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whatawonderfulexistence--blog · 7 days

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Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Part VIII

Welcome back to part 8 of Fall For Me! A strange dream, reader goes to camp, and more sweet moments with the eepy Bois this chapter! Thank you so much for reading, if you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: Brief mention on hunting practices NOT PROOFREAD

Part VII - Part IX (TBA)

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link! ~ Tip Jar!

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When you woke up your head felt like it was in a fog, the edges of your vision slightly blurry as you looked around the room. Your bare feet dropped to the floor, you shivered as you stood from your bed, it was a lot colder in here than you remember it being. You paused at your doorway, something wasn't right. Despite the fact you had crossed the entire expanse of your bedroom there wasn't a single creaking floorboard or footstep to be heard. You look back at your bed only to find your body still laying there. “What the hell?” You mutter softly to yourself. You walk over to your still sleeping form, your shoulders rising and falling with every even breath as you lie motionless beneath the covers.

“Don't worry, you'll be able to re enter your body when we're done here.” You jumped at the sudden voice that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Its tone is both a whisper and a deafening howl, the sound high pitched and somehow also impossibly low.

“God?” You ask with a confused expression.

The voice laughs, “I guess you could say that.” The silence that surrounded you was deafening as the voice faded out, it was so quiet you could hear your blood rushing in your ears, no ambient sound existed in whatever plane you had been snatched into. “Trust in Vessel, he’ll show you the way.”

You shot up in bed with a sharp gasp, your lungs burning like you had been holding your breath. Your alarm was blaring on your night stand, 8 in the morning, you had an hour until you opened. You got out of bed, listening carefully for the sound of your footsteps against the floor to make sure you really had returned from wherever the hell you had gone in your dreams. “I'm going crazy, I'm actually losing my mind.” You argue with your reflection in the mirror. “Some mysterious voice coming from my subconscious about trusting Vessel, of course I trust him. But what the hell is the way he's supposed to be showing me?” You decided to drop it for now with an annoyed groan, flying through your morning routine and jogging downstairs just as 9 o'clock rolled around. The day flew by, the steady stream of customers helping to distract you from the weird dream you had. You were just about to lock the door when the all too familiar pickup truck pulled into the lot. You smiled, pushing the door open and leaning against it as you waited to see just who had stopped by to visit tonight. You were a bit surprised to see II jump out of the cab unaccompanied, usually when he was sent to make supply runs he always had one of the others in tow. He strides over to you, reaching out to pull you into an embrace the moment you were close enough.

“I have a question for you.” He states softly once he pulls back, his hands still resting comfortably on your waist.

“And what might that be?” You smile, subconsciously leaning into him.

“Would you be comfortable coming back to camp with me?” You paused the moment the question fell from his lips. “Vessel already knows I'm inviting you, he's the one that brought it up in fact.” II chuckles, knowing exactly where your mind had wandered.

“I would love to.” He waits patiently for you to lock up, his hand slipping into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze as the two of you chat idly on your way back to the truck. You slid across the worn leather bench seat, II hopping behind the wheel not long after. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, leaning in to press a clothed kiss to your cheek.

“Are you warm enough?” You nod, letting your head fall to rest against his shoulder as he starts driving. His thumb languidly trailed back and forth across your shoulder, every so often he would glance down at you to see if you were still awake. You wound down endless back roads, slowly pushing your way down paths that had long since been forgotten until the group had ventured this far out into the woods. II attempted to dodge raised roots and potholes without much success, the makeshift road being filled with craters that rattled the pair of you around in the cab. You were thankful when the dirt path finally smoothed out, the trees opening up to reveal a large clearing with four cabins evenly spaced out around the circle. You recognized minimal details of it from the pictures you had seen in the paper. The cabin opposite the entrance was surrounded by flower beds of various sizes and states of growth, some containing a painter's palette of wildflowers, others filled with various crops that seemed to be growing very successfully. “That's IV’s cabin.” II must've noticed your impressed stare. “I will warn you though, if you compliment him on his gardening it will make him really flustered, so do with that information what you will.” He chuckles.

“Do you all have different jobs?” You ask curiously, II nods his confirmation.

“IV is the main one in charge of produce. III’s a fairly decent hunter, that's where we get the majority of the meat we eat. I’m in charge of the finances.” He lists off everyone's role around the camp. “And Vessel… well he's our spiritual advisor for a lack of a better term.” He chuckles. He pulls the truck up alongside a cabin that was more set back from the rest, it's dark wood almost blending in with the treeline. “He’s in the middle of something, I'll take you to IV.” He smiles at you. He motions for you to wait, jogging around the front of the truck to open your door for you. He bows his head slightly as he offers his hand, you can't help but laugh softly at his actions.

“What a gentleman.” You grin at him.

“For you, only the best.” He winks. Your hand slips into his, his skin cool against yours. His eyes stay locked on your form as you hop down from the truck, the moment your feet hit the ground he's tugging you into his side, wanting to keep you as close as possible. “I'd like to be able to spend some time alone with you later, if that's alright.” The corners of your mouth quirk up in a smile at the slight nervousness you picked up in his voice. You glance up at him, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth before pushing yourself up to place a kiss to his cheek.

“I'd love to.” You whisper in his ear with a coy smile. Your attention was stolen by IV calling your name from across the clearing. II places a hand against the small of your back, gently nudging you in his direction. You meet him in the middle, giggling as he flings his arms around you and spins you in a hug.

“I missed you.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles, you found your cheeks growing warmth at the genuine joy in his voice.

“You did?” You ask softly.

“Yeah.” Goosebumps rise on your skin as you feel him gently knead at the softness of your waist. His eyes nervously dart from yours, tracing over a pattern he had found in the grass as he sucks in a deep breath. “I, um, I didn't get to say everything I wanted to you the other day.” You waited patiently for him to continue, seeing how nervous he was about choosing exactly the right words was honestly endearing in your eyes. “Do you think we could sit down and talk?”

“Of course we can, wherever you like.” You smile softly at him. He hesitantly removed his hand from your waist, carefully taking your hand and studying your reaction to make sure he wasn't doing too much too quickly. He led you to his cabin, shutting the door behind him and watching you with delight as you looked around curiously at all the small knick knacks and trinkets he had littered around the small space. His heart races when his eyes meet yours, he would never get tired of seeing the way your whole face lit up when you smiled.

“I want you to know that I really like you.” He blurts out, unable to stop the confession from coming out. “I might not be as experienced as the others, and I might take things slowly, but that's just because I don't want to mess this up.” His bright blue eyes scan over your features as he waits for you to respond.

“IV, I'm not worried about moving too slow or too fast, or whether or not you're experienced. I think you're very sweet, handsome, fun,” every compliment was punctuated with you taking another step closer to him. “I like you too, I want to see where things go, and I'm very excited to see how we get there.” He breathes out a relieved chuckle.

“I just don't want you to think that I'm not as interested as the others.” His arms slide around your waist, your instinctually slipping over his shoulders as he pulls you into him. His fingers ghost over your cheek, you lean into his touch, allowing him to carefully cradle your face in his hand. “You're so beautiful, every moment I've gotten to spend with you has been nothing short of amazing.” Your cheeks grow warm as he continues his assault of compliments. He seemed relieved to have gotten that off his chest, the usual playful glimmer returning to his expression.

“Well, I look forward to spending more time with you.” His gaze dropped to your lips for a moment before he hesitantly pulled away. He clears his throat, his eyes trailing to the window.

“Did you get to see the garden at all?” He asks, a slight nervous tremor in his voice.

“A little, but I'd love to see it up close. You have a very impressive green thumb IV.” He taps the toe of his boot against the cabin floor.

“It's nothing special.” He rebuttals bashfully. “But, it's definitely a lot better than what we started out with.” He starts to head towards the door, your hand slipping effortlessly into his as you trailed after him. He brought you to the edge of the flowerbeds, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to keep you close to his side as he pointed to all the various different types of produce and flowers he was growing, slipping in small fun facts every so often.

“I don't know how you can say this isn't anything special IV, this is incredible. You've really done an amazing job.” He froze, swallowing thickly as he looked down at you.

“Thank you, love.” He says softly. A soft smile finds its way to your lips as you watch his eyes slowly trace over your features. “Can I take you on a date sometime?” You can't help but giggle at the question.

“I would love that.” You feel him squeeze your waist, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he returns your smile. You both jumped slightly as someone shouted from across the field. II had III in tow, the taller man dropping off his pack of hunting supplies before quickly making his way over to you. IV leans down, placing a kiss to the top of your head before stepping away. You smiled as III approached, your heart immediately pounding in your chest at the sight of the streaks of sweat that had broken down his black body paint. You were unable to stop your gaze from raking across his exposed torso. Your cheeks grew warm as your eyes snapped back up to meet his, immediately noticing the playful glimmer in his expression. You nearly stumbled backwards as III’s long strides quickly landed him right in front of you, a strong hand landing on your waist to steady you as he caught your chin between his fingers with the other. Your eyes dart to anywhere but his, trying your best to hide your flustered state.

“Don’t get all shy on me now.” He chuckles. “How are you beautiful?” You manage to squeak out a ‘good’ in response. III leans down, the fabric of his mask soft against your skin as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Have you shown her around at all?” He asked IV, his hand still lingering on your waist as he pulled away.

“Just a bit of the garden.” IV responds.

“Think we should give her the grand tour?” II suggests.

“I don’t see why not.” IV immediately perks up at the idea. You reach out, taking hold of IV’s hand, giving him a coy smile as you cuddle up to his side.

“Well, lead the way boys.” II and III share an amused look over IV’s surprised expression. It takes him a moment before he finally relaxes, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before he brings your knuckles to his lips.

It had been less than a year since they had arrived in town and the progress they had already made at their camp was nothing short of incredible. IV had grown a whole storehouse of crops, all of which were expertly preserved in order to maintain the four of them easily throughout the winter and early spring. You learned that he was hoping to learn how to make preserves out of the vast amounts of berries in the area. III showed you some of his easier to navigate hunting trails, explaining that he only hunts as needed and how important to him it is to use the entire animal whenever possible. The four of you wandered down trails, each of them pointing out spots where they would like to go to read or play music. “We should plan a day to hike out to the lake.” IV suggests.

“Maybe next summer, it’s a little too cold for that now.” II responds. “I definitely think we should at some point though, I really think you’d like it there.” You smile as III places a kiss to the top of your head, his presence at your side immediately being replaced by II who wrapped his arm around your shoulders as you continued walking. You had noticed how the three of them almost seemed to be taking turns being next to you, the thought alone was enough to make butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“I was wondering where you all went.” Your heart immediately began to race at the sound of Vessel’s voice. You turn to find him leaning in the doorway of his cabin, “love, would it be alright if I stole you for a second?” He nods for you to follow him inside his cabin.You swallow thickly, feeling nervous despite the fact you knew you had to reason to worry. You’re snapped from your thoughts by II pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll go start dinner while you’re in there.” He gives you a gentle nudge in Vessel’s direction, prompting you forward. He towered over you from his position leaning in the doorway, offering you his hand once you were in reach and guiding you inside. The inside of his cabin was simple; a small wooden desk with a chair sat in front of the window, a perfectly made bed with black sheets sat against the opposite wall, the large piece of furniture the focal point of the room. Across the room from where you stood you noticed a bookshelf tucked into the corner, the shelves filled with journals, textbooks, and various decks of cards. You could feel Vessel studying you, he watched your body language carefully, trying to gauge exactly how you were feeling in this very moment.

You jumped as he suddenly shut the door, a soft chuckle escaping him at the sight. “There’s no need to be so tense, love.” He steps up to your side, trailing a finger along the edge of your jaw as he leans down close to your ear. “I’m not that scary, am I?” He purrs, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’m just a little on edge today, I guess.” You laugh softly.

“And why’s that?” He keeps you close to him as he moves. Settling himself on the edge of his bed, his hands coming comfortably to rest on the curve of your waist as he holds you in front of him. You feel his fingers gently push into you, moving you closer to him without much effort. The front of your thighs presses against the edge of his plush mattress, Vessel’s long legs caging you in on either side. You still had to look up slightly to be face to face with him, knowing you had met his eyes behind the slits of his mask as your heart began to pound in your chest.

“I have a feeling you already know the answer to that.” Your voice trembled as you spoke.

“Smart girl,” he praises, “I see you’re putting the pieces together quickly.” He ponders over what to say for a moment, carefully selecting each word in his mind. “He spoke to you last night, didn’t he?”

“Vessel, what was that?” You answered his question with your own.

“That was Sleep.” He states simply. A bewildered expression formed on your face, Vessel continued speaking before you had a chance to ask any questions. “I for the life of me can’t figure out how to even begin telling you about Sleep.” He admits with a bashful chuckle. “I hate to keep you in the dark, but can I please ask you to wait just a little while longer?” The booming voice echoed in the back of your mind. ‘Trust in Vessel, he’ll show you the way.’

“I trust you.” Your voice comes out barely above a whisper.

“When the time is right I’ll tell you everything, you have my word.” He promises, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb trailing slowly across your skin. The cool material of his mask comes to rest against your forehead. He just held you for a moment, both of you relaxing into the comfortable silence that surrounded you. “I shouldn’t keep you too long, the others will throw a fit.” He says quietly, both of you dissolving into soft laughter.

“Vessel,” he hums in response to you saying his name.

“What is it, love?”

“I really enjoyed our time together the other night.” He froze, seeming almost dumbfounded by the words that had left your mouth.

“You did?” His response comes out timidly, as if he was dancing around those two simple words, worried it was the wrong thing to say. “Maybe… Maybe we could do something like that again sometime then.”

“I’d like that.” You smile softly at him.

Your fingers remained linked with his as he led you across the clearing, the other three members of the group working quickly to make sure everything was set up by the time you reached the table. You were handed a plate of something you didn’t recognize, but it tasted good. Your night became a blur of stolen kisses on your cheeks and laughter that easily bubbled up from your chest. “I believe II had something planned for the two of you tonight.” Vessel suddenly chimes in. “I think we should probably give them some privacy, boys.” He suggests with a patient smile. They each say their respective goodbye’s; IV pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, telling you he’ll see you soon before darting off to his cabin, III pulls you flush against him, lifting his mask just enough to capture your lips with his own. He mumbles a quiet ‘goodnight’ against your lips, his hand lingering on the curve of your waist as he pulls away. You turned to face Vessel, he held out his hand for you to take. “I’ll walk you.” It didn’t take you long to see that II had snuck off to set up a fire, a log pulled the perfect distance away from the flames to sit on. “It looks like you’re in for a nice evening.” You could feel his eyes studying you from behind his mask. “It’s a shame we have to part ways.”

“We still have a couple minutes.” Your eyes dart down to his lips momentarily.

“It almost sounds like you don’t want me to leave.” He responds with a lopsided grin.

“I don’t.” Vessel presses a knuckle below your chin, tilting your face up to allow him the chance to study your features closely.

“Trust me love, if I had it my way I already would have stolen you for myself.” He chuckles, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip. “We’ll have our time… I’ll make sure of it.” He whispers. He cradles your face gently in his hand, his eyes wandering over your features in silence for another moment before he speaks again. “II, make sure she gets home safely.” You hadn’t noticed until Vessel had startled him that II had wandered back in your direction. “Have a good night, beautiful.” A pair of warm lips press against your forehead, and just like before, as quickly as he was there he was gone. A sense of longing ached deep in your chest, one that was quickly pushed down as II’s hands came to rest on your waist. He gently turns you to face him, hand cupping your cheek as his lips ghost over yours. Your eyes flutter shut, your racing thoughts coming to a screeching halt as you let the kiss consume you.

“I’ve been waiting all day to do that.” II mumbles against your lips with a soft chuckle. Heavy, warm fabric is draped across your shoulders, your fingers instinctually reach up to rub along the edge of the thick denim jacket. “I wanted to make sure you were warm enough. It’s a nice night, but it still gets pretty cold out here.” You found yourself cuddled into his side, the campfire keeping you comfortable despite the chill in the air. II excitedly pointed out every constellation he recognized, filling your mind with tales of adventure, the bravest heroes, the most passionate of love stories. “Right there, that’s Andromeda. She’s famous for nearly being eaten by a sea monster because her mother tried to say she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs.” You can’t help but laugh slightly at the absurd story.

“Well, what do you think?” II gives you a curious glance. “Was she prettier than the sea nymphs?”

“She definitely wasn’t as pretty as you.” You stuttered out a shocked sound in response, your cheeks immediately growing warm. “You’re really bad at accepting compliments.” He points out bluntly, a hint of a smile in his tone.

“I’m just not really used to getting them I guess.” You admit with a bashful chuckle.

“You’re unfortunately going to have to get used to that then.” He glances down at you, his bright blue eyes meeting yours and freezing you in place. “You’re beautiful, I’m not about to let you forget that.”

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skzdarlings · 1 year

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part i: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the next decade.

Companion series to my sharing the bed one-shot. Follows the relationship between reader&felix from beginning to end. It will be a multi-part series.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: eventual smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending.

One of your father’s disgruntled bodyguards shoves you for walking too slowly. You have enough tenacity to glare at him when you stumble, but even at fourteen years old you are smart enough refrain from retaliation. You know your father will not take your side as you are already in trouble for sneaking out last night. You met with some school friends and attended a house party like a normal fourteen year old, a punishable offence because your life is anything but normal.

You just hope this punishment is a physical one. A few smacks might sting but you’ll get over it, whereas you don’t want to lose your already limited phone or computer privileges.

You walk into your father’s office with the expectation you will be alone, so you stop short when you see the back of a stranger’s head.

Your father’s guests are usually suited old men or pretty young women, not a beanie-wearing teenage boy. He’s kicking his legs like he’s in an ice cream parlour and not in a chair across from one of the most powerful men in the country. Your father is behind his desk, hands steepled and attention determinedly fixed on you. Punishment time is the only time his attention is so rapt.

The door closes behind you, the guard outside slamming it shut. The boy in the chair looks over his shoulder at you. He has a soft face, much too soft for a place like this, his cheeks sweetly freckled and mouth like a pretty pink bow. He has dark eyes, his eyebrows the same shade of dark brown. His hair has been dyed a strawberry blonde, bangs sweeping out from under the beanie. He has to flick them out of his eyes as he looks you over.

You stare at him. A change in routine does not bode well for you and this is a massive change.

The boy just smiles. It is disarming in its sweetness and it petrifies you. You know how to behave when an ugly brute glares at you but a pretty boy smiling is unnerving.

Your father clears his throat. You and the boy both look his way, the boy dropping his gaze in a subservient way while you glare.

“Daughter,” your father says coolly. He gestures to the free chair beside the boy.

Some days, when you are feeling especially petulant or when your father is distracted with his phone even while meting out punishment, you will stomp your foot and refuse him. Maybe it is your stunned bemusement, but today you oblige without argument.

Your gaze drifts to the boy as you approach your seat. The boy does not look at you.

He looks like a normal teenage boy, wearing a hoodie under a flannel and blue jeans ripped at the knee, but you know better. There is always a flaw and this one is immediately jarring: his shoes are army regulation boots, the same as your father’s guards, albeit smaller. You have no idea why he would need them. He looks about your age and is a slender, delicate thing.

“Sit,” your father says. You realize you have standing there, staring. You look at your father and obey, sinking into the other chair. “Good.” Your father folds his hands on his desk. “My loving daughter,” he says dryly, “It has occurred to me that your present circumstances are not the most conducive to your development and well-being.”

You cannot help but scoff. Talk about understatement of the century.

The security teams? The constant surveillance? The knowledge that your wealthy father has accrued so many enemies that you can barely step outside without feeling threatened?

The fact you desperately want something bad to happen, because at least it would be different than the bad in here?

Your father just frowns.

“Don’t test my patience,” he says. “Especially as I have constructed a compromise according to your whims, young lady.”

Your brow furrows. You have no idea where this is going but you know you won’t like it, because you never like it.

“I only want what’s best for you,” your father says. “You’re my daughter, after all. My only child and my only heir. I want you protected but I want you capable, and you can’t be expected to thrive with the company of my men constantly surrounding you.”

Your heart kicks up with hope even while your brain knows better. Your father is not a generous man and he is clever with his words. There is a reason he has reached the heights he has reached. No one is better than your father and your father settles for no less than the best in turn.

You are an agonizing disappointment, but you lash out because you would be a disappointment regardless. Your father does not want a human daughter but a plastic doll that he can lock away until it has use, at which point he expects unending gratitude for your very existence.

This might sound like a concession of freedom but you know him better than that. The vice is tightening, not loosening. You will never be free.

“I have a gift for you,” your father says. “This is Felix.”

You and the boy, Felix, look at each other. Felix smiles again. He has the audacity to wave at you, a little salute and cutesy tip of the head.

Your nostrils flare with a sharp intake of breath. You look at your father.

“What is this?” you ask, so much wrong with this scenario that you don’t know where to start.

Your father smiles for the first time since you walked in the room. He needs to be in the position of highest power and that is obtained through making everyone else small. The more visibly uncomfortable you are, the more at ease he feels. He slouches comfortably in his big chair as he stares you down. You feel trapped in the little seat across his desk.

“This,” your father says, “is your new bodyguard.”

You look at Felix again. He is once more looking at your father like an obedient little puppy. It’s for the best as you are certain your expression is betraying every single thought. You are angry, confused, frightened. The confusion worsens your other emotions.

“Bodyguard,” you repeat. “He looks like he’s twelve.”

“I’m fourteen,” Felix says, startling you with a deep voice that does not remotely match his face. The rounder sounds are accented with an Australian twang. “Same as you.”

You look at each other again. You hide your confusion under a piercing glare. Felix draws his mouth into a flat line, not quite smiling, not quite frowning. He taps his fingers on the arm of the chair, a mismatched rhythm, some song only he can hear. His leg bounces.

You look at your father.

“Fourteen,” you say. “And short. And skinny. Look at him! I could throw him out a window!”

“You could try,” your father says, drole. “You wouldn’t succeed. Oh, hush.” He swipes a hand through the air when you open your mouth to speak again. “Felix is more than competent, believe me.”

Your father would not hire a second rate bodyguard, but there is simply no way this Felix kid is good for anything. You just can’t believe it. This is a test of some kind, maybe a mind game.

Your hackles are up and they won’t come down. Felix flicks some hair out of his eyes and the motion makes you jump. He doesn’t comment. He clears his throat and sits a little straighter, looking like every goody-two-shoes keener you ever gave a sneer.

“You will no longer require a full security detail,” your father says. “Not at home or at school. No where, barring certain occasions under my discretion.”

This has your heart racing again. Currently, your father has guards posted in several places around your school. No one but the school administrators know they are for you, but that doesn’t matter because you know. You know they are not general security, that they are specifically watching your every move. If you skip a meal or eat too much, they know. If you talk to one person and not another, they know. If you forget to do homework or flunk a test, they know. If you put on more make-up or roll up your skirt, they know. If you fall, if you laugh, if you flirt, if you breathe a little too hard, they know, and they report it all back to your father.

It doesn’t end there. They keep you on a schedule for your “protection” and if you stray from that agenda, they are on you. That means no chatting too long after class, no extended bathroom breaks, no stopping to smell a fucking flower. In the car, out the car, through the doors, at your seat, at your locker, upstairs, downstairs, fuck, fuck, fuck. How you’ve lasted this long, not even you know.

You spend all day suffocating under the extension of your father’s eyes, then you return home, flanked by bodyguards, only to be stuck with supervision until you are finally permitted to go to bed. Naturally, this is the easiest time to escape so you are in the habit of breaking out at night. You’re good at it too. Most nights you move without any detection, having memorized all the chinks in the mansion’s high-tech security armor. Last night was the result of some bad luck.

Now you are here, your heart racing, your breath catching.

It must be a trick. You look at Felix then your father, trying to hide your eagerness and your suspicion.

“In exchange, you will have Felix,” your father says. “He will attend school with you as a classmate. He is in all your classes and extra-curriculars. You are to keep him with you at all times of day. He will accompany you everywhere at all times of day.” Your father leans in. “Do you understand that? At all times of day.”

It does not sound too different from the security team other than the obvious fact there is only one of Felix. Even if Felix is the most skilled bodyguard in the world, he is still just one person. It seems too good to be true so it must be. Your father is waiting until you are comfortable so he can rip the rug out from under you, to put you in your place, which is flat on your back like a stupid, helpless, needy baby.

You will not give him the satisfaction. Curtly, you say, “I understand.”

“Good,” your father says. “I’m having a new bed installed in your bedroom as we speak. It should be ample space for two people without your privacy being overly encroached. When you get home, you will clear a space for Felix to move his things into your room.”

Despite your effort to remain neutral, obvious surprise blinks across your face.

“Wait, what?” you ask, darting forward in your seat. “What are you talking about?”

Your father tips his head as if perplexed with your outburst.

“Did you think you were getting away with something?” he asks. “Constantly sneaking out at night, evading my men. Do you know every time you pull a childish stunt like that, it endangers me and my business just as much as you?”

Your anger bubbles to the surface as quickly as his, cold laughter punching out of you as you say, “Oh! Your business! Of fucking course!”

“Don’t use vulgar language with me, child!”

“Don’t call me a child!” you snap back with as much fervour. “I’m fourteen years old! I’m not a little kid and I don’t need some other idiot kid babysitting me! I don’t need anyone fucking watching me!”

Felix is sitting ramrod straight, his eyes flicking back and forth between you and your father. He says nothing. He just sniffs and scratches a little circle on the exposed skin of his knee.

“You are my daughter, this is my house, and I will do with both as I please,” your father says.

“Then maybe I don’t want to be in this house!” you shout.

“You want to leave?” your father asks. He smacks a vicious hand down on his desk, rattling his computer. “Go ahead. Pick yourself up and walk out that door. Where are you going to go from here? You have no money and no skills and no protection. See how long it takes someone to pick you up off the street. You don’t want to be my daughter? You want me to ignore you when they put a gun to your head? The least they will do is kill you, you stupid little thing. But go on, since you’re so wise and brave and all grown-up. Walk out that door. I dare you.”

You sit on the very edge of your seat, your hands balled into fists. You long to swing them at his smug face but you can only sit there, vibrating with rage.

“Do you have something more to say?” your father asks.

You kick his desk, the adrenaline forcing it out of you. He smacks a mug and it smashes on the floor. Felix still does not react, though his gaze does linger on the broken mug.

“What about him!” you shriek, pointing at Felix. It draws his attention back to you, his eyebrow lifting at your pointed finger. “You’re going to leave me alone with a boy? In bed?” You imbue this exclamation with all the suggestive horror you can. “I can’t share a room with a boy! What if he’s a pervert! What if he takes pictures of me! What if he rapes me! You really trust some random boy to be alone with me?!”

The silence that follows is somehow more shrill than the yelling. Your father stares at you, resolutely focussed with such a cold glare that you shiver.

Felix shuffles in his seat. His mouth opens and he looks contemplative, weighing his words, but your father speaks before he can.

“Felix,” he says, “put your hand on the desk.”

Felix delays only seconds, more surprised by the order than reluctant. He obediently rests his hand on the desk, palm facing up.

Without looking away from you, your father grabs that hand and flips it over. Felix jerks, his feet planting, but he manages to restrain whatever instinct rattled him. He looks at his hand, at where your father pins it to the wood.

You look there too, fuming, then you look at your father. He is still glaring at you, even when he reaches into his desk. Your brow furrows when he retrieves an enveloper opener, a sleek little knife, shiny and sharp. He smacks it onto the table beside Felix’s hand. It makes you jump.

Felix just looks at the knife, tipping his head as if only mildly curious.

“Felix,” your father says. “Pick up that knife.” He leans back in his desk chair and crosses his arms, his expression bland and uncaring as he looks at you. You shake less from fury than fear, looking from your father to Felix.

Felix picks up the knife with his free hand. He looks at it, his expression revealing nothing.

“Thank you,” your father says.

He has not looked away from you even once, asserting his knowledge that Felix will obey without his supervision. You try to be as steadfast as him. You act like you couldn’t care less about the unknown boy and his freckles and beanie. This is between you and your father. You glare just as fiercely.

“Now, Felix,” your father says, “I am going to count down from three, then you are going to drive that knife into your hand. All the way through to the desk. I trust you know the spot that will do the least lasting damage.”

Your gaze whips from your father to Felix, staring at him wide-eyed as the stupid boy doesn’t even flinch. He just turns the knife over. His brow briefly pinches as he rests the tip of the knife against a soft spot on the back of his hand.

Your horrified brain is already several paces ahead, picturing his bloodied hand pinned to the wooden desk. You taste bile and it is only partially for the gore. The rest is for the fact Felix does nothing more than blink at his hand.

“Three,” your father says. “Two.”

You scream, “Stop!” at the same your father says, “One.”

You tackle Felix. The adrenaline flies out of you the same as that kick. The knife clatters to the desk and both your chairs fly out from under you.

Felix is fast. He flips you around so he takes the brunt of the fall, your head pillowing on his stomach when you land in a tangled heap on the floor. His beanie falls off when his head hits the ground. He barely winces, looking down at you.

You stare back at him, breathing hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you ask. Tears fill your eyes, much to your horror. You try to suck them in because there is nothing you hate more than crying in front of your father. You don’t even know what is prompting the tears. Maybe it’s the forced recollection of how thoroughly his guards have invaded your life, the revelation that you will be forced to share every living moment with another intruder, or the fact he almost maimed a fourteen year old boy just to make a point.

Or, maybe, the fact you fell for it like you always do. Just a stupid little girl, high in her emotions, vulnerable and weak and in need of intervention.

You push away from Felix, directing all your emotions at him.

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” you say, spitting when you talk. “What did you think you were doing? Freak. Do you think you’re brave? You’re an idiot.”

Felix props himself up on his elbows, just staring back at you. His gaze flicks up when your father stands. That awful man circles the desk to look down at you.

You refuse to look up. You wipe your arm under your nose. Tears blur your vision.

“Felix,” your father says, “there is a car waiting outside. Take my daughter home. She is not to leave the house tonight.”

You wrench your arm away when Felix tries to help you up. He says nothing to your glare but at least he’s smart enough not to smile again. He gets up and dusts off his pants, then retrieves his beanie. You clamber to your feet and march toward the door without looking back or waiting. Only when your hand is on the doorknob does your father call your name.

You freeze, wanting so badly to ignore him and storm outside, but once the coldness settles in your veins you cannot move.

“Come here,” your father says. As if under a spell, you can only move when he demands it. You turn, facing him as he approaches. You hold still, your eyes full of tears and fists curled at your side.

Your father walks up and swiftly strikes you across the face. Tears spill over and you grab your cheek, heaving with frightened breath as your useless new bodyguard just stands there and watches.

Your father sighs.

“You’ll learn,” he says. “One way or another. If I have to chip at you with an axe until you take my shape, I’ll do it. You’ll thank me one day. Felix. Take her home. Now.”

You let Felix take your arm and guide you out of the room, too drained to fight him.

You refuse to be accommodating. If you’re unhappy then you will make Felix unhappy too, and if Felix is unhappy then maybe he will leave. Then your father will be unhappy and you finally won’t be.

You glare at the massive new bed taking up space in your room. It is still a big room otherwise, with plenty of space for two people, but your things are spread out everywhere and you have no intention of moving them. Instead, you empty out a single bedside drawer and point to it.

“There,” you say. “That’s yours.”

Felix is standing in the bedroom doorway wearing a backpack. He looks around the room, not sneering at its lacey, ivory princess-ness but not looking too enamoured either. He is passive as ever, quietly receiving his surroundings. He closes the door behind himself and shrugs the backpack down to the crease of his elbow.

“Kk,” he says. He puts his backpack on the floor by the bed then takes off his beanie and puts it in the drawer. He sits on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap. He stares at the wall.

What a weirdo.

You stare at him until he looks at you, then you scoff and roll your eyes. You dump your things on your desk and stalk over to your private bathroom door.

“Can I go pee without your supervision, or do you need to hold my hand?” you ask sarcastically.

“I don’t need to,” Felix says, “but, uhhh, I guess I can if you need help. But if you have a problem with doing it by yourself then we should probably take you to a doctor. I know first aid but I can’t really help with incontinence or like the opposite. Lol.”

He says the word lol out loud, a single grating syllable. You do not dignify his weird humour with a response. You stomp into your bathroom and slam the door shut.

There are bars on the bathroom window now. You grab the nearest bottle of soap and chuck it there, furious when tears spring back to your eyes. You feel violated even in your privacy, glaring at those bars as you shower and wash away the day.

You look at your reflection in the mirror, touching where your cheek feels tender from your father’s strike. He usually doesn’t hit your face or anywhere someone could see swelling or a cut. You suppose today’s slap was more personal than strategic.

You put on a thick sweatshirt and sweatpants. When you step back into your room, the weirdo is standing at the window with his hands behind his back. He is wearing just his ripped jeans and a t-shirt, plus those ugly army boots. He looks at you when you open the door, giving you a brief assessing stare before he smiles.

It would disarm someone more naïve. You just glare.

“Where are your things?” you ask.

He tips his head like an inquisitive cat. “Huh?” he asks.

“Your things,” you say venomously. “Aren’t you moving them in here?”

“Uh, I did,” he says. He turns and points to his side of the bed. “You gave me a drawer, remember?”

This kid unpacked a beanie.

Maybe it’s a good sign he isn’t fully moving in. Maybe this whole charade is just your father threatening you. He will torture you with this invader until he thinks you have learned a lesson, then things will go back to normal. Felix probably isn’t even a proper bodyguard, and how could he be? A skinny, pretty fourteen year old boy? He’s probably an actor or model or something.

You give him a derisive smirk and shove past him. He just shrugs and approaches the bathroom door, pausing before entering. He looks back at you.

“Don’t go anywhere, yeah?” he says, then walks into the bathroom and closes the door.

You exhale sharply. You had no intention of going anywhere, honestly too exhausted to do anything but putter around on the computer, but fuck this kid. He’s your father’s paid actor or some other nonsense, so who does he think he is to give you any orders?

You storm out of the room with the intention of marching around outside, but you stumble when you enter the upstairs corridor.

The huge house is eery in its silence. You shudder as you look around.

Even when your father is not home, the security team is here. Someone is always awake, at least one person keeping guard in the corridor, the rest of them scattered in the house and guest house. But they’re gone. They’re all genuinely gone. And because it is late evening, all the housekeepers and cleaners are gone too. You have not been in a house this empty your entire life. It feels uncanny, ghostly even. It completely halts your half-baked plan to leave, not that you planned on going much further than the pool-house.

You stand still, suspended in the unfamiliar emptiness.

“Whatcha doin’?” Felix’s freaky deep voice is suddenly right beside you. You jump away from with a startled squeak. He just stands there, his mouth in that stupid flat line, his shaggy blonde hair bouncing when he tips his head.

“Nothing,” you snap, annoyed that he scared you. “I’m just going to the kitchen for a snack. Is that against the fucking law now?”

“It’s not really healthy to eat this late at night,” Felix says, “but it’s not illegal. That would be weird.”

“I hate you,” you say. His even temperament has been driving you insane, so it is satisfying to see a flicker of genuine surprise on his face. “Just leave me alone.”

“Sorry,” he says, recovering quickly. His voice is steady. “Can’t do that. Sort of my job, you know?”

You roll your eyes then turn and stomp all the way down the stairs. Felix trails behind you without protest, not making much noise despite the boots but he is impossible to ignore regardless.

You go to the kitchen and open the fridge. You aren’t hungry but you feel like you have to eat something now just to prove a point.

Felix ambles up to the counter and perches himself on a stool. You look over your shoulder at him. He waves.

“I’m not making you anything,” you snap.

“That’s fine.” He folds his hand on the counter. “I’m not hungry. Thank you.”

You reach into the fridge and grab an eggplant out of the produce drawer. It is a ridiculous response, but you decide to out-weird the weirdo, making eye contact as you bite in the raw eggplant. You try to hide your displeasure, chewing the thick vegetable slowly. Felix tips his head very far then straightens. His eyes narrow.

“I’m pretty sure that’s toxic,” he says.

You stop chewing.

“Yeah,” he says. “Eggplant, yeah. I think when it’s raw it’s like not good for you or something? I think there’s like a chemical in it. Maybe it’s only if you eat a lot of it, uhhh, I don’t know. Just in case, I wouldn’t eat it like that if I were you.”

You stare at him with a chunk of raw eggplant still on your tongue. He could be bluffing. He could be playing mind games. He could be telling the truth, since he delivered each sentence so uncertainly. Maybe he’s just bad at mind games. You’re good at them. You’ve been playing them since you were a child, so you just stare him down, swallow the eggplant, then take another bite.

His brow furrows. You are pretty sure your displeasure is a little more obvious now, your mouth partially open as you chew. Felix did not balk at stabbing his own hand but he looks very scandalized right now. You consider it a success.

“Stop it,” Felix says.

You take another bite, ripping into it with a ferocious tear.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “What? Are you trying to commit suicide by eggplant?”

You just shrug, chewing with your mouth wide open now. His stool scrapes the ground and you brace yourself, shuffling in the opposite direction when he circles the kitchen island.

“Spit it out,” he says.

“No,” you say, spitting eggplant as you say it. You very nearly choke.

“Seriously,” Felix says. “This isn’t funny.”

You chew obnoxiously big in his direction and he pounces, smoothly intercepting your escape. He cages you in against the counter, blocking you when you try to move. You drop the rest of the eggplant and push at him, dribbling mushy vegetable and cursing through your mouthful.

“Spit. It. Out,” he says, putting his hand under your mouth like a mother to a baby. You shove that hand away, then try to shove his face away. He clearly doesn’t want to get too physical with you, but eventually he grabs your chin and holds you still, your face pinched in his hand. You stare at him, breathing hard through your nose. “Stop it,” he says.

The house is empty. The house is genuinely, seriously, completely empty. Your father trusts Felix that much.

Who is this fucking kid?

You spit the eggplant at him. It spatters on his shirt and wins you an eye roll. It’s the first expression from him to make you smile.

“Bed time,” he says, stepping back to brush the mess off his shirt.

You cross your arms and lean against the counter. “No,” you say.

“No?” he asks. His deep voice fractures with a higher-pitched sound of surprise. “Why not?”

Because you hate your father and everything he puts you through. Because petty victories are your only victories. Because there is something seriously wrong with Felix if this is his life situation, and there is something seriously wrong with you for the same reason.

So you shrug. “Make me,” you say.

There is a beat of silence.

Then the world is upside down because Felix picks you up and slings you over his shoulder. You cry out, slapping his back as he marches to the stairs. Where is he even hiding this strength?

“Put me down!” You pound on his backside while he carries you up the stairs. “When my father hears about this—”

He puts you down on the landing, swinging up a step to afford him an extra foot of height over you. He holds your wrist in his hand and looks at you very seriously.

“What?” he asks. “When he hears about me doing my job?”

You try to tug your hand back but Felix holds it tight.

“Are you serious right now?” you ask. You continue to squirm your hand in his grip. “Who the fuck are you? What do you even get out of this?”

“What do you get out of this - this - everything?” he asks.

“I get my life,” you snap. “In pieces and only for a little bit, but mine.”

“Me too,” he says.

A breathless silence follows. You realize you are holding his hand, having twisted and turned so much that he clasped your fingers with his. You both look there then at each other. You abruptly let go.

“Can we go to bed?” Felix asks, softening his voice. “Please.”

Your lower lip wobbles. You look at the stain on his shirt. You think about his hand on that desk.

“And what about my other question?” you ask.

He tips his head again, but his expression is no longer neutral. He wears his confusion openly, briefly but substantially.

“What?” he asks.

“My other question,” you say, blinking back your tears. “Who are you?”

“You tell me first,” he says. “Who are you?”

It’s easier to fight and scream than plainly express yourself. No one ever listens, so you are not practiced. You have Felix’s undivided attention but it suddenly feels like too much. You do not have it in you to glare anymore. You meet his pained gaze with your own and join him on the next step.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Let’s go to bed.”

He goes to check the security system while you get ready for bed. You are already nestled under the covers, shivering despite the thick layers because the house sounds so quiet and you are honestly scared. You jump when the door opens and Felix enters, your eyes meeting in the dim light. He looks away first, going about his own routine. You turn your back to him.

The bed is big but you still feel it dip when he gets inside. You look over your shoulder. He is laying on his back with his eyes closed. He is clearly still awake but the semblance of sleep accentuates the natural innocence of his face. You have seen the flicker of a few deeper emotions, none of them childish, but he looks his age while laying there.

His eyes open. He glances at you. You wonder what you look like to him.

“Good night,” he says, shattering the terrifying silence.

You don’t argue it. You just nod then turn away, closing your eyes, letting the sound of his breathing lull you to sleep faster than usual.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #bodyguard au

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poppadom0912 · 8 months

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Together (VII)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, injuries, abuse, kidnappings, shootings, swearing and scary men.

Summary: When Jay least expected it, he suddenly starts hearing things. And maybe, he's starting to hallucinate too.

A/N: Am I suddenly full of inspiration and writing in school when i should be doing my lab write up? Yes I am. This chapter has been changed many times but I finally finished editing. A little spoiler- maybe I’m being nicer to my babies 🙃

Previous Chapter / Series Masterlist / Next Chapter

Over the course of eating their very poorly put together ‘meal’, Will came to the conclusion that the food hadn’t been tampered with and so he was happy to continue feeding you.

You had to admit that you felt like a baby, your older adult brother feeding adult you. You tried insisting you could feed yourself but with the state of your shaking fingers, hands sore from the countless times they’d been tied back, Will denied you your request.

The man that had given the tray of food returned and this time, there was something rectangle like sticking out in one of his trouser pockets while what clearly sounded like keys was sticking out in the other.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you could feel Will’s heart rate increase from where his hand was positioned over yours. He must’ve noticed it too.

The Ezra's were so meticulous in their plans and their behaviour was always erratic and on another level of violence that it was impossible to believe one of their henchmen could even, for a second, have the thought of being nice to their victims.

But you were continuously surprised by them because as he took the empty tray, leaving behind the two waters and single juice, he ‘accidentally’ dropped the plastic rectangle and as he was walking away, his back turned to you both, a key fell and clanged against the ground, but he never looked back.

And just like that, the door slammed behind him, massively contrasting the immense kindness he showed mere seconds ago.

Holy friggin shit balls.

*****

Was Trudy worried? Yes, indeed she is. Was she going to show any concern? No, not unless she was left alone with her detective.

Ever since dispatch had forwarded her Jay’s call, she’d been on her feet and alert. And ever since she found out that Jackson and Ezra Murray were the culprits to blame, she was determined that they weren’t going to get away again.

Trudy knew all the Halstead siblings, but she knew Jay the best. Over the many years, not only herself but many, many others were forced to get used to not one but three Halstead's being in existence and working within less than fifteen minutes from each other.

Currently, Trudy and Jay were alone in the bullpen since the younger detective was barred from any field work unless they found Will and Y/N’s location but that was the only exception. Right now, her job was to keep Jay company, keep an eye on him and continue looking for any more clues or evidence that could be of any help.

Jay was very clearly still losing his mind and his mental and physical state deteriorated as time passed. At this point, Trudy couldn’t help but think the worst and fear for how her detective was going to fare as a result.

Currently, she was sat opposite him at Hailey's desk, doing her own bit by going through security footage that had too many hours of video on it. Usually, she would get bored doing this, but it was a little different this time because whenever she glanced up, she was faced with the struggling sight of your brother who never asked for too much.

All he wanted was to get his older brother and younger sister back.

Suddenly, the phone on Jay’s desk was ringing. Luckily for him, he had a second phone whenever he went undercover and since the first one had been taken and was likely smashed in an evidence bag somewhere, this was all he was relying on.

The sound was slightly jarring as it interrupted the pin drop silence they’d been in but neither of them showed any sign of discomfort. Instead, Jay went to answer the call, but his solemn mood didn’t change. It was evident that he wasn’t expecting much since it was his undercover phone that they’d been using two days ago on a case.

Just as the desk sergeant was about to go back to her CCTV footage, she felt the entire bullpen still. The tension so thick it was suffocating her veins restricting any blood flow, and as she looked up, it became dizzying.

His already pale face had nothing on Snow White and from where she sat, she could his heartbeat thundering out his chest, practically vibrating. All this could only mean one thing.

“Will?”

What the fuck

For a hot second, Trudy thought that Jay was in so much pain that he was transferring some of his hallucinations onto her to alleviate his symptoms but then he continued talking into the phone and reality sunk into her bones.

"Shit, Will wait slow down I can't- what?!"

Without prior warning, Jay shot out of his seat, wavering slightly on his feet causing the older woman to follow and stand by his side in any case he fell from the whiplash she's sure he gave himself.

"Knives- you've got keys?- Y/N's not unconscious- she's lost her voice- your bleeding?! When- Why are you talking about grape juice?!" Jay paused several times, his words repeatedly getting cut off by Will on the other side of the phone. The longer the call went on, the more confused Trudy became. Jay must've been thinking the same as her from the height his brows rose every time he spoke. They went from talking about knives and blood to grape juice.

The duality of the Halstead brothers.

"Wait so he gave you a knife and somehow you found a gun just casually lying around? Will, I swear to God if you-"

And when Jay screw his eyes shut, something in her mind told her the doctor was doing something stupid and very questionable, very in character even when in a life or death situation. It was nice to know people would never change.

Despite the anxiety growing in her chest, the call lasted longer than she expected. Will was being very efficient and careful for managing whatever he was doing and that put her at somewhat ease. Eventually, nothing physically tore them apart but it was poor internet or a lack of a connection that abruptly ended the call.

"Tell me you got a location?" Jay asked, hope drowning out any other emotion in his ever so expressive eyes. If it wasn't for lives being on the line then she would've scoffed and scolded him but a sarcastic remark would do for now.

"What do you take me for?" She asked incredulously as she glanced at the computer screen, almost immediately committing the address to her memory.

"I'll call Voight but get in the car first."

But Jay didn't need her permission, he was already moving.

*****

So much had unravelled in the last twenty minutes, you were still struggling to understand it all.

With all the uncertainty and determination in the world, you and Will had no other plan but to take they keys and the pocketknife and basically run as fast as you could. Well, run as much as Will could since he was carrying you on his back, very reminiscent of your childhood while he navigated the halls as best he could. You made a very pathetic argument that you could walk on your own but when you tried standing up, your legs gave in on themselves and Will gave you his motherly disappointed look that was very spot on; you and Jay had been on the receiving end of this look for way too long now that you should’ve been immune to it but here you were.

Opening the basement door, you both cringed at the loud sound it made. You guys hadn’t even left the basement yet and it was already going off to a great start.

As gently as he could, Will readjusted your position on his back, his arms moving to hold under your thighs more securely so that in a rush, you wouldn’t move. As he did so, you kept your arms around his neck, barely gripping him due to both a lack of strength and cautious to not strangle him.

Before leaving the room, you and Will sat and contemplated very long and hard about your escape plan. You were provided with very little by the mysterious man you were now deeming your saviour and maybe guardian angel depending on how successful the escape was.

Staring at the burner phone, you swore. You couldn’t remember anyone’s phone number for the life of you. Easily, you could’ve called 999 but the response much longer than calling someone either of you knew. It shocked you only a little when you couldn’t recollect a single person’s phone number, not even Kelly’s or Jay’s.

But like always, Will was there and knew exactly what to do. Maybe it was his doctor nature, but he had several numbers memorised and for some odd reason, he remembered Jay’s undercover phone number. You called him stupid, but he only laughed it off while he punched in the numbers.

You waited in anticipation, your nerves imitating Will’s as he held the phone to his ear, biting on the inside of his cheek as he waited for the phone to stop ringing. And when it did, Will audibly let out a sigh of relief, you felt like crying.

Will explained in half detail, leaving out a lot. It was obvious that Will was trying to relay the necessary details Jay needed to know about their current situation but then he decided to add in the random unnecessary fact that you drank grape juice. That totally threw you off, but Will kept talking as if nothing were wrong.

When Will eventually finished talking, he went silent and listened to what Jay was saying. For a minute, you couldn’t hear a voice on the other side of the phone but then you heard his muffled voice, and it brought you immediate ease knowing he was safe.

And before you knew it, the call ended, and you were out the dreaded basement.

Back to the present, Will was carefully cruising the empty corridors of the very nicely furnished warehouse. It made you question the desolate and dirty state the basement was in. At one point, you pointed out a gun lying on an ottoman; it was very suspiciously placed but when Will checked, it was very much real and very much loaded.

So here you were: a burner phone, pocketknife, gun, and sheer drive. You didn’t want to jinx it but… yes you weren’t going to jinx it.

The warehouse was ginormous. Every corridor was identical to the next and the furnishing was as though a professional interior designer had been inside. Luckily for you and Will, Jackson and Ezra’s lacky’s hadn’t been plastered all over the place, making your escape just a little more easier.

To remain as incognito as possible, Will only whispered to you when absolutely necessary, narrating to you what he was doing and what was going to happen. So far, so good. Will was slinking around, movements smooth and looking like a hair on his body had never been touched since being here. If you didn’t already know he was a doctor, then you would question his physical abilities and profession.

Each corner you turned, you felt your heart drop, your body anticipating disaster. The more time passed, the more you could feel Will sweat and struggle. He had begrudgingly admitted that he was hurt, going into slight detail that Ezra stabbed him, and he’d been hurt more throughout the several times you were passed out. You knew he was hurt and if you were to go in order of the most hurt to the least, the list would be: You, Will and then Jay. And considering the blood you saw covering Jay’s body the last time you saw him; God knows what went down between your oldest brother and your kidnappers.

“Will, if you’re tired, we can stop for a second.” You whispered into his ear but the only reply you got was him shaking his head. You knew his answer made sense, you needed to get out as soon as possible before you got caught but if Will took just one minute or two to recollect himself then maybe he’d feel better.

However, he decided that he was going to put himself last and everything else first because according to him, apparently you and getting out of this damned place took priority to his light-headedness and the blood that was only now slowly beginning to stop running like a river.

And so, without another word, he readjusted you one more time, his grip tightening around your thighs but not too much so it would hurt, and he continued walking.

Going downstairs was the hardest thing Will had to do by far. Yes, carrying you and maintaining your weight on his back was difficult but he could manage, and you felt much more lighter than what you should’ve been being a firefighter but that was a concern for later.

Staring down from the top of the staircase, Will calculated the descent. Yes, it would hurt a lot considering how much his legs shook as he merely stood but he was now starting to get worried but how little you were moving. Initially, you would move every now and then when your body felt stiff or to whisper under your breath so only he could hear you.

Now though, Will didn’t want to say it, you were deathly silent.

He shoved all his negative thoughts aside, deciding to deal with them later because the biggest problem he had was staring at him mockingly. How did his life come to such a point point that stairs scared him?

Luck must’ve decided to be nice to him all of a sudden because under five minutes, he safely delivered the two of you on the ground floor. Now, all that was left to do was find a back or front door and get the heck out of this place.

But obviously, fate was laughing down on the Halstead’s because luck ran as fast as she could, after only three minutes of doing her job because Will was facing down two familiar looking men decked out in all black.

Series Masterlist:

@mads-weasley @sowrongitslottie @elite4cekalyma @senjoritanana @hufflepuff-blackwidow @mrspeacem1nusone @kmc1989 @goth-cowgirl-03 @daggersquadphantom @photographerkaiya0306 @jamie0515 @samanthavitale @iamasimpingh0e

#one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #jay halstead x reader #onechicago #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago pd #will halstead x reader #halstead sister #halstead brothers #kelly severide x reader #jay halstead x sister!reader #will halstead x sister!reader

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david-talks-sw · 10 months

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An allergy to the Prequels

While I'm putting together a post about the evolution Lucasfilm's transmedia strategies, this part kinda turned into its own thing!

So I'm not sure if anyone else noticed, but, uh... there hasn't been that much Prequel content since the Disney sale, right?

'Couple novels and comics, some episodes... but nothing meaningful.

The more I look into it, the more it feels like a deliberate avoidance to touch on anything Prequel-related - beyond the required quota, that is - to a point where they'd rather tell stories set during periods that are Prequel-adjacent (Dark Times, High Republic) than something set around Episodes I, II and III.

On-screen policy: "pretend they never happened"

I mean, this one's no secret. When The Force Awakens had been announced, with J.J. Abrams at the helm, everyone sighed in relief. "Finally, George Lucas won't keep ruining the franchise."

When Abrams had been announced as the director of Episode VII, I remember this cringey animated video started circulating online, titled "4 Rules To Make Star Wars Great Again" or "Dear JJ Abrams":

“Star Wars isn’t shiny and clean... Star Wars is a western.”

If you ask me, those two things are not mutually exclusive.

'Cause Star Wars has always been both, for many Prequel kids. Both clean and dusty, Coruscant and Tatooine. There was never a disconnect between the Original Trilogy (OT) and the Prequel Trilogy.

Even the documentary The People vs George Lucas shows Prequel-hating fans begrudgingly admit their kids felt all six episodes tied seamlessly.

Abrams, on the other hand, said: "I think [the "Dear JJ" video] was right on." Later on, he also said:

he considered "putting Jar Jar Binks's bones in the desert" on Jakku, somewhere, and

he intentionally made the lightsaber fights "rougher", "primitive" and "more powerful" unlike the fast-paced ones in the Prequels.

Later, we found out he wanted to blow up Coruscant.

It's clear he wasn't a big fan of the Prequels.

But y'know what? Not many fans over 20 were, at the time. And when The Force Awakens came out, most them celebrated it as a wonderful love letter to the OT.

Star Wars is cool again. Mission accomplished 🙌 !

However movies keep coming out, and references to the Prequels - if there are any - are literally just that... references.

Sometimes in the shape of a cameo ("hey look, Genevieve O'Reilly from the Ep. III deleted scenes is playing Mon Mothma again!")

Sometimes in a name (Luke name-dropped "Darth Sidious"!)

But nothing set during the Prequel era, and nothing treating the events that happened in that period as relevant or impactful, beyond subtextual nods.

In fact, the trend of avoiding anything Prequel-related continues as the final film in the Skywalker Saga comes out:

The Rise of Skywalker has a secret Sith society that chants the name "Palpatine" instead of his Sith name "Darth Sidious",

the film pretends the Kaminoans never existed,

and neither TROS nor Trevorrow's Duel of the Fates script even try to bring Hayden Christensen's Anakin Skywalker back on screen. Let that sink in, we're talking about the Chosen One, Skywalker Senior, whose sins caused this whole mess... and his name isn't even uttered once in the final chapter of what Disney dubbed the *Skywalker* Saga (or the entire Sequel trilogy, for that matter).

But hey, The Clone Wars got renewed for one last Season! That's cool right? So many stories had gone unfinished and somehow the animation looks even better than befo--

-- oh. It's not 22 episodes? Only 12?

Four of which had already been shown to us, but hey! We need to set-up the Bad Batch series, so let's shoehorn those episodes in there, and forget Son of Dathomir, Dark Disciple or Crystal Crisis.

*sigh* Better than nothing, I guess.

In other mediums: "just not a priority"

Now this is something that I'll explore more in the transmedia post (and purely my interpretation), but the noticeable change between Lucasfilm's transmedia strategy *post-ROTS* and the one post-Disney sale is that:

Before, the games, comics and novels were the main content. After all, Revenge of the Sith had been released, so that was it, for the movies. Thus, a variety of other content was being cranked out to keep the Star Wars franchise relevant. There were comics set 100 years after Episode 6, comics set 25,000 years prior, games set in the Old Republic era, other stories in the New Republic era, novels galore, a couple of parody films and an animated show, The Clone Wars, which sometimes received its own tie-in comics, novels and games.

After the sale and ever since, most of the transmedia products have had only one goal: promoting the films & streaming shows.

So while in 2015 you won't see an abundance of Prequel content... you'll see an avalanche of OT books and comics come out.

Why? Because the heroes of that era will be in the Sequel Trilogy movies. It provided context to the kids who hadn't seen the OT yet, and reintroduced those films to a new generation of fans, while priming them for the Sequels.

A multimedia marketing strategy that ultimately proved successful.

However, it continued even after The Force Awakens came out.

Don't believe me? Compare how many comics there have been set during the Prequel era vs the OT era.

If they make comics about the Prequels, they're limited runs.

Case in point: before the current Yoda series, the best any Disney Prequel-set comic series ever got was 6 issues.

Note: it's worth pointing out that the frequency of mini-series aren't just a Star Wars-specific thing, it's a comic book industry thing. The readership for comics is dwindling, many people are reading scans online, and so no publisher wants to commit to a story that lasts more than 4-6 issues. My problem is: there absolutely would be readership for a Prequel comic series to warrant an extended run instead of a mini-series.

Let's talk books. There have been give or 64 canon novels published since the Disney sale.

Only 11 of them are set during the Prequel era. And even those stories only came out when the planets were aligned.

Almost half of them were released while being a part of some bigger multimedia push.

Example:

Before the Obi-Wan Kenobi series was being released on Disney Plus, we'd had one novel and like two comic stories about him during the Prequels... released between 2012 and end 2021. That's about three pieces of content in almost ten years.

Clearly a low frequency.

Then, when the series is around the corner, two books and a comic story comes out in the space of months, plus an anthology book with an alt cover with his face on it and a comic with a story of him and Anakin in the first issue, all in 2022.

My takeaway: short of there being a film or series that needs to be promoted, you'll rarely get any Prequel comics or books.

And this is OBI-WAN we're talking about. The character who even the Prequel haters love. Imagine how little attention the other ones get.

Gaming-wise, Battlefront had no Prequel content at all (again, 2015 was the year where OT content was shoved down the consumer's throats to prep them for Episode VII), and Battlefront 2 only released Prequel content a full year later.

All that being said, we did seen some Prequel elements here and there. After all, some actors got to reprise their roles, books and comics came out featuring Prequel characters... but there's a catch.

The stories they appear in are set in-between Episodes III and IV, a time-period known as "the Dark Times" or the "Imperial era".

"Dark Times" being used instead of the Prequel era

It's easy to see the appeal of this era. You keep the same threat from the Original Trilogy - the Empire - but redress it with Prequel elements... while also cherry-picking the best characters of both the OT and the Prequels and giving them a chance to shine again.

The situation is more clear cut, as opposed to the complex one in the Prequels. Bad guys are stormtroopers, good guys are anyone else. And the stories no longer take place in the shiny capital, you're back on the frontier.

But at this point... it feels like a cop-out.

When you consider how much content has been set during the Dark Times, it's nothing to sneeze at. Since the sale, we've had:

2 movies (Solo, Rogue One)

4 series set in that time-period (namely The Bad Batch, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Andor, and Star Wars: Rebels).

2 video-games (Jedi: Fallen Order and Jedi: Survivor).

17 novels (such as Ahsoka, Lords of the Sith, the new Thrawn books, etc)

And just a whole bunch of comic book series & mini-series (like Kanan, Princess Leia, various Vader-centric comics including Darth Vader: Lord of the Sith, many tie-in mini-series promoting Rogue One, Jedi: Fallen Order, Obi-Wan Kenobi, etc).

There's been so much content made for this time-period that it feels like an unwillingness to do the work and create something set something during the Prequel era, let alone something that follows its Jedi.

After all, why make a story set in the Prequels (disliked by vocal fans) when you can just take the characters in that story and put them in an OT setting (which will appease the Prequel-haters)?

Maybe these stories get relegated to the Dark Times because:

there seems to be a perception that anything set in the Prequel era won't sell?

or maybe the current SW writers weren't fond of Episodes I, II and III, and don't find those Jedi characters likable, thinking they're too righteous and dogmatic which makes it hard to craft a story around them.

Or maybe it's because they're under the impression that the Prequel Jedi are bad. Like, canonically, in the narrative. Not just in a "I don't like them" sense, but also in a "the story is all about them becoming corrupted" sense.

Let's expand on that last point.

Retconning the Prequels as the "Fall of the Jedi" era

Somehow the rare stories set during the Prequels that we do get seem to automatically be about how "the Jedi lost their way/failed".

The series Tales of the Jedi is explicit about it...

... and I already explained why it contradicts what George Lucas established here and here.

You also see it in Rebels and the new season of The Clone Wars...

... in comics...

... in games...

It gets to a point where the Prequels era has now been redubbed the "Fall of the Jedi" era by Lucasfilm.

You wanna know what that period was referred to before the Disney sale? The "Rise of the Empire" Era.

Because - and I'll never get tired of saying this cuz it's factual - the Prequels aren't about the fall of the Jedi, they're about the fall of the Republic and Anakin, and rise of the Empire and Vader.

So in addition to being overdone, the "Jedi lost their way" is not even the intended narrative of the Prequels (if one puts any stock in Lucas' words). It's a minor subplot at best, hardly the focus of the films, let alone a whole time period.

But dubbing it "Fall of the Jedi" implies that there's another era in which the Jedi were in their heyday.

Because Star Wars authors are in luck! Yet another alternative has presented itself in the shape of a new transmedia initiative, and it's even better than the "let's set it during the Dark Times" solution:

A new transmedia initiative: The High Republic

You wanna deal with the Jedi before the Empire, but for some reason you wanna avoid dealing with the ones seen in the Prequels?

Look no further. Meet the Jedi of the High Republic.

Noble, adventurous, inspired by the Knights of the Round Table, they're everything the OT kids dreamed about when they heard ol' Ben Kenobi talk about the Knights of the Old Republic.

That's more like it!

Note: the High Republic was created for other reasons and has many more upsides than the ones mentioned above. Namely, a fresh new spot in the timeline that allows for creative freedom and a beautifully-coordinated transmedia storytelling effort where retcons are non-existent. However it does seem evident that not having to deal with the 'unlikable' Prequel Jedi and their "fall" is one of those upsides.

Another perk that the High Republic era offers is more freedom in terms of storytelling compared to the Prequels.

In 2016, Pablo Hidalgo tweeted he still quotes to authors the following excerpt of West End Games' guide for aspiring Star Wars writers, from 1994.

You can't write "this was the best day in Luke Skywalker's life", for example, because another author may want to write a better day than the one you just wrote.

My guess is that a similar approach applies to how all characters from the movies are treated. They're massively iconic. So you can't write a book that drastically changes how Mace or Yoda or Obi-Wan are perceived overall.

The stories need to be self-contained, disregardable if necessary, because you'll have dozens of writers coming up with new stories for those same characters, and you need to leave them some room.

Examples:

Notice how in the book Dooku: Jedi Lost we never see how Dooku turns to the Dark Side and joins the Sith.

Same goes for crossover comic book arcs of the Star Wars issues, like Vader Down or Crimson Reign... the characters don't really change by much in those comics. You could stick to just watching the movies and you wouldn't really miss anything.

But with The High Republic, you indeed can develop these characters as much as you want.

All stories featuring Avar Kriss leave an impact on her, you can nail down who she is perfectly in one book or one comic arc, both being just as meaningful to her character.

The fact that she's not as iconic/famous a character as Mace Windu means that authors can go to town on crafting an interesting and nuanced character arc for her that'll have a beginning, middle and end... something Mace will never really get.

CONCLUSION:

Back in 2015... let's not kid ourselves. The Prequels were unpopular and Disney is a multi-billion dollar corporation. Opting to make as much money as possible is what they do.

It's the same reason they decided not to go with George Lucas' original plans for the Sequels, in 2012.

I mean, imagine you're Disney. You just dropped 4 billion dollars, with a B, on this franchise. Your next Star Wars movie needs to be worth the price tag. Now, you can pick between two options:

Option #1 is uncharted territory and it explores the midi-chlorians (the cursed word…!) and the guy who presented you with this option also openly admits that a big chunk of customers won’t like it, but he wants this to be done because it’s his vision.

Option #2 is very simple: a soft reboot, that plays on nostalgia that the same chunk of customers (aka the 'boomer and Gen-X fans who grew up with the Original Trilogy and now have kids, grandkids and MONEY) will like.

It's a no-brainer. They gave the customers what they wanted.

But time has passed, the fans who were children when the Prequels first came out have grown up, and grew up with characters like Yoda, Mace, Plo Koon, Kit Fisto and other Jedi as their heroes, aside from main characters like Anakin and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka.

Can we maybe expand on them, flesh them out more?

No, let's either ignoring the storytelling potential of these characters or reducing it to them being "righteous, arrogant and dogmatic".

God forbid we get a story showing the Prequel Jedi in a *gasp* more positive light? One where their POV is more understandable, instead of the same old "we brought this on ourselves" storyline.

There's a whole decade between The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones... you're telling me there's no space to show us Anakin's training and how he formed bonds with the Jedi we later see in The Clone Wars? I tried my hand at it here:

Interesting or fun Prequel-set ideas from other pro-Jedi fans on Tumblr can be found here, here and here.

And y'know, part of the Star Wars intent is for fans to take the ideas in the movies and come up with their own stories. You're supposed to create headcanons.

What I'm saying is fans of the Prequels are being given less "imagination food" than the rest, and many of us who like the Jedi in particular are forced to rely on headcanons only. "Better than nothing" is no longer an acceptable standard.

There's a range of recognizable Jedi characters that have already been established in films and TCW, can we maybe expand on them, flesh them out more, instead of whole new ones?

#jedi order #star wars #sw meta #long post #meta #lucasfilm #star wars prequels #prequel trilogy #sw prequels #high republic #the high republic #dark times #imperial era #the clone wars #tcw #sw negativity

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Text

DEVIL BIRDS (VII)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER VIII ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader.

WORDCOUNT: 5.3k

WARNINGS: Various crimes & illegal activity, paranoia, angst, mentions of death, trauma, inner turmoil, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You supposed that grabbing a hat would have saved you from having to worry about being seen, but you’d been too caught up in trying to sneak out as quickly as possible. Jacket flapping, your legs move fast over the open field of your estate, sprinting through the garden beds and past the thick copse with its willow trees and pond. The pathways were overgrown and you nearly trip over upturned pieces of rock.

But you can’t stop giggling.

Your face pulls in a fast smile, eyes alight with eagerness. You feel like you have a purpose for the first time in years.

“Alright,” you whisper under your breath as you chart your course to the town. Maybe you could even catch Hector closing up and snag a coffee off of him. “Museum. Dad’s old office.”

At your steady pace, you enter the beginnings of the businesses as the streetlights slip over you like water, bathing you in the glow as your breath puffs out. The air was cold, and you keep your jacket tight to your form as your shoes travel forward, slowing.

In your pocket, you twiddle your coin and wonder if you should have snooped in Gaz’s things for your penknife, lips thinning at the idea.

You were stubborn, but not stupid; you knew this wasn’t a good idea.

But…it’s too late for that now.

Shadows grew long as your eyes darted to open alleyways to the dull wind, glee dimming the longer you walk alone. After a moment you peek behind your form and nearly forget that Kyle wasn’t there with a flinch in your step.

Have you really…grown used to having him follow you around?

Why did it feel so threatening when he wasn’t there?

Your body tenses as a bottle across the street falls from the sidewalk to the asphalt with a clattering ping, rolling in the way that glass does as you watch. Clearing your throat, you continue on as your heart spreads blood throughout your veins.

“Keep it together, you’re fine,” you hiss to yourself, not liking this new way of thinking. Sure you were considered a recluse—didn’t enjoy being out more than you had to in loud places—but…hell. You can’t start relying on Gaz for comfort.

But he saved you. Your mind slashes to the shooting in the park and you sigh as you get closer to Hec’s shop.

Kyle had been kind to you, he gave pieces of himself like leaves from a tree to try and make you soften to him. The watch and the story, the stitches that still live in your hand. Soft words. Your gut bunches in your abdomen.

You weren’t one to push past hurts—you lived with them, carried them like a parcel of goods at a picnic. The gun, the kidnapping, the…darkness of it all. If the Sergeant was capable of all of that, well, you weren’t sure it was in your best interests to allow him to carve a piece of your soul out with his bright smiles and amused smirks.

Soon the rest of the One-Four-One would be done with their missions overseas hunting down Yaromir Osipov and Mala Kham and it would all be over. You could go back to living in your mansion, alone, with the lack of lights and the sub-par meals. The ghosts. The covered furniture and the dead memories. You press the coin deeply into your palm.

…Why didn’t you like that thought?

Hector’s place came up as you stew in your confusion, seeing the low lights spilling out over the empty streets. You hum before pushing open the door, hearing the call from the back kitchen.

“One minute!” That Jersey accent is the same as it always is. Your body takes you to the counter, shuffling out your wallet and tossing bills to the wood before sneaking a ten into the tip jar. Everything for a moment slips away until only coffee and baked goods remain. “Christ, you folks don’t sleep, do ya?”

Hector comes out from the back, pausing before locking onto your blank face.

“Holy shit!”’ He laughs brightly. “Hey there, Kid! It’s been a bit, how’s it all going? I’ll admit I got a little worried when you stopped showing up.”

“School’s been tough,” you lie easily, shifting a smile to your lips. The man gets going on your drink immediately as you explain. “Thought I’d go on a walk and stop by. I’m heading into the city.”

Hector stills momentarily, fingers twitching as he pours your drink into a cup. His throat hums out slowly, “The city? Ain’t it too late for all of that? What’re you going there for?”

“Just,” you pick up your addiction and let the warmth seep into you. What was the harm in telling him, after all? Hector was the closest thing to a friend you could have right now. “Wanna head by the museum. Feeling sentimental, I guess.”

You almost hated how easy it was to lie to everyone.

“Ah,” the man nods and you stare at his neck before blinking at the sound of the phone ringing. “Shit,” Hector darts, and you had seen his heart dashing in his breast. “That’s me, Kid. Gotta take this.”

He slips a hand into his pocket and disappears back from where he came from.

“See you,” but Hector’s already gone and you sigh out, “...later.”

You turn on your heels and leave, something akin to confusion in your chest. Strange, not even a goodbye. If Hector was one thing, it was usually casual.

“Whatever.”

The train ride is silent as you sit in the back, stiff in your seat and not enjoying the eerie silence at all; sipping on your drink. Every time you look across to the emptiness you’re stuck with a great bout of unease but every time tell yourself that this was the only way to get answers. Your father’s office had to have answers, even as small as a single word.

There just…needed to be something. There had to be.

When you step off into the station and lightly jog away, you pep yourself up with this thought as you drop your empty cup into the trash.

If you find information about your dad and his dealings, maybe Kyle won’t go absolutely ballistic if he finds out you left. You almost cringe at the thought of his tight jaw and clipped words; his silent broodiness wasn’t in your control. That was what terrified you.

Like a cat you slinked along the streets, recalling the route you took so often when you were younger—the bookstore across the road, the Irish bar you’d have to pass as you slide left. Skyscrapers and planted trees, fast cars with their lights on. It was all familiar, and in that fact, you took the smallest comfort.

Despite it all, there were still remnants of a time long passed. There were still pieces, and the museum was the biggest piece of them all.

Your eyes dig into the dark and blackened building with its white pillars; two sets of stairs leading up and up. It’s wider than it is tall and set apart from all other buildings or stores like a sentinel of history. The parking lot is bare besides a handful of cars far out into the open area of plotted greenery, and your vision seeps like water from one place to another. Your father’s old workplace is large and imposing—a giant of cream stones.

After a minute or two of hesitation, you take the long walk around the museum to the back across its nine acres, climbing up a chain-link fence.

Now was really when the anxiety snuck in.

Fingers shaking, you know there are exactly five night guards on duty; had even met a few before the accident. The problem was getting in with the front door locked and sneaking into the employee-only section. Obviously, this amounted to breaking and entering except for the simple fact that…

“Shit,” you let the rare curse growl out of you, staring at the steady blinking light inside of one of the many back windows.

Cameras.

When had they added those in this section? Your mind jumps from one thought to the next, straining.

“Okay, okay,” you calm yourself and rub your neck. “Think.” Blinking, your gaze slows itself on the maintenance ladder leading to the roof, eyes slowly widening. Perhaps with all of these horrendous ideas you’re cooking up like five-star meals, you might end up killing yourself before anyone else can. “Save everyone else the trouble, at least,” you grumble under your breath.

Your foot hits the first rung when you slowly stride over and you take a breath, hands sweaty as they quiver before you grab the metal. At the side, the bright sign burns into your retinas like looking directly into the sun. It was embarrassing, really.

“NO TRESPASSING: VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.” Red and white mock you in their color scheme.

“Kyle is going to lock me in the storage closet,” your mouth mutters, but you only shake your head and push upward with the thought process of everything you’d done so far wasn’t worth giving up on.

Surprisingly, you had less reservations about all of this illegal activity than you rightly should have—a sort of distance from it. As if everything was being seen through the lens of a photographer spreading linen over his equipment before snapping that picture. Already in your head, you were counting the charges that could be levied against you with a blank face.

Trespassing.

Your hands and feet take you higher, the steady creak of your weight on the old metal.

Breaking and entering.

Breath puffing out, you get to the top after a tall vertical climb, pulling yourself over the edge and slapping to the roof of the left side of the museum. Flat concrete holds the bodies of roof ventilation turbines, AC units, and electrical equipment all shades of gray and sun-bleached yellow. Flopping on your belly, you scoot forward until you’re able to shove with your arms up from the roof.

“...Burglary,” you huff out, frowning. But was it really stealing if it belonged to your dad?

Kyle’s crossed arms and his tight lips slash through your head like the pissed-off angel on your shoulder.

“Shut up,” you growl out to his image, stalking forward to figure out your next plan of action. “If I wanted your opinion I would have asked.”

After a minute or two of snooping, your only option came in the form of a ventilation shaft jutting out of the museum; a monster of silver metal and roaming sections like a large snake. You blink at it and play with the coin in your pocket, tapping a foot.

The problem was the grate.

Twiddling your fingers in your pockets, you bite at your lip and furrow your brows, knowing how much time you’d already lost. At most, you could stay here maybe twenty minutes before you had to rush back to the mansion.

Is that enough time? After all, you didn’t even know what you were looking for.

Taking out your coin, you roll it over your knuckles while glaring at the grate—eyes burning into the small ‘+’ of the Combination Head screws set into the four, shining, corners. Above, the moon was letting your shadow lay long over the roof.

Halting your fiddling, you get the spark of an idea while you catch your coin, the things blue and bronze color subdued in the darkness. Looking down at it in your bandaged palm—dried blood stuck in the old gauze—you run a thumb over the engravings and slowly look back to the screws.

“Maybe,” your voice whispers out. Flipping the metal object, you walk and slot the side of your precious coin into the head of the top right screw, jimmying it in with a growing smirk as it sits in a straight line.

Jiggling it, the small fastening of the grate squeaks before its body gets slowly twisted to the side by your tight-knuckled grip, skin thin as it struggles to turn. A small noise of victory leaves you when the rust under the bond flakes off, the screw now quickly moving outward for you.

You didn’t want to blow your own horn quite yet, but this was going smoother than you could have hoped for.

When all remaining screws were on the roof and your coin was back in your pocket, you were staring at the gaping wound that is the entrance to the ventilation shaft. For the first time in the night, you wondered about the consequences of acting like this. Your father had preached honestly when he was alive—telling you that the best thing a person could be was true.

The phone in your pocket was like a brick as your heart stampeded.

“C’mon.” He speaks blankly, whatever sly teasing and amusement from earlier today completely gone. “Exfil point is a block away—we need to move.”

You can’t do much more than follow, your head screaming at you.

“B-but what about…” Wanting to ask about the people who are back in the park, not quite understanding the horror yet.

Sensing this, Kyle knows it’s better to respond briefly.

“They’re dead.” You flinch at the truth, hearing the bitter reality settle in coupled with the man’s bluntness.

Dead. Row, the others, your father. “But if I find the answers,” you try to steady yourself, leaning closer to the inky duct. “Maybe all of this can go away. No one else has to die. I have to…” You push forward, “I have to do this.”

Gaz’s words had touched you in the kitchen. His willingness to speak to you. No one else ever bothered. He’d be more than angry—furious with this, but how could you explain that this was so much more to you than a price on your head? You felt he already knew, truthfully, but you’d never been good at listening much less looking into his eyes to see if he’s being genuine.

There was a piece of you that had wanted to glance up at him while you were against the island, just a swift peek. You’d shut it down just as quickly as it had come, but, still.

The thought had been there.

Knees hitting the metal, you crawl far into the vent, enclosed on all sides except forward and backward. Not once did you think about how you’d get back out as you start taking the twists and turns of the chilled metal square, on a mission in your own right. Taking shallow breaths, you pull and slide your shoulders through, getting to the first dip and slipping down as your hands squeak.

“Woah,” you hissed to nothing, your voice bouncing off and echoing back to your ears. “Christ.”

Your form clanks along, trying to be as quiet as a mouse but only being successful if that mouse was being rapidly slammed against a wall. Along the way, you would have to make decisions about which way to go—right or left—and you would have to imagine yourself walking around the museum as if you were inside it.

Paleontology down there, your head is bent to the left and you huff and feel sweat dribble down your forehead. I need to be near Botany.

You take the right with a bit of worry set into your veins. What if you got lost in here? Would they find your body years later? You shiver and grimace.

“Nothing will go wrong—!” Your voice cuts out as you plummet down a decline, face ricocheting off the metal with enough force to rattle your brain. You groan long and low in your throat as blood fills your nose. “...One thing can go wrong…” Your sleeve presses into your nostrils as you shuffle on slower and steadier.

You were never making it back to your estate on time.

It’s fifteen minutes of bumbling and cursing, to your mother’s horror, before you turn to a thick grate at a dead end. Across your position, you’re able to make out a plaque on the far wall by straining your eyes through the darkness; you lock on the white letters of the self-designated ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ area.

Your bloody lower face peels back in a breathless smile as you pant.

Hands pressing into the ventilation grate, you prod with all of your strength and bite into your lip as you do; lungs tight with exertion. Just as you start to feel a small movement in the metal, whistling hits your ears.

Immediately stopping, you hold your breath and lock your eyes on the slowly walking form of one of the security guards. A great frozen feeling overcomes your bones—nearly the same that had hit you when you’d been behind that garbage can with Gaz in the park. You stare wide-eyed and open-mouthed, heart in your ears.

The guard was clothed in white and black, keys at his belt jangling and a flashlight in his hands as he spreads a tune. Large and bald, he paused across the way and turned his head in your direction. You tense and stifle a sharp inhale, ducking just the slightest bit back.

But he doesn’t bother looking into the vent while he takes out a tissue from his pocket and proceeds to blow his nose as you watch, flinching at every loud snort.

“Gah,” the guard rubs at his nose, “...gettin’ too old for this. Should be back at home already. Need to have Jerry give me that raise…”

Tossing the used tissue into an adjacent trash can, the man moves on with a bend to his spine, showing his fatigue as his free hand rubs at the back of his neck.

You put your fingers over your mouth, blinking incredulously as he turns a corner out of sight—whistles tune getting smaller and smaller.

“I’m going to have a heart attack,” you grunt, waiting a minute more before taking a deep breath and placing your shaking grip back into the grate. “Kyle, you should have tried to make me stay home harder.”

Your digging words hit no one, and you gasp as the vent cover pops off with a slide of metal. You snatch a hand to grab it, panicked, but the thing fully slips from your fingers as your heart gets stuck in your throat.

The sound when it hits the bench right under and then finally slams to the floor is enough to make you get bile in the back of your throat.

It echoes over the museum like you had just chucked a glass bottle at a man’s head in the middle of High Mass—louder than a thunderclap. The silence that follows after is just as violent.

It’s like you count the seconds as your hands extend from the dark square, face lacking blood and chin loose.

Did that…what just…

When the quick, hard, footsteps start running back in your direction, you’re scrambling out of the vent faster than you can think about your limbs moving. Feet slipping and hands latching onto the edge of the opening with a thinning of your pupils as you shove yourself out.

You land on the bench and clatter to the ground just like the vent but quickly recover against the roving pain on account of pure adrenaline.

“Shit, shit, fuck!” Your mouth snarls, vulgar curses slipping out as you snatch the grate into your arms and push through the Authorized Personnel door with a loud shoulder shove. Darting to the side of the opened door, you slip behind it into the corner; mind running a mile-a-minute. Think!

Running would only make it worse, the guard would hear you and follow after. You look down at the metal in your hands as a shout rings just feet away—panting breath and the jingle-jangle of keys.

“Who's out there?! Show yourself!” Your lips thin, thinking over those possible changes again and adding in another.

…Battery.

When the guard walks through the door and takes a few steps in, wildly flashing his light back and forth, you slowly raise the vent grate in your hands. Taking a small, shaky breath, you tighten your grip and whack the man in the back of the head.

He falls with a large thump, body hitting the ground as you stand above him with wide eyes and a guilty conscience, bones rattling in your flesh.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” he’s groaning, stunned, as you swiftly place the grate on the wall and run back past him. “It’s nothing personal, really. I…you're going to be fine—a…a bruise, that’s it.”

Dashing down the hallway, you leave him behind, but only after you steal his keys and begin to read each name tag on the walls, searching for the familiar title of your father at lightspeed.

Theft.

“I’m such an idiot!” Quietly barking out, you take a left and skid to a stop finding the exact door you needed to get into—the one at the very end as well as the largest and most fancy looking. You could have easily picked the lock with a stray bobby pin and a stick from one of the fake plants outside in the hallway, but now with the keys…

You push through the hundreds on the chain, palms sweaty and breath not slowing down. You’re muttering to yourself in a frenzied state, feet trading weight.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, hurry up!” You find MD carved into the metal and stick the key into the door, twisting and hurrying through. Closing the door behind you loudly, you let your body pant as you hold it shut, palms to the grain; it’s a second before your forehead meets the barrier and you groan lowly.

Rubbing at your scalp, you stand up straight and turn to the room.

Except there is a suspicious lack of boxes along the carpeted floor.

“What!?” You yell, before you slap a hand to your mouth. “What?” Your lowered, repeated, question is strained and aggressive, but in reality, you should have expected this. It had been three years, after all. Maybe you had yet to realize the entire world hadn’t stopped just because yours had.

Jogging over to the computer, you slide the keyboard out from inside the desk and tap the spacebar to wake it up, growling to yourself. You knew they had kept your father’s things, but you didn’t know where they put them—you were supposed to have picked them up during the first year but…well, you know how that year went.

You grimace and shake your head, restraining yourself from touching your coin.

If you could hack into the CIA database, this was a piece of cake; it took no more than a minute, already looking at the wallpaper of a woman named Lorena Bennett with her pet cockatoo on her shoulder. Immediately you head to the emails.

“Okay, Bennett,” you say, “I need…” Typing in your father's name into the word search, you come upon one of the first emails from only a month after he’d died, eyes slipping from one word to another. “Here.”

Dear Mrs. Bennett,

Due to the unfortunate passing of our prior Museum Director, you’ll find the office assigned to you still filled with his belongings. If you would be willing, please pack up what few personal belongings he had and send them down to Eastern storage—his daughter will be here to pick them up at a later date.

Thank you, and I wish you well on your first day,

Member of the Board, Mr. Shaw

“Eastern storage,” you huff, fingers twitching over the keys as you nod rapidly. “Alright, okay. I can do that.” You couldn’t do that.

Sweating, you close out the email and power down the computer, putting it all back where it was. Was it wrong for you to want Kyle here with you? You could do with his steadfast patience at this point. Might even applaud him for putting up with you for this long if he could take point on this.

For doing far more stressful things for a living, you were sure this was easy as cake for him. If anything that pushed you on. Leaving and locking the office, you carefully step over the unconscious guard and utter another apology, watching his back rise and fall with his lungs like a balloon.

Sneaking through the halls, you pass displays and stay close to the walls, listening with strained ears as your breath seems to be the loudest thing in the museum. Rubbing at your sore nose, you make your way across multiple sections of the building, knowing every turn as if you’d lived here forever.

“Now,” your father’s voice guides you along and you almost feel his hand on your shoulder as you slip behind a case full of ancient cat furs in the Mammalogy section. A second guard's flashlight slips above you and you crawl on the floor as she passes. “If you ever lose sight of me, I’ll head right to the place between Mammalogy and the Bone Hall. Just follow the arrows and I’ll be waiting for you, alright? I’ll always find you, Little Love.”

You steady your breathing and slink around another display, heart constricted at the sudden need to hear your father’s voice again. You’d forgotten it after all of this time—the way he would reassure you was only a series of words without flow; a knowledge of the memory but mixed with the desperation to truly feel it. It was just…empty.

Getting out of Mammalogy, you lock eyes on the direction map placed on the wall as the stolen keys sit in your pocket, muffled metal clinking against the coin. Looking at it, you’re hit with a wave of sadness, brows going downturned, and a rueful frown coming to your lips.

“Guess not, Old Man.” You mutter to a ghost, shaking your head and pulse spiking when the female guard resets her path and begins to come back. Your body dashes away into memories and shadows with nothing more than a harsh sigh.

—

You stand at the bottom of the long staircase, breathing heavily and staring at the double doors of the museum storage room, grimacing but internally celebrating that you’ve gotten to where you need to go. There were multiple close calls with security, plus the unconscious man near the offices that you had to go back to.

But here, now, you finally were able to get somewhere.

Inserting the needed key into the door, you push through one and find rows upon rows of Archival storage boxes and cupboards all in pure white and gray. Blinking, you let the door close behind you as you huff out a scoff.

“I swear if these aren't in alphabetical order…” Your dim eyes go from one to another, but you grunt and go to find the labeled letters on the sides of the cupboards, the temperature dropping multiple digits to help the items preserve better.

Fingers twitching over the boxes, you slide them along as you read, muttering to yourself. A few moments into your search, the familiar name of your dad comes into view and you smile softly.

“Here we are.” Hand reaching out, you peel the object out and place it on the floor, taking a deep breath before popping the top and gazing inside.

There were two visible objects—a laptop and a journal.

Intrigued, your hands delve inside and take out the black leather journal with careful hands, feeling the bulk of crinkled, written-in pages. As you hold it up and tilt it over, something falls out and clatters to the ground; the clink of plastic making your eyes widen in surprise.

“And what do we have here?” A USB stick meets your bandaged flesh as you pick it up, sutures under your skin raw and tight. You pay no mind to the second pulse in your flesh and stare intently at the navy blue tone of the small object. “USB stick…? What were you doing in there?”

Your face goes curious, head tilting as you move the stick around in your hand. With a hum and a serious edge to your brows, you hide the object in your jacket’s pocket and quickly take up the remainder of the belongings. Putting the box back where it was, you high-tail it back out the door, lock it, and dash up the stairs.

This had to have everything you needed in it—a full laptop that with any luck was still intact, a journal, and a USB stick. The stick alone could give you swathes of information, and the journal…you hold back a yell of victory.

Your dad was sure to have something in all of this mentioning the donations and the moniker. The documents with the same date and printed red ink. There was something there; on the cusp of a great discovery like an anthropologist on a dig site. A pressure in the back of your mind—incessant ringing.

Something.

Getting back was easier now that you knew the places to avoid, and as you slip the keys back onto the unconscious guard's belt, you take back up the grate in one arm. Going back, you stand atop the bench below the vent, huffing as you shove your father’s things up first.

“What would Gaz do?” Your voice questions, hearing the long groaning from the downed security behind you. Sighing, you leave the grate on the bench, climbing back up with your muscles straining. It’s a slow crawl back to a section where you can actually turn your body around and at that point, you’re annoyed with the tightness of the vents.

But you do it, regardless, dangling your arms out of the square to twiddle your fingers above the grate before you finally claw it back up and twist it around, flesh pinched as you handle the long slats to manhandle it back into position with a defining pop of steel. Like a kangaroo, you slip the journal and laptop into your jacket, zipping it up and letting the objects hang as you shuffle backward—able to turn back around one more time as you begin retracing your steps.

You’re sure you're going to be sore tomorrow from all of this activity.

“If,” you bonk your head and hiss, glaring at the ceiling as you climb upward. “If Gaz lets me live that long. I’ll be lucky if he even makes me dinner anymore.”

There’s a part of you that realizes the effects of what this might bring. A small portion of unease and…fear. But there were things that you had to do alone, and this was one of them. It was your father that had been wronged, and it fell on you to finish this story, for ill or for better.

When you finally make it to the roof, you heave a breath of fresh air, basking in the open land. The grate screws back on easily with the help of your coin and hiking your father’s items higher in your grip, you speed to the ladder.

Even without checking your phone, you know you have missed calls—missed messages that number in the hundreds. It was far past midnight; you were stupid to think you’d be back on time.

“At least let me come up with a good excuse before I see him.” But still, you’re filled with a sense of elated accomplishment, your body quivering with adrenaline and happiness as your mouth opens in quick chuckles. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I did it! I’d like to see him hold a grudge against this.” Feet moving quickly, you get to the top of the ladder and bend down, smiling wide and cheeks pulled back with glee.

You looked over the edge of the roof, irises sparkling like gems as your throat holds giggles and puffs of excited breaths. Only you don’t lock into the ground feet below.

Instead, brown eyes like tree bark glare up into yours with hidden fury.

And then the black vehicles pull up with a screech of tires.

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