im so dumbb bro I thought the vip event would let me choose Todo. I didn't realize I was gonna gamble 😭😭😭 spent 90 hearts (all) and still didn't get him 😭😭
did u get to see what his kink is? Please share 🙏 🥲
Hi! Thank you for your ask. You are not dumb, I also thought like this at the beginning. VIP are expensive gatcha games, so, unfortunately, I'm not really reading them. Maybe there's someone else who got the story you are looking for. Sorry for not being of any help.
what they DONT tell you about clarinets is that you have to fucking build the damn thing every single time. "what instrument do you play" fucking legos man idk
My favourite niche trope is strong characters having mental breakdowns. Every time there's a character that has an on screen or a backstory in which they lost it totally, I know that they'd be one of my favourites in the mangas.
SPOILERS to The Promised Neverland, Fullmetal Alchemist, Attack on Titan.
The Promised Neverland: Yugo staying alone for 13 years and writing the entire wall of a room with the words "Help!" And "Poachers"
Attack on Titan: Reiner and his famous "I am the armour titan and he is the colossal" with his personality breaking in two.
Fullmetal Alchemist: Roy Mustang going berserk on Envy to the point Riza has to stop him.
Maybe that's because I want to be a psychiatrist, but showing that there's a thin line between "I'm strong and will protect everyone" and "I can't do this anymore, someone stop or help me", is a trope that'll always have me on its side.
I'm a die hard fan for this trope. It gives me butterflies and goosebumps. I don't find myself too pretty and seeing the LIs simping so hard and being so in love with how MC looks is making me melt.
I had a dream where I was very in love with Bertholdt from AoT, but he had a pregnant wife and I swore that I would take care of them while she gave birth at the same time with Reiner's wife. However, someone attacked the hospital and while I (who was in a fight last time at 14 with my just as weak brother) was the last hope of the humanity and they saw me as such a threat that some forces were isekai-ing me from one world to another. In one of those worlds, I had to witness Mikasa being killed and Levi promised me he'd take care of me for the rest of my life. But I was so loyal to Bertholdt, that I found a way to come back to the world were his wife was giving birth and Eren saw me and told me I'm an idiot and deserve to die for the choices I made.
This dream can go in my top of weirdest dreams, along with the one in which I dreamt I was a frying pan and the other one with penguins who had anthrax.
Ysaline was holding into Jason's elbow as the man pushed the shopping cart through the aisles. She stopped in front of the pesto jars, taking two different types in her hand and showing them to her boyfriend, waiting for him to pick one for today's pasta date. Jason pointed at Ysaline's favourite – even if he liked the other option more – getting a broad smile in response as she added the jar to the other ingredients in the cart.
The next stop was in the meat department where Ysaline wandered off, letting Jason pick the best option. On her way back, she was waving a stick of marzipan, to which Jason rolled his eyes. However, next second, Ysaline stopped in her tracks, as a woman walked towards her boyfriend and held onto his gray coat.
"Getting groceries for our party?" She asked him but looked at Ysaline.
Jason would have jerked away his hand from her, if the clerk didn't hand him the meat that right moment. It was enough time for a list of things to go through Ysaline's mind.
Was it her ex? One of the girls with whom he posted photos on his social media? Was she just trying to flirt with Jason? But the same second, the girl looked at her with fear in her eyes. She was on the verge of tears, as she was scanning the territory around them. And Ysaline understood.
"Oh, sweety! So lucky to see you here," she yelled, approaching the girl and hugging her. "Do you need help?" She whispered as she mimicked kissing the girl's cheeks.
The stranger didn't say anything, she just nodded a few times. Ysaline turned to Jason with a serious expression and raised her brows. Jason blinked slowly, showing her that he understood the situation.
"How comes you are here from the other side of the city?" Jason asked with a chuckle, as he hugged the woman's shoulders from the side.
"I was just jogging earlier today, to free my evening for our get together," she answered, her voice still strained.
The group walked to the check out, without half of the groceries done. All three of them tried to look around to spot a threatening figure. Right before getting in line, the girl stopped in her tracks and held hard into Jason's and Ysaline's arms. A reassuring hand was placed from the girlfriend's side, as the boyfriend took a step forward to hide the stranger.
The threat looked at them for a few seconds, grinned and left the store. After paying, the group stopped in front of the doors.
"Do you need a ride home?" Ysaline asked, as she gave the woman a bottle of water.
"I would rather not..." the woman said with a trembling voice. "My brother messaged me that he left the house to come get me. Can you wait with me, please?"
The couple nodded. They stayed in silence for a few minutes, waiting for the woman's brother. As a figure appeared a few meters away, the woman finally relaxed and nearly fell on her knees. The groceries bag fell from Jason's hand as he caught her.
"Thank you for taking care of my sister," the new man said and the woman walked to him.
Before they left, the woman turned and spoke to Ysaline.
"I saw the way he looked at you and thought you were safe people. I was right. Thank you. You saved my life."
Jason and Ysaline waved goodbye to the siblings and walked to the car.
"She is right. You do look safe," Ysaline said, as she tucked herself against Jason's neck. A smile appeared on the man's face and he kissed the top of his girlfriend's head.
I didn't get all the Christmas event stories yet, though I loved all of them so far.
BUT
Did they really miss the opportunity to have fights with the roll of wrapping paper in at least one story? I don't remember ever having a roll of wrapping paper in hands and not hitting my friends/family with it in a playful way. Or am I the only one like this?
I think it would have gone so well in Roy's story, or Devon, as they are more playful than the others and come from big families.
MCL:NG characters buying pads for Candy (Headcanons)
Roy Aquino
He's going to be the only one who will blush and stutter while talking about periods.
Don't get me wrong, it's not because he thinks it's gross. Nooo. Roy is just overwhelmed by how close Candy thinks of him to confide in something personal.
So, when this puppy of a man gets a message from his girlfriend about buying period products, he is walking circles in front of them in the market.
Roy is not prepared to ask a consultant for help, as he doesn't want to embarrass himself or the consultant.
After a while, he finally calls Candy.
So, he's having those looooong conversations in which Candy explains over the phone about how the pack looks, where are written how absorbent they are, what scent she wants, if she wants them with wings or not and what wings are in general.
By the end of this conversation, Roy has to buy for himself mental support chocolate too.
Buuuut... They stuck, so by the next time Candy asks him to do the same, he remembers what exactly to buy.
That's until his curiosity gets the best out of him and he asks what the difference is between all the products.
So, Candy gives him a presentation about every single type of products there are and what exactly she likes to use and when.
This man takes notes.
He has an entire shelf in his apartment with every single type of period product his girlfriend likes.
Amanda de Lavienne
Oh, please. They had the period talk even before they gently breathed near each other.
Though, it was mostly Elenda who started the period talk, and asked Candy and Amanda to add their contributions.
But after they started dating, Candy and Amanda started to share an account a supply of period products in both of their bathrooms.
Candy buys her favorites and Amanda's favorites for her bathroom, Amanda does the same for hers.
They probably can go without buying anymore for the next at least three months.
It's like: "Oh, look what I found at sale!" and it's a pack of forty pads.
They will complain in the products aisle about how unfair it is to have to pay so much for something that is indispensable.
You know the prank with telling your partner that your tampon got stuck and you want them to help you find it? So, yeah. They'll do this for each other if needed. These girls are soulmates, I'm telling you.
They can describe the symptoms of the other one as if it's theirs, also what it helps and what not, the cravings, the mood swings.
Jason Mendal
This man walks into the market aisle with the period products like he owns the stonks.
The fun fact is that Jason probably does it before Candy ever talks about her periods with him.
He just wants to make her believe he is a perfect boyfriend.
So, next time Candy enters his bathroom, there are pads and tampons in there.
When Candy was messing with the compartments in his car, she found period products there too.
I'm 100% sure that at some point, Danica found herself in a situation where there were no pads and tampons left in her purse and it was Jason who handed one to her just because he has them in his desk at Goldreamz too.
After this, he put period products in all bathrooms in Goldreamz too.
He won't ask Danica to find information for him about periods and period products though. He'll do the research himself, so he can understand Candy better and get her only what's best.
There's no way, after this research, he won't wake up in the middle of the night and ask Candy who sleeps near him why the female body is not studied enough and what she thinks about it.
Of course, she appreciates the sentiment, but damn, it's 2:56, the love of my life. Look at the eyelids from inside instead of debating!
Devon Okere
There's no one in this world who will convince me that this man doesn't have free period products in the bathroom in Devenementiel.
Half of his staff are women, plus he is childhood friends with Elenda who seems very open about literally everything.
The man definitely bought pads for Elenda since their teenage years.
So, buying them for Candy is just another Tuesday.
The difference is the sentiment, though. He is way more conscious about what exactly Candy will like and everything.
However, he understood that when she asked him to buy them, she didn't specify what exactly she wants, what brand, how absorbent etc.
It's not that he is too embarrassed to ask. It's just that he wants to seem like a dependable man.
Soooo... Yeah, he asks a consultant for her opinion and she asks him about which day of the period is Candy on, if she has a heavy or light flow, if they are for the night or during day.
Surprisingly, he can answer to most of them, as he always has created a safe space for his girlfriend to complain about her pain and problems.
Next time, though, he will take a look at how the products Candy usually carries look like to buy her exactly what she is the most comfortable with.
Thomas Rheault
He probably hacked Candy's phone to get her periods calendar after the last time she snapped on him for seemingly no reason (she wasn't on her period, he was just mean).
Though, his intentions are mostly pure, so after he understood his mistake, he uses the data only for Candy's benefit.
The notification with "Your period will start in 2 days" is a signal for him too, not only for his partner.
Considering that he has an older sister and grew up only with his mom, he is not grossed out or embarrassed by periods.
Thomas doesn't hack Candy's phone for searching her favorite products, he just asks her or just observes closely.
He has a folder in his computer with all the data about the period products available in the town. And at some point he even made a presentation about their differences, pros and cons to Candy to convince her to buy something better.
Did it work? Maybe, if he found some compromising information on the process of creating what his girlfriend used before.
He's another one to be utterly disgusted by how little the female body is studied and to debate it at 3 in the morning.
At some point, he met in the aisle with period products a man who was fighting with his significant other over the phone about how he didn't want to buy pads because it wasn't his job to do.
So, Thomas commented about how "unmanly" the man was behaving and that his partner needed someone better.
Candy got scared when Thomas told her that the security had to get involved, but she was a little bit proud of having such a good boyfriend.
The confession of truth. There are better ways to make MC be quirky than give her a such in the face "quirk". I barely know anyone who seriously likes Taki. If we remove Taki from the equation, NOTHING CHANGES.
The twisted ways of a love research. Chapter 3: An arm and a leg (Jason Mendal x Ysaline Dolga Scientists!AU)
Masterlist
Words counting: 5389
Two pairs of steps were heard walking in the hall. The door of Dr. Okere’s office was opened so forcefully that the knob creaked. A blonde woman, whose eyes were fixed on the person that came with her and was hidden behind the door appeared in the frame.
“Why are you so energetic, Danica?” Dr. Okere asked the hidden person, recognizing her without even looking up.
Danica’s full lips curved into a wide smile as she entered the office without answering the doctor’s question. She walked right to the door that divided the office with the computers from the laboratory with the reactives, which was Dr. Mendal’s usual hiding spot. The energetic woman threw a fast “Mornin’” to the solitary man and took a seat near Dr. Okere. The other woman, whose name Ysaline didn’t know yet, closed the door and took a few steps closer to the desk at which the man was working.
“Who is she?” the woman asked, pointing towards Ysaline, who mumbled a greeting that everyone seemed to ignore.
“She’s the student that writes her dissertation with me,” Dr. Okere said proudly, smiling so broadly that his gums were visible. The blonde woman nodded.
“Can you leave, please? I have to talk about something with Dr. Okere,” she said, gesturing towards the door.
“And close my door in the meantime, please. I don’t care about your business.” Ysaline heard Dr. Mendal’s voice for the first time that day, as he arrived before her and if it wasn’t for Dr. Okere, she wouldn’t even have known the other researcher was in the laboratory.
“No, no, no!” Danica protested and put herself in the doorframe. “You can ignore my notes, but you won’t ignore me!”
A chair squeaked against the floor and a figure taller than Danica on her high platforms made its appearance. Dr. Mendal crossed his arms against his chest and rolled his eyes, as he leaned against the exit door.
“One: I already told you never to leave hand-written notes on my desk. All of them will go in the garbage. I don’t have any time and desire to sort your waste. Two: You have exactly ninety seconds to tell what this ruckus is about.”
Ysaline took a step to the door to leave as the blonde woman asked her, but it was blocked by the tall doctor in front of her. She tried to ask him to move, but her voice was overpowered by Danica’s.
“We’ll collaborate with the Swimming Olympics Team to fund the next research!” Danica announced proudly.
Ysaline heard how the blonde woman sighed as she looked from Dr. Okere to her and to the other doctor. She walked to the nearest chair and planted herself in there, stretching her legs. As the student looked at her, she gestured to the seat next to her and pulled it out from under the desk to let Ysaline take it. The student looked from the door to the chair and didn’t move until the other woman nodded subtly.
“We as in who?” Dr. Mendal asked in a very low voice. Ysaline saw how Dr. Okere’s jaw clenched and back straightened. Danica took a step back. The only person that didn’t move and remained as relaxed was the blonde near her, who was massaging her knees.
“Amanda secured the event for Dr. Okere and I convinced Ro… Trainer Aquino to make the event bigger and let us participate too,” Danica’s voice finally wasn’t a yell. Instead, it was getting quieter and quieter with every word that left her lips.
“No,” said Dr. Mendal and left his spot to return to the laboratory.
Ysaline saw how Danica clenched her fists and sighed, as she looked up at the ceiling. Before Dr. Mendal could close the door, she put her foot in the way.
“I have to remind you that you specifically asked me to convince Amanda and Dr. Okere to team up with you for your next research and find the most promising fundraising opportunities for it. Do you need me to show you the presentation I made about the influence Roy has with different categories of ages and genders?”
Dr. Mendal opened the door and leaned against it, without saying anything. At this, Amanda – the blonde woman – looked up and bit her lip, trying to suppress a grin. Ysaline looked from her to the complicated researcher and back. Amanda caught her taking glimpses and mouthed a silent: “I hate him.”
“Is there anything else I should know?” Dr. Mendal asked, as he sighed.
“The event is going to be a swimming competition for everyone who wants to partake and the PR team told us that we can register for free. They actually made it pretty clear that they want at least one person from the research team to participate,” Amanda added, as she stood up and took a few steps closer to Dr. Mendal, even if she was talking facing Dr. Okere. Everyone in the room, except Ysaline, looked at the moody doctor who had his arms still crossed against his chest.
“I’ll think about it,” he said and banged the door.
“This man is impo…” Danica started to comment, but the door opened again and without even looking through the formed crack, the man added.
“Never announce such important news through sticky notes again. Please remember this.”
“Why is he so particular about details?” Danica mumbled barely audible.
“Because he has nothing good going in his life,” Amanda answered her in a normal voice, not caring if the man on the other side of the door heard her.
Dr. Okere looked from one woman to another and let himself fall back on his seat.
“How did you convince Roy to accept this?” he asked, as he took off his glasses to clean them with the hem of his whitecoat.
Danica looked at her colleague and waited for her to talk and explain the situation.
“Roy may hate Jason, but he is too kind for his own good,” Amanda said, watching as Dr. Okere cleaned his glasses.
As Dr. Okere regained his ability to see in full HD, his eyes fell on his student who sat a little bit further, watching the exchange between everyone. The chaos was too big to remember about her existence and that she wasn’t actually a part of their team.
“I’m sorry that you had to witness this,” the dissertation advisor apologized. “But if you want, you can probably come to the event. I doubt that Roy will be against it,” he added, looking at the two women in front of him.
“I also doubt that Roy will disagree,” Danica said as energetic as earlier.
Instead of answering, Amanda just shrugged. She took a few steps closer to the exit, but Dr. Okere stopped her.
“I’m also leaving in a few minutes, so we can go together.”
Before taking his bag with him, he turned to Ysaline.
“Are you going to stay for a little bit longer today too?” he asked, fully turned to her, with a concerned expression on his face.
“Yes. I’ll try to leave before Dr. Mendal, as usual,” Ysaline answered and started to fidget with a pen. She had her notes and laptop in front of her, as the office computer was running GROMACS.
“Write to me… No, better call me if you need anything at all,” Dr. Okere said as a goodbye and left with his fundraisers.
Ysaline watched as the door closed and leaned back in her seat. She took a deep breath and massaged her temples. There was so much work. She had been sure she would finish with it as fast as she finished with the theoretical part, but the practical part seemed never-ending. It was as if she was writing one paragraph and deleting two. Fuck pharmacy! Fuck the dissertation! Fuck diabetes! And fuck the GLP-1 receptor and its properties!
No, no, no! She didn’t have time to fuck everything up. Ysaline had to work. And work hard, very hard, very very hard. A little bit more and she could relax. A little bit more…
A little bit more was all Ysaline needed that day, and the day after, and the week after too. But with the fundraising event coming, every day someone was disturbing her from making the desired progress. One day, it was Devon talking on the phone with the event organizing company, the other day it was Amanda explaining in small details all the requirements that the Olympic Team had, the next it was the hyperactive Danica trying to persuade Dr. Mendal to be more proactive. Today, it was Roy – Trainer Aquino – visiting the laboratory to talk about the event. Or that was the intention that soon morphed into a catch-up session with Dr. Okere – or Devon, as he called his friend.
“Can’t believe people are really calling you Dr. Okere,” Roy said for the third time that day, as he pat Ysaline on the shoulder. The student smiled while sipping from the sports drink the trainer gave her.
The dissertation advisor smiled sheepishly, not ready to act in this type of situation. No one taught him how to remain professional in front of a student while his childhood friend was visiting.
“Yeah… It comes with… the job,” he finally answered.
Roy started to chuckle. However, his eyes fell on something and he suddenly stopped.
“Are you calling that guy doctor too?”
Ysaline looked at him pointing to the closed door to the laboratory. She opened and closed her mouth. It wasn’t as easy to diss Dr. Mendal in front of others as it was to do it in front of the researcher himself. Was it professional enough to answer the question? What was she supposed to do? She didn’t have any guide about how to keep hierarchy when her dissertation advisor’s childhood friend was trying to ask her tricky questions.
“Yes,” she finally decided to be honest. It was obvious that she wasn’t very comfortable with the situation, as a big wrinkle appeared between her brows.
“He doesn’t deserve the title. Can’t believe they let him continue to work,” Roy hissed, while rolling his eyes.
Ysaline let out an airy chuckle, but the wrinkle didn’t leave the bridge of her nose.
“I was supposed to be in the Olympics team a few years ago,” the trainer continued. The phrase was enough to make the student close her laptop and turn to face him totally. The story seemed to be too serious to try to sneak a type in between the sentences.
“Before his degree was revoked, he used to work with the athletes, in the medical team. He was some type of technician. During the qualifications for the Olympics, he convinced our doctors that my shoulder and spine weren’t healed from a previous trauma. Before I could find a different clinic with equipment as good as ours, my trainer eased my physical load and I lost a lot of time that could go into training. There was also no way I could continue my career till the next Olympics because of my age. So, I retired the same year, without even smelling the air in the Olympics city,” the trainer explained as he looked at his fidgeting fingers.
The silence fell in the office, as Dr. Okere put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. Trainer Aquino’s hair tie slowly fell down from his black, smooth hair that was cascading down his back. The student didn’t know what to answer, as the story didn’t seem to be one for the public.
“Then why did you accept to collaborate with him for this event?” Ysaline finally asked what was on her mind since she understood that the athlete Thomas was talking about was Trainer Aquino.
“The girls said it’s an event to raise funds for researching neurodegenerative diseases,” Roy answered very matter-of-factly, looking at Ysaline’s eyes, as if the theme of the research was enough to forget the mistakes that Dr. Mendal did in the past.
Ysaline nodded, not understanding the direct correlation between the answer and the question, but the trainer didn’t look like he wanted to go into details, nor did the advisor. So, Ysaline excused herself and left the office, leaving her notes and laptop in there and taking only her backpack. There was no way she could concentrate there. So, instead of wasting time, she decided to do what she planned to do for days – try to find the latest version of one of the books she needed for her dissertation. She hoped that the university library had them. In the meantime, she could take a walk and think about everything that she heard from Trainer Aquino.
From what she remembered, Dr. Mendal used to work as a biomedical equipment technician. And from what she knew, they had the skill of reading the radiology results of the equipment they were calibrating, even if it wasn’t the diagnosis. They had at least an idea about what they were seeing on the results. Was it possible for him to do something so wrong that it jeopardized Roy Aquino’s career to the point he had to retire? Ugh, things seemed so complicated.
“Your leg probably healed completely, considering that you walk so fast now,” a familiar voice called Ysaline from behind. She turned and saw the very person she was deep in thoughts about.
“How come you left your cave, Dr. Mendal?” she asked before thinking that it was too rude to say to someone who was her senior in the research and medical field. At least, she didn’t forget the honorifics.
“Those two human megaphones made it impossible for me to concentrate even with my headphones on,” the doctor explained, pointing at the pair of headphones he had around his neck.
Ysaline stopped suddenly and pinned Dr. Mendal with her eyes.
“Do you have anything to ask?” the man grinned, stopping a two steps away from her. The student opened and closed her mouth, playing with a strand of hair. “Go ahead,” the man continued, amused by the woman’s reaction.
“What is your side of the story?” Ysaline finally asked, and looked at Dr. Mendal right in the eyes.
It was the man’s time to open and close his mouth. Before he said anything, he let out a few low chuckles.
“Does it actually matter now?” he answered and continued walking. However, he saw that Ysaline didn’t move and stopped again. “Do you need to go somewhere? I can drive you.”
His words woke up Ysaline from her trance. She caught up with the doctor and answered his question. “I want to see if the library from our university has the newest version of a book I need for my dissertation.”
“Why don’t you use the old version and cite it as if it’s the new one?” Dr. Mendal inquired, raising a brow. A second later, he clicked his tongue, understanding how strange it sounded to give such tips to a student after one of his degrees was revoked which made him lose a job.
“Because it’s for a medication that five years ago wasn’t as studied as now and in the new version there are more details, but I can’t pirate it right now, because it’s too new,” Ysaline finally explained, making Dr. Mendal chuckle again.
After a few more questions, Ysaline found out that the last research Dr. Mendal published was about the GLP-1 and he had the latest PDF legal version of the textbook she needed.
“Sometimes all you have to do is ask,” the man said, as he stopped from his walk and looked directly at Ysaline.
The student gulped and took a step back. Maybe taking a walk with her advisor’s rival wasn’t the best idea she had lately? Especially considering that now he looked at her as if she was the answer to the question that bothered him for the last ten years.
“But free cheese is only in a mousetrap,” Dr. Mendal stated, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing a sleeve tattoo on his right hand. The tattoo seemed a lot like The Great Wave off Kanagawa painting with a blue dragon added on it. Before fear could capture Ysaline entirely, the researcher continued: “Care to come to the event they are organizing?”
The woman tilted her head to the side, trying to decode the machine inside the man’s brain.
“Why?”
“To cheer on my… Put the medal around my neck in case I win. Everyone seems so fond of you that I can’t help but feel a little jealous.”
Ysaline took a step closer to the intimidating man. She could hear him breathing.
“You have to win first,” she whispered loud enough for him to hear. “And give me the textbook,” Ysaline added and returned to her position. Dr. Mendal smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Then let’s go back so I could check out at least one condition,” he commented, letting Ysaline walk in front of him. It lasted till the first door that he opened for her, guiding the student inside.
What was the worst thing that could happen? was the thought that made rounds in Ysaline’s mind for days till the day of the event. As she said, Dr. Mendal had to first win a medal for her to have to put it around his neck. The fact that he used to be a technician for the Olympics swimming team didn’t mean that he was also a good swimmer.
“Jason will win,” Amanda stated with her hands on her lap and back straight as a pole.
“Is he a good swimmer?” Danica asked with an ice-cream in her hand, as she tried to put back in her pocket her cat-themed wallet.
“The best non-athlete swimmer I have met,” Roy hissed, rolling his eyes, as he helped Danica with her wallet.
“I remember when you said the trainer tried to convince him to join the professional theme,” Dr. Okere mentioned. Before anyone could answer, a loud yell called them from behind.
“ROY! DEVON!”
Ysaline turned towards the source and saw a young woman in colorful clothes running towards them, followed by another young woman with short hair and a rather gothic style. The colorful woman stopped in front of her and batted her eyes a few times.
“I’m Elenda, Devon’s assistant. You must be Devon’s first student who chose him as a dissertation advisor. I heard about you. He always prizes you. You must be a hard-worker,” the woman said excitedly, as she took Ysaline’s hand and shook it a few times. Ysaline looked from her to Dr. Okere and a faint tint of red appeared on her cheeks. So, he was telling his team that he had a hard-working student. Hehehe. It was the best thing she had heard during all her student years.
“I’m Brune. I’m the team’s statistician, but Elenda and I are working on a different research right now. That’s why we never met, just heard about you.”
Ysaline wanted to say that she heard about them too, but she wasn’t that talkative with her advisor on a daily basis. She had no idea who the people in front of her were. But it was for the best. If Dr. Okere was a professor-overshare, she would have been creeped by him. It was better that there was a delimitation between his personal and professional lives.
“Go take your seats,” Roy told his friends as other athletes called him.
Trainer Aquino was in the organizing team and from what Ysaline heard, he would also be the MC, as he was very popular with the masses. It was no wonder, considering that he was a young, handsome man, who also seemed to be pretty friendly.
The event started, announcing its goal to get funds for researching neurodegenerative diseases and that all the money raised from merch, participating, and tickets would go for this cause. A round of applause and yells of young women was heard from the fans. Roy chuckled at the reaction and continued talking, presenting the competitors. The first round was for kids under eleven. Later, the ages advanced and after an hour and a break, the last group appeared, consisting of the adults. Roy had to personally introduce Dr. Mendal as the rep of the research team. Ysaline could swear that Trainer Aquino was hissing again, as Dr. Mendal was grinning and waving to the public. A few excited voices yelled JASON! and everyone who came with Ysaline turned to see who were those big fans that the researcher had. They were met by two young women in pretty suits and with make-up that seemed to be professionally made. It made sense that Dr. Mendal would have such beautiful fans, actually. He wasn’t an ugly man, plus he seemed smart and rich. It was more surprising that he didn’t have more fans.
As soon as the start was announced, Dr. Mendal was in the lead.
“He is really a good swimmer,” Danica commented, leaning towards Elenda.
“I think at some point he said that he learned how to swim before he learned how to walk,” Dr. Okere commented with his hands against his chest and jaw clenched.
It was an interesting view to see. As unbearable as Dr. Mendal was, Dr. Okere always acknowledged his talents, which couldn’t be said about the other way around. However, it wasn’t as if Dr. Mendal talked that much about anything, not only about Dr. Okere. Most of the time he was with his headphones on, ignoring the presence of everyone around him and isolating himself in his own cave. Apparently, even Danica, who seemed to be a lot into gossip, barely knew anything about her boss.
Ysaline leaned in front to see the last few meters of the competition. Everyone did the same, even Amanda who wasn’t sitting as straight as in the beginning. AANNND…
“The winner is Jason Mendal, the rep of the research team! Congratulations, Mr. Mendal,” the referee announced with the same hissed voice Roy used. Ysaline didn’t have to ask, it was obvious that the referee knew Dr. Mendal from his job as a technician. Not even Trainer Aquino had the guts to call him mister instead of doctor. However, it didn’t seem to bother the winner too much, as his eyes found the team that was supposed to cheer for him but only displayed sour faces. In between them, was a single person whose face didn’t seem that affected by the disgust of his win – the face that he was searching for.
Dr. Mendal signed to Ysaline to come closer. The team looked at each other, their eyes finally stopping on the student who stood up and walked with her head on the ground to the podium. She couldn’t dare to look back at them. She barely knew those people, but it felt like betraying them considering that they accepted her with them, and now she was near the person that none of them could stand.
“I told you,” Dr. Mendal whispered, as Trainer Aquino announced the results. “I never lose. I always get what I want.”
Ysaline tried to ignore the words that were heard by all the winners. She turned to the person who had the medals on a pillow and put each of them on their owners. The last one was destined for the person who nearly ran her over with a car, the person about whom her hacker roommate warned her, the person who could help her with her dissertation if she asked enough. It wasn’t as if she was sleeping her way to the top. No. It was just that she really needed the dissertation and as much as it seemed to be bagged, she couldn’t shake the fear of losing her degree. It wasn’t much – getting a textbook from a researcher that didn’t get along with her advisor. No, it wasn’t that much. But she had to make the dissertation perfect, there was no other way around. She would never let history repeat itself. She would finish this degree. Was it too much? Did she accept to be played for something that wasn’t that important? Did she choose the easy path?
“I thought that you evolved enough to smile, or you don’t have the apparatus for this?” Dr. Mendal whispered as he leaned in to help Ysaline put the medal around his neck. Dr. Mendal’s skin felt hot and his hair was still damp and smelled like chlorine. Ysaline would have never guessed that he was so well-built, as his broad shoulders were enough to cover her entire frame from everyone around. She could see how he won the competition, considering the muscles that were now visible and not covered by anything. His tattoo looked as if it was in its element covered in droplets of water, giving the dragon shiny scales.
The blue of the water made Dr. Mendal’s blue eyes get brighter. However, they weren’t looking at Ysaline. Instead, they were making sure that other pairs of eyes were following them closely.
“Imagine working hard to destroy my career and the sign that his career is finally taking off is stolen by me?” Dr. Mendal whispered before straightening and waving to the public. At this, Ysaline froze and looked at the researcher near her. Destroying a career? Their hatred seemed way deeper than she thought before. It wasn’t about someone being accused of plagiarizing foolishly a dissertation. It was something more, and she had no idea what she got herself into.
Ysaline turned back to the team that she left, but didn’t feel as if she belonged there anymore. Even if she was welcomed, she seemed as if she had to stay a seat away from them, as if staying near them would mean betraying them, as if staying near them would mean betraying herself. She had too many useless thoughts. She wasn’t even supposed to be there. She was a student who had to write a perfect dissertation and finally finish a degree.
The next day couldn’t come faster, as Ysaline wanted to return to the rhythm before the swimming event ruckus. She was somehow thankful that she saw this part of researching too, but it didn’t help her too much from an academic standpoint.
Write write write.
Write write write.
Cite cite cite.
Ysaline’s screen was split in two: one half had her dissertation, the other half had the textbook that Dr. Mendal gave her. Somewhere behind her, Dr. Okere was asking her questions about the simulations she was running on the lab computers. He was explaining to her some mechanics and adding a few supporting words in between.
“It’s okay not to understand. Ask me questions, I’m here for you. At your age, I wasn’t that hard-working. You’ll write a great dissertation.”
Actually, Ysaline wished he shut up. She was thankful that he kept his distance from her and didn’t overshare. However, it would have been better if he asked her why she was that hard-working, because it wasn’t a choice. And maybe if he knew, he wouldn’t bother her that much.
Finally, Dr. Okere announced once again his leave. Ysaline sighed and massaged her temples and eyes. Maybe, if it wasn’t for that event, she would have been way ahead of her schedule. Maybe, if she was a little bit more organized, a little bit more hard-working, a little bit smarter. But she didn’t have time for self-loathing. If she had time to cry, she had time to write. So, she typed and typed again and again.
It wasn’t the first day she stayed behind Dr. Okere. She could remember how it happened the first time and he asked her to leave before Dr. Mendal left, considering that Dr. Mendal wasn’t as friendly and understanding as him and she wasn’t supposed to stay for that long in the laboratory. And every day, without fail, she followed this warning. Every day, she sneaked out even a few minutes before the other researcher left. But her deadline was closer and she couldn’t ignore it any longer. So, it meant she had no time to look at the clock.
“What are you still doing here?” a voice reverberated from behind, making Ysaline type a few keys wrong as she jerked. Her eyes fell at the corner of her screen as she saw it was nearly midnight.
“Writing my dissertation,” the student answered with the only words that she could come up with at the moment.
“In the middle of the night?” The interrogation continued, as Dr. Mendal took off his whitecoat and put on his jacket.
“I have to finish this as fast as possible,” Ysaline explained, tyoing a few more words.
“But you still have plenty of time,” Dr. Mendal said, taking a seat near the computer the student was working at.
“If I don’t finish this fast enough, I won’t have time to take a few more requests at my work to pay for the next part of the dissertation,” the explanation continued, without the woman to even spare a look at the man.
“Isn’t the university paying for the research you do?” Dr. Mendal leaned in the seat, with his neck hyperextended back.
“They cut up the budgeting for the dissertations and announced it to us only at the beginning of this semester, after I already wrote the entire theoretical part.”
Dr. Mendal took a straight position again and nodded while raising a brow.
“Did you save your last changes?” he asked calmly.
Ysaline nodded. At this, the doctor pushed down the screen of her laptop and finally got the woman’s eyes on him for the first time that day.
“You’re over-working yourself. Go home.”
It was one of the rare occasions in which Dr. Mendal’s voice didn’t seem to hide any hidden meaning, or mean remarque.
“I’m older than most of my peers. I work to afford studying till my late twenties,” Ysaline started, but soon, her eyes fell on the shine from Dr. Mendal’s ring. “Why am I telling you this? You probably have no idea what this is about, considering how rich you are.”
The older researcher chuckled. “Yeah, considering that I have a car, bought by my rich dad, that is parked in the penthouse I got as a gift for my eighteenth birthday, after I got a half a million in my bank account on my sixteenth.”
At his remarks, Ysaline couldn’t hold her sigh. She massaged her eyes that were tearing up from concentrating too much.
“Is your dad really that rich to give away expensive cars?” was the meanest comeback the woman could come up at that late hour.
“My dad is dead. Why isn’t your dad paying for your studies?”
Instantly, Ysaline’s back straightened and her eyes found Dr. Mendal’s. He wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t grinning. He was just keeping eye contact with her.
“My parents are divorced. I’m not even sure my dad knows I dropped out and changed universities,” the student said in a robotic voice, trying to find a way to react to what she just heard.
“Good thing he’s alive. It would have been awkward otherwise,” the doctor said and stood up, taking the woman’s laptop with him. “Let’s go home. It’s late. I’ll drive you.”
Disarmed, Ysaline took her backpack, returned her laptop, and followed the researcher. The drive home was silent, as the woman didn’t have any energy left for banters, and the man tried to concentrate all his attention on the night street. For the first time in days, Ysaline felt no guilt for doing too little.
The next day, on her way to exit the university, Ysaline nearly bumped into an already familiar tall figure with board shoulders.
“Want a drive to the laboratory?” Dr. Mendal’s voice asked.
“What are you doing here?” Ysaline was too surprised to come with an answer to his question. Dr. Jason Mendal wasn’t a professor. What was he doing at the university? Or was he on his way to become one?
“Had some business with the secretary. So, what’s your answer?”
Ysaline followed the researcher to his car, wondering if she would meet him in the university more often or not.
Okay, let's say that they really wanted to write a dark romance, even if it's veeeeery hard to do a good one in a modern, non-fantasy setting. But his writing is actually bad.
Every now and then, a good piece of lore appears and later, nothing. He's not bad enough to be a bad boy, but Ysaline doesn't react to him as him being a good boy either.
The only bad thing that we have proof or a strong feeling that he did was the Amanda one, but considering what Amanda did, it's not even that bad.
"Oh, but he's described as being bad" By whom? By a character that stalks what others do in their personal time and thinks harassment is funny? By a boss that has no idea what misconduct is? By a worker that lied in her CV? And Ysaline chooses to hate on the guy that seems to have a moral system that he is true to?
The writing is inconsistent and not believable. If it was at least one of these, the fandom wouldn't be that harsh. Instead, the writers made his route a trope-heavy one. I don't care about the tropes as long as I don't know the character. It's not working. Before adding 101 romance and dark romance tropes, the character needs its development, not the other way around.
The tape: Chapter 7. Meanwhile and after (Jason's POV) (Jason Mendal x Reader)
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Trigger warning: Leaked sex tape, description of what happened on the tape, grief (please tell me if I forgot anything)
Author’s notes: Can you believe it? It's the last chapter of my first finished multi-chapter! OMG. That's so cool. I really hope that you'll like it and the wait is paying off. Don't forget to tell me what you think about "The tape". It was really hard to write about something like this and I thought a few times that I didn't do a good job, but at least I really actually finished it.
Summary: While the woman he loved was fighting with the hardest challenge her life brought upon her, Jason was fighting for her too. From the dark, the way he could, using the tools he accumulated all this years, he tried to be the best version of himself for her.
Words counting: 5080
I believed in Devenementiel’s gem’s talent wholeheartedly. If there was a competition against her, she’d most probably win. If she didn’t, it was due to reasons way outside of her control. If the project was hard – she’d outsmart it; if the client was picky – she’d win them over; if she didn’t know how to approach the problem – she’d find ways; if she was down – she’d get back up.
The way we started to warm towards each other was a long, slow one. Little by little, banter by banter: hurtful words turned into inside jokes, eye rolls turned into searching eye contact all the time, mean comments turned into warm touches. And one night, after I tasted the sweetest and most desired lips my eyes ever fell upon, the universe decided to remind me that there’s no such thing as too much happiness. However, I had to remind the whole world, behind their smiles that they put on every time they saw me, I was cruel and ready to step into flattening everything that stayed in my way. It also meant to do this for the woman I li… loved.
Every time I couldn’t fall asleep, I remembered the multitude of people that had ever asked me how I slept at night, knowing all the questionable things I did. Every time, I gave them answers that were meant to ease their worry about my sleeping schedule, and worsen their worries about living in a world where no one paid for their deeds. But, being woken up at three in the morning by the buzz of the phone after trying, once again, for hours, to fall asleep, was, unfortunately, a normal occurrence for me. However, when the sender’s name seemed to be different from the woman’s with whom I spent the previous day, I groaned and rolled over. Though, everyone who ever had problems sleeping, knows that it’s not that easy to fall asleep after being woken up, especially by an unchecked message. So, despite what the sender probably intended by sending a message late at night, I checked it nearly immediately.
The sender’s name was a random combination of numbers and letters. The message he sent was nothing except a video. At first, I thought it was a virus, but the outline of the person in the video seemed familiar. Way too familiar. And instantly, I wasn’t just awake, I was also out of my bed, turning on my computer. The room had no source of light beside the screen and I still maxed the brightness of the screen, to maximize the visibility of the dark video.
There was a figure of a guy, visible from his torso down, naked, and the face of a woman. Her hair was held back by the guy’s hand, as she pleasured him with her mouth. I could see her jawline, the little bump she had on her nose, the barely seen displacement of her teeth, the way she smiled as she looked up through her eyelashes, the placement of her earrings. Everything screamed at me that I knew this woman that not even once looked at the camera. It was bad enough that I was sent this video, but the fact that the person in it not even once looked at the camera made it even more unsettling. I wasn’t supposed to see anything like this. It wasn’t even supposed to exist.
How often have I sent messages to someone at three in the morning? My parents had taught me not to call anyone before nine in the morning or after nine in the night. And being in the business world taught me not to message anyone either. However, there was an exception in my life that made me put away my self-taught lessons of conduct and not be polite, but comfortable enough to cause discomfort – and the person who did it was the person I cared about the most.
Call me if you need me – that was everything I could think about at that moment. Maybe it was too little, maybe I was wrong, maybe there was no way I knew the woman on the tape. I wished it was like this. But if that woman was really the woman I cared about, I couldn’t risk not doing anything to protect her. I couldn’t risk not being there for her when she needed me the most.
Firstly, I had to suppress my morals and watch the disturbing video again, to try to understand how far I could go, to try to understand how serious everything was, to try to understand what I was looking at, to try to understand at all. Was there a way to understand why anyone would ever do such a thing? Revenge. Revenge? There were better ways to take revenge. Some of them were legal, some of them illegal, some more-or-less moral, some could be made only by immoral people. I wasn’t moral, nor were my ways always legal, but even I had lows that I didn’t want to fall to. And this was one of them.
The video started from the middle. It wasn’t too long. Just enough to understand what happened, take a look at the woman’s profile, understand that the filming wasn’t discussed priorly and get utterly disgusted by the human-kind. How could anyone do anything like this to another person? How could a man do something like this to a woman?
By the fourth time I rewatched the video, maximizing it on the woman’s face, I found a freckle that didn’t seem to stay where I was used to in real life; the color of the hair seemed to be a different shade, even if the video changed the colors and hues of everything around due to its bad quality; the smile seemed a little bit strangely angled. A few times I debated with myself if I had to delete the message I sent to the person I cared about the most. Though, by the time I arrived at a conclusion, I fell asleep in the chair at my desk.
When my alarm woke me up, my first thought was to check the messages and see a message that would debunk every fear I had during the night. But, my message had the stamp Seen and no response. Instead, the message from the person who sent me the video was still there. For a second, I had to fight the urge to throw my phone against the wall. Why was it happening to her? Why couldn't I do anything to prevent it? Was there anything that I had done to call this upon her? Was there anything I could have done to protect her? Was there anything I could do at all?
It was a little past six and a half and I barely slept the entire night. However, I couldn’t stay put anymore. I had to move. I had to do something. I had to at least take a shower and clean away all the dirt that the night brought upon me. Was it dirt? Only a night before I felt like a lovestruck teenager who didn’t want to wash his face ever again after finally kissing the girl he had dreamt about for weeks – no – months. Now, I felt like I didn’t have the right to show myself in society, afraid that someone would smell on me the crime another man did.
As I walked naked by the mirror, for a second my eyes met the reflection in it and a wave of disgust washed over me. Someone who had the same complexion as me did something to the woman I loved and cared for. Someone, who she trusted, cared, and loved, sent a video in which she was the most vulnerable. I could never do anything like this to anyone else. I could never fall so low. I could never. But what could I do?
I didn’t want to look at any part of myself, afraid that I could see any similarity between me and the monster. Have I ever done anything just as bad? Was my moral system better than his? Was I better and cleaner than him? Was I a monster?
But I didn’t have the time to answer all of this and fell into self-loathing. There were things that I could do to help the person I loved and if it wasn’t me who’d do them, then who? Firstly, fuck the not calls before nine, not calls after nine. There were attorneys I knew and I would secure a meeting with at least one. A woman. A woman attorney. Otherwise, things could get even more uncomfortable. A woman attorney who worked with sex leaks. A woman attorney who worked with crimes against women. An empathetic woman attorney. That was what I needed and if it meant to search for one through people that I didn’t get in contact with in years, then that be it. I was ready to contact my exes, my mom, even my mom’s husband if it meant for me to get the best empathetic, experienced, woman attorney.
With the toothbrush in one hand and my phone in another, I was searching through my contacts, to refresh my mind regarding who I could ask for help. There were a few people from the system, but their specialty was to take businesses out of dirt. I even had the contacts of a few divorce attorneys. Why didn't I know anyone ready to take a case like this? Useless. That’s how I felt at that moment. But no. I didn’t have time to feel useless. I sent messages to everyone who could help me.
And there was someone else who could be of great help. There was someone I had to talk about even if I didn’t want to at all. Thomas Rheault. If someone could find who it was behind the random combination of numbers and letters, it was him. My pride had nothing to do here. His pride too. He could hate me as much as he wanted to. But it wasn’t about me. It was about someone whom we cared about together.
Message me asap. It’s urgent. I need your help.
It wasn’t about my pride. I really needed his help and I knew that the person for whom I needed this help wouldn’t ask for it. And I knew that if I were in her place, I wouldn’t have either. But I also knew that I couldn’t leave her alone. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t fighting alone. I had to make her know that I was there for her. That nothing could stop me from being there for her.
In the meantime, someone answered my messages about the attorney and I even convinced the assistant of the empathetic, experienced, woman attorney to meet me for five minutes as early as possible and give me the business card and a few answers.
I didn’t care about the price. I would pay everything, even the price of the Goldreamz. I didn’t care about the inconvenience I caused. I would even call the president of the country for this. I didn’t care about being disparate. I was. Driving to the other side of the town, looking disheveled and without an explanation speech prepared – it didn’t matter. It was for her. I would do everything for her.
The sharp edges of the business card the assistant gave me were hurting my palm, as I held onto it while driving and waiting for the most precious person to appear near me. Being late to work didn’t matter if I knew I gave her the little help I could. Being seen by all the Devenementiel workers didn’t matter as long as one special one saw me too.
“Did you watch the video?” she asked me when I finally saw her. She asked me if I watched the video and I didn’t know how to tell her that I did so that I could find the smallest proof that it wasn’t her. Not because I was disgusted by what she had done in the past with her boyfriend. But because I didn’t want her to be the victim of something that cruel. I didn’t want her to have to fight against something like this. She was strong. She was strong enough to go through this. And she wasn’t alone. But why her? Out of all the people in the world, why was it her to have to go through something so awful? Why couldn’t I do anything to protect her?
All I wanted to do was to take her in my arms and hold her till she understood that I would always be on her side, till she understood I would do everything for her, till she understood that she could lean on me. But I didn’t. She didn’t look like she could bear someone’s touch on her. And when I saw that muscle-for-brain trying to touch her, the angry energy I had been running on since waking up nearly made me run to him and hit him. But it wouldn’t make anyone, including the person I did this for, trust in me more. So, instead, I drove away to the office and tried to do the bare minimum at my work in between trying to fix what a monster did to the person I cared for the most in my life.
A call. At first, I nearly ignored it, thinking it was a client. But then, I thought that it could be the attorney. Instead, the name I expected the least, but wanted nearly as much as my loved one’s, appeared on my screen – Thomas Rheault.
“Ioan Mullioz,” were the first words that Thomas said. I didn’t care. He could call me an asshole, but if it meant I would get the information needed from him, I wouldn’t bother to clean my name. Plus, it wasn’t as if my name was that clean. That was the reason why I needed Thomas so much. He didn’t care that much about using ethical and legal ways to do what he wanted to do. The only difference was that he was on the side of a company that had a “clean” reputation, the reputation of never playing dirty. Out of all of them, he was the only one with ways dirty enough to fall into the gray area. At least in this situation, he could understand and help me better than anyone else.
“Do you need any more information?” Thomas continued. When I opened my mouth to answer, I understood something. And it hurt… I thought things couldn’t get any worse. But… I didn’t tell Thomas what exactly I needed. All I did was to tell him to contact me. I never said why I needed him. But he knew. So it meant only one thing.
“How many people got the video?” I whispered, too afraid to say it allowed. Too afraid to know the answer.
“I hacked into the account that sent it,” Thomas explained with a barely hearable voice. I knew something awful would follow. “He sent the video to all her followers above eighteen years.”
My phone slid down and fell on the ground. I looked at it for a few moments, as the screen showed that the call was still going. Family, friends, clients… Why would anyone fall that low? Why would anyone hit that low? Why would anyone like this exist at all?
“What do you plan to do next?” the hacker asked.
“Can you keep your eyes on her, to make sure she is okay?”
I heard him click his tongue: “What makes you think I’m… everyone at Devenementiel is not doing it already?”
“Please, tell me if she’s not okay. I’ll come as soon as she needs me, just tell me when.”
After a few seconds that felt like torture, Thomas finally mumbled an “Okay” and ended the call. I was ready to do everything he asked me if it meant I knew she was safe and okay. How okay can a person who found out that there was a secret sex tape with her by it being leaked to everyone around her be? How bad could she feel? What was she feeling at all? She didn’t answer me when I asked her if she was okay. She didn’t answer any of my messages. Even if in the past we spent hours talking.
But I didn’t have time to cry about the past. I had to find justice in this dirty world. I had to be the justice that she couldn’t afford right now. I had to fight, so she could concentrate on herself.
Ioan Mullioz. Ioan Mullioz, you’d be a dead man. Believe me.
She is very distracted, barely doing any work.
Ugh. Of course she was distracted, Thomas. Did you expect her to have the same efficiency as before this?
I think she doesn’t believe yet that it is her on the video.
Was it a good or a bad thing? Also, did I have to contact Ioan first, or act from behind his back? Whom could I contact firs… Wait a second! I remembered she once told me that Ioan used to sleep with more women at the same time, that she was cheated on and he even had a fiancee. I wasn’t a warrior for justice, I wasn’t Batman or Spider-Man, or any other superhero Man. I was just me, just Jason Mendal who promised to his father to be happy. I was just me who didn’t see any problem using dirty ways to achieve my goals. I didn’t double check anyone’s emotions and feelings while walking on their heads. But it didn’t stay quite right with me. Who was Ioan Mullioz’s fiancee?
Danica. I had to ask Danica to find her.
Try to work. Check on her through Thomas. Go home. Go to Devenementiel to make sure she looked acceptable. And again. And again. And again.
I could see how her eyes lingered on me for shorter and shorter periods in the morning, as her clothes got longer and longer. Every morning, she looked paler and paler. Thomas even told me that she seemed to snap at everything, even the way she was typing on her computer seemed angrier. Of course she was angry. I was angry too. I couldn’t imagine the intensity of the feelings she was going through.
“No, Jason. Leave me alone. Can’t you see that all of it happened because of you? That you were the one to destroy my life?”
Of course, she was angry with me. Everything started after our date. Of course, if I was better, if I was stronger, if I was different, this wouldn’t have happened. But, what exactly was she blaming me for? What exactly could I change so that she would trust me again? What could I do and what did I already do?
I was afraid to touch her. I didn’t want her to think all I needed was to see her naked while pleasing me. I didn’t need anything like this if she wasn’t safe and cared for. Firstly, I had to be sure she knew she was loved and important to me. Later, everything else was her choice.
So, when she took a step closer to me, I had to take a step further. To prevent myself from touching her, not to forget that her safety was first, and my desire to make her feel safe second. It was about her and her needs, not about me and my wishes.
Before having the right to call myself her man, I had to do something for the woman I loved. I had to make her feel safe, to show her that I was fighting too, to win over the right to hold her, the right to make her feel safe. And giving her a business card for an attorney wasn’t enough.
Ioan Mullioz’s fiancee
That’s what I wrote to Thomas after the string of messages he sent me regarding how she was doing. I wasn’t answering them, but he knew I was reading them. He probably knew I was in front of Devenementiel every morning. He probably also knew that the first day I wasn’t there, it was because of a meeting with Ioan Mullioz’s fiancee.
“I think I know why you are here,” the young woman told me before I even told her anything. I gulped. Thomas and Danica told me she used to work at EMPC too and left a few days ago. Something wasn’t okay. It made me freeze for a second. I wasn’t a super-hero, but there was something utterly wrong that I couldn’t just ignore.
“Someone I care about just got hurt by your fiancee,” I finally uttered.
“He’s my ex-fiancee now,” the woman said, as she entered the cafe we decided to talk in. “And I know what you are talking about. I also received the video.”
The woman bit on her lower lip and looked at her nails the entire time she was talking. A few times, she took deep breaths and tried to steady her voice. She didn’t tell the waiter what she wanted to order, so I took it upon myself to take two cups of green tea.
“I found the tape myself and thought that it was a recent one. I promise you, I didn’t recognize her at first. I thought it was another one of Ioan’s affairs. I didn’t want it to go that far. I was jealous and afraid everything was falling apart. I promise you, I didn’t ask him to do it!” she started crying. Maybe she wanted me to comfort her and tell her it wasn’t her fault, but I didn’t have it in me to help her. She wasn’t the main victim in this situation. She wasn’t the one I cared about, even if she also didn’t deserve to go through what she had gone through. But I didn’t have that many feelings to give her some too.
“He told me he did it to show me how he loved only me and everyone else was just for fun,” she continued. I clenched my teeth so hard they started to hurt. The guy was lucky I didn’t ask him to see me. I had no idea what I would have done if I saw him after all the disaster he caused.
“I broke up with him at that right moment. I have nothing to do with what happened. I promise you. I am afraid he has something like this on me too. If you find ways to put him in jail, I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
I gave the woman the paper towels from the table. The waiter looked at us from afar a few times, but I couldn’t care less. The only reason I didn’t leave as soon as I heard her story was because I had the faint hope that she could give me more information. However, she was just afraid I would put blame on her too, waiting for me to convince her that I wouldn’t. But I wasn’t a superhero. I didn’t care for her tears when the woman I cared about the most was suffering.
The next few days, Thomas was updating me on how many projects were taken by a single, broken person. It was a matter of time when she would break down. I wanted to be there for her, but I couldn't show my face when she didn’t want me there. She had her reasons to think I was to blame too. So, why put more stress on her? Instead, I worked with the attorney to make a folder with every piece of evidence we could find on Ioan Mullioz.
Devon gave her medical leave because she got in a fight with a former Goldreamz client.
She did what? Of course, she hated me when my former clients were making her life a shitshow. I had never deserved to be near her and help her. But, at the same time, I couldn’t back down now. If it wasn’t me, then who would help her right now? Maybe someone else could do better, maybe they had better connections, maybe they wouldn’t have let the situation escalate this much. Though, what if not?
I didn’t really have any appetite, nor did I want to do any work. Instead of staying late in the office, I was out, walking a few kilometers from the office to my apartment, trying to think of everything I could have done better. Every time I felt hungry, I entered a delivery app and forgot about myself, ordering food at her address instead. Every time the attorney called me about details, I had to take a few deep breaths to stop myself from telling her everything that was wrong with the world.
Showering was hard because I didn’t want to think that someone else who had a similar body to mine could do something that awful to the woman I loved.
Working was hard because I didn’t see any reason to work then the woman I loved was suffering.
Sleeping was hard because the frames from the video appeared in front of my eyes every time I closed them, as if they were tattooed on the inside of my eyelids, reminding me how I watched something that wasn’t even supposed to be filmed.
Waking up was hard because I didn’t want to be a part of the world that caused so much pain to the person I loved the most.
Spencer was saying something that I could barely hear when my phone rang. It was the only contact that had a different ringtone and could pass by my do-not-disturb mode. It was her.
“Good morning,” I said, not even sure what time of the day it was.
I could barely hear what she was saying. Was she talking in general or just breathing on the phone? But even if she was staying in silence, I was ready to go to her. She called me. She needed me. I existed for her. So, I would run to her every time she needed me.
Before she could say a single word, I took the keys of my car and ran down the stairs to the parking lot.
“Are you alright? Do you want me to come?” I asked, as I unlocked my car and turned on the engine.
“I just want… I am hungry and I thought that you could keep me company while I eat,” she whispered and the sentence got quieter and quieter by the end.
“Yes, yes, of course,” I answered as I closed the door of my car and put on the belt.
I didn’t know what to talk about. I felt cold. So, I talked about the weather. She didn’t answer. But I knew she was still there. She was probably cold too. Cold and alone, thinking that no one cared about her anymore, thinking that no one was fighting for her, thinking that everyone was against her. “Do you wanna build a snowman?” I asked, before thinking. Pfff… It had been so long since we talked, especially about nothing. I knew it wasn’t nothing, it was everything right now. But I missed her so much. I gulped and chuckled to scare away the tears that were slowly making their way into my eyes. No, no. I had to be strong for her.
The door to her house was unlocked and a few different packages from food delivery were in front of it. I had no idea if I ordered all of them or if they were from someone else too. I forgot so many things that I did on auto-pilot in the last weeks.
She was in the kitchen and I called her by her name. It had been so long since I called her by her name. It felt like coming home to say it again. It felt like love. She looked so small and weak. I wanted to touch her, to make her feel like she belonged with me, but I was afraid I didn’t deserve it yet. But when she grabbed my shirt, I knew that I had to let her know that she wasn’t fighting this alone, she was strong, and I could be strong for her too.
I couldn’t hug her properly, too afraid to scare her away, but if she could feel the smallest part of my love for her, it was enough.
May my trust in your power reach you, so that you can feel strong and powerful again?
While she was in the shower, I did to her kitchen what I couldn’t do to mine: cleaned it. There were a few things in her fridge that I could use to make us something to eat. It most definitely wasn’t as good as delivery, but it was something. It was our first step to walk this path together.
“Can you help me dry my hair?” she asked me when she left the bathroom. I thought she would like to eat, but just like me, she had too many things in her mind to have space for food. So, I took the blowdryer and let its heat warm her up from the exterior, while I tried to warm her soul with my touches.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket as I watched her eat what I prepared. At first, I wanted to ignore it, but the caller was insistent. When I checked its ID, it was the attorney. Putting a reassuring hand on the precious woman’s shoulder, I excused myself.
“The moment she’s ready to write a complaint to the police, we are ready to fight against the person who did it,” the empathetic, experienced woman attorney said.
Finally, finally my life continued again.
“Will it be a big problem if I punch the guy in the face just once?”
A big sigh came from the other end of the phone. I knew her answer. She would remain professional. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t a superhero. I would do everything for the woman I loved. Sometimes, I just had to accept the darker part of me that was way more vengeful than her. At the end of the day, I promised my father I would be happy and successful.
The twisted ways of a love research. Chapter 2: Pot calls kettle black (Jason Mendal x Ysaline Dolga Scientists! AU)
Masterlist
Words counting: 4628
Content warning: A few curses
Ysaline was in her kitchen with a half-eaten sandwich on a plate near her, and more than twenty tabs opened on her laptop. Nineteen of them were with GROMACS, GROMACS tutorials, properties of GLP-1, and diabetes, and only one of them didn’t fall in the same category: Instagram. After an entire day filled with everything except a second of happiness, it wasn’t that bad of an idea to take a break and indulge into the fast serotonin. Except, she wasn’t doom-scrolling. No, something worse was happening: her flatmate’s habits rubbed off on her, making her stalk someone whose name was better forgotten.
“If you want real information on Jason Mendal, I have an entire folder on him,” a voice called from behind Ysaline, making her jolt, close the tab and the laptop too.
Ysaline closed her laptop and turned to her flatmate. The young man took the left-over sandwich and started munching on it.
“THOMAS!” Ysaline yelled in protest.
Thomas looked at the sandwich in his hand and put back the rest of it.
“I’m not sure you are mad because I invaded your personal space again, which you called me out on a few times already. Or it is because I bit on your sandwich, a thing that you have never had any problems with.”
A sigh left Ysaline’s lips, as she made some space for Thomas near her. The guy took the invitation and sat on the kitchen corner, his shoulder touching his friend’s.
“Why do you even have a folder on this guy?” the young woman asked, reopening her laptop and restoring the Instagram page. Thomas leaned on her even more, trying to see better the posts Jason Mendal had on his page.
“Remember there was a scandal five years ago with a guy who wrote critical posts about the research field?” the man asked as he took control of the mouse and started to scroll and press on random posts on the account. When he heard his flatmate murmur an “mhm”, the story continued. “He’s the guy.”
Ysaline looked at Thomas, who tilted his head waiting for his friend’s reaction.
“What guy?”
Thomas looked at Ysaline a few more minutes. This time, Ysaline tilted her head. He took a bite of the sandwich and only after finishing chewing on it, he asked: “Are you serious?” The guy sighed as Ysaline awkwardly nodded. “There was a young scientist who was often invited as a guest speaker in schools and universities to talk about the research field and all its cons. He said that it was to prepare the optimistic minds to the shortcomings of their dreams. Once, he even came to my high school and everyone who said they wanted to become a scientist got accepted to his closed Instagram account he used to write critical posts about the field. In some posts he didn’t even shy away from dropping the names of the researchers he was talking about. So, five years ago it was found out that his Master’s was plagiarised,” Thomas explained the details of the case.
“I was probably too old to see his presentations in high school and I barely remember anything from the year I dropped out,” Ysaline explained her amnesia. Thomas nodded, understandingly. It was a reoccurring discussion about him remembering every detail of events that took place four to six years ago about which Ysaline had no recollection. “How did he remain in the field, though?”
“Oh, he has a few degrees. It was only his Master’s in Diagnostic Imaging Physics that got called-out. I heard that an athlete that was supposed to be in the Olympics had to drop out because of a mistake he made at his previous job as the main biomedical equipment technician of the swimming Olympics team.”
Ysaline pressed on the latest photo from Jason Mendal’s account: the man was wearing his white coat above an expensive looking suit while sitting in a leather armchair with a beaker full of whiskey in one hand that had two massive signet rings on the fingers and a pipette in another hand, on which wrist could be seen a silver watch, with the description “The perks of knowing science.”
As she was listening to Thomas’ story, her fingers slid and she accidentally liked the photo. Both friends’ eyes fell on the red heart as they stopped moving all together.
“Don’t do this,” the guy broke the silence. Ysaline stopped looking at the screen and moved her eyes to Thomas.
“It’s not as if I did it intentionally. It will be worse if I take back the like, you know.”
Instead of listening to his flatmate, Thomas removed the offensive red heart from underneath Jason Mendal’s photo.
“The athlete’s army of fans attacked this guy’s former girlfriend and harassed her for so long that she had to make a post in which she clarified that she broke up with Mendal and she was a victim too, considering that he didn’t do a single thing to help her throughout all this wave of hate,” Thomas continued to add details that sounded one worse than the other.
“It doesn’t look like this impostor lacks women’s attention now,” Ysaline commented, as she carefully clicked on a photo which showed the researcher dancing with a woman in a short bright red dress.
“That’s his new account. He deleted the previous ones and created this four years ago, after a year of staying silent.”
Ysaline scrolled through tens of posts to arrive at the oldest one that seemed to confirm Thomas’ words, being posted four years ago. It was a photo of Dr. Mendal on a cruise with an ocean view behind him and a description about how he missed his youth.
“Why do you know so much about him, anyway?” the woman finally asked, after closing the profile of the man whose past she just gossiped about.
“I was paid to hack his accounts when all the ruckus with the plagiarism came to light,” Thomas answered as a matter-of-factly, leaving the place Ysaline gave him, to fill the kettle. His flatmate also stood up, to put away the empty pot she left on the stove after eating the left-overs earlier.
“And are you sleeping well at night?” the woman asked, as she started to wash the dishes.
“As well as my curiosity allows,” the answer came when the man turned on the stove. “Also, what are you thinking about Oceane Baudelaire’s last article?”
A cup fell from Ysaline’s hands and both mates looked at the sink to see if it broke or not, letting out a breath when they saw that it survived.
“I wanted to ask you about it since it appeared, but you came home late and hopped right into the shower. Then, I thought that you went to sleep, but the kitchen light was on and you were here, stalking one of the most questionable personas of the research world right now.”
Ysaline rolled her eyes and splashed some water towards Thomas, who dodged it fast.
“I was in his office when the article appeared,” the pharmacy student started her explanation, trying to get a reaction from her friend. Though, it didn’t work, as the friend simply nodded, waiting for the continuation. Ysaline dried her hands and crossed them over her chest, disappointed at the lack of reaction from Thomas. Maybe next time she should wake him up in the middle of the night to ask him to bury a dead body to see him at least sketching an emotion. However, considering how grumpy Thomas was if anyone woke him up, his reaction would definitely not be the expected one.
“He shares an office with my dissertation advisor and the notification got me so shocked that I told them that I doubt a woman would write an article in which she puts all the blame on women who sleep their way to the top, instead of calling out the men who allow it.”
“I was sure you’d think like this,” Thomas chuckled and turned off the stove.
“And you don’t agree?” Ysaline asked tentatively, changing her position to be face-to-face with the man.
“I don’t know. I have to think about this point of view more. My entire life people were putting the blame on the women for doing it. I have never looked at the problem from this side, but I can see the logic behind it,” Thomas explained with both his hands on Ysaline’s wrists. Usually, every time he did this gesture, Ysaline intertwined her fingers with his. But not this time. The woman freed her wrists and took a step back.
“I’m going to sleep,” she announced as she took the laptop from the kitchen table.
Before Ysaline disappeared in the hall, Thomas yelled after her: “There are cases and cases, not all of them are identical. I’m not saying this about you, I promise.”
The woman stopped in her tracks, but didn’t turn back. She looked at her feet and whispered: “Is it really a choice when everything pushes you to take one decision?” She didn’t wait to hear an answer and hurried to her room, closing it with the key. It was a sign for Thomas to not bother her.
In the room, Ysaline put her laptop on her desk. She sighed as she sat at the edge of her bed. She didn’t bother to turn on the lights when she entered, but the full moon outside was shiny enough to make visible the outline of the destroyed shirt she wore earlier that day. It was the first gift she got from her first serious relationship, the shirt she wore during some of her most important life-events: when she dropped out five years ago, when she got accepted at the pharmacy speciality, during most of her exams, and at the last date she had. Ysaline wore that shirt to holes, and now it literally had holes in it. Every time her eyes fell on it, she questioned herself if she really wanted to wear it to another important day. And every time the answer was no, though the habit said yes. Now, it looked beyond repair. Its rightful place was in the trash bag. But maybe it was better to wait a little bit more till throwing it away. Just in case.
Before going to sleep, the wounds that Ysaline got earlier in the day didn’t hurt that much. Of course, the scrapes stung a lot, especially under the hot shower, but the knee didn’t even look bruised. The peace lasted till the early morning, when she woke up before her alarm rang, with a single thought in her mind: maybe refusing to buy a bus pass because the town was small and walkable was a mistake?
Equipped with an elastic bandage for her knee, the largest pair of pants that could hide the compression, and some pain-killers, Ysaline marched into her day, hoping for it to end sooner rather than later. Paying for the bus that drove her to the university wasn’t too much against her ideals. And the good part was that she didn’t have a lot of courses that day. However, having to change two buses to arrive at the laboratory as fast as it would take her to walk there was definitely not going to work. Who even came with the idea of putting the laboratories somewhere in the middle of nowhere, with a single bus driving past there – a bus with the schedule of a notary who worked from ten to twelve if they were in the mood.
As the day went by, the scratches didn’t sting that much, and the pain in the knee dulled down. So, it wasn’t that bad of an idea to walk to the meeting with the dissertation advisor, right? This thought made circles in Ysaline’s mind every one-hundred steps she took closer to the laboratories.
The trees in the park were changing their coats. The day was sunny, but not hot. It was also impossible to say from what people were wearing what the temperature was. Ysaline’s knee sent a sharp pain through her leg. One-hundred more steps. There was a big building under construction that looked to be old, but it was the first time Ysaline noticed it. She also had no idea the town had a street named Sunflowers street. Somewhere around the corner was a mortuary company with the name The Sunset, looking mockingly at the sign for the Sunflowers street. The elastic bandage slowly slid down the woman’s leg. One-hundred more steps. Ysaline had no idea what route the pretentious bus was taking, and she saw no bus station around. Instead, she saw a fluffy dog with its head out of someone’s car, enjoying the wind of the drive. Today, she took her time to see what color the traffic light was, as she didn’t have a spare leg to lose. How many hundreds of steps did she have to take after it? From what she remembered, it was around ten minutes of cycling. One-hundre…
“It’s been the third time I've honked at you. What’s so important that always goes through your mind to ignore everything else?” a voice familiar enough to understand that she had heard it somewhere but not enough to recognise it, sounded from a car that slowed down on her left. Ysaline looked at the driver and the first thing that stood out were two strands of white hair on his temple. She stopped, hoping that the car would drive away, but it stopped too, turning on the hazard lights. “You are limping. Get in. I’ll drive you to your destination, Miss Amoeba.”
How many hundreds of steps were between where she got hit by Dr. Mendal yesterday and the laboratories? Ysaline put her hand on the knob, opening the door a little.
“What if Miss Amoeba brings bad luck to your car and you’ll be the next victim of an accident?” the woman asked, as she rubbed her knee.
“I’m a scientist, I don’t believe in luck. And let’s not blame what happened yesterday on luck instead of your carelessness,” Jason said, as he patted the passenger seat a few times.
Ysaline took a deep breath and as a car behind the doctor’s honked, she got inside and put on her belt.
“You’re like a cat. Firstly, you act untouchable, then you do as you are told, but still pout in the meantime. And let’s not forget about you liking my Instagram post in the middle of the night” the scientist commented, as he took a glance at the student near him, whose face changed in color.
“Before I was an amoeba, now I’m a cat? I see you are very fond of biology,” Ysaline retorted, crossing her arms against her chest, totally ignoring the Instagram post comment.
“Jokes on you, nearly all my degrees are linked with biology.”
The car turned at a roundabout and followed a route that Ysaline wasn’t familiar with. She looked through the window, the pain in her knee pulsating too much to let her think straight.
“The one that isn’t, is the one that you lost due to plagiarizing allegations?” the student asked, as a cat ran in front of the car and caught her attention, too afraid that the driver was heartless enough to run it over. “The cat,” she whispered, looking at Dr. Mendal for the first time since she entered his car.
“I dare say diagnostic imaging is also linked to biology in a way, but you are right that it doesn’t have the bio- prefix in it,” the man answered while slowing down and following the cat, making sure it arrived on the other side of the road safely. “Can you elaborate on what you said yesterday?” the driver added, as he sped up.
“Changing the subject that makes you feel uncomfortable?” Ysaline grinned at the doctor.
“No. Just choosing a subject in which we can talk like respectful human beings without attacking each other,” Jason mimicked a higher pitched voice and looked at Ysaline as he let a pedestrian pass.
“What exactly do you want me to elaborate on?” the woman gave up on retorting back and put a hand under her chin, as she looked through the window.
“Women in men dominated fields know that they don’t sleep their way to the top. It’s men who are gatekeeping the opportunities under a sex wall” the doctor cited word for word what the student said the day prior, without even mocking her.
Ysaline’s position changed. She straightened her posture and turned to look at the doctor’s profile. As the words in her mind tried to form coherent ideas, her eyes fell on the man’s features. Besides the white strands of hair that she noticed from the start, now she could also see that the rest of his hair, although it looked a little messy, seemed well-combed and gelled back, to stop from covering his blue eyes that were as sharp as his jawline. He definitely fell into the category of handsome men.
“The first line of the article was that it’s usually a women’s thing to sleep their way to the top. And it’s not that I disagree that it usually happens with us, but is it really a choice when you have to choose between sucking someone’s… penis, or being fucked in the ass by life?”
There wasn’t any sign to stop, any traffic light or any zebra passing, but Jason stopped looking at the road for a second and turned to Ysaline with his brows raised up. The woman tilted her head to the side, signalling the man to watch the road.
“What I want to say is that, in a lot of cases, it’s not even sleeping the way to the top, but plain sexual harassment and blackmailing. A lot of women, in all fields, risk to lose their work if they don’t sleep with an asshole who thinks he can have everything. And the fact that it happens mostly with women shows that the problem is not women sleeping their way to the top, but the men on that said top.”
Dr. Mendal didn’t say a thing. He looked at the cars in the parking lot of the laboratory, searching for a place where to park himself. The engine stopped and Ysaline was still waiting for an answer.
“So, if the article was putting the blame on the men who do it, instead of women who accept… Scratch it, women who find themselves in this situation, would your reaction have been different?” Jason finally looked at Ysaline, supporting his left hand on the steering wheel.
“Yes.”
The student’s answer was short, but confident. She looked at the doctor right in the eyes, trying to send through her stance all the information she couldn’t explain with words.
“Why are you asking about my opinion, though?” Ysaline added when she understood that Dr. Mendal wouldn’t comment anything more on the topic.
A dry laugh reverberated through the car. Jason opened the door on his side and unbuckled his belt.
“No one talks about Oceane Baudelaire. Everyone is afraid her next article will be about them, so they try to avoid the topic all-together. You are the only one naive enough to critique her in public,” the man explained, as he leaned over to take something from the glove compartment. He took a small bag and handed it to Ysaline. “This is for the damage you took yesterday. I hope I got the size right,” the driver said and left the car.
Firstly, Ysaline looked into the bag and saw a white shirt nearly identical with the one from yesterday. On the size tag was the same letter most of her clothes had on. Before she could say anything, her door also opened and Dr. Mendal gestured to her to get out. She looked from the gift to the giver and back again.
“I can’t take it,” Ysaline finally made up her mind and put the bag on her seat as she left the car. She stopped to look at what part of the building she was near. Sighing, she looked back at the doctor, hoping he would lead the way. Instead, the man took the shirt from the seat and locked the car.
“It’s yours now,” he said as he tried to hand it to Ysaline. The woman took a few steps away. Jason didn’t follow her. He understood that she had no idea how to find their office without him. She would follow him even to the bathroom if it meant to reach the right side of the building. So, he just walked inside, making some space for the student.
“It’s not mine, it’s yours,” Ysaline commented back, taking a few steps back to let the doctor lead the way.
In a few turns and a few stairs, the pair arrived in front of the office that had Dr. Okere’s nameplate on and Dr. Mendal’s nameplate taped under it. The white-stranded doctor entered first and went right to the garbage in the office.
“I’m throwing it away,” he said as he opened the lid.
“It’s yours, you can do whatever you want with it,” Ysaline leaned against the door, with her hands crossed. Her eyes were pinned on Dr. Mendal, making her forget that Dr. Okere was in the same room.
“It costs more than a yearly bus pass for a student,” the doctor added, with his eyes on the student.
A sigh left Ysaline’s lips. She took a step closer to the man.
“If I throw it in this garbage, it’s going to be incinerated. Who knows how much damage it can cause to the environment. This damned fast-fashion,” the man added as he put his hand high in the air and let the bag fall down.
Instead of making a sound, everything fell silent. Ysaline took a few steps just in time to catch the imposed gift and groaned as she hugged it against her chest. A grin appeared on the doctor’s face, as he took his white coat and tried to enter the lab. However, a long leg that appeared out of nowhere, stopped its door from opening.
“Don’t taunt my student,” Dr. Okere made his presence known. His full lips were pressed hard against each other and a deep wrinkle appeared between his dark brows.
Jason shrugged his shoulders and turning to Ysaline he said a short singy-song “Sorry”. The other doctor removed his leg and let his colleague leave. As he looked at his student, he started the long apology he had in his mind.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about Dr. Mendal. He didn’t do anything too bothersome,” Ysaline answered and took a seat on the couch. She massaged her knee, as it started to hurt more.
“I took this for you,” the dissertation advisor said, as he took a small paperbag from his desk. When she looked inside, Ysaline saw a healing cream. She put a strand of her hair behind her ear as a small smile appeared on her lips.
“You didn’t have to,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
After this exchange, the student told her professor everything she learned about GROMACS and all the questions she prepared regarding the practical part of the dissertation. Devon even moved his computer to see Ysaline’s face better and answer her questions as detailed as he could.
After a little bit more than an hour, the meeting finished. On her way to the door, Dr. Okere stopped Ysaline.
“Do you want me to call you a cab? Your knee seems to bother you,” the doctor’s voice seemed worried, as Ysaline’s hand turned white against the knob.
“No, no. It’s okay. I don’t live that far away. I can manage, I promise,” the woman tried to smile but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
With his phone in hands, Devon’s lips turned upwards, uncovering his bright white teeth.
“I called you an Uber already. Don’t worry, it’s prepaid. It will be here in two minutes, so hurry to the entrance. Good luck with your dissertation,” the doctor said in the friendliest tone he could master in the afternoon.
Ysaline answered with a fast “Thank you” and “Goodbye”, letting out a sigh as she closed the door behind her. What would be the price to giving all of this back? Could she afford it? She asked herself as she limped down the stairs. At least, the drive home was fast. Way faster than walking while hurting a few kilometers.
Thomas wasn’t home when she entered the apartment. However, a big folder that wasn’t in her room previously, with JASON MENDAL written on top of it, awaited her. She let the bag with the shirt and the one with the cream fall on the bed, as she skimmed through the pages of the folder Thomas left for her.
She was too tired to read every single page, but something caught her eyes. It seemed to be the last page of a dissertation. When she listed back some pages, she confirmed her hypothesis. It was Dr. Mendal’s thesis for his Bachelor’s in biophysics. The plagiarism score was 2%. Instantly, Ysaline looked through other pages: Master’s in Bioinformatics with a plagiarism score of 0,6%, and a Doctorate in Translational Bioinformatics with 0,1%. None of this was enough to accuse anyone of plagiarising. Her own dissertation had 6% plagiarism in the theoretical part. So, what was the problem? Oh, wait. Thomas mentioned that Dr. Jason Mendal had more degrees. Maybe the incriminating one was there too?
Ysaline looked through the contents two times before moving at the beginning and starting to turn every page one by one. It didn’t take long before the cover page of his dissertation in Diagnostic Imaging Physics appeared. Instantly, the woman moved to the last page and saw the numbers. 16%. Only one percent above the usually accepted one.
Ysaline closed the folder and looked at the bags that she brought. Her bed was too full of things to relax on it quietly. So, she put the big folder on her desk, the cream on her bedside and only the shirt remained untouched. There was a shirt, soaked in visible and invisible blood, on the back of her chair. Firstly, she had to decide what to do with it. Its righteous place was in the trash, so why was it in her room?
The wounded student took the destroyed shirt and the new one in each hand. Her first destination was the trash in the kitchen. Gulping, she slowly put inside the old shirt, without looking at it. For a few seconds, she stayed near the trash, staring at its lid. Slowly, she made her way to the bathroom. There, she let the new shirt fall into the laundry basket.
When Ysaline arrived in her room, nothing more was stopping her from falling in the bed face first. So, she did it. Her head was full of things: the pain in her knee, feminism, sleeping the way to the top, Jason Mendal's folder, GROMACS, six and sixteen percents of plagiarism, Dr. Devon Okere’s kindness.
The woman's phone vibrated. When she looked at the screen, she saw two notifications from Instagram. Two different people sent her follow requests at the same time. The first one was Dr. Professor Devon Okere. The second one was Jason Mendal’s account.
Ysaline groaned. For a minute she had her head buried in the mattress. Then, in a matter of six seconds, she opened her phone, accepted both requests, followed back, and buried her face again.
