#please I need some fellow nerd to explain the mechanics of this

[sparkplug02]

Calling someone with a Dune hyperfixation, please

Disclaimer: I am a casual fan of the first two Dune movies. I have not read the books. I have a question.

I know that Lady Jessica was supposed to have a daughter with Leto Atreides I so that the daughter could have a son with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. I know that she chose to give Leto a son, who ended up being Paul, and nobody (specifically Reverend Mother Mohaim) was happy about this.

My question is why did it have to be Jessica’s firstborn child?

I think I’m missing some context, because the way I see it, if Mohaim had just taken a chill pill and let Jessica have her fun and make her boyfriend happy, waited a few years, and then reminded her to have a daughter as well, some of this chaos could have been avoided. Sure, the plan would be delayed a few years, but Mohaim herself said that the Bene Gesserit plan in centuries. What difference would a few years make?

Is there some kind of dilution of ability that happens between the firstborn and the second-born child? Was the timing of Paul or the would-be-mother of the Kwisatz Haderach that sensitive and delicate? Was Mohaim just a control freak? I’m confused.

[hiddendreamer67]

“Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?” For the au where the Sides shift sizes?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Finale (here!)

In a world where the sides shrink or grow based on their emotions/egos, Logan is still holed away in his room at a few inches tall. The others are finally let in and do their best to help the micro-soft nerd.

October Prompt #15: Control

 I think this is the final part of shrinking-sides! Check out more of my writing at @hiddendreamerwriting!

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Logan hid his flinch well, attempting to retain at least a small amount of his composure as his perceptively gigantic fellow sides creaked open the door, Roman being the first to show himself. It was intimidating to say the least, and certainly far worse than the sensation of being overpowered by the size of his bedroom alone.

“Wow, you’re so small.” Roman stated obviously.

“I’m well aware of my stature, Roman.” Logan huffed, his cheeks blazing as he turned away from their prying eyes. 

“Yes, well, no need to get huffy, Microsoft Nerd.” Roman gave a huff of his own. Patton peeked around Roman, letting out a soft gasp.

“Oh my goodness you’re absolutely adorable.” Patton spoke softly, clearly trying (and failing) to keep from being overheard. Logan’s cheeks reddened further, the current littlest member of Thomas’ subconscious quickly feeling the situation slip further out of his control as they entered the premises.

“This is bad.” Virgil let out a hiss of breath through his teeth, coming in behind Patton and suddenly Logan was beginning to feel very outnumbered. “Logan. What the hell.” 

“Language.” Patton gently smacked him. “And Logan… what happened, kiddo?”

“Ah….” Logan’s statement trailed off. How was he meant to explain that he had lost control of his emotions? He was logic, and rationality. Logan shouldn’t be influenced by petty feelings; it was positively embarrassing. It proved that Logan was incapable of performing even his most basic of functions. Perhaps he was not necessary at all, and Thomas would become a more effective human system without his involvement-

Logan flinched, startled out of his wits as the other three sides simultaneously bumped their heads on the ceiling, forcing all involved parties to duck at an awkward angle.

“...ow.” Virgil winced, ducking lower to rub at his neck. “Don’t do that again.”

Logan clenched his hands at his sides, frustrated that his struggles had become so transparent. “I am not doing so intentionally.”

“Oh sweetie, we know.” Patton gave him a pitying look, kneeling down in front of Logan and yet still towering over the shrunken individual. “Here, let me help-”

“No!” Logan hastily rejected the offer, backpedaling away from the approaching hand. “I don’t- I’m not in need of assistance.” 

“And that’s why you’re the size of my hand?” Virgil slumped to the ground on Logan’s right, holding up his palm for emphasis. “Oh wait, smaller, because thanks to you we can’t stop growing.”

There was a thump, and Logan quickly turned his head to see Roman had taken up residence sitting on his left. The three giants were encasing him, leaving Logan feeling trapped and cornered. He bit his lip, looking up to Roman and waiting for the quip he was certain would come at any moment. 

Roman tilted his head, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression on his face. “...Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?”

“Roman!” Patton gasped, a disappointed look crossing his features. "You're not reacting quite like I thought you would. I expect better from a charming prince like you.”

“Yeah, what the hell, princey?” Virgil hissed, and this time he wasn’t corrected for his language. “We already know he can shrink, no need to make it worse.”

“That- that’s not what I meant!” Roman looked off put by everyone’s critics. “I was making a point, you know.”

Logan frowned, not expecting the insult to be so blatant. “Are you implying that this mindset is logical?”

“No, no no no!” Roman groaned, wiping his hand down his face. “I’m trying to empathize with you here, why does no one get that? I’ll have you all recall I’m the one who’s been in this situation before.”

“Yes, and you handled that spectacularly.” Virgil rolled his eyes. 

“We can just do and say the same things again!” Patton said, his eyes shining with determination. “Logan, you are amazing and smart and we love you!”

Nothing happened.

“Uh…” Virgil shifted, looking uneasy. “I dunno, try harder?”

“Please will you let me cuddle you?” Patton whined, reaching for Logan again who ducked out of the way.

“Absolutely not!” Logan insisted. “I will not be handled like… like…”

“Like a helpless doll?” Roman offered.

The room went quiet, and Logan took a moment to reconsider the way Roman was acting. “...yes.” Logan agreed finally. 

Roman nodded. “You feel like you’re nothing. Like you don’t matter, and it doesn’t matter if we tell you you’re wrong because then it’s just going to hurt more because you were wrong and Logic’s never wrong, is he?”

The other two sides looked at Roman with puzzled expressions. Meanwhile Logan’s own jaw dropped, concerned at Roman’s new apparent skill in telepathy. “How... how were you aware of these thoughts?”

“Because they’re true.” Virgil butt in, looking to Roman for reassurance that he was indeed in on the plan and not about to make everything worse. With a nod from Roman, he continued. “If a side really mattered they wouldn’t shrink.”

“Falsehood.” Logan frowned, gesturing to Roman. “Creativity is an essential part of Thomas’ personality.”

“And so is Logic.” Patton insisted. “Logan, we need you.”

“That is not factually accurate.” Logan began to pace back and forth. “I could easily be replaced-”

“By who?” Roman scoffed. “I operate in a realm of fantasy, Patton’s head is in the clouds, and Virgil, well his line of reasoning puts us over the edge of the Yankovic curve.”

“Yerkes-Dodson curve.” Logan corrected. 

“Why does Thomas need any of us?” Virgil shrugged. “We’re not real. It just means Thomas is insane, and by the looks of things in desperate need of some therapy.”

“Virgil, don’t say such things!” Patton scolded.

“Indeed.” Logan agreed, shooting Virgil a look over the edge of his glasses. “It is quite a common coping mechanism for humans to envision manifestations of themselves as leaders for certain necessary functions. At this point we’ve become so ingrained in his subconscious that a separation from our existence could be detrimental.”

“So what you’re saying, Little L, is that we exist?” Roman questioned. 

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Logan nodded.

“But we’re not people.” Virgil crossed his arms. “We don’t have emotions.”

“You know that statement is illogical.” Logan rolled his eyes. “Patton is quite literally the embodiment of emotions.”

“I think he meant we all have emotions.” Roman supplied gently.

Patton’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’, finally catching on. 

“I...suppose that our existence has evolved beyond our mere functions, as evidenced by our names, most strongly exhibited in Virgil.” Logan rationalized. “If that is truly the case, it’s possible that, yes, several of us may experience something that is equivalent to human emotions from time to time-”

“Logan.” Patton interrupted gently, wringing his hands together. “It’s… it’s okay for you to have feelings, kiddo.” 

Logan paused his pacing, looking down at his feet. “...I am aware that you hold that opinion.”

“Oh come on, we were so close!” Roman groaned. “We were so close! Why can’t you just accept our help?”

“I should not require help.” Logan answered. “Rationality should be able to control emotions.”

“And what about Logan?” Roman argued. “I mean you already said you’re more than your functions now.”

“I still need to be in control to perform admirably.” Logan continued to insist, sitting down. 

“Bullshit.” (“Language.”) Virgil gave Patton a glare to tell him now was not the time for censoring. “Logan, are emotions logical?”

“Absolutely not.” Logan answered immediately. “They are complicated and illogical and infuriating.”

“And if they’re illogical, then why would a person who’s the embodiment of logic be able to handle them alone?” Virgil waved his hand slowly, urging Logan to catch on.

“Emotions are my realm, kiddo.” Patton reminded him. “Wouldn’t it make sense to accept our help?”

“Yes, indeed!” Roman clapped his hands, gleeful that things were going according to plan. “And certainly you should be able to tell when we’re telling you facts, like the fact that even if you’re a stick in the mud Thomas still needs you.”

Thomas still needs you. “I suppose there is some truth to what you’re saying.” Logan nodded thoughtfully, a hopeful warmth blooming in his chest.

“Logan, even when you’re a clueless moron, you’re still the one who wrangles the rest of us morons together.” Virgil smirked.

“You’re the smartest Einstein we’ve got!” Roman tacked on.

“Inaccurate, but appreciated.” Logan allowed a small smile to grow on his features. 

“You’re going to be okay.” Patton assured him.

Logan’s leg bumped something. He looked up, finding Patton to be at eye level, and realized that in his daze he had grown back to his original size.

“Thank you.” Logan glanced to the sides, expecting to see at least one person giving him a knowing or condescending look. Instead all three faces were warm, gentle. Welcoming. “All of you.”

Patton squealed, launching himself at Logan. “Group hug!” 

The others were quick to follow suit, tackling the nerd to the ground with ease. Despite their increased proximity, Logan found the action unintimidating this time. Instead their presence comforted him, grounding him in his ability to facilitate his duties with ease and reassuring him that they would be willing to assist him in any future emotional endeavors. 

Logan considered their odd behavior upon entering his room. Rather than smother him with kindness and lord over their superiority on this topic that was so new to Logan, the others had granted him the opportunity to come to the right conclusions enough. 

“Thank you.” Logan said again, finding that he couldn’t say it enough.

[jimlingss]

Brass & Strings [12]

Episode 11 - Episode 12 - Episode 12.5 OR Episode 13 Words: 6.8k Genre: Fluff, Humour (?), Slice of Life, Music!Au, College!Au Summary: Have you ever wondered what happens to the mean girl after high school? Where do they go, where do they end up? More importantly, what happens when they get mixed up with the classic nerd that's always too nervous to answer 'no'? Things become a lot more complicated when Kim Namjoon encounters you. They dub you as 'bat-shit insane' and you're not ashamed.

Cr.

You hate kids.

You’re also not at all altruistic or philanthropic, hence, you never had dreams of being a doctor, nurse or a caregiver. Frankly, when it doesn’t involve you or someone you care about, then you could give less of a shit. You know you’re a selfish person by nature and you’ve been insulted because of it many times before, labelling you as such, but there’s nothing you can do. It’s just who you are.

Therefore, it’s no surprise that you’re in your worst of moods when riding on the shitty school bus with your tuba case by your side. It was a mandatory requirement...or rather, one of your professors had urged you to join the group of students. Much like Mrs. Song’s opportunity of performing at the business dinner, this is an opportunity as well but bluntly - it’s far less significant. It’s volunteer work, heading down to the elementary school to ‘inspire’ students to become musicians and to ‘spread your musical skills for future generations’.

As great as it sounds, you know for a fact that kids could give less of a rat’s ass about music. They’d probably get their grimy hands all over your instrument and break a valve that’ll cost a leg and arm to repair. The professor only called you anyways since they needed a tuba player.

They don’t care about you.

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Namjoon’s eyes peek from the seat in front of you and you suddenly feel a heavy weight lifted off your shoulders. You sigh outwardly.

At least he was here.

“Get me out of this place and I’ll be chipper again.”

“Why do you dislike children so much, Y/N?” He asks in amusement, turning around fully and resting his head on top of his folded arms. “You know, it’ll look good for your résumé.”

The harpist is wearing an oversized sweater today, glasses on the bridge of his nose and ruffled hair still all the same. The pout on his lips is cute and the way he looks at you makes you aware of his warm-hearted aura; the brown orbs that never stray from being gracious and gentle. Sometimes, you want to just wrap him up and put him in your pocket to keep forever. In that way, he’d never be harmed by the cruel world.

“You remind me of a child, Namjoon.” You make a mindless remark and he frowns.

“What? How?”

“Nevermind.” You brush off your friend, switching back to the previous topic. “I don’t know. Is there a reason to like kids? They’re always picking their nose. They’re dirty. And they ask too many questions.”

“They’re cute.”

“Loud.”

Namjoon laughs and Jennie across the aisle from you gives an encouraging smile. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Y/N. Give it your best shot! I know you have it in you!”

If only your eyes could roll to the back of your head. Rose, however, has the audacity to scoff and smirk at you from behind the row. “Be careful. Y/N might kill someone today and be charged with murder. She’d be better off in jail anyways, so maybe it’s a good thing.”

The concertmistress immediately scolds the flutist, “Rose!”

“Yeah, and the person I’m murdering will probably be you.” You try to get up and she further taunts you, except your arm is tugged on by someone and you land back down on your butt. Rose is told off by Jennie and you glare daggers into Namjoon.

You despise how he’s not frightened of you anymore. Namjoon’s legs no longer quake when your sharpened pupils stare into his soul, he doesn’t sweat or stutter, the timidness washing away by every week. Your ability to manipulate the harpist and get your way is quickly diminishing.

He has the courage to reprimand you like you’re the child, grabs your hand whenever he desires and he tugs on your arm to hold you back. You don’t know if Namjoon is transforming into your babysitter or your mother but you can’t find it in yourself to hate him.

“Are you not afraid of me?”

He smiles, dimples creased in his cheek. “What’s there to be afraid of?”

You scoff, flicking off his hand surrounding your wrist and he withdraws, flashing you one last grin before sitting properly in his seat and disappearing from sight. You look out the window, going back to seething. Except, it’s too difficult to remain angry when your heart is being too loud.

You wish it would shut up.

//

Sometimes expectations don’t differ from reality. The children are noisy. Screaming. Running around like a wild pack of hyenas, getting their filthy hands on anything that’s physically possible to reach and you think you might be sick.

“Why did I agree to this?” You mumble underneath your breath, standing in the back of your group. Your fellow orchestra members are as bewildered as you are, wide-eyed staring at the chaos.

Namjoon grins and decides to lighten the mood by teasing you. “Because I’m here?”

You let out a sigh, “yeah. You’re not wrong on that one, Nams.”

“Wait…” He frowns and twists his head over to face you. “Pardon?”

“Children? Children, please! Attention!” The music teacher, Miss. Nara, scrambles and she pulls the sharp mallets away from a boy, scolding him that he could poke his eyeballs out. She lets out an exasperated exhale and then claps her hand twice, the sound roaring above the catastrophe. “Freeze!”

The students become paralyzed mid-step as if they were truly turned to ice by a magical ray gun. Some of them giggle, others with their foot literally in the air but nonetheless, it’s finally quiet. “We have guests this afternoon. They’re students, just like you, but they’re from the university and they play a lot of fascinating instruments. They’re very busy but they took the time to come and visit you all today. Can everyone please greet them?”

The third-graders scatter over, a few of them almost tripping on the carpet and over their shoelaces. “Hello!” They say in unison. A handful grin and you can see their toothless smiles.

“Is this the violin?” Someone asks Jennie and pokes her case. She crouches down to meet them at eye-level and nods. You discreetly move your own case behind you back, reluctant to let any kid lay a single finger on your thousand dollar instrument. If you find a crusty booger on it later, you might completely lose your mind.

“Class! Let’s not bombard them, give them room to breathe. Oh! Go sit down in your lines and we can introduce each instrument one by one!” The teacher sends over a sheepish smile to your group as the children lunge over to the masking tape lines on the carpet, planting themselves down in memorized alphabetical order.

“Fei, you heard me once. Don’t make me put you in time out! Suzy, don’t touch that….”

Jihoon’s eyes have grown misty while gazing at the young music teacher. Miss. Nara’s brunette hair is in a braid, draped over her shoulder and her chiffon maxi skirt swishes with every twirl. You have to admit that she’s quite the looker and you estimate that she’s not far from your age, six years at most. However, the viola player is not the only person swooning. All your male classmates and a few females are practically drooling, ready to pass out - heck, even Rose can’t peel her eyes away.

You grumble, not used to the attention redirected onto someone else. “What’s wrong?” A smooth, soft voice overrides the clamor and you turn to Namjoon, only to realize that he’s looking at you. No one else, not the kids or the beautiful teacher…..but you.

He even smiles at your blank expression, a silly grin with dimples pressed into each cheek. You muse that he looks like an idiot like this - an endearing idiot. “Y/N?”

“Nothing…”

You find yourself not caring so much about the others anymore.

Each person takes turns to showcase their instrument and play some notes. You have to hold back a yawn when it drags on, considering that there’s fourteen in total, including you. The professor had selected one person from each section to go represent their instrument, as if this were the Olympics or something. The children, on the other hand, are all spellbound with their glittering orbs. It’s no surprise that there seems to be a bias towards the violin and flute since they’re such dainty things and they make nice melodic sounds. You roll your eyes when Rose showcases her flutter tongue and plays a nursery rhyme that they all recognize.

The percussionist also shows off, drumming like a rockstar when you know he never does in the actual practice sessions (and god forbid - your conductor might throw his baton at him). The trumpet plays the national anthem, the kids’ mouths drop at the huge bass and the trombone does an entire gag, utilizing the slider mechanism. The students are transfixed at Namjoon’s harp while he shyly explains a little on how he plays. You give an encouraging thumbs up which makes him beam.

But you can tell that they’re losing interest when it gets to the french horns. They’re looking elsewhere, bored out of their minds and they sway from side to side, daydreaming about robots or dolls or whatever children do….

“This is the tuba.” Lo and behold, it’s your turn and at the projection of your voice, the third-graders snap back into focus. You loll your head to the side, speaking tiredly. “It’s the largest and lowest pitch brass instrument in the orchestra. You have to buzz your lips to make a sound.”

One boy raises his hand in front of the horde. You resist facepalming. “Yes? You. Speak.”

“Why do you only have four buttons?”

“These are called valves. Usually, tubas have three but mine’s special. It’s a professional tuba which means it’s very expensive. You can have up to six valves but those are less common.”

He frowns, seemingly not understanding what’s coming out of your mouth. “If it only has four buttons, it must be easy to play then!”

Your eye twitches and you make a strangled noise at the back of your throat. It takes everything within your power not to utter a swear word or curse aloud. “It isn’t.”

The glare and intimidating, indignant aura radiating off your body must both be clues to your oncoming outburst. Jennie immediately steps forward and smiles. “Why don’t you play something for us, Y/N?”

Because you hate life, the world and what you have to do - you play one single note, the lowest possible one and you hold it for a whole minute. It rumbles against the walls and you can feel the vibrations shooting to the back of your skull. Two of the kids laugh, mumbling how it sounds like a fart while the rest are unimpressed. Your classmates either sigh or turn away from you. When your lips leave the mouthpiece and the sound dies out, you feel a lot better - it’s the longest record time for you holding the low note. Nice.

At least something useful happened today.

“Okay! Kids, you can go to the one you’re most interested in and maybe these nice musicians will show you in more detail how to play and what it’s like being in the world of music. If you’re kind to them, maybe they’ll even let you try.” The children begin to get up from their spot. All of you are positioned around the room, seated in a chair with a music stand in front. “Remember to treat them with respect! Respect!”

As per expectations, a swarm of them go towards Jennie and Rose, even to the French Horn which causes you to glare. The player shifts in their seat, sweating from their hairline.

The space in front of you is empty. A tumbleweed could pass by and no one would notice. You consider packing up, maybe answering text messages back. This isn’t out of the ordinary and you had predicted this would happen. No one really cares for the tuba considering it’s not all pretty or nice sounding. But before you’re able to leave, your attention is stolen by the boy a few feet away from you.

“This is the harp.” Namjoon’s smile widens as a girl goes closer, small hand on his knee to stare up at the intricate wooden designs. “There are many different kinds, small ones and big ones but this one is the biggest! Does anyone want to try to pluck a string?”

“Oooh, me!” “No, me!” “Me, me!”

The harpist in the blue coat and black rimmed glasses allows each to go one at a time, beaming at their enthralled faces. “My aunt plays the harp,” a taller boy speaks up. “Isn’t it weird that you’re playing it?”

He tips his head to the side. “Why?”

“You’re a boy!” The kid says and your eyebrow cock upwards. “Isn’t the harp a girl instrument?”

“Well, not really.” Namjoon smiles. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a girl or boy or anything in between. You can play whatever you want as long as you love it enough.”

“Huh.” The boy, named Jintak, seems to process the newfound information and nods, taking a step forward while asking more questions. You wonder how he ever got the thought that instruments were segregated into genders but at the same time you can comprehend his thought process. Traditionally, it’s more common for females to play flute, clarinet and the harp while males inclined towards percussion and brass instruments. You’re not sure why that’s the case but it certainly doesn’t deter you.

For a moment, you’re brought back to the days when you first began, younger than the students around you….and the nostalgic, sadness comes tumbling back, only to vanish when a bright yellow backpack materializes into your peripheral vision.

“Y/N?!” Seokjin gasps and comes running over. “What are you doing here?!”

You sigh, “how do you always find me, kid?”

“This is my school!” He exclaims in elation and continues to explain. “The elementary and middle school are just in different buildings but wow! I never come around here!”

“It’s a coincidence. Don’t get your hopes up.”

The teacher comes sauntering over, checking on everyone’s groups and Seokjin reluctantly breaks away from you. Apparently, he was only here on an errand, to send the music teacher a note from another teacher. Judging by the blush that appears on the apples of her cheeks, you muse that it must be from a romantic interest which is unsurprising.

“W-w-what do you play?”, a hesitant, timid girl nervously stutters. Her sparkly shoes are sliding against the carpet and her pigtails swing with each movement. It breaks your train of thought and you blink at her, caught off guard that a student is actually speaking to you.

“Uh, tuba.”

“Is it hard?”

“Not really. Kind of but you could probably make a sound if you wanted to.”

The girl is in a long, polka-dotted and purple dress. You mentally thank the teacher for attaching name tags to everyone as you read her’s - Inha. “I don’t really like the other instruments.” She gives a fleeting glance back to the crowd surrounding cello and clarinet. Inha looks back at the golden metal in your arms. “This one seems cooler.”

You told yourself you didn’t care.

You said that it was a waste of your time, that you didn’t want any grimy hands laying a single finger. But at this moment, when another has taken interest in what you have to offer, you feel a tingle of excitement burst in your chest. “Do you want to try?”

“Can I?!” Her orbs light up as if there’s a million stars in them, all laying dormant and simply waiting for the moon’s cue in order to twinkle. You get off your chair and she climbs onto it. “Is it heavy?”

“A little bit but I’ll be here. It’s okay.”

You place the golden instrument in her lap and she receives it in enthusiasm. Inha lightly presses down on the valves and you allow her hand to run over the brass bell, touching the cool metal and feeling its weight that grounds her to the Earth. You allow her to try blowing through after you wipe down the mouthpiece and she laughs, telling you it’s ticklish to buzz her lips. The young girl manages to make a note and although it isn’t the crispiest sound, it’s loud. It startles everyone in the room and when you praise her, she giggles cheerfully. The same grin reflects on your lips and you hurriedly teach her fingerings, how to play what note.

You don’t notice Namjoon watching with a soft smile.

//

Lunchtime rolls around quickly and Miss. Nara is swamped up to her chin, trying to make sense of the order deliveries that the school had prepared beforehand. Thus, when she excuses herself and leaves the room, there’s no guardian watching over the children - it’s anarchy once more. Survival of the fittest. Eat or be eaten.

“How do you even learn anything when your class is like this?” You mutter to Inha, the girl who you’re piggybacking. You never intended to be carrying her but you couldn’t bear to watch her become encroached by her wild classmates and she’s rather lightweight anyways.

Your case is by your side, sandwiched between the wall and chair that you’re standing on. Changwook, a bassoon player, screams from the other side of the room, being trampled by a bunch of giggling hyenas. Jennie is trying her best as the children launch over her but they know that she’s too delicate to be directly tackled on. A trombonist, Sunha, seems to be a favourite as she grabs the students by their arms and swings them around, a human helicopter if one would attach a name to it but she’s tired by the fourth child.

“We’re actually known as the worst class in the school.” Inha laughs over your shoulder and says it with the utmost pride. “We’ve ran out a bunch of substitute teachers and we’ve made one or two cry before. It was kind of funny…”

You mentally give condolence to whatever person that might’ve been. “I bet.”

“We really only listen to Miss. Nara because she’s so nice.” Inha sighs and a tiny smile tugs at your lips. You ignore the third-grader that body slams into the bookshelf and causes a binder to come tumbling down. Another one somersaults in front of you before cartwheeling away. “She makes us cupcakes and cookies if we’re good. And she brought us to the music museum and for Christmas, she gave all of us gifts.”

It’s fascinating how such tiny humans can act like angels in front of the ones they like and grow devil horns and red tails the moment that person turns around. As you observe the disarray in front of you, it only confirms your dislike for them.

You grimace but then your eyes catch a particular someone a few feet away.

Namjoon has always had great body proportions and outstanding height - you’ve thought that from day one. But to people in general, he can come across as intimidating, a giant or gangster, someone who could punch another into outer space. It’s a lot more ironic in reality, considering that his touch is alway soft, despite the thickness of his arms, and his proneness to embarrassment constantly causes him to be shy. Namjoon wouldn’t even fart on a butterfly.

The students must’ve realized the same thing as you. When the pair of you came into the room at the beginning, they were terrified of him but now….they were grappling on top of him, stealing his sheet music, undoing his shoelaces and trying to choke the poor boy.

“Hey! Hey! Get off of him!”

You wonder how you always manage to pick out Namjoon in a massive crowd.

“Inha, stay here.” You set her down on the chair and she nods, watching as you dive into the mob. They’re shoved aside before you get to the harpist and you snatch the sheet music away from the boy that’s been teasing him with it. The student gasps and you give a stern stare that must come off as a menacing glare because he stumbles back. “Get off of him this instant!”

“Y/N?”

There’s no need for some childish countdown, no need for threats or sharp gestures. “I’m serious.” You’re already scary enough as it is.

The third-graders surrounding Namjoon reluctantly climb off his back and they unwrap their arms from his leg. He stands up straight, finally able to catch his breath again. At the same time, you feel your blouse being tugged on and you whirl around, about to curse some child off but you look down to see Inha.

“Are you married to him?” She asks out of curiosity, innocently blinking up. You don’t even get to ask her how she made it all the way to you. You’re too stunned by the question.

“No! I’m too young to be married! That’s-”

“Is he your boyfriend then?” Another asks and you realize how much attention you’re drawing...the kind of attention that you, for once in your life, don’t want.

“No.”

The kids have shit-eating grins and you’re too caught off guard to comprehend that silence and ignoring them would do more good than answering any questions. “Do you like him?”

“Yeah, do you like him?!”

Namjoon stares at you, completely silenced. His chest heaves and his breathing finally steadies. You clear your throat, avoiding his prodding irises that gleam. You can tell that he’s amused and for some reason, it irritates you even more. “As a friend.”

“Are you lying?” Inha shifts her weight from one foot to the next, tipping her head to the side. “It’s not very nice to lie.”

These kids are the devil.

“N-no.”

One of them covers their eyes with their hands, grinning with blushing cheeks. “Eww! They’re in love!”

“W-wait! What?!”

Where the hell did they get that conclusion from?!

Jintak begins the chant, Inha joining in. Soon, in the midst of the chaos, they’re circling you like a game of ring-around-the-rosy and they’re singing aloud, “Y/N and Namjoon sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g.” They spell it out and you groan into your palms, shame eating you up alive. “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage!”

Namjoon laughs his head off and you wonder if this is what you get for standing up for him. What kind of reversal is this and what in the world did you do to deserve this kind of treatment? (Technically, you’ve done a lot and you’re sure there’s a seat in hell reserve that has your name on it...but now is not the time…).

“Y/N and Namjoon sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love-”

“Are you that embarrassed?” Namjoon whispers into your ear, absolutely entertained by the sight in front of him. It’s not everyday that you’re flustered, that your cheeks turn into a rosy hue and you try to hide your face behind your hair. He’s used to your flamboyant and blunt nature but this is a pleasant surprise as well.

“Ugh, I hate this.”

The students shriek when he suddenly interlocks his hand with yours and for a moment, their chanting ceases. “If you want it to stop, we could just hug...or kiss..or something and they’d run away.”

You scoff, giving him a confused expression. It felt like you were talking to Jungkook. You don’t remember Namjoon ever making smooth one liners before. But unlike with the annoying acapella kid, you don’t shut the harpist down. A tiny smirk appears on your mouth, curious as to see how much Kim Namjoon is capable of.

“Maybe we should.”

The sound of a steam train whistles from the other side of the room, interrupting your shenanigans and not only does it capture your focus but the rambunctious students as well. Of course, it’s none other than the concertmistress, practically the living embodiment of a Disney princess, who has managed to bring calmness and peace.

She pulls the wooden train whistle away from her mouth and grins, announcing loudly, “all aboard the musical train! Next stop to fame!”

The third-graders laugh and they tumble over, putting their hands on the shoulders of the person in front of them, making a huge chain. Jennie pretends to be the conductor and every so often, she blows through the train whistle. Rose is in front of the concertmistress, playing her flute like Pied Piper (except, she’s not leading the children into a cave to disappear or into a river to drown). The other orchestra musicians have also found their place, dancing with the folk tune. You’re finally free but Namjoon drags you over to the end of the line. “My arms are tired,” you complain when you place your hands on his shoulders, “you’re too tall, Nams.”

“Should I carry you instead?” He shifts slightly, smirking at you and your brows furrow.

“What’s with you these days?”

Even with the kids laughing and giggling, the flute music and commotion, you can hear his voice clearly. “What do you mean?”

“I-...you’re just...so….flirtatious these days. Where’s the timid Namjoon that I used to scare off?”

“Do you hate me like this?”

“...no.”

“Good.” He turns around. “‘Cause I don’t plan on changing.”

If you were flustered before, now it feels like your entire face is on fire. It’s never been like this before, no one has ever caused you to be like this and you wonder if you’re catching a fever.

//

Lunch goes by pretty smoothly. The third-graders sit amongst themselves as your fellow musicians plant themselves together. You hover awkwardly not knowing where you should go or if you should leave all together but Namjoon grabs your hand and leads you beside him. At first, everyone immediately freezes up when they realize your presence. The things they’ve witnessed, the rumours they’ve heard and your past deeds don’t give you a very good reputation. But when Jennie smiles and asks how your morning went and you answer politely, they seem to calm down.

All of you end up taking turns to share your nostalgic school stories and it brings you back to your own days. You sneak a glimpse from the harpist, realizing that you don’t know anything about his past. “Do you have any horror stories, Y/N?” Jennie asks after telling the tale of how one of her middle school classmates with a temper issue had punched through a timpani drum. The percussionist had shivered and gasped at the story.

“Well, I played in my high school’s orchestra..” You begin to explain and everyone leans in, engaged with your re-telling. Most of them are aware that you went to one of the largest, expensive private academies in the country and they’ve only heard about how well the students are trained there. “But in my last year, the conductor left on maternity leave. Someone had to step in for a few months and one afternoon, I found the replacement teacher at the sink….”

They nod and you take pleasure in keeping all of them on edge. “He had dumped the flutes and clarinets into water to try to clean them.”

“Oh my god.” and “No way.” echo amongst the group of fourteen. Rose raises her brow and coughs. “What did you end up doing?”

“I punched him in the face.”

There’s a long silence. “What.”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “I screamed and asked what was going. He told me something like ‘you can’t speak to me in that tone of voice’. I pushed him away and he yelled at me, so, I punched him.”

Jihoon swallows hard. “And then what?”

“He wanted me expelled and I went to the principal’s office.” You dismiss Namjoon’s curious stare. “Long story short, my parents came and threatened to sue. The guy ended up paying for the damaged instruments and the kids got their money back for it.”

Yup. Those were the kinds of parents you had. They wanted to sue everyone and everything, even if someone stepped on your foot on accident at the train station. It’s funny how overbearing they are but at the same time, neglected the one thing you loved most.

While your classmates took pictures with their parents on stage, you never once saw your own parents at any of your performances. Mothers, fathers, aunts and uncles, grandparents consistently sat in the assembly and applauded with proud smiles but in the end, you walked off by yourself, packing your belongings....

“Woah.” A squeaky giggle appears beside you. “That’s crazy, Y/N! But you saved your classmates from having ruined instruments!”

Seokjin is perched beside you, gnawing on his sandwich. Namjoon tilts his head to the side, giving you a confused frown and you shrug again. Jennie scoots over and invites him into the circle and you ignore the looks that your classmates give you, screaming the question ‘who is this?’. You’re too tired to argue with the middle schooler. “Do you have any stories, Jin?”

“A few.” He coyly answers to the concertmistress and surprisingly, Jin has the charisma of a politician. Even if he’s almost a decade younger, everyone enjoys his company.

You find yourself relishing in the group, smiling and talking normally with them. You’ve always been ostracized and isolated and it’s odd to belong, to fit right in as if you were a puzzle piece that merely snapped into place. Perhaps, you only have one person to thank for that.

“I think I’m going to skip class.” Seokjin sulks as everyone begins to put away their belongings, lunch ending sooner than he thought. A handful of your classmates pat him on the shoulder, saying their goodbyes to him. “I want to stay here with you, noona.”

“No.” You look up from your bag. “You’ll go to class or else I’ll never hear the end of it from your brother. Hoseok already thinks I’m a bad influence enough as it is.”

“But-”

“Go to class.” You smile and it isn’t sinister. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll buy you something nice to eat.”

Seokjin’s eyes light up. “A date?!”

“No.” A disgusted expression mars your face. “That’s illegal. I mean it as an outing-”

“A date it is then!” Seokjin grins and he bolts out the door before you can say otherwise. “Bye, Y/N!” He disappears and you laugh underneath your breath.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, you’re strolling down the hall to find Namjoon walking in the same direction as you. He’s preoccupied, studying the students’ artwork on the walls and the coloured pictures that frame bulletin boards. You accelerate your steps and clear your throat loudly. He spins around and smiles. “Y/N. Hey…”

“Do you like kids?” The fond smile on his lips are still there and his irises are glued to the drawings as you continue walking alongside him. “I realized I never asked…”

“I just like cute things.” Namjoon admits with a tiny laugh. “Crabs, animals, kids…”

You muse that despite the hard exterior and big stature that looks like he could beat someone else into a pulp, Namjoon is the biggest softie you’ve ever come to know. From day one, he has been nothing but a gentle soul. He’s a giant teddy bear that you have the urge to steal and cuddle….

“What about you?” He asks with doting eyes. “Do you still hate kids?”

“I do.” People can’t change overnight and you find no reasons why you should like rambunctious tiny humans that sneeze germs every second. “But...they’re not so bad.”

You’ve taken a liking to sweet Inha and you’ve told her (jokingly, of course) that you could take her to your home and you’d provide her with so many toys, she’d be drowning in them. The little girl only laughed and cutely said ‘no’ to you. “I think I want a daughter one day….maybe….”

If your past self heard you now, she’d probably call you a fraud and strangle you to death. For one, you’d never be caught dead talking to a person like Namjoon. You were conceited, rolling your eyes unless someone had money or authority. You believed you were better than everyone else, that you were special and you were talented. You’ve also sworn never to become a married woman, never to be chained down by some individual that could cheat within the next breath. And after you watched a labour video and saw the aftermath of stretch marks and loose skin, you promised never to have children.

But here you are.

You’re beside Namjoon, a fool of a boy who pushes his glasses up every so often and likes to smile at things that don’t mean much. You’re thinking about kids of your own and the idea of tying the knot with someone isn’t so disturbing. Things have changed.

You’re allowing your heart to flutter even when it’s not supposed to.

//

The group gathers again and the fourteen of you perform a few pieces together. It’s lively when the children begin to dance and they watch in awe as each instrument sings together, twining together their different sounds and melodies in order to create one piece. Most often than not, if you aren’t playing in a horde of over fifty people then you’re practicing by yourself. But there’s something about fourteen, one for each, that allows you to hear every person.

“Are you going to visit me again?” Inha angles her head up to meet yours.

“Sure…” You squat down to connect with her at eye-level. “I’ll come by and maybe you can visit my school someday.”

She nods. “That would be fun. Oh, and Y/N, I think I want to play tuba.” Inha shyly looks down at her pretty shoes. “I’m going to ask my parents when I get home.”

You thought the words ‘you’ve won the lottery’ or ‘the inheritance is now yours’ would cause you to get a heart attack. But hearing those strung syllables stumble from her mouth makes you beyond blissful. “Okay. If you need my help, call me. I’ll look forward to competing with you one day.”

Inha grins when you ruffle her hair and you wrap your pinky around her’s, a gesture to prove your promise. Jintak and the rest of the children say their own goodbyes and you catch some of your classmates patting Jihoon on the back, the latter boy unable to gain courage to give Miss. Nara his number. It’s a blessing in disguise considering that you’re aware the teacher already has an active love life of her own.

“Are you going to go back with us?” Jennie asks as she zips up her violin case, holding it in both hands. “All of us are carpooling back to the university together…”

“No, it’s alright. I have a thing to do.” You wave your hand to dismiss her. “I’ll see you in class on Monday?”

“Okay. Bye, Y/N. Get home safely!”

You watch as everyone files into the three different cars with their music cases, complaining about the tight squeeze and yelling until the van slams shut. When they’re gone down the street, you turn to the corner, near the front school gate and you pull out your phone.

It’s fifteen ringing beats until it picks up.

“Hi, beautiful.” A greasy voice trickles artificial sugar into your ear. “Where are you? Should I pick you up now? Are you ready for some...fun?”

You exhale steadily before you twirl one finger into your hair, playing up your role. “Actually…” For a second, you pull the phone away to read the contact name, having already forgotten who’s on the other side. “...Jonny. I’m tired today. School was extra busy. I was wondering if we could reschedule.”

“But I’m giving you a free meal and shopping money...” The voice is obviously annoyed and you feel more irritated, holding in a scoff but after a second of silence passes, he sighs. “Fine. I understand.”

“You could do that for me, right? Don’t be mad.” You pout and even if he can’t see you, it helps to put up the facade. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

It’s the same pattern. You’re not a sugar baby or a prostitute, not selling your body nor are you a slave working under somebody else. You’re giving your time, company and offering your pretty looks to the lonely, wealthy folks who want an escape from their reality; those who yearn for the closeness of another human without needing to be tied down into a committed relationship. Although many have been kind and proper towards you, a lot of them don’t care.

You don’t anticipate them to but it still feels...empty. Your apartment is full. Your pockets and stomach are full. But you have nothing.

“Namjoon?”

He’s at the bus stop, the sun beginning to dip slightly over the horizon. The person in front of you is equally stunned as you are. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that! Why didn’t you take the van with everyone else?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I sent the harp with them but I wanted to take the bus. It was too crowded for me to fit anyways. But what about you? Why didn’t you take the van?”

“Same reason as you.” You frown, the two of you looking out at the road and waiting for the familiar, blue automobile to turn the corner. There is another reason but you won’t say it aloud.

Sure, there are tens of people who would pick you up in an instant, lovers that would come zooming by in their sports cars or others calling their chauffeurs to escort you. Heck, even your family driver would be sent if you made a quick phone call to your parents.

But none of those people are Kim Namjoon.

You end up taking the bus with him, sitting at the back in the same seat together. There’s a bit of silence as the pair of you recuperate and strangely enough, when you begin to talk again, it doesn’t require much energy. “I feel like ever since you came around, I’ve been taking the bus a lot more.”

Namjoon laughs. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“I don’t know.” You respond earnestly. “There’s a lot of things that are different now because of you…...answer me honestly, Joon. Are you stalking me?”

“What?” His mouth draws open. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, everywhere I go, you’re there.” You’re only supposed to see Namjoon briefly, in practice rooms or on days where you interrogate him on how your science classes are. Now, he’s somehow become a constant in your life, like brushing your teeth or having a cup of coffee every morning. “We keep bumping into each other.”

It feels wrong to not see Namjoon at least once a day.

He shrugs. “Maybe it’s fate.”

You scoff. “Yeah, right.”

The bus ride is more than half-an-hour long. As the evening becomes night and the orange sky doesn’t intrude it’s beams through the glass windows, the drowsiness in your bones takes captive of your being. Your head eventually lolls to the side but you’re awakened when you feel a pressure on your shoulder. Namjoon’s head is resting on it and he curls up closer to your warmth.

A smile pulls on the corners of your mouth and you lean your own head on the window.

He probably won’t hear you but it doesn’t hurt to speak aloud and pretend that he’s awake. You inhale a small breathing, murmuring out, “do you think I’m scary, Nams? I always blamed other people but maybe it’s my fault that I’ve driven everyone else out of my life.”

There’s a long silence and you shut your eyes, expecting nothing more when the harpist is asleep.

“No.”

His whisper pierces through the air and hits straight into your chest. Your eyes flutter open and you look down at him. Namjoon’s own eyes are still closed and his cheek is pressed onto your shoulder, not moving once. The lights inside the bus are dim, causing the passing lamp posts outside to flicker their luminescence in for a split of a second each time. Yet, his skin glows and you wonder if a ghost has spoken to you or if you misheard. But his lips gently part again.

“Maybe at first...but then you became annoying. You’re a brat.” He slowly mutters and in an almost dreamy state. The weight of his body shifted on yours is not heavy but rather comforting.

In the close proximity, you wonder if he can hear your thundering heartbeat. “You’re cute...and I like cute things.”

[jaybeartodd]

The Darkest of Times Pt. 2 -- Jason Todd x fem. reader

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Warnings: cursing, mentions of very mild violence

Story tags: @janybaby @luna-san3 @idontlikepamts

Permanent tags: @korindrs @alohabucky @sarcasmismyfirstlove

This sucks. Sitting trapped in a human void bunker with nothing to talk to but a cat starts to wear on a person. You have read every book that you have managed to smuggle at least twice and there is no semblance of a TV so officially being stuck in the bunker due to a shot leg has been a horrifying two days. You have even resorted to trying to teach Pete how to play fetch. 

You are shaking his small furry head trying to make him understand when you hear a noise at the door. You swipe the knife from where you tossed it on the floor and limp over to the door. 

The door swings open and you shield your eyes against the light you forgot to anticipate. A figure drops down in front of you and you shove them against the wall with the knife pressed to their neck.

“Nice to see you too, Doll,” a mechanical voice taunts from behind your knife. You blink away the stars from your eyes and glower at the blue-helmeted man.

Engines roar above ground and with swift movements he removes the knife from his neck and jumps up to seal the door.

“What the-” you start but he wraps his gloved hand around your mouth. He puts a finger to his lips and gestures upwards. Shouting and heavy footsteps run over top of the bunker and you both track the movements with your heads. After several minutes of silence you look back at his stupid helmet and pull his hand from your mouth angrily.

“What the hell was that? Your entourage? And why are you even here?” you bombard him with furious questions. And this bastard just shrugs. You push him back against the wall with the knife resuming its former position at his throat. 

He puts up his hands defensively but you remain vigilant. A guttural sound emits from his helmet that you assume is a sigh and suddenly he has you pressed against the opposite wall with the knife now in his control and at your throat.

You gasp in surprise while he bars your chest with his forearm and turns the knife so it is against your cheek.

“This is how you do it,” he presses his forearm and you wince, “Put the pressure here and actually sell the idea that you intend to use the knife.” He instructs lowly. You swallow as the close proximity dawns on you. With one swipe, you would be dead. 

He steps back and flips the knife so that the handle is pointed in your direction. You compose yourself and grab the knife glaring at him with fierce intensity. 

“You still haven’t answered my question,” you grumble with the knife hanging from your hand useless by your side. Your leg starts to ache as the adrenaline washes off and you hiss in pain. He tilts his head in the direction of your leg but you just cross your arms ignoring the agony.

“I am strategically evading some people I might have pissed off.” He explains while taking a seat on Anthony’s bed. You narrow your eyes but can’t help yourself.

“So you are hiding?” you mock.

“No, I believe I said ‘strategically evading’,” he points out and leans back with his arms behind his head. Even through the thick fabric and pieces of shiny metal splayed on his body you can make out taut muscles poised for attack.

“Why here? I don’t exactly recall sending out an open invitation,” you finally give into the pain of standing for so long and saunter over to your bed.

“Actually, you did,” he assures and completely dumbfounds you, “Your words were ‘I owe you’ I believe.”

You roll your eyes.

“Not what I meant. I owe you one AFTER you deliver news regarding my friend, remember?” your face brightens, “Wait, do you know where he is?”

“No, not yet,” he answers solemnly. You drop your head at this and he sits up.

“But, I put feelers out. I should have some information for you in the next week.” You nod your head slowly, not happy about the time.

You scrunch your nose in amusement, “Feelers? That sounds gross.” He chuckles standing up.

“Wait, do I at least get to know who those guys were? Or what you did?” you insist honestly desperate for some communication that wasn’t unreciprocated.

He stops walking and leans against the wall.

“Okay how about this. They were bad guys who were doing bad things and I stopped them from doing said bad things and they weren’t too pleased.” 

“How descriptive,” you mutter, “But why did you run here?”

He stares at you long enough to make you self conscious.

“I don’t know. It was easiest I guess,” he lies. You shake your head not understanding in the least bit.

“Okay well do you want dinner or something?” you ask sheepishly. He taps his helmet.

“Oh, didn’t realize it was glued to your head. My mistake,” you apologize and he rolls his head along the wall laughing softly.

“Well some of us are less robotic and need to eat. You are happy to join if you like,” you put the option on the table one last time. He stares at you for several moments and you hold your breath.

“No, sorry I can’t, not tonight,” he huffs and pushes off the wall, “But I am certainly flattered a fair maiden such as yourself has chosen me to eat dinner with.” He bows fancifully and you scoff. Nerd.

“Well, you certainly should be considering the very appealing and vast competition you have,” you proclaim gesturing towards Pete who is currently licking himself. He laughs again and starts towards the door.

“Bye!” you shout at his retreating form. Once the door closes behind him you sigh and pet Pete.

“Just you and I again, Pete,” you whisper and he meows in response.

One good thing about not having anyone around means you can belt out your favorite songs and no one can stop you. So this is exactly what you are doing as you dance around the kitchen area preparing Pete’s meal. He sits on the floor by your feet dodging your dancing he has grown attune to. A couple of days have passed and your leg feels much better but you are running dangerously low on medical supplies.

“I wanna get better,” you sing loudly and do a twirl with the cat food in your hand. 

“You should really pay more attention to who is entering your bunker,” a deep voice startles you and you drop the can of food onto the floor. You grab the nearest knife and hold it up towards the intruder. You narrow your eyes when you see the familiar blue helmet.

“Jeezes, it’s just you,” you sigh and put down the knife shakily as you regain your composure.

“Just me? I am truly offended,” he retorts and you notice the duffle bags in his hands.

“Was that almost a joke?” you mock with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Robots can be funny too. Now where do you want these?” he raises the bags in question. You look inquisitively at him.

“Depends, what’s in them?” you walk over and poke at one of the bags. He drops them and you jump. You hear him snicker at your reaction.

“Supplies since you are too hardheaded to move to one of the shelters,” he masks his intentions with bitterness but the kindness in the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you serious?” you marvel at the heavy duffle bags and unzip them to reveal food, clothes, blankets, bandages, etc. 

“What is the catch?” you implore growing suspicious.

“No catch,” he quips and you continue looking at him curiously. He remains stoic revealing no ulterior motives.

“So I am not going to find any hidden explosives in here am I?” you question searching through the bags.

“If you were always this paranoid you might have heard me break in. Nice voice by the way,” he teases. Your face heats as a blush creeps over it and you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah well it is amazing the things you learn when you are cooped up- Holy shit,” you exclaim as your hand lands on a stack of books. A bright smile lights up your face and you glance up to see him turning his head gauging your reaction. Without thinking, you jump up and wrap your arms around him. He stiffens underneath your touch and you retract your hands embarrassed.

“Thank you so much, Jay,” you beam and he clears his throat still composing himself.

“Yeah, uh, I just saw all of the worn books lying around and thought maybe you needed new ones to tackle,” he explains sheepishly. 

“So are you a detective or something?” you joke picking up the books and placing them next to your bed. He laughs lightly.

“Yeah, or something.” he replies dryly. You start stacking the food away.

“So he is a detective, shoots bad guys, has good tastes in books, and knows how to patch up a bullet wound. Oh!” you spin around with a twinkle in your eye, “And your name is Jay.”

He nods and hands you some more supplies finding himself mesmerized by your delicate movements. 

“The World’s Greatest Detective is on it!” you shout raising a finger in the air. He chokes back a laugh leaving you unaware as to why that is so ironic.

“I didn’t just stop by to pamper you with gifts and to have my identity extracted,” he says smoothly leaning against the wall. You gasp.

“Anthony? You found him?” you implore setting down the objects and giving him your full attention.

“Well, maybe. I have footage,” he says pulling out some electronic device from his pocket. He faces it towards you and reveals a grainy photo. You squint your eyes and make out a group of men entering some place that resembles a bar. Upon further inspection you can barely make out Anthony’s curls.

“Yeah that is definitely him but why in the world would he be there? Where was this taken?” you question while continuing to examine the distorted picture.

“Outside of The Iceberg Lounge,” he explains and your heart sinks.

“What? Isn’t that where all the major criminals of Gotham go?” you rub at a headache suddenly forming between your eyebrows.

“Yes, happen to know why your friend would be there?” he inquires. You shake you head.

“They must have kidnapped him or something. Who are those men?” you point to the fellows huddled around Anthony. 

“Some other henchmen I presume,” Jay says and you start at this.

“Other henchmen? You don’t actually think Anthony is some goon, do you?” you ask incredulously. Jay shrugs and you laugh humorlessly. 

“Trust me, I love Anthony but he is not exactly fit enough to be the goon type. I am more likely to be a henchman than him,” you point out. 

“How well do you know your friend?” he inquires not entirely convinced.

“Pretty damn well. You get to know a lot about a person when you are stuck together in a bunker for a prolonged period of time,” you blush and look up at him, “Wait, no not like that. He is like my brother. Ew.” You sputter and Jay stifles back a laugh at how flustered you are.

“Anyways, I know for a fact he is not some evildoer. I promise you,” you state seriously. He sighs in response.

“Alright, I believe you. But if he is heading in there he is in some deep shit.” You frown at this.

“How long ago was this picture taken?” you ask developing an idea.

“Yesterday. I asked around using your description and someone said he spotted him here. I pulled this puppy from the security footage.”

You ponder this and tap your finger to your chin.

“Maybe we could go investigate-”

“Whoa there Nancy Drew. We,” he points between you, “Aren’t doing anything.”

You place your hands on your hips and stare angrily at him.

“And why not?” you demand.

“Because you are way too unequipped to walk smack dab into fucking villain’s galore. And I,” he pauses as the watch around his wrist beeps. He sighs in frustration and smashes a button on it to silence it.

“I have to go,” he announces obviously irritated. You cock an eyebrow at him but he offers zero explanation per usual. 

“Don't do anything stupid,” he orders pointing a finger at you. You gesture towards your wounded leg.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply sardonically. He nods, satisfied, and leaves. Well it isn’t stupid if you wait for your leg to heal and then do some sleuthing, right?