a special assignment with your friends. You didn't tell him what it is but he doesn't need you to. (He overheard Epel and Ace chill he respects you enough as his boyfriend to not pry into your private life via stalking)

- ➸ He wasted no time dashing to the potions lab. Being a hunter makes you very quickly as well as expecting the unexpected. However, he didn't expect the First Year Gang to be thrown out of the door and you emerge from the smoke as if you were some sort of ravaging beast.

➸ If you weren't obviously covered in soot and blood, Rook would have fainted from the beauty and badassery you're currently conveying.

➸ Now is not the time to be in awe—you jumped wall to wall with a speed faster than a cheetah's and Rook was able to deflect your attack by sidestepping. However, a few students got injured in the process. Rook saw your intention despite Monsieur Heart warning the students to not get in the way, lest they hurt themselves. You had no intention to harm—only run.

➸ Rook has two options: follow you empty-handed or grab his bow and risk losing you

➸ He's confident in his skills in finding you, so he chose to gather information first. By that, well, pulling Epel to the side to calm him down then ask him what happened. Rook managed to understand the situation despite Epel shaking like a leaf. He doesn't feel angry. Such emotion would only intensify his instincts and he might do something that will put you and everyone else in harm more. So instead he thanked Epel, gave his head a pat, and quickly dashed to his locker for his bow and arrows.

➸ Your boyfriend is a madman before you, for he immediately knows where you were after getting his bow. Rook attained higher heights for a better view and from the roof, he saw your figure dashing towards the forest. Ah, so your instincts led you to where you wish to be. Alright, this isn't Rook's first hunt.

➸ When everyone else had trouble tracking you down, Rook doesn't. He reminded himself that you're not in the right mind. His monsieur filou is akin to a startled, confused, and defensive wild animal at the moment. Like a little rat, he supposed. Your movements aren't that hard to decipher for a hunter like him plus he can hear your kitchen philosophy from a mile away.

➸ He has to apologize to Vil for taking a few vials of ready-made poison. But this is a matter of life and death. You are in danger from yourself, and as your knight, Rook will save you. Quiet as he can, he laced the tip of his arrow with the poison and aimed it at you. Rook closed his eyes and reminded himself that he is doing this to save you; not to harm you.

➸ He notched his arrow—and you caught it with your bare. Fucking. Hand. SINGLE HAND!!

➸ Rook, internally: holy shit that was hot

➸ Well his covers have been blown and you waved the arrow around screaming something about "I trusted you little guy!" before throwing the arrow with such accuracy while saying "go and take your little mice friend family rat with you!"

➸ Mon Dieu, he does not appreciate being called a rat!

➸ The chase continued and you quite gave everyone a workout. As much as Rook appreciated the stimulating experience you gave him, he much rather wants you subdued and safe, not running around with so many people after you. Luckily, Vil came in and gave him a new vial that is much more potent than the one he stole. He is amazed by the preparedness of his roi de poison but he is much concerned at the potency of the poison.

➸ Vil strictly stared at him and nodded at the new direction you ran to. "With his state like that, you need to take the risks." Rook took his advice. Vil is always sharp as a dagger after all.

➸ Which means he had to use a dagger than an arrow to subdue you. Yes, Rook took the risk of having the poison close to him and closer to you in a 1 v 1 scuffle. Ah, this took him back to when he wrestled his first bear. Except the bear is his boyfriend and you're still quite human...and he's going to drive the blade of his dagger in a non-critical part of your body.

➸ Finally, the drama ended, and the curtains closed when your body fell into his arms. Your blood trickles into a small stream from where he drove the blade in. Rook knelt to the ground and cradled your body in his arms. Sweat dripped everywhere on his skin but he doesn't care about that. He cares about you.

➸ Rook reminded himself that you can be cured of your sleep-like death and prioritized the wound that he engraved on your skin. He kissed the place where he stabbed you and solemnly apologized for defacing your body. Worry not, he will have you stitched in the infirmary, and you will awaken with his kiss...atleast he hoped you will.

➸ Epel was waiting there when Rook brought you in. The poor boy had been crying and he apologized to Rook for the mistake he had done. Rook felt no anger and instead felt sympathy. He too had done his fair share of mistakes, and Epel should not burden himself with those. Instead, he told him, take this as a learning experience as to not do it again.

➸ Rook saved Epel from Vil's harsh scolding. Now, the only one that needs saving, is you.

Even in a sleep-like death, you are still beautiful. Your pale skin is a worrying sight to many but Rook managed to calm himself by admiring it instead. Your body is like marble with blue veins spreading in varied directions.

Rook knew he cannot distract himself by admiring you like a statue of art. You are an art, not a statue. Only histories remain as statues—and you will not become history. He knew what he had to do.

"Oh, mon filou," he whispered against your cold lips, "forgive me."

➸ Just a reminder: Malleus cares for you deeply :))

➸ He was just minding his own business when you suddenly attacked him from behind. Malleus thought you were just being your usual self and lifted his head so you'd let go of his horns. But you didn't and instead, you pulled on it harder that it startled him. He knows how strong you are—meaning something is wrong-

➸ You had quite the vice grip on his horns even when he used his tail to try and pry you off and even shake you off. He didn't want to use his entire strength to throw you but the moment his skin broke under your nails, his instincts came in first, and he threw you across the hallway.

➸ Malleus was horrified. He didn't mean to throw you much less even hurt you. The panic got to him faster than the pain on his head as he rushed to where you flew. Was it possible to feel overwhelming fear? When Malleus' saw the outline of your figure cut clean on the window, he felt something more than fear. If he had lost you and it was his fault, then his promises for you are broken.

➸ Then he spots your hand reach through the hole in the window. And you pulled yourself up and through the hole before dropping to the floor like a ragdoll. You were covered in bruises and cuts. Malleus feared that you have a concussion as well for you were muttering loudly about the stars melting and the Moores burning.

➸ Well, Malleus could worry about that later. You were injured and disoriented. The amount of blood coming out of you is increasing and his priority is getting you to safety.

➸ However, just before he can scoop you in his arms, his knights came to his side. Silver looked like he'd been roused from his sleep as Sebek is disheveled. He made a firm declaration of protecting the Young Master, and that would have been normal for Sebek...if he was standing proud and tall as he said it. Malleus could easily smell the anxiety and lingering guilt from the young fae.

➸ Things got even more concerning as Professor Crewel, Crowley, a few senior students, and Sebek's friends joined in. Malleus looked back at you and saw your cornered state. He doesn't understand what's happening yet but one thing is for sure—you're equally terrified as he is. Everyone was on guard, the Headmaster and the Professor spoke to you as if you were a wild animal—which you were—but all Malleus could think of is grabbing you and flying you away to safety.

➸ Which he did do despite public opinions

➸ By public opinions, the shouts of protests that soon fell quiet when he grabbed you and disappeared...also the "protest" falling from you which Malleus couldn't really understand. It was philosophy and poetry and a prophecy that he can comprehend little; for all Malleus cares about is you.

➸ "My dear, please, what had happened to you?" The desperation was painfully obvious in his tone as he restrained you with advanced magic. Yet as he tried to call you out of your subconscious he realized that magic is futile. Whatever state you are in you are able to break free from his magic. Malleus stayed on the defense as you attacked him, yet he recognized your attempts of attacking as desperation for help. If you crying and wailing out "save me" and "free me" isn't enough to give it away.

➸ No matter how many cuts you give him, no matter how much he will bleed, Malleus refused to fight you.

➸ He just wants you to be okay :((

➸ Malleus knew what he had to do but he doesn't know if he had the strength to do it. Your face streaked with tears and pain pushed his heart to do it anyway. So, Malleus shoved you away with a quick pulse of magic, just enough time for him to summon his staff. He blocked your mouth from biting his neck with his arm, and even if it hurts, seeing your eyes begging to be saved hurts more.

➸ When Lilia and the others found him, he was cradling your body in his arms. His staff laid on the ground and his tears dripped down your face like a fickle rain. Lilia didn't need an answer to know what he had done.

➸ Malleus pulled your unconscious body close to him, hoping—desperate—to feel your warmth. But he couldn't. He couldn't hear your pulse, your heartbeat, and he couldn't feel your warmth. All he could feel is cold and numbness. But atleast you are at rest. You are saved. You're okay. You're okay, you're okay, you're okay.

➸ But he knows deep down that you're not. Because if you are okay, he wouldn't be noiselessly crying and clinging to your body as if you just died. You're alive but you're also dead. Knowing the cure for this dilemma tore his heart to pieces because deep down Malleus is still afraid. He feels like he lost you even though the truth isn't far from it.

➸ Your words echoed in his mind before he hit you with his Unique Magic. You started hissing and wailing and finally, you raised your arms in the air and shouted, "this curse will last till the end of time—no power on earth can change it!"

➸ Can you blame him for putting you in a sleep-like death, a sleep which you will never awaken unless by True Love's Kiss? He panicked :((

➸ Malleus kept your body close to him even when he stood up and looked at Sebek bowing deeply on the ground. He was shaking but his tone was loud enough for Malleus to have an understanding of the matter and of Sebek's apology.

➸ Hearing that he was an accomplice of what happened to you gave him mixed emotions.

➸ Sebek vowed his loyalty to Malleus, and when you came into his life, Sebek vowed to protect you as well. And he failed. That is very clear. The poor boy must be getting gnawed inside out with guilt. Well, Sebek did say that he will accept whatever punishment that is will befall him. He should stay true to his words because Malleus is furious.

➸ Malleus vowed to protect you and raise Hellfire to whoever will cause you harm. He wanted to curse him, burn him on where he stands, and make him pay for what he had done unto you. He could do all of these for he can.

➸ But Malleus won't. He won't do those things to Sebek. He held himself back, swallowed the anger, remained in control of himself in front of the pitiful boy. Sebek is your friend. Sebek is his family. In the end, despite his loyalty, despite his duty, Sebek is still a kid. And Malleus knows that. He won't let this burden the young boy despite him taking full responsibility for the situation.

➸ But Malleus doesn't have the words to say what he wants to say. Instead, he told Sebek to rise from his feet and wordlessly left to bring you to the infirmary.

➸ In the end, what matters most is you.

Your words remain in his mind to echo along with the voices of his fears. Malleus wished to feel the warmth of your hand again, for when he grasped it by your bedside he could feel nothing.

True Love's Kiss can wake you. True Love's Kiss. But do such a thing exist in Twisted Wonderland? Of course, it does, Malleus, of course, it does. However, seeing your pale lips are more of a dreadful reminder than a hopeful invitation.

The fear settled in his stomach along with his insecurities. Malleus cannot lose you. He can live without you, but he does not want to.

➸ Homeboy was just sleeping under the tree,,, he didn't hear the explosion go off or even heard you running at him at full speed

➸ By that, well, running at inhumane speed and pouncing right on him like a rabid animal.

➸ He woke right up when he felt the pain immediately. It was like getting hit with a spine of a book—it jostled him enough to wake him, at least, and the adrenaline rushing through him was enough to knock you off. Silver didn't have time to get what the fuck was happening but thank the Sevens he was trained enough to be quick-footed.

➸ He had time to grab his baton but he didn't have time to block your pounce. And damn you hit like a truck! Silver had to use his baton to block your face even if your entire weight was pressing down at him. There was something definitely wrong with you—and it's not just the look in your eyes-

➸ "What's gotten into you?!" the sudden shout made you calm down—thankfully—and Silver thought you're fine again. You looked at him blankly and the anxiety nipped at his skin. "Are you talking to me?" ????? Who else is he talking to???

➸ When he talked to you, like, yes dear I'm talking to you, your face contorted into something akin to bashfulness—the tipsy kind of bashfulness. The next thing you said confused and worried him more: "Mrs. Robinsons...you're seducing me."

➸ ???? Who the fuck is Mrs. Robinsons???

➸ Well, Silver doesn't have time to think what kind of enchantment table language you're daying because you're suddenly thrown away from him by a burst of magic—advanced magic that he only saw Malleus cast once because of the sheer force it can create. By that, meaning, one single hit of that magic can KILL A REGULAR HUMAN BEING.

➸ It was Professor Crewel who fired the blast and even he looked astounded at what he'd done. Silver didn't waste any time rushing to where you were blasted off. He was expecting you...dead, remains, fuck...what he wasn't expecting was seeing you still standing. Barely alive with your skin blooded and peeling and regenerating—but alive, nonetheless.

➸ He locked eyes with you again and the cold feeling settled at the pit of his stomach looking at you. "Hey. Don't look at me like I'm fucking Frankenstein." You opened your arms at him and gave a solemn nod. "Give your father a hug."

➸ Silver, softly: what the fuck

➸ When Professor Crewel withdrew his wand again you literally hissed like a raccoon. And it looked like he wasn't alone for Sebek pulled Silver away from your range. Ace, Deuce, and Grim were here too. Silver took a deep breath and looked at Sebek wordlessly demanding what the fuck is happening.

➸ Sebek, as quick as he could, explained the situation to Silver. The quick run-down of things swum around in Silver's head as your nonsensical remarks made him dizzier. Guess that explains your strength and immunity to magic.

➸ Silver: who did this to him?? Sebek, sweating: it's a funny story, really

➸ Silver stared at Sebek. He didn't have time to process what the fuck Sebek just confessed to because you screamed again. Sebek and he whipped around to see you viciously tearing apart roots and magical bonds set off by the professor along with the senior students that rushed to the scene. "ALRIGHT," you screamed, yeeting Ace, "I'm TIRED of these EFFIN snakes on this MOTHERFUCKIN' TRAIN!" Then you took off running the other direction toward the forest, and the chorus of frustration reminded Silver of the gravity of the situation.

➸ The absurd weight on his entire body made Silver wish this was just a nightmare.

➸ But it would be a nightmare to lose you.

➸ Even when the night was starting to stretch, and the others were sent by the staff to the infirmary, Silver went to the forest with a heavy heart and his baton in hand. Sebek followed him—for what, a sense of responsibility?—and stopped him before he runs into a tree or worse. Silver snapped at him, the anger finally reaching its surface, and he glared at the young man. Silver isn't the type to fight with his fist nor his words, but this is about you. You who were struck by a mix of potions and magic and currently missing because someone's big head got you in trouble.

➸ Silver knows that Sebek knows how much you mean to him. He's also well aware of Sebek's particular dislike for humans. That remark made Sebek slightly stumble. A flash of hurt and angry was in his eyes but he never tried to hit Silver, despite almost losing control over himself.

➸ "Fighting would not bring him back, Silver. Arguing will not either," Sebek told him. "I know my apologies will be useless in this situation and that is why I will do everything that I can to fix this."

➸ Silver is on the verge of fucking tears but it won't compare to Sebek who remains a straight face while his nose turns bright red from holding back tears. Fortunately, before things get worse, Lilia and Malleus came from the trees. In Malleus' arms was you, quiet, and sedated. Silver would have jumped at Malleus and whisked you away but he's suddenly overcome with fatigue that Lilia had to place his arms around him.

➸ Apparently, the two found you by the river doing whatever then Malleus struck you with his Unique Magic. At that mention, Silver felt cold. He didn't realize how tired he felt, from running around to worrying about you. Despite the heaviness on his shoulders and eyelids, he kept his eyes on you. You looked peaceful but hurt. And Silver wished he can keep you close to him to make you less hurt.

➸ He's glad that you're okay now but he feels dreadful about what's to come next. That dread never left, though, even when the slumber takes him.

"Poor things," Lilia sighed, stroking Silver's locks as Sebek carried the boy on his back. Malleus still has your unconscious body in your arms. His expression is unreadable.

Sebek felt the guilt suffocating him but he remained calm despite the lodge in his throat. "M—Master Lilia—Young master—It...this is..." Sebek stammered, failing to grasp the appropriate words for a sincere pardon. Yet Silver's weight is just as heavy as his sins. Lilia, however, stroked his head. "Save your strength, little one. The best you can do for now is take Silver to the infirmary," the elder fae instructed.

Sebek only nodded and obediently abided.

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