#fallout slowburn

[sweetcocopowder]

Pitch Black Dahlias | PT. 1 | PT.2

Synopsis: The news had taken everyone by shock. The Minutemen had been the one to take down the Institute. It's evil being rid of the Commonwealth once and for all.

But that doesn't mean that Nate's work is over. There is a still a lot to. And that includes helping Danse with his current dilemma of finding out who he truly is. And the pre-war man thinks bringing Danse along on some Railroad jobs will help out.

Hopefully.

Word Count: 2.2K

Pairing: Paladin Danse x Nate (Male Sole Survivor)

Warnings: Slow Burn. Trauma. Eventual Smut.

The only times Danse has had the time to visit to Diamond City, it’s all been for Nate. He sees no need to come to this part of the Commonwealth by himself. Yes, he has travelled and scouted around Diamond City when he was stationed at the Cambridge Station. But even those little expeditions were dangerous at that point of time. Those memories still spark a pang of hurt deep within his chest.

He pushes it aside as he walks down the stairs to the Diamond City centre. He hasn’t seen Nate in two weeks. A whole two weeks since they infiltrated the Institute together with the Minutemen and destroyed the evil from the Commonwealth.

He was more than honoured to do so when Nate had asked him to be by his side. It had given him something to shoot at and fight for.

A part of him only hoped that it would have been the Brotherhood to participate in such a role. But Danse couldn’t argue with Nate when he was set in his ways. His mind was made up ages ago. The whole ordeal out of the Listening Post was probably what tipped him over the edge. It always something that Danse stills ponders on. Still thinking that that day was his last.

But he’s still here, alive, as a synth can get, and standing naked in Diamond City. Not naked per say, but he feels like it.

He’s come without his power armour at Nate’s request. He felt more at home inside of one. But the fact that Nate had asked him to come without one? It made him feel weary travelling from the Castle to Diamond City without it. But he trusts Nate’s judgement even if it might be questionable at times.

Like standing still while aiming down his scope as a super mutant suicider came barrelling his way. Danse was still his sponsor back then and hounded into Nate for being so stupid. He left it out of the report, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing he did for the Brotherhood matters.

He pulls his bomber jacket closer around his chest, the late autumn breeze cold today. He ventures through the market to Nate’s residents at the Home Plate, ignoring the multiple people calling his way trying to upsell their products. He doesn’t need a haircut, or some ammo, or a… swatter? He eyes the red faced man before continuing on.

Anyways.

Danse gives three sharp knocks on the door and takes a step away. He eyes the empty power armour rack, wondering where Nate has kept his T-45. It wasn’t at the Castle, he just came from there. Maybe he’s left it up at the Red Rocket with his wide collection of power armours. He waits a few minutes before knocking again. He doesn’t want to intrude even though he knows Nate wouldn’t care. It’s more out of respect than anything.

“Danse.”

Slowly -at the sound of the very unique voice-, the ex-Paladin turns to meet the synth detective with a frown. Valentine narrows his gaze to him with a raised brow.

“Valentine,” he responds back blandly.

“Glad to see you out and about after everything,” the detective says with as much sarcasm as possible.

“Where’s Nate?” Danse gets to the point, his tone blunt and firm.

But Valentine doesn’t faulter to the demand. His stark yellow eyes flickers behind the former soldier before back at him. “He’s this way,” he says instead with a small wave of his hand.

Danse hesitates for a moment, glancing to the door before reluctantly following after Valentine. He’s well aware that his hate towards the synth is something that’s hypocritical. Yet there’s something so intertwined in Danse’s heart that he hasn’t been able to rid himself of yet. Could be the same reason why he was so ready to die by Nate’s hands. Dropped to his knees and begged that he needed to be the example, not the exception.

Yet Nate had still dragged him from his knees and pleaded. Showed him mercy that Danse didn’t deserve. The ex-Paladin doesn’t think he deserved it. He’s heard from others that Nate has a bleeding heart and Danse wouldn’t be the one to object to those claims. Sometimes it’s a dangerous thing. Getting them into more trouble at times.

The two don’t get far. Valentine stops just outside the chems store and points a skinny, metal finger upwards. Danse looks up without a word and doesn’t see it at first, but when he does he can’t help but stare.

There’s a small, makeshift balcony atop of Nate’s residents, one that overlooks the city. A grand view of the place. It’s a lovely little spot that Nate paid a pretty cap for. But there in his little red throne -a single seater couch- with his head lolled onto his chest, is Nate fast asleep. His hands are overlapped on his torso with his legs outstretched. He reminds Danse of one of those older settlers at Sanctuary that can be seen napping the day away. Every, single, day.

“How long has he been up there?” Danse asks casually. His shoulders have relaxed and his head is slightly cocked to the side like a dog.

“Around three hours now,” Valentine answers with a chuckle. “As far as I know from Piper they came back from the Railroad. They’ve been keeping him on his toes lately trying to help the synths you and him helped out.”

Danse swallows thickly. “It was all him.”

“Whatever you say, big guy,” Valentine speaks softly. “But at least give yourself some credit.”

There’s no response to that and the synth detective hums at that.

“Is that why I haven’t seen high or nigh of you lately? Didn’t want to deal with other synths?” Valentine asks, jabbing at this point.

Danse swallows thickly and changes the subject. “Why was Piper with him?”

Valentine lightly rolls his eyes and looks back up Nate. “She wanted a story. The aftermath of the Institute and what nots. Don’t know how good it’ll be with the Railroad wanting to stay hidden and all.”

“Does it matter anymore with the Institute gone?” Danse asks a genuine question.

It takes Valentine back a bit, the question actually making him wonder. “To some degree, yeah. There’s still synths out there that believe in what the Institute was doing.” The detective pauses for a moment, staring at the soldier. “You’d know that if you didn’t go off hiding away. Nate needs you right now more than ever.”

Danse swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I’ll wake him,” is all he murmurs before walking off.

He brings the spare keys to Home Plate out of his jacket pocket and unlocks the door. He wouldn’t normally let himself in, despite Nate having told him in the past that this place is more welcome to call home than anywhere else. Like the Castle and Sanctuary.

“It’s ours,” he has said once. It sounds weird on his mind as it did hearing it the first time from Nate’s mouth.

Yet whenever Danse is at those settlements as well, he feels more of the need to keep on his toes and work. Make sure that everything is in order, checking the defence systems more moving onto the water supplies, then onto the generators. Keeping his mind and body preoccupied so that he doesn’t have to think of other pressing matters. Just like the Brotherhood had ironed into him.

But Home Plate, it’s probably the only place that Danse has ever felt relaxed. The noise that seeps in through the thin walls of the place reminds him all too well of the Prydwyn, an all too welcoming murmur of noise. Theres no checklists at Home Plate. Only the mundane need to keep the place tidy of dust and other critters that decide to make themselves home.

Danse is quick to take himself up the stairs to the balcony. He opens the door as quietly as he can, peering around the corner to where Nate still sleeps peacefully on the couch. The ex-Paladin can’t help but watch for a moment with his brown eyes. The usual frown that has somehow become a permanent thing on Nate’s face has now smoothed out.  

With a quick glance out below, Valentine is nowhere to be seen and the people of Diamond City pay them no mind. One other thing that was ironed into Danse was their concept on attraction. A Paladin had to be at his best at all times. And that meant to having someone you love dearly being on your mind. The quality and the care for a Paladin’s garrison was all that Danse was able to think about.

Yes, he had come to a point in his sponsorship with Nate that his brewing feelings could mean something much more. Seeing someone being able to hold their own and being able to lead. It had wanted Danse to know more about Nate and who he was before the war. What things were like back then.

Slowly, Danse kneels down to one knee next to Nate’s outstretched legs. He brings a hand up gently and caresses the sleeping man’s face who stirs. Nate inhales deeply as his dark blue eyes blink awake through a squinted, peeping gaze. He looks to Danse with a bleary expression before a warm smile comes to his lips. He leans into the rough hand on his face, cupping it with his own. He turns his face into Danse’s palm and gives it a light kiss, his movements still filled with the grogginess of sleep.

“I think I may still be dreaming,” Nates murmurs groggily.

Danse stands up and places a kiss to the other’s forehead. “Rise and shine.”

Nate groans loudly as he stretches his stiff joints in the couch. He looks out to the small city and blinks.

No matter how much the Brotherhood had said about attraction and love, Nate had always made it feels welcoming though. Something that Danse still finds himself having trouble pulling away from. These past two weeks have been hell sent. But he won’t admit that out loud where the world can hear.

Nate then looks to his pip-boy as he licks his lips. His face goes from placid to wide and frantic within less than a second.  

“I was out for over three hours!?” He exclaims as he suddenly sits up straight.

Danse responds quickly with, “Your body needed the rest after everything you’ve been putting yourself through.”

Nate stands up, running a hand through his hair as his peace is disrupted by his own mind and responsibilities once more. This is probably the first time in months that Nate has had some time to himself.

“We’re going to be late!” Nate exclaims. “Did you let me sleep that long?” He asks with no bite to his tone.

“I only just arrived here,” Danse states.

That seems to calm the other man down a bit, his tense shoulders sagging. “Okay then we would have been late anyways,” Nate says more to himself than to the ex-Paladin.

“Why did you want me here?” Danse asks.

Deep blue eyes focus back onto the soldier. “Did you pick up those care packages?” He asks.

Danse could make a comment. A bad comment that would most likely have Nate snapping at him. Because why did Nate have him go to a Railroad drop point to meet up with Deacon of all people to hand him this, box? A care package of some sorts. Deacon hadn’t said much, had just said good luck before moving on with a fat grin on his face. He had tipped his wig of hair like some man in a suit would tip their fedora. It was odd and only had Danse confused even further.

But knowing that this job had to do with the Railroad, he couldn’t help but let that old hatred towards them linger and simmer. He’s aware it’s wrong, they help others of his kind. Synths. Yet there it was, that distaste that comes to his tongue whenever he’s near them or mentioned.

So, he replies with a simple and bland, “Yes.”

Nate picks up on his though and looks to him with a raised brow. “You didn’t do anything stupid with Deacon, did you?” He asks with a hand on his hip.

Danse’s brows shoot up. He should be offended at Nate saying such a thing! “No! I wouldn’t harm one of your contacts even if they’re-“ he cuts himself short. “I wouldn’t,” he repeats himself, his voice more on the verge of a whine than anything else. He clears his throat, hoping to cover it up.  

He shuffles around inside of his bomber jacket and holds out the two care packages to Nate instead. Hoping to distract the man from his current inner panic.

Nate takes the packages with a thank you. He opens them both up without a word, looking inside to make sure that everything is intact. From where Danse stands, he can’t see anything but from the look on Nate’s face, everything is satisfactory.

“Alright!” Nate exclaims as he snaps the packages shut. He places them under his arm as he makes his way back into Home Plate. “I want you to join me for a delivery!”

“A delivery?” Danse can’t help but ask.

“A very, dangerous delivery,” Nate grins slyly before he disappears inside.

Danse can’t help but roll his eyes at the comment. Isn’t everything dangerous when it comes to the man? The way he does things is, questionable. Danse groans to himself, before heading inside after the other.

[tanoraqui]

D&D 5e PC free to a good home: Human Bard, Variant Human build wherein they start with a Feat. The Feat is Magic Initiate into the Warlock class. They got it because they defeated a Devil in a crossroads fiddle duel and, when they refused the golden fiddle prize, knowing it to be a trap, the Devil laughed and offered them a straightforward deal instead: three wishes, with a teaser sample of 2 cantrips + a 1 use/day petty spell, and after the fulfillment of the third wish, their soul will come directly to Hell.

The Bard agreed - they're fine so long as they never use the third wish, right? Heck, they'll just never use any of the wishes, and they can escape this very dangerous conversation with a little magical boost and a great story to tell.

How you play them is entirely up to you, except know that 3 times, you can call upon this Devil for a wish...which will manifest, mechanically, as taking a level in Warlock. For the third wish, they will give you that same golden fiddle, which will act as a Pact of the Blade Pact Weapon, mechanically modified to function primarily as a spellcasting focus rather than a literal weapon.

Your relationship with the Devil is also up to you and the DM. Personally, I'd go for slowburn romance with a College of Creation Bard, to really fascinate a properly Lucifer-coded Devil, fulfilling the final term of the deal by straight-up moving to Hell with your new sugar mommy (after defeating the Big Bad of the campaign, which is what you needed the third wish for). Or the Devil could be the Big Bad of the campaign! Or you can never make a wish and multiclass into Warlock, if you're very strong of will! It's your story to tell.

[starliteonearth]

There's two wolves inside of me: one wants the simmering agonizing multi-season slowburn that will make Ghoulcy finally getting together oh so delicious and the other wants the instant gratification of them hooking up, getting down and nasty, right in season 2

[theewritingroomm]

The First Meeting - Pre War

Summary: meeting Cooper for the first time. Pairing: Cooper Howard x Reader (eventual) Word Count: 597 Warnings: none for this chapter, future chapter may have more warnings. A/N: This drabble series is going to feel like a slow burn, and it will likely not be posted in any specific order. However there will be a masterlist for this series. I do NOT consent to my work being translated or published onto third party sites - including AO3 and Wattpad. 

The Cowboy & The Movie Star

When you had gotten the role, you did not expect much to come out of it. The one thing you knew for certain was that your mom was proud. She was every time you got a role. And eventually, everybody in your hometown would know about it. On release day, her book club would become a watch party and they would drive to the nearest theater and watch it. Later in the evening you could expect a call where your mom would rave about the movie and your performance, Even if it was only thirty seconds. 

That is exactly what happened with your latest movie. Though the praise did not stop with just your mother this time. Multiple times a day your agent was calling to tell you about the latest interview opportunity or magazine article that wanted to feature you and discuss the movie. . 

Accepting those interviews had rocketed you to the status of America’s Sweetheart. Your place there was cemented by the nomination you received for best supporting actress. 

“Mom, I don’t know if I can do this.” You admitted into the space of the backseat, running your hands down the front of your dress. An attempt to calm the nerves taking over. 

Your mom placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, forcing you to turn towards her. Pride was visible on every feature of her face. 

“My sweet girl, you can do this. You are so strong and magnificent. And now the world is finally catching onto what I’ve known this whole time.” She fixes a strand of your hair as she continues. “So, when you do win and you become a world traveling movie star, don’t forget you momma.” 

A laugh breaks through the nerves as the car comes to a stop. 

The door is opened from the outside of the car and the flashes from dozens of cameras momentarily blinds you. The shouts of your name are nearly deafening as you step out of the car. 

An older gentleman ushers you and your mother down the red carpet. Instructing you on when to stop and where to begin looking. The ordeal was slightly disorientating; the lights, the voices, the people. It was too much and the nerves began to return as you shuffled down the carpet.. Slamming into your chest like a bus. 

Or perhaps that feeling was the man you had stumbled into. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” You rushed out, grabbing onto the man’s forearm for stability. 

Chancing a glance upwards, dread filling you as the remnants of your career in Hollywood flashed in your mind. 

Though instead of anger from the man above you, there was a flash of worry as he helped you right yourself. His brown eyes were soft as a hand landed on your hip. 

“Accidents happen,” he waved off, “Are you okay, darling?” 

The term of endearment, laced with his slow drawl slid down your spine like warm honey. Settling where his hand sat on your hip and spread warmth through you. 

Before you got the chance to respond, the voices of the paparazzi cut into your brain. 

“Cooper! Y/N! Look this way! Over here!” 

It seemed that, broke the man, Cooper, out of his own trance. His hand slipped from your waist, yours fell from his arm. Backing up a step you met his eyes again. 

“Thank you for catching me.” You spoke quickly, shuffling past him, you mother in tow. Sporting a new, cheshire cat grin. 

As the award show began, a newly familiar figure slid into the empty seat next to yours.

[bloodlrust]

I wrote fanfic for the first time in years be nice to me. Link above but I'll section it off here too idk how people do it nowadays.

"Valentine tries to enjoy some alone time soon after finding Eddie Winter and coming to peace with himself, Hancock wants to chat up an old friend."

Valentine sat lounged in his cabin, feet upon an ottoman with a cigarette in between the metal digits of his right hand.

He swirls room temperature whiskey in his unimpaired hand, taking as deep a breath a man without lungs can.

It’s Nick’s first night in the room Sole had made for him in Sunshine Tidings co-op. 

He remembers helping them clear out the ferals that inhabited the quaint shacks, and how excited Sole was, going on and on about the potential of this new settlement. 

It took a couple weeks before Nick got an invitation to try out his new room, Sole had set it up with a bed, an office, and a reading nook with an ashtray and a small liquor cabinet closeby. 

It’s everything the synth could want out of a home.

A cozy place far from his home in Diamond City to relax, away from the city noise where he can relax in complete quiet, other than the radio in the corner quietly playing Nat King Cole among others, a radio station Sole curated just for Valentine.

It took some convincing, Valentine was all about his work, he’d work himself to death if he could.

He’s told Ellie back at home can tune into his radio if he’s ever needed.

A part of him believes they just told him that to agree to take a break for once, even Ellie was begging him to go. 

Still, through the back of his mind are all of the people of the Commonwealth who might need his help.

He reminds himself he doesn’t need to earn the right to live in the human world, and even if he did he’s done enough for several lifetimes.

“You can’t save everyone!” The voice of Ellie and Sole pleading in unison taunts him.

“Fine.” He thought.

“A break couldn’t hurt…Too much.”

At least he gets some peace and quiet, some alone time, a moment just to himself for the first time in perhaps years.

A soft crunching sound snaps Nick out of his headspace, he realizes he let his cigarette go out.

He puts down his drink and looks out the window, more crunchy pitter patters as he sees someone just barely leave his sight.

They seemed to be leaving so he brushes it off as a passing traveler, the co-op is rigged with turrets if a threat is detected so there isn’t much to worry about anyway.

He thumbs his gun closer just in case but shrugs it off and opens a book, back to relaxing.

Valentine smirks, zoning into the music playing softly and his book. 

Some time off isn’t too bad afterall.

Nick feels a cool breeze on his neck, is there a draft?

He turns to the window to see it wide open, and a peculiar ghoul resting his head in his arms on the sill.

“Hey, Valentine.”

Nick groans.

“Hancock.”

Nick was a little perturbed he didn’t notice Hancock opening the window, they’re not exactly quiet. Is he getting rusty? Did he really let his guard down that much?

Maybe Hancock was just that good.

“You’re not just gonna ignore me, right?”

His raspy, clarion voice begged teasingly. 

Every time Hancock spoke to Valentine he acted like they were old friends. 

That might not be wrong per se but Valentine tried to keep their relationship strictly business.

It’s not that Nick dislikes Hancock, no. 

They see eye to eye on most matters. 

Where Hancock sees Nick as prude, he sees Hancock as reckless, and doesn’t support the lackluster laws in Goodneighbor or the ghoul’s habits.

But anytime Valentine has come into town for something he’s been nothing but kind and helpful.

“You keep zoning out, ya know?”

Nick blinks and looks up, giving him a weak smirk before slamming the window in his face.

He stands up to get another pack of cigarettes to replace the last one he carelessly let burn out.

“No. No distractions, I’m having ‘me-time’ or whatever they called it.” Nick mutters under his breath.

Nick hears a quick thud followed by squeaking, then shuffling, then a much heavier thud. His shoulders tense up.

Without turning around Valentine sighs. 

“You’ve resorted to breaking and entering?”

Hancock giggles. “Yeah well it's not like any of the doors lock around here.”

It’s probably easier to entertain him than to argue with him to leave, isn’t it?

Nick turns around, just having lit a cigarette. He sees Hancock holding his knife and a decent chunk out of the windowsill he used to shimmy it open. 

“There’s always going to be a draft now.”

Hancock tilts his head. “This is a shoddy wasteland shack, it’s not exactly air tight, Nicky.”

Valentine scoffs at the nickname.

An awkward silence shrouds the room as Valentine takes a long drag from his cigarette.

“Can I have a hit?” Hancock asks, breaking the silence.

“No.” Valentine says firmly.

Hancock watches the smoke enter Nick from the hole in his face, as he breathes in it gets sucked down into his neck, which is partially exposed from more wear and tear in his silicone skin.

Nearly half of the smoke Nick takes in is lost through the various holes in his body, Hancock twinges in envy.

"So, why do you get to smoke, but get angry when I do chems?"

Nick jolts in a way that almost looks like coughing, but they both know that isn’t possible.

He walks over to his liquor cabinet and pours a second drink. 

“Because. You have lungs.”

He turns and plants a filled rocks glass in Hancock’s hands.

“I don’t.”

Hancock smirks and smells the whiskey.

“Why are you here? I assume Sole made you a cabin, too? Should’ve guessed…”

Hancock walks over and turns the radio up a bit, wiggling his hips to the beat.

“Well I got bored with talking with tin can pinko over there, thought I’d go talk to another one.”

Nick smirks, Professor Goodfeels was a weird one. The original Nick Valentine would be opposed to being called that word, yet after everything Nick has seen in the wasteland, there are worse things to be.

“I suppose I'm supposed to be flattered by that?”

Nick clenches his fist, has he said a single nice thing to Hancock yet?

“Sorry, I'm just not really sure how to relax right now. I’m a bit on edge.”

Hancock sets down the glass and approaches Nick, putting his hands on his shoulders.

A soft click goes off as Nick hears what sounds like a woman’s voice come from Hancock.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking a break once in a while, Nicky.”

“Jenny?”

Not just any woman.

Nick sees tears in his eyes despite not feeling any on his face, he can’t cry anymore after all.

He blinks and sees her holding him, looking worried but lovingly into his eyes. 

It smells like bread and meat, his old favorite diner. He gets a pit in his stomach, he knows what will happen here.

“Are you okay, Nick?”

Nick involuntarily puts his hand on her face, does he miss her?

Nick shakes his head and looks up again. His right hand is planted on Hancock’s face, who looks confused.

“Oh.”

Hancock gently grabs Nick’s metal hand and takes it off his face.

“Another of Valentine’s memories?”

Anyone who’s known Nick long enough knows this happens from time to time. Not often to this intensity.

“Yeah… I guess what you said reminded me of Valentine’s– Anyway.”

Hancock found it amusing how Nick used his name to refer to himself and his prewar counterpart respectively, in fact it reminded him of himself, might be why he likes him so much, even if he is a bit of a square for his tastes.

“I wasn't aware we were that close.”

Nick appreciates Hancock’s attempt to humor him even in his dissociative state.

“I don’t think so, John.”

Hancock gasps.

“The hell you call me?”

Nick laughs.

“There’s another name I could call you if I really wanted to piss you off.”

Hancock’s eye twitches.

“You wouldn’t.”

“McDonough.”

Hancock sighs almost relieved before bursting into hysterical laughter.

Nick chuckles along. “What? You thought I’d-”

“Holy shit, I’m not even high. That’s so damn funny.”

Nick sits and finishes the whiskey he’d been neglecting, Hancock does the same with his full glass. 

“Phew. You and me… we’re so similar you know that, right?”

Nick cocks his eye. 

“How so, Hancock?”

Hancock wipes his face and stands up wildly.

“Think about it. I lose my humanity and in a desperate attempt to find meaning I adopt the guise of some long dead guy, and now I’m just some sort of in-between of myself and this founding father bastard!”

Nick smirks weakly before giving a contemplative stare.

“Tell me you don’t see the resemblance.”

Hancock sits on the arm of Nick’s chair and wraps his arm around him.

“I know we don’t have perfect ideals, but we have an awful lot in common. We both would do anything for the people. We’re people persons! And we're not even people in the same way other people are!”

Nick tries and fails to stifle his giggling.

“What the hell are you on about, Hancock? That whiskey didn’t pass through you that fast, did it?”

“Made you smile though, didn’t I?”

“I suppose so.”

Valentine pokes at Hancock, urging him off the chair. “You never answered my question earlier, why are you here?”

Hancock jumps on Nick’s bed and rests his arms behind his head, crossing his legs at the ankle.

“Yeah, Sole made me a little cabin, too. You wouldn’t like it there, though. It’s perfect for me heh.”

Nick rolls his eyes, assuming it's chock-full of chems and other vices of Hancock’s.

He looks outside, a lot more time has passed with company than without, curious.

Alone time was nice but he kept getting in his own head, not that he isn’t doing it even with Hancock’s company, maybe what he needs is somebody to distract him.

Is he doing it again?

“You’ve been doing this all day Valentine, you feelin’ alright?”

Nick shakes his head and looks over at Hancock lounging on his bed.

“Yeah…Just feeling a bit existential. After the whole Eddie Winter thing I’ve had an influx of Nick’s old memories. It’s just odd since I've made peace with myself, I don’t know how to feel about them anymore.”

Hancock gives a sympathetic smile.

“I threw myself into work after we dealt with him, so much so Ellie and Sole begged me to take a break and well, here I am.”

Hancock stretches his neck and unclenches his jaw. 

“Yeah, I’m in a similar situation if you’d believe it. Well, not nearly as heavy as your shit, I’ll say– but!”

Hancock stifled a giggle, sitting up to face Nick better.

 “I thought it was about time I take a break from all the mayoral B.S., even Fahrenheit could tell I was getting antsy. I gotta say, getting out to stretch my legs has been great for me so far.”

Nick smiles weakly.

“And, hey, I know I kinda just barged in here and demanded attention like a needy cat and all, but I’d understand if you’d rather have your alone time while you’re here.”

Nick looks outside and laughs. “How about we call it a night for now?”

Hancock frowns, and stands up. He puts on a weak smile when Nick turns around again. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow though.”

Hancock’s face gleams, Nick can tell how much their talk meant to him, for whatever reason.

“And Hancock?”

“Yes?”

“Please take the door.”

“Ha! Got it, Nick. See you tomorrow.”

Hancock dances to the door in the beat of the music Nick completely forgot was playing. He gently opens and peeks his head out the other side making a silly face at Nick before closing it for good. 

Nick smiles and picks up the book he was reading before being interrupted. Some light reading before bed wouldn’t hurt.

[commonwealthoccurences]

back to eden - Ch 10

BTE Masterlist

The return to Sanctuary was uneventful as far as Commonwealth travel could be. To his credit, Deacon did his best to teach them the instincts that came so easily to him, turning almost every encounter and detail of the landscape into a little lesson or telling them obviously embellished tales of his time traveling. Sole wanted to pry more out of him– something unrelated to survival skills, something related to himself as a person. Of course, he didn't let anything slip. Sole still wasn't sure if this was a Deacon thing or a Commonwealth thing. Sure, most of the settlers were pretty open with them, but Sole could already tell they were a rare bunch. 

Sole watched Deacon leave, the sun setting dramatically in the background as he crossed the bridge exiting Sanctuary, and thought about the final words they had exchanged. They’d offered him a place, if he needed one. He said he didn’t do well with “having a place,” and Sole wasn’t really surprised, but they’d meant the offer anyway. He’d mentioned the idea of coming to them in the future if he needed help with any super secret missions and Sole had laughed a little at his antics but had promised they’d do their best to help him out, something they wished they could take back. There was an inkling that ran down their spine whenever they thought of those words, one that told them that there would be regret.

Nonetheless, the words had been said and Sole had mostly forgotten about their first trip to Diamond City as the days and weeks trickled into months as surely as the Sanctuary river ran. They fumbled around with themself less. There was too much work to be done to be unsure; winter would arrive in a short while, and they didn’t recall Boston winters as being kind, even before the war. The shells of their old neighbors' houses turned into patched homes of new neighbors and new friends. A couple of new settlers had stumbled in during those trickling months, worn and weary from evading raiders, and Preston and Sole had always been suckers for a good reason to lend a hand.

It had been more of a relief than they’d predicted it would be to be out and away from their old house. Sole had moved to the very back of the court, into an old home of a neighbor they had never met and had little recollection of. In fact, much of their recollection was getting a little fuzzy. The realities of now and then layered over each other onto the same landscape the way colors did on 3d glasses. Sometimes Sole glanced out their window while they were tying their work boots and saw a woman in a pristine dress carrying a suit walking down the crumbled sidewalk. Sometimes they saw the world on fire. Mostly, it was just Sanctuary.

Building up their new home had been a welcome distraction. They patched the shell themself, repaired or built the new furniture, and while they didn’t have their own running water system yet, they were mildly hopeful for the next summer. Sturges had commented one day on their ability to fix things up, somehow knowing that that wasn’t an average skill “back in the day.” Sole explained they’d gotten a fixer-upper on the outskirts of Boston a long time ago that they’d repaired themself as a distraction from some of the heavier stuff they worked on. Sturges didn’t ask questions, but he appreciated their ability.

Two ghosts now followed Sole as they power-walked through Sanctuary, organizing jobs for settlers and making patrols and repairing what was left of the neighborhood and themself. One, that familiar shadow that never left their peripheral vision. Infuriatingly elusive. Always out of reach, pulling at their heart strings. Whenever they found themself chasing glimpses, they’d eventually look up, and catch a glance of the memory of those eyes instead. The ones in the shadow of Diamond City market that they couldn’t escape from.

Sometimes, Sole wondered if that was all they were meant to do. To be haunted. But, sometimes the shadows were just shadows and the alleys were just alleys. Sometimes, Sole was just a tired leader of a settlement in the remains of nuclear warfare. And that was alright.

Preston had joined them one evening on the creaky, strung-together porch of their new home. Sole had kicked up their boots and slumped back on the log bench they had constructed, a purified water at their side as they basked in the declining daylight that lit a fire over the skyline. He took off his hat and sat next to them, careful to avoid stepping on Dogmeat, who had lounged out under Sole’s legs. They’d been inseparable since that day from Red Rocket to Diamond City- Sole wondered if Dogmeat was a little haunted, too.

Preston had made them a proposition. An offer to work on rebuilding the Minutemen. There were a lot of bad people out there, he reminded them, and they could do a lot of good. Preston had always seen something in them that Sole couldn’t dig up for themself no matter how hard they tried. He wanted them at the helm, and Sole hemmed and hawed as they rubbed at their aching legs. “Don’t you think you’re the one to do the job?” Sole asked.

“Me? No. I acted as General to try and keep what we had together, but I’m no leader.”

“Preston, you’ve been leading.”

“That doesn’t make me a leader. I just– the Minutemen was the last thing I had. I couldn’t see it fall apart, not in my lifetime. But I think you could really do something out there, and I’d be real glad to help.”

Eventually, they settled on Sole leading Sanctuary. They weren’t ready to take on even the concept of a fallen army that was meant to protect the Commonwealth. Sure, they had experience with the so-called “bad guys,” but Sole was tired. Preston would continue to monitor Minutemen activities with Sole chiming in when they had the time, and there was a vague idea in the air that Sole would eventually take over once everything was steady in Sanctuary. More than anything, Preston knew Sole had his back.

“Keep an eye out.”

“Don’t worry, Nick. I’ve got your back.”

Sole was less than pleased at the situation they had gotten themselves in. The BPD had received a call about suspicious activity in a warehouse. Dispatch had said the caller was suspicious themself, but the pair had been waved forward to “do their jobs for once” (a sentence that had garnered several snickers from other officers in the room) and investigate. God forbid it had something to do with the Halloween killer case and they weren’t there to see it.

So they’d ended up in said abandoned warehouse, creeping around corners hoping they weren’t about to run face first into anything or anyone. Sole could tell from the look on the Detective’s face that he found this endeavor pointless– probably just some bored kids messing around, as he’d commented under his breath in the car. Sole couldn’t tell if they disagreed or if the feeling they had was part of the paranoia they’d been experiencing for weeks.

The ceiling high above them was caving in. Disrepair had rendered much of the building useless, if not downright dangerous. After a quick but thorough scan of the immediate, safest area, Sole straightened up and sighed. “We should split up, cover more ground. I think you’re right, it’s just kids fucking around, if anything at all.”

Hesitancy made itself known in the tension that lit up Nick’s posture. “I don’t know. I don’t think we have anything to worry about, but I don’t like the idea of splitting up.”

Sole glanced at their watch. It was one in the morning. They’d probably end up leaving around two, get back to the station around half past, plus doing paperwork and filing the report would put them leaving the station at around four A.M. They had to report back in at seven. Sole shook their head. “Let’s not drag this out any longer than we have to, Nicky.”

“Alright… but be careful.”

“Always am.”

Nick knew that his protectiveness of Sole wasn’t just unproductive, it was downright dangerous. Between the potential for him to be enabling them to let their guard down too often, to the idea that he’d consider catching a bullet at any cost for them, it would only spell out disaster. He knew they were in danger. He knew that the Halloween killer had some sort of fascination with them. But at the end of the day, he had to let them be their own person. They had to protect themself– he wouldn’t always be able to.

So, instead of kicking up the fuss he so wanted to, Nick let them walk away. It was only once they had disappeared into the depths of the warehouse that he turned and started his own search. Too little sleep or too much time on the case, or both, was getting to him. It felt like every shadow was ready to jump out at him, every creak in the old, metal structure was a threat. It wasn’t reasonable, he knew. And he was glad that Sole hadn’t caught on to his paranoia; the last thing he wanted to add to their worries.

As surely as the moon hung overhead, the hour that they’d agreed upon to search the warehouse ticked by. Valentine returned to their meeting spot at the entrance and leaned against the metal siding, considering tipping his hat down over his head and catching a micronap as he often did in the station. No matter how desperate he was for even an ounce of sleep, though, he knew it was unsafe. Instead, he tilted his head back and listened for the sound of Sole’s footsteps.

As he stood there he heard… nothing. In fact, he realized that he hadn’t heard anything the entire time he was searching. It was a big warehouse, sure, but their sections to search overlapped a bit and he hadn’t heard any noise in the building from another person at all. He turned and glanced out the rolltop door they had left open on their way in; not a figure in sight.

Alarm started in the way his legs tensed, ready to spring into action, and spread up his body until it was choking at his throat. “Sole?” He called out, pushing himself off the wall. 

Nothing except his own echo answered him, a mocking Sole? Nick so badly wanted to ignore the gut feeling he had, but his gut had always been accurate in the past. Sole was gone. They had gone God knows how long ago, and he had no idea where they were.

Sole awoke with a start, panting loudly enough that it echoed in their sparsely decorated little shack. A headache pulsed at their temples, forcing a wince onto their face. They’d forgotten how badly those headaches hurt; even the ones that came as a side effect of cryofreeze didn’t hurt nearly as bad. Before the war, after the case concluded, they couldn’t escape them. It always felt like someone was trying to split their head in two with an axe. Their doctor had called them psychosomatic. Sole had lept across the room and tried to throttle him. They’d done a lot of things in those few weeks before the bombs dropped that they weren’t proud of.

They tried not to dwell on it, swallowing the acid tang of regret and bitter memories as they rolled out of bed. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but work started the minute Sole awoke from a bad dream. Dogmeat stumbled his way off the other side of their bed, still half asleep but accustomed to Sole’s abrupt awakenings. He sat patiently at their feet, his tail brushing back and forth across the floor as they tied their boots.

Sole pat him on the head. “You can go back to sleep, cutie.”

Dogmeat gave them a look, as if to say are you kidding me? Wherever Sole went, Dogmeat followed; everyone in Sanctuary knew that. Sole put both boots to the floor and braced themself to stand when a knock sounded at their door. They paused and stared at Dogmeat, who’d stood and was watching the door with suspicion, braced for a fight. Doubtful that any stranger had made it into Sanctuary without sounding an alarm, Sole muttered a soothing word to Dogmeat and moved to answer the door. When they yanked it open (the hinges stuck no matter what they did) Deacon stood on the other side.

Their eyebrows shot up. “Deacon?”

“Hey, Sole. Mind if I come in?”

Sole simply stepped aside and gestured inwards. Dogmeat trotted up to get a pat on the head from Deacon, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in pure adoration. Sole wanted to roll their eyes. Instead, they sat at their makeshift dining table and propped their feet up. “Wasn’t expecting you on my doorstep.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to have a doorstep.” He shot back as he settled in on the other side of the table.

Dogmeat wedged himself between them underneath the table. “Look, I’ll be straightforward. I don’t do casual visits. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Sole smiled. “I figured. Shoot.”

“The work I do…” Deacon brushed a thumb against the arms of his sunglasses, thinking. “Well, it’s not easy to say the least. And I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but I could use some help.”

“What kind of help?”

“Nothing intense. I just need extra muscle that I can trust not to shoot me when I turn my back. We’d clear a few spots of ghouls, drop something off in a risky part of the Commonwealth, things like that. Honestly, you won’t get much warning when jobs pop up, but I’d like to think I’m fair. You’ll get paid for it. Most of the time.”

Sole snorted. “And the rest of the time?”

“You’ll be my hero.” Deacon flashed a disarmingly wide grin.

“Oh, why didn’t you say so sooner?”

“If the little jobs work out, we can talk about doing more. I might be able to bring you in on what I do.”

In the name of being foolishly candid, Sole sat back and looked him up and down. “Y’know, there’s something off about you. Beside the whole… post-apocalyptic spy routine you’ve got going on.”

Deacon didn’t bother to give that grin again, to take the edge off his words. Instead, he simply looked at them and said, “You’ve got good instincts.”

“That didn’t help.”

This time, he did grin and Sole watched his body language morph into… something else. “Awww, I’m only being honest cause I like ya.”

Sole pulled their feet off the table and stood, Dogmeat scrambling to follow suit. “Alright, well, unless you wanna stick around and help me assemble a brahmin feeder, I’d get moving. If you need to stay overnight you’re welcome to a bedroll.”

Deacon shook his head. “Sole, Sole, Sole. How would I keep up my reputation if I stick around for an entire day?”

“Ah yes, your reputation for being mysterious, which is easily cultivated when you talk about vanishing the moment you’ve become recognizable.”

“I haven’t disappeared yet, have I?”

“Nope. I’m counting down the seconds until I can officially get you working on the feeder. You’re not the only one who could use an extra set of hands.”

“Aaand I’m gone.”

True to his words, though Sole left their home just moments after Deacon, they never saw him after he shut the door behind him. Commonwealth citizens did a little too much disappearing into the shadows for their liking. Brahmin didn’t disappear into the shadows, though, and they weren’t lying when they said that feeder needed to be built. Sole hopped off their porch and began walking to the back field of Sanctuary.

[kirkwallguy]

whispers into your ear... watch the 3 hr long mshenko video on youtube instead 🧡

i actually didn't realise the gay romance you can do in the third (i think?) game was a guy you meet at the beginning of the first one . that DOES intrigue me a little. but i might just have to watch the video because i've just finished playing the opening and didn't have a good time at all

[xsanriodollx]

Also, has nobody played Fallout 4? Like, I had Macready saying he loves me after a week of walking around together.

Look, I dislike a rushed hetero romance as much as the next guy BUT VAULTKNIGHT IS NOT THAT!! They're different. They're my weird little dorks. Falling for eachother makes so much sense for their individual characters. PLEASE YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND!!! LISTEN–

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: All of the distractions in the world couldn't keep you from worrying about the potential fallout from your web of untruths--until a bigger issue arose. (5.5k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, brief religious zealotry, insecurities, secret relationship, public displays of affection, sexual fantasies, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

A/N: This chapter contains a scene I had imagined in my head and became the catalyst for this series--what would happen if Eddie encountered one of the NYC street preachers?

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter thirteen: street smarts

You were supposed to be doing something. Checking the guest log, organizing the bills by due date, making a list of repairs that still needed to be made…something. Anything besides just standing behind the desk, watching Eddie’s biceps flex as he hauled the overfilled trash bag out to the Dumpster. 

At this point, it was all busy work. Taking out the garbage, changing light bulbs, dusting furniture…all scraps of chores to keep him here. The moment he felt like he was being pitied—or worse, like he was being a burden—he’d leave. His pride was too strong and too loud to allow him to stay if he wasn’t working, even if that work was as interesting as watching paint dry. 

That’s what it was. 

“I need you to spackle a hole in Room 9,” you told him as he walked back into the lobby. “The guy staying here last night punched the wall, and it looks like he won.”

Eddie grimaced, flexing his own hand like he could feel the man’s pain. “Jesus. Yeah, sure.” He slid a rubber band off of his wrist and tied back his hair. The sleeves of his t-shirt had been cut into a tank top, though you weren’t sure if he’d done it or the shirt had been designed that way. “Where do you keep the spackle?”

You jabbed your thumb towards the supply closet behind you. Eddie started in that direction, but made an abrupt turn towards you. His arms snaked around your waist, his lips easily finding the crook of your neck. 

Instinctively, your shoulder jerked upwards, protecting you from any further tickling, but Eddie only doubled down. His kisses became less of a whisper and more of a shout, each punctuated with a smacking mwah!

“Ed-die!” Your giggles broke his name into its syllables. “Quit it!”

He paused for a moment and pretended to consider your plea before continuing his barrage of kisses. “Hmm, don’t think I will.” His words were muffled, the vibrations sending tingles through your bloodstream. “What’re you doing after your shift?”

You scoffed. “Um, curling up under the covers and passing out?”

“What if…” He moved his lips to the back of your neck. “You curled up under my covers?”

The suggestion garnered a dual sensation of desire and dread. You wanted that more than anything: the intimacy of laying next to him, his body curled around yours, the rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sleep. The first night he was here, he wore only boxer briefs. If you slept beside him, would he wear more? Less? If he awoke with that natural, involuntary stiffness between his legs, would you feel it?

But then, despite everything within you leaning towards being with Eddie, reality set in. Your room was the closest to the lobby; how could you possibly skip over it without Dad noticing? Even if he didn’t notice, how could you sneak out of Eddie’s room without Mom seeing? Dad might be oblivious in the way that fathers so often are, but Mom was like a hawk. She could probably sense that you were considering disobeying her orders to keep away from Eddie.

“I’d have to sneak through your window. And then sneak back through my own window in the morning,” you mused. 

“Or,” Eddie countered, spinning you around so you were facing him, “you could tell your parents that you couldn’t resist the cute handyman’s charming advances.”

His brown eyes gleamed with mischief as his hands dipped lower, squeezing your ass through your jeans. It took all of your willpower not to change the sign to read “NO VACANCY”—despite your many empty rooms—and drag him into his bed by the worn collar of his t-shirt. 

“I will.” You wrinkled your nose. “Well, maybe not in those exact terms, but I will tell them we’re…y’know.”

Eddie took a small step back and crossed his arms. “We’re…what?” His tone was somewhere between perplexed and demanding, like he couldn’t believe you wouldn’t define the relationship while also hoping you would define it for him.

You had no idea what the answer was. ‘Friends’ was far too casual for two people who had been sucking face in the middle of Flushing Meadows Park just last week. ‘Dating’ seemed too formal for only having been on two dates, the first of which hadn’t even been officially stated as a date from the onset. ‘Fooling around in the laundry room every chance we get’ was more accurate, if not a little wordy.

“We’re getting to know each other. Intimately.” You added that last word in an attempt to show him just how much you cared about him. Whatever relationship limbo you two were in would only be temporary. 

“Hmm.” A smirk tugged at Eddie’s lips. “Just how intimately are we talking here?” He tucked his forefinger into your belt loop and pulled you towards him, so close that you could feel his belt buckle through your shirt. 

Glancing around to ensure no one was walking by, you pressed a small kiss to his lips. “I’m gonna tell them. I promise. Just give me a little time.”

Your heart ached when his shoulders slumped. You wanted to fix it all now, to face your anxiety head-on and tell your parents about Eddie. Tell them that you were together and that it could be something serious—without holding your breath for their approval. 

But then there was that knife twisting in your gut, the one that echoed the same statements time and time again: 

You’re a bad daughter You’re disappointing them You’re negating every sacrifice they’ve made

But now a new one joined them, just as unwelcome as the others:

You’re going to lose Eddie if you keep being a coward. 

Eddie held your gaze for another beat before he broke it. His head tilted to the side, a slight pout forming on his lips. “Well, if you promise…” In one swift motion, he swooped in and kissed your cheek. When he pulled back, you wrapped your arms around his lithe waist and drew him back in. “Is that a yes for sneaking through my window?”

You gave him a gentle, playful shove and rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the fluttering butterflies that came with the idea. “Go spackle the wall.”

“Yes, dear.” He started towards the supply closet once more, calling out over his shoulder, “what time are we leaving for that college thing tomorrow?”

Everything he said and everything he did encroached closer and closer into relationship territory. Going to Admitted Students’ Day with you was something a boyfriend would do. 

But he hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend—not that it would make much of a difference. It wasn’t as though a label would suddenly afford you the freedom to show off your relationship. Besides your parents’ disapproval, that pesky news story about Death’s Echo’s new lead singer kept nagging at you. You technically had information about Eddie’s life that even he didn’t know, and you couldn’t figure out how to tell him. 

“Noon at the latest.” You tried swallowing the lump in your throat, but it stayed put, so you just spoke above it. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I know school isn’t really your thing, so…”

Eddie poked his head out from the closet. “Noon it is.” When he emerged, he held the small spackle bucket and a wide putty knife. “By the way, I won’t, like, break out into hives or burst into flames if I go to a school.”

“I know.” Your body relaxed as his humor snaked through the crevices of your anxiety. “And I really do want to tell them about everything. About us, about NYU. It’s just…”

Goddamn the mist clouding your eyes. It was shameful, really, the pity party you were throwing for yourself. But how could you approach your parents and say, “Hey, by the way, I’m dating our de facto handyman. But don’t worry about the relationship affecting the business, because we’ll have to close the motel once I start graduate school in two months anyway. Also, I’m studying social work, not hospitality. Surprise!”

“Hey.” Eddie’s voice was soft, his thumb swiping over tears that fell despite your efforts to hold them back. “Look, if you don’t want me to go, just tell me.”

You shook your head. “I want you to go.” To emphasize your point, you kissed his cheek. The beginnings of stubble tickled your lips. “We can make a day of it. Grab some lunch or something.”

Eddie didn’t look wholly convinced, but he managed a smile. “And then I get to show off how smart you are.”

There was no point in arguing that everyone at Admitted Students’ Day was just as smart as you, if not smarter. Instead, you watched as he padded towards room nine. 

What you wouldn’t give to cave to your desires and climb into his bed beside him. Whether you fell asleep immediately or spent the entire time with him firmly buried inside you was practically irrelevant. You were tempted to follow him right now and have sex with him in the vacant room.

But you didn’t want your first time together to be something you rushed through. Maybe it wouldn’t be the rose petals and naked guitar playing scenario that Ben and Nora had teasingly suggested, but you didn’t want to do it just to “get it over with.” 

So you stayed put, drumming your fingers against the desk’s wood paneling, trying to ignore the heat pooling between your thighs. Someday, you promised yourself, Eddie would be the one to quell that need.

You left your room at noon the next day, armed with a smile and an alibi. Your usual excuse of running errands wouldn’t explain why you were wearing a black button-down dress and your Mary Jane heels. 

The door to Eddie’s room creaked open as you passed by. Without wasting a moment, one tattooed arm darted through the gap and pulled you inside. 

“Eddie!” You hissed at him, bringing one hand to your chest as your heart rate soared. 

His lips were on yours before you could ask why he felt the urge to spike your already sky-high anxiety. Like a miracle elixir, the kiss blunted the day’s sharpness and turned your racing thoughts into drifting clouds. 

Your hands found his biceps, fully on display in the t-shirt that had been altered to be a makeshift tank top. The same one, you realized, he’d been wearing last night. The pads of your fingertips were met with resistance at the muscle that was even more defined than it had been a month ago. 

“Just needed to do that before we left.” His palms smoothed down the back of your dress, lingering for an extra moment on your ass. “Ready to go?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nodded. All of the air had been knocked from your lungs; from the scare or from the kiss, you were still unsure. 

Eddie’s fingers brushed yours as the two of you left his room in a silent plea to hold your hand. You wanted to accept the offer, to proudly display your affection for him. You wanted it more than anything, so much so that you almost let your guard down. Almost took his hand in yours and paraded out into the lobby without a care in the world, subtly announcing that you were his and he was yours.

Almost.

A pang of anger flashed in your chest; not at the situation, but at Eddie himself. He knew you hadn’t told your parents yet. He knew you would face some consequences for dating a motel guest and for sneaking around behind their backs, especially if you brazenly flaunted the relationship without any notice.

Eddie huffed at your rejection. “Oh, right.” Was that disappointment or frustration? Or some lethal combination of both?

Dad immediately noticed the departure from your typical attire when you walked past; he’d already finished skimming the newspaper when you walked in. “Where are you off to?” 

“Hanging out with Ben and Nora.” The lie rolled  off of your tongue, just as you’d practiced in the mirror this morning.

“Double date?” Dad’s question was rhetorical, of course–he certainly wasn’t expecting you to actually go on a date with Eddie–but your breath still caught in your throat.

A cough, hopeful not too conspicuous to draw attention, delayed your response. “Uh, no. Just, uh, friend stuff.” Friend stuff? Christ, were you incapable of lying without extensive rehearsal?

He nodded, not even flinching. Thank God he was at the desk and not Mom, who definitely would have interrogated the truth out of you by now. 

“Have fun, be safe, make sure to ask Ben how his parents are.”

You promised to do all three and dashed out the door before he had time to ask Eddie any questions. 

You reached for Eddie’s hand the moment you were out of sight, relishing in the safety of his calluses and strong grasp. 

“So, friend.” Despite his playful nature, hurt tinged Eddie’s tone. “You sure we’re in the clear? Maybe someone down the street will see us holding hands and report us to the authorities.”

His words formed a pit in your stomach, anchoring you to the sidewalk. “This isn’t just for me.” You face him and take his other hand, too, wrapping his arms around your waist. “If my parents want to, they can kick you out. I need to tell them in a way that keeps them from absolutely losing their minds.”

The lines at the corners of Eddie’s eyes softened. “I know,” he conceded, kissing the tip of your nose. “Was it like this with other guys you dated? Or is it just because I’m staying at the motel?”

Shame washed over you for the second time in as many minutes. “I’ve never actually told them about any guys I’ve dated,” you admitted. “I mean, I’ve been on dates and had some short-term…relationships, I guess you could call them. But nothing serious enough for me to tell my parents.”

Eddie let out an anxious breath before asking his next question. “What does that mean for us?”

There it was: us. One unit, something more substantial than being separate individuals who happened to share a space. 

“Eddie…I really like you.” The confession was a weight off of your chest; you felt your body fall closer to his. “And if they know about us and they don’t approve, they’ll make sure to keep us apart. At least now, we can sneak around without them being suspicious.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else; if not to protest, then to ask for further clarification. But he swallowed his words, opting instead to kiss you. 

His lips tasted like disappointment. You pretended not to notice.

The forty minute train ride to NYU eased some of the tension. With no seats available, Eddie kept one arm tight around your waist, the other hand wrapped around the overhead pole. His thumb caressed the small of your back, fingernail dragging over your cotton dress, as you leaned into him. 

The subway car was hot, but neither you nor Eddie were deterred in the slightest. Not even as that first bead of sweat crept down the back of your neck and dipped below your dress collar. 

If Eddie noticed the perspiration trickling down your spine, he didn’t comment on it. 

The tip of his nose tickled your temple as he loudly whispered, “I didn’t realize I was supposed to dress up for this.”

In addition to his tank top, Eddie wore black jeans ripped at both knees and his signature scuffed Reeboks. It was a stark contrast to your more professional attire—borrowed from Nora, of course—but you didn’t care. Couldn’t even bring yourself to care, not when…

“You look hot.” Your lips lingered on one exposed bicep, leaving a light lipstick print in their wake. “Ridiculously, unfairly hot.”

A bashful grin bloomed on his face. He stood up a bit taller, your compliment replenishing some of the confidence that had been lost. Eddie had certainly taken his share of ego bruising over the last few months: leaving Death’s Echo, the subsequent breakup with his girlfriend, sleeping in a struggling motel just to keep a roof over his head. And on top of it all, he was now with someone who refused to acknowledge the relationship in front of her own parents. 

That settled it. You were going to tell your parents tonight. No more hiding or sneaking around. If they lectured you on their disappointment, you’d take it. You just couldn’t fathom bringing more insecurity into Eddie’s life. He deserved more than that.

He deserves more than you, that irritating voice snarled. It curled itself around your ear like a wispy smoke trail from one of Eddie’s cigarettes, but did not dissipate as quickly. It lingered even as Eddie pulled you in closer to kiss you.

Your response was to slip your hand into his back pocket and curving it around his ass. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to grab onto, but it still woke up something slumbering within you. Something that had remained dormant since you’d gotten caught during the picnic last week. 

Longing stirred, carving out imagery of him atop you, your fingers grasping that sacred flesh without the burden of a denim barrier. You needed to know how he’d treat you in bed. Would he pounce like an animal capturing its elusive prey? Would he take his time and savor you like his last meal on Earth? Would he lovingly gaze into your eyes, or take you from behind to satisfy that primal need?

“What’s our stop again?” Eddie’s voice shook you from your lust-entrenched trance. 

“Oh, uh…” You fought to keep your train of thought on a more productive track. “West Fourth Street.”

He nodded and gripped the pole tighter as the car screeched to a halt. “Then this is us.”

Thank God he was paying attention. You were embarrassed at the mere notion of missing your stop because you were too lost in the idea of having sex with him. How would you even explain that to him?

“Nervous?” He asked as you exited the train car.

You shook your head. Surprisingly, you weren’t nervous about meeting other admitted students. They’d be a group of people just like you, reaching out a hand to help those in need. A group of people like you and Nora who shared a common goal of being positive forces in a world desperate for kindness.

The climb from the platform up to the street level brought with it a burst of fresh air—fresher than in the station, at least. You and Eddie made your way down Waverly Place, fingers loosely intertwined. He let you guide him, a half-step ahead, your knowledge of the city far exceeding his. 

You were only two blocks away from the school when you heard an obnoxious voice bleating through a megaphone. 

“Repent now or face damnation! You are all sinners who will burn in the fires of Hell for eternity!”

A middle-aged man wearing an off-center toupee stood in the middle of the sidewalk, shouting at passersby. 

“Revelations 21:8–But the cowardly, unbelieving, abominable, murderers, sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars shall have their part in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.”

You kept walking and ignored the man’s incessant preaching, expecting Eddie to do the same. 

That, you supposed, was naive on your part. 

Before you could stop him, Eddie let go of your hand and whirled towards the offender. His forefingers pointed upwards in mock devil horns, and the noise that came out of his mouth resembled something from The Exorcist. 

The preacher nearly keeled over at the sight of Eddie’s satanic display, sending you into a fit of cackling laughter. 

“Eddie!” You managed to hiss through your giggling. “Let’s go!”

Eddie took your hand once more and let you whisk him away from the dumbfounded man, the megaphone now hanging limply at his side. There was no doubt he would once again be spewing vitriol soon enough, but witnessing his temporary stunned silence was delicious. 

“I can’t believe you did that.” 

He shrugged. “I told you—I single handedly caused Hawkins’ own Satanic Panic. It’s not my first rodeo with these fire-and-brimstone assholes.”

“C’mon.” You tugged him along, shaking your head. “Let’s get out of here before he sics his disciples on us.”

Admitted Students’ Day at NYU’s Silver School of Social Work wasn’t fancy; just some hors d'oeuvres spread out on a white tablecloth to give an air of elegance. Really, it was nothing more than a few fruit and vegetable platters, finger sandwiches, and some pigs in a blanket. You helped yourself to some strawberries and a cucumber sandwich, watching as Eddie piled the crescent-wrapped mini hot dogs onto a paper plate and topped them with a hearty spoonful of spicy mustard.

A chipper young woman wearing an NYU t-shirt welcomed you and Eddie, ushering you both towards a pile of stick-on name tags and permanent markers. You scrawled your name in blue ink and Eddie did the same, though he added “just here for the food” in smaller letters below his name. 

“Okay, everyone!” The woman took to the microphone at the front of the small conference room. “Welcome to Admitted Students’ Day! My name is Ashley, and I’m a recent alumna of our wonderful MSW program.” She beamed and paused for the smattering of applause. 

Ashley brushed a brunette curl from her eyes and continued. “We’ll get started in just a moment, but until then, please mingle and get to know one another.”

When you looked over at Eddie again, he was dabbing at his shirt with a paper napkin. “Dropped some mustard,” he mumbled. Sure enough, a dollop of yellow stained the black cotton fabric. “Guess we’ll need to make another trip to the laundry room tomorrow.” 

You swatted at him, though you couldn’t deny having the same thought. “You also have some right here,” you lied, poking at his cheek. “Here, I’ll get it.” You leaned in and pressed a kiss to the spot you had just touched. His skin warmed beneath your lips, and it took all of your restraint not to kiss him again.

A second woman sporting a name tag made her way over to you, accompanied by a man dutifully trailing behind her.

“Hi!” The woman chirped, flashing a smile far more genuine than Ashley’s. “I’m Alexis, and this is my boyfriend, Peter.” She gestured to the man. “It’s nice to see another couple here.”

A couple. You and Eddie were a couple, recognized as such by other people in a relationship.

Peter pointed to the message on Eddie’s name tag. “I see you’re also here for moral support,” he said with a grin. “The things we do for them, huh?”

“Please.” Alexis rolled her eyes, though a playful smile suggested she wasn’t annoyed in the slightest. “I went with you to your boring grad school orientation last week.”

You perked up, latching onto the information so you wouldn’t perseverate on the notion of couplehood. “What are you studying?”

“Mechanical engineering,” Alexis answered for him. “He’s brilliant, but just listening to the course descriptions had me falling asleep.” She turned her attention to Eddie. “What do you study?”

The telltale hue of embarrassment bloomed on Eddie’s cheeks. “Oh, I, um…I didn’t. I mean, I went to high school–finished high school–but I didn’t do the whole college…thing.” 

“He’s a musician,” you offered, if only to quiet his stammering voice. “A really talented one, too. He plays guitar and he sings.” You took his hand in yours in silent reassurance.

To her credit, Alexis didn’t let on that she’d picked up on his nervousness. She just smiled and asked him about the type of music he plays, swiftly shifting the conversation back on track.

The small talk continued for a few more minutes. You’d learned that Alexis and Peter had met in college; they’d both gone to Columbia, which was where Peter would be continuing his graduate studies. Alexis wanted a change of scenery and chose NYU, though Peter mentioned she’d also been accepted to their alma mater.

She went to an Ivy League university? The notion soured in your stomach. It was unrealistic to think that Alexis would be the only member of your cohort to hold a degree from an esteemed school; how would you be able to keep up with them? There was no way your meager city college education could even compare.

Mercifully, Ashley took to the microphone once again, this time with a gray-haired woman by her side, to begin the informational portion of the event. You and Eddie sat side-by-side, and you scooched closer when his arm instinctively draped over the back of your folding chair. The ease was a privilege; you could rest your head on his shoulder without being on alert. There was no threat of being caught, no guilt from sneaking around. The two of you were just another couple sitting in a sea of strangers. The idea was so enticing that you had to force yourself to focus on the course offerings and expected responsibilities. 

You definitely wouldn’t be able to keep up with your peers if you couldn’t even pay attention during orientation.

Two hours passed before Eddie’s stomach audibly growled; apparently, consuming his weight in miniature hot dogs was not enough to satisfy his appetite. You were starting to get hungry, too, and you’d spent the last thirty minutes saving off your hunger pangs.

“Wanna grab something to eat?” You whispered.

He nodded emphatically. “You’d think that one of these snobby rich-people schools would splurge for more food,” he said, thankfully under his breath. If someone had overheard…

Not to mention you’d be attending that ‘snobby rich-people school,’ and you were neither rich nor snobby. At least, you hoped you weren’t snobby. But did Eddie see you that way? Did he think you were keeping the relationship underwraps because of a deep-seated shame?

You bade your new friends goodbye, shot a shy smile at the professors who had spoken during the information session, and did your best to make an inconspicuous exit. 

The nearest bodega was just down the block, its shelves stocked with soon-expiring candy and various snacks. Eddie perused the aisles and stared at his options. You were much faster in your decision-making, grabbing a Crunch bar and chowing down as soon as you paid the cashier.

With Eddie still glancing between a bag of barbecue potato chips and a stick of beef jerky, you plucked the latest copy of Star from the rotating magazine stand and leafed through it. There’s no earth-shattering news–stories published in the tabloids rarely are. The most exciting story was about the upcoming Spielberg flick, one where dinosaurs roam the Earth in some sort of prehistoric zoo. You can’t help but wonder if Eddie would take you to see the movie for your third date.

You were about to close the magazine and tell Eddie to hurry up–or just buy both, and you’d foot the bill–when the bolded words in the news briefs section caught your eye.

Caleb Dalton, the lead singer and guitarist of Death’s Echo, checked into rehab after various alcohol-fueled encounters with the law. The band’s management states that they “hope to proceed with the tour” next month, though there is no word about finding a replacement.

Your mouth went dry, and you started choking on the bite of milk chocolate that hadn’t yet melted onto your tongue. Eddie looked over at you, concern etched between his drawn brows at your sudden coughing outburst.

“Wrong pipe,” you managed, closing the magazine as nonchalantly as you could and placing it back on the rack. “You ready to go?”

“Yup.” Eddie fished a dollar bill from his pocket and placed it on the counter. He was already digging into the bag of chips, blissfully unaware of what you’d just read. 

How would he react if he knew? Would he find it amusing that his replacement had already screwed up the tour? Infuriating that he’d been replaced by someone so unprofessional? Would it haunt him or would he consider it to be normal tabloid fodder?

A gut instinct told you to break the news to him—not here, but somewhere private. Somewhere he could process it without causing a public scene. The only thing worse than him finding out is him knowing that you already knew and hadn’t told him. 

Tonight, during your shift. And you could follow it up by letting him know that you were ready to tell your parents the truth. Selfishly, you were glad to have some leverage on them: Eddie would already be upset by the band’s news, so they couldn’t add to that stress by kicking him out, right? 

If only you could tell them about him accompanying you today, just to prove how serious this new relationship truly was. 

One step at a time. 

You savored every moment spent together on the trip. The beginning of rush hour had the train too crowded to find a seat and to hold onto the pole, so Eddie held you by your waist to keep you steady. You felt his lips on the back of your neck every so often, his way of reminding you that he was there amidst the chaos. 

He trusted you, and he trusted you to trust him. 

It had come innately, the way you had divulged your secret to him. Yes, he had grabbed your book and questioned your alleged hospitality studies, but you could have shut him out. Put up a wall and told him to mind his business or hit the road. 

But you didn’t. And neither had he, choosing to divulge his saddest memories to you. Had given you a friendship and then something more. His presence was something you awaited at the start of every shift, the shared conversations now far more welcome than the quiet you once craved.

He always arrived at the desk by ten o’clock, sometimes getting there before you did. You’d find him making Mom laugh or listening to one of her many stories about the plethora of bizarre guests who stayed at the motel over the years. Mom liked him–you knew she did. All you needed to do was pivot her mindset in the right direction.

So tonight, when 10:25 rolled around and Eddie was nowhere to be found, your first instinct was to knock on his door and make sure he was all right. As soon as the thought popped into your head, you dismissed it as ridiculous. He was probably tired from schlepping through Manhattan and fell asleep. He’d probably planned to take a quick nap and promptly slept through his alarm, though you didn’t hear his clock radio bleating through the paper-thin walls.

Maybe this was a sign that you shouldn’t tell him about Death’s Echo and their troubled lead singer. You’d already kept quiet about the televised arrest that you watched at the bar; what was one more secret?

But that would sabotage your plan to pander to your parents with sympathy. You couldn’t exactly take the poor Eddie route without him knowing. Maybe you could–

Eddie’s door opened, yanking your attention from your running thoughts. Your heart beat double-time. This was it. You were going to tell him about Caleb Dalton’s rehab stint, tell him everything you knew.

But the voice you heard coming from his room wasn’t his. In fact, it wasn’t even a man’s.

“Promise me you’ll think about it?” A woman asked, a slight whine in her tone.

“Y-Yeah.” Though you couldn’t see him, you could tell from his hesitation that he wasn’t completely enthused about whatever he was supposed to be thinking about. “I promise.”

A soft mwah had you seeing red. It sounded like she’d only kissed his cheek, but maybe you were only fooling yourself. If she’d kissed his lips, those same lips that you’d been kissing earlier today…

“You’re the best, babe.” Jealousy raged in your core as she spoke, and you fought to keep it from exploding throughout your body. “We’ll get you out of this shithole in no time.” She punctuated her insult with a giggle. “Call me when you have your answer.”

“Mhm. Yeah.” And then his door closed.

Who was this woman? What was she doing here? Why didn’t Mom tell you that Eddie had brought someone to his room?

You got one answer once the mystery woman walked through the lobby, not even acknowledging your existence. She wasn’t wearing the heavy makeup that you’d seen in her photo, but there was no mistaking the owner of that blonde pixie cut, heart-shaped face, and piercing blue eyes.

They belonged to none other than Death Echo’s drummer.

Who also happened to be Eddie’s ex-girlfriend. 

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98

@squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia

@kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock

@ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975

@yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts

@mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank

@sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles

@the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl

@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[barrenclan]

do you have any webcomic suggestions?

Oh, do I! :D I'll keep the descriptions short, otherwise I'll talk about each of these for a million years.

Warrior Cats:

The Average Adventures of Genericpaw - parody comic. But watch out.

The Exiled - Fishpaw. Murder mystery.

Follow Your Heart - Sootpaw. Personal drama.

Meandering - River. Slowburn romance.

Saltburn's Clan - Saltburn. Pinepaw's cool butch lesbian aunt.

Convocations - Elkmask. Political drama. Biggest inspiration to The Dog Star.

Other:

Wilde Life - supernatural dramedy.

Wychwood - magical post-apocalypse.

The Glass Scientists - Jekyll & Hyde retelling.

Tiger, Tiger - swashbuckling magic adventure.

Little Tiny Things - French slice of life.

Paranatural - ghost fighting teens. Also, the inspiration for PATFW's "journal style". Also, Hijack.

Phantomarine - magical ghost adventures.

Awkward Zombie - gamer comic strips.

Sakana - fish market dramedy. Yuudai.

Skin Deep - cryptids comedy.

Dumbing of Age - daily college dramedy. Gave me the worst hyperfixation of my life.

The Order of the Stick - D&D adventure. My favorite comic ever created.

How To Be a Werewolf - werewolf drama.

Fairmeadow - fantasy hippie drama.

Lackadaisy - bootlegger cats. You've seen the animated pilot.

The Property of Hate - TV head guy.

Too Familiar - magical animal companions.

I'm With You - goat people romance.

The Carpet Merchant of Konstantiniyya - sweet vampire romance.

XKCD - it's XKCD.

Vainglorious - dragon adventures.

Bybloemen - demons committing financial fraud. Gorgeous artwork.

Bicycle Boy - amnesiac in a post-apocalypse.

Novae - supernatural historical romance.

Never Satisfied - magical teen drama. It's on hiatus right now.

Monster Pulse - teens with magic organs.

Children of the Light - magic squirrel drama.

To Catch A Star - sparklewolves.

Cursed Lights - magical animal people drama.

What Lurks Beneath - cat cult.

Rabbit Hole - bunny cult.

Villtur & Sarx - sci fi manga.

Best of Bad Decisions, The Doe of Deadwood, Repeat, I Didn't Know - Songdog comics. Probably the most influential creator on my comics.

Crushed Olive Branch - Shadowhunters gayboys.

Broken Crown - magic kingdom adventure.

Sleight of Hand - Fallout gayboys.

What Happens Next - internet teen thriller.

Golden Shrike - deer adventure.

The Pale - Twin Peaks adjacent.

Un/Bound - magical road trip.

Apocalyptic Horseplay - modern horseman of the apocalypse.

There are many more, of course, but these are some of my favorites, and the ones I could remember at the moment.

[honeyhae-svt]

🎮Part-Time Lover | JxW 🎭 `~^\___TEASER___/^~`

JxW Fanfiction / Jeonghan & Wonwoo FF (SERIES)

Afab!Reader x Jeonghan & Wonwoo - MDNI Genre: Smut, CEO x Streamer, CEO x Employee, Gamer x Gamer, Streamer x Gamer, Streamer x Streamer, Enemies to Lovers(?), Friends to Lovers(?), Friends with Benefits, Slowburn, Angst, Romance, RomCom, Workplace Romance, Love Triangle(?), Slice of Life, Modern AU, (inspired by GAM3B01) ⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: explicit sexual content (18+, smut), alcohol consumption, mentions of drunken behavior, slight workplace power imbalance (CEO x Employee dynamic), strong language (profanity), cyberbullying/online hate (mentions of rumors, edited content), emotional manipulation (mild, e.g., jeonghan’s cold treatment), petty arguments (playful/tense, potential verbal sparring), depictions of stress/anxiety related to online and work life, light suggestive jokes/humor, mentions of romantic/sexual tension between characters, enemies to lovers-style tension (includes teasing, rivalry, jealousy), and my shitty writing (lol I hope y'all enjoy on this one) wc: 734

TEASER

🎮 "In a world where gaming isn’t just a hobby but a battlefield..." 🎭

By all accounts, your life shouldn’t be this complicated. You’ve mastered the double life effortlessly—or at least, that’s what it looks like from the outside.

By day, you’re the razor-sharp assistant to Jeonghan, a CEO whose reputation is as sleek as the tailored suits he wears. In the professional world, you’re known for your no-nonsense attitude, your precision, your ability to keep up with a man whose demands leave most people in the dust. By night, though, you’re a completely different force: Kitsunya. The streamer with a bite, whose persona is as sharp as her gameplay. You’ve carved out a name in a world that doesn’t give second chances, where every mistake—or perceived mistake—can uncover years of hard work.

And for a while, you had it all figured out. A rhythm. A balance. Two worlds, perfectly parallel, never touching. Until that night.

You don’t need anyone to remind you what happened—though your brain seems to enjoy doing it anyway. One drink too many, a kiss you didn’t mean to give, and suddenly, Jeonghan was no longer just your boss. He was the man you’d kissed. The man whose lips lingered far too long in your memory, though you can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or something else entirely.

The fallout? Silent, subtle, but impossible to ignore.

Jeonghan hasn’t spoken a word about it since. But he didn’t have to. His actions say it all: the coffee runs to nowhere, the cold detachment, the subtle but deliberate way he keeps you at arm’s length. And yet, his eyes linger. Longer than they should. As if he’s waiting for you to say something—or maybe daring you not to.

But here’s the kicker: you’re not even sure you know what you’d say.

And then, there’s Wonwoo.

Oh, Wonwoo. The thorn in your side, the bane of your streams. The gamer who seems to have made it his life’s mission to get under your skin. What started as casual teasing during streams has evolved into full-on verbal warfare, the kind that has fans pulling out popcorn and hashtags. It should be easy to dismiss him as just another troll in your life, but there’s something about him that’s… infuriatingly magnetic. You hate that you’re even thinking about him right now.

The tension between you and Jeonghan is one thing. But now, people are starting to notice the dynamic between you and Wonwoo—particularly Jeonghan. You can feel it in the way his gaze sharpens when your name comes up, the way he watches your streams a little too closely. It’s not possessiveness, not exactly. But it’s something, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the heat from it.

Then, just when you thought things couldn’t get messier, the gaming world turned on you.

A viral clip. A doctored video accusing you of hacking. In a space where credibility is everything, the hit was personal. Haters piled on, armed with accusations and hashtags, while loyal fans fought to defend you. It was chaos. But you? You handled it like you always do—with a smirk, a quip, and a gameplay session that shut them all up.

Still, the stress is starting to seep in, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep your walls intact.

And then, Seungcheol happened.

A party, he said. Just a casual get-together for streamers and friends. You’d turned him down initially—your schedule was packed, and honestly, you weren’t in the mood to socialize. But Seungkwan and Hoshi wouldn’t let up, their constant nagging somehow finding its way into your streams and DMs. By the time the weekend rolled around, you found yourself with no choice but to show up.

So, here you are.

Jeonghan’s there, of course. Polished, poised, and watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. Wonwoo’s there too, leaning against the bar with that infuriating smirk of his, as if he knows something you don’t. And the rest of your circle? Laughing, teasing, acting like life isn’t one giant chess game where every move feels loaded with meaning.

The night is young, and the air hums with the kind of energy that promises something big.

You thought boss battles in gaming were tough? This tension, unresolved feelings, and unexpected rivalries would be enough to make your hairs attached to your head fall out. Because the real game? It’s just getting started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: to make up the loss of my sudden-long vaca, i wrote this for the reader-anon who requested this ages ago (a wonwoo ff but i decided to add my lovely wife, jeonghan to the mix cause i love and miss him so fucking bad). and now, im making a teaser cause i feel bad for staying out far too long. i have a ton of works pending and im already on it cause like wtf i love writing and this has been on my head far too long. I HOPE YOU GUYS WOULD WANT TO READ THIS AND LMAO I HAVENT EVEN FINISHED OMC SERIES AND IM ALREADY MAKING ANOTHER ONE WTF ajwnruoenfguoaofa im making a masterlist, for those who wants to be added on the taglist reblog / comment on this post and you'll be automatically added ! TY FOR READING ILY GUYS SM

[keikikait]

ᴡᴀʏ ᴏᴜᴛ (ʙɪᴋᴇʀ!ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

for my other megumi fic, click here (warning - smut!)

pairing: biker!megumi x f!reader (au, both are early to mid 20's)

word count: 2k

summary: you love your new apartment, as small as it is. it's in the perfect place, right next to the train station, and is cheap as hell. the only downside? your neighbour, who revs his bike outside your window every morning.

warnings: NO SMUT!, no angst!, multi part series, kind of enemies to lovers, slowburn?, megumi is kinda rude lmaoooo, the girls are fighting!, he says sweetheart twice, reader is kinda down bad lmao

a note: sorry for the delay, i've been busy with work! also, 8 square metres is about 86 square feet :).

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

The rent was cheap. Suspiciously cheap. 

You should’ve been wary, but you didn’t have many options. After a bitter fallout with your roommate, you needed to move out quickly. You should’ve paid more attention to the listing, you realise, as you stop in front of the building and it sinks in that your new digs weren’t 18 square metres.

It was eight square metres. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have much furniture with you, needing to sell it all to afford the move. Your apartment was essentially one long, two-story hallway, just enough for your desk chair and TV. 

You get settled in quickly, trying to liven up the place by replanting your herb garden outside on your small porch. The apartment doors faced an alley, and on the other side of the alley was another apartment building. You didn’t know how much sunlight your basil would get, but that’s a problem for future you.

A problem for the current you, however, was your neighbour's motorcycle. The bike is an exact replica of the legendary Honda Super Cub that was used in the original anime Akira, and as pretty as it is, that shit is loud. His apartment is right on the edge by the sidewalk, meaning the only place he can park it is right in front of your window.

You’ve tried everything. Earplugs. Noise-cancelling headphones. Ear plugs under your noise-cancelling headphones. Sleeping with a white noise machine. Nothing works. You only moved in a month ago but you’re already sick of this mysterious man and his bike. You don’t run into each other often, catching glimpses of him as he drives off in the morning and comes home at night. You didn’t want to be that neighbour, the one that complains about every single little thing, but it was driving you mad. He revs his bike so loudly and for so long, that you’re starting to think he’s doing it on purpose.

You wake up that fateful morning and decide you’ve had enough. You wait for him to return home, hyping yourself up in the mirror before heading outside to confront him. You idle nervously in front of his front door for a few seconds before knocking. 

He answers, looking exhausted, his hair a mess from his helmet. “Yeah?” You have to admit, he’s pretty cute. Tall and lean, with bicep muscles that strain against the fabric of his black t-shirt. And you swear you can see some eyeliner smudged on his water line.

You smile, trying to come across as calm and casual, slightly flustered by how attractive he is. “Hey. I’m your new next-door neighbour,” You gesture with your thumb. “I don’t wanna be that person, but would it be possible for you to not rev your engine so loud in the morning? It’s just…it’s right by my window, and it’s really loud.”

He lets out a sigh of frustration, not exactly in the mood for what you're throwing at him. It was already 9 pm on the third day in a row that he had worked the late shift, and this was not something he needed right now. He looks at you, his expression a mixture of irritation and confusion. “Look, I'm not doing it on purpose. I park where I park, nothing is going to change that. You just moved in, this is how it's been and how it's always going to be.”

You blink, a little taken aback by how rude he was being. “I understand that, but surely I'm not the only person in the building who gets inconvenienced by your bike.”

He crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing. The last thing he wants to do after a long shift is argue with someone about something as insignificant as noise. “Look, if you don't like it, then move out. I don't see anybody else complaining. You're the only one.”

You clench your jaw. You had some experience with bikes, your ex-boyfriend being a mechanic. You knew it was possible to make the revving quieter, it just seems like he didn’t care. “Can’t you just buy a muffler silencer?”

He lets out a short, sharp laugh, one that doesn't hold a single trace of humor.  “A muffler silencer? For a Super Cub? Are you serious? That would be like asking a Ferrari to be quiet.”

“You can’t expect everyone to just be okay with how loud your bike is, man.” You say. “I’m sure it inconveniences everyone in the building, but no one wants to be the person that confronts you.”

He seems to be holding back from saying what he wants to say, taking a shallow breath. “Look. It's my bike. I can do whatever I want with it. No one else is bothered, so why should you be any different? Why do you care so much?”

“You’re not the only person who works early mornings.” You say. “You aren’t the only person in the world, you know.”

That strikes a nerve, clearly, but he still doesn't seem interested in hearing what you're saying. He just rolls his eyes, looking away at his bike for a moment before looking back at you. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but in case you haven't realised, you're not that important.”

“Neither are you.” You say impulsively. It was mean, and you didn’t like being mean, but he wasn’t giving you any other option.

He glares at you, his expression darkening. It's only for a moment, but you can see there is actual vitriol in his eyes. “Look, I'm going to make this simple for you. If you don't like the noise, then move out. That bike is not going anywhere. It has more meaning to me than you'll ever understand.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Akira meant so much to you as a kid,” You say sarcastically. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t keep doing this, man. Buy a muffler silencer.” 

He laughs, but there's a slight tinge of bitterness to it. “Oh, so it's just a cartoon to you? It’s not an influential masterpiece that changed motorcycle and animation culture forever? Okay, great. Good to know.” He is starting to get worked up, but then he shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. “Look, like I said, I am not doing anything to this bike. Not the mufflers, nothing.”

“Then park it somewhere else.” You snap. “Keep it away from my window. I don’t want to hear that shit.”

There's a flash of annoyance on his face. “There's no place to park it away from your window unless I block the sidewalk, which I guarantee you would cause more inconvenience. You're just going to have to deal with it.”

“Are you always this rude and stuck up?” The question stumbles out of your mouth before your mind can process it.

His temper flares up. He takes a step towards you, putting his hands on his hips as he glares at you. “Are you always this entitled and self-absorbed?”

You take a step back. You hate to admit it, but the way he towers over you is arousing. His cologne fills your nostrils and you find yourself getting lightheaded. It was slightly spicy, with a hint of vanilla and coffee. 

You ground yourself, swallowing hard. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. I just want us to come to a reasonable compromise.”

He glares at you, his eyes boring into you as you step back. You can feel the heat on your skin as if every drop of sweat in his body has been activated by the situation. His cologne is overwhelming you, filling your whole body. “There is no compromise to make here. You don't like the noise, tough. You're just going to have to get used to it or move out. That's it.”

Your eye twitches. “You’re such an asshole.” At this point, you didn’t feel bad being mean to him. He kind of deserved it.

He laughs, seeming almost amused by your temper. “You're one to talk. You come barging up to my apartment, demanding I make changes to my bike, and then you get mad at me when I tell you not to waste your time. Look in the mirror, sweetheart, and then come back with the right to tell me I'm an asshole.”

Fuck. You shouldn’t like the way he says sweetheart, but it causes your throat to dry up. “I tried to be nice to you,” You say. “You’re the one that got defensive and rude.”

“Nice? Maybe in your little dreamland that's what you think you were doing. Maybe you even believe that you were just being friendly and reasonable, I don't know. But in reality, all you were doing was pissing me off and acting like some sort of entitled princess.” He takes a step closer to you, his finger pointed in your face. “But one thing is certain. I’m not changing anything about my bike just to make you happy.”

He’s so close to you that it makes your head spin. You step back again, leaning against the railing surrounding his small porch. “Look, I’m sorry, but you can’t blame me for being upset.”

He doesn't seem interested in letting you off the hook yet, not when he looks so close to snapping. “It doesn't matter if you're upset or not. You don't get what you want by coming here and giving me an attitude like a fucking brat.”

You swallow hard. Fuck. You shouldn’t be attracted to this man, he was rude as hell and didn’t seem to care that he was inconveniencing not only you but everyone in the building. But you couldn’t help yourself. He was so pretty, and he smelled so good, and his voice was so nice. You were going to have to change your panties when you got back home. 

You stand up straight, trying to stay headstrong. “You’re being incredibly rude about this.”

“And you're being incredibly entitled. There's only one of us that needs to change here, and it's not me.” He narrows his eyes, his gaze still burning into you.

You lick your lips. “Look, we’re not going to get anywhere by arguing.”

He gives another one of those short, sharp laughs. He smiles, and it makes your stomach flip. “You finally said something smart. I didn’t know it was so difficult for you. Now, are you ready to accept that you're not going to get what you want, or do you want to keep wasting my time?”

Your eyes narrow. What the fuck? “Excuse me? Did you just call me dumb?”

A smirk spreads across his lips. “You heard me. Or did you need me to repeat it for you?”

You let out a sharp laugh, moving off of his porch. “You know what? Fuck you.”

He raises his eyebrow, a faint smile on his lips. ���Oh, so you've switched from demanding to insults? Real mature, aren't you?”

You head over to your apartment, laughing again. “I should’ve known trying to reason with you would be impossible.” 

He calls after you. “You're damn right it's impossible. You come here, make some demands, and then get mad when I tell you no. You're a spoiled brat who always gets her way, aren't you? Well, today's a bad day for you, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck you.” You say, holding the door to your apartment open. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” He says, smirking slightly. “I’m not into brats like you. I think you need to be taken down a few pegs. You need someone to put you in your place.”

You scoff and flip him off before slamming the door behind you, and just like that, you have given up. 

He leans against his door, crossing his arms and smiling as he watches you leave, his eyes on your ass. He’s just a tiny bit disappointed that you gave up so quickly. He's got to admit, it was pretty fun messing with you, watching how angry you get. He thought you looked cute like that, your cheeks all red and flustered.

Maybe next time…

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part two is here

dedicated to the lovely @whereflowerswenttodie

[polarolds]

hiii i js wanna know if you have any ellabs fic recommendations?

hi anon! hoo boy i definitely have a few! here are some favourites that come to mind:

Unbroken by thedreadslayer

nobody is surprised, yall know i'm a slut for this fic as i've drawn fanart for it multiple times (and still have doodles and full ass comic pages that i haven't shared to tumblr).

This is THE ellabs fic in my mind. The character moments, the dialogue, the settings, the atmosphere... the slowburn is SO well-written. it is basically tlou 3 for me because reading it really captures the feeling of playing the actual games 😭😭 still ongoing but so many chapters to enjoy. There are SO many great key moments (don't want to spoil, but i'm looking at you chapters 10, 17, 21 and 26), but even the small, quiet interactions stand out to me. have admittedly re-read it more than once,,, maybe more than twice,,,

two hands digging in each other's wounds by michirukaioh

i believe this was the first ellabs fic i've read!! and it is a classic. Love this one for the progression of the ellabs relationship, but also for dear sweet lev and his interactions with ellie. Love the big reveals towards the end of the story with a new character that is introduced - keeping it vague because of spoilers. And the beach scene near the end is chef's kiss iykyk.

i've admittedly not been keeping up well with the sequel because i've been super busy and wanted to marathon the whole thing at some point, but would recommend checking it out too! both parts are complete :)

The Way Sorrow Tastes by painted__black

really interesting premise where abby and lev show up in Jackson at the start of the story and we see how all the survivors of tlou2 deal with the fallout. the continuation of the use of abby's dreams as a manifestation of her trauma/guilt was also interesting to me. starts pretty dark and gets even darker as we move further in the story, but still very good all the same. sadly idk if the story will be continued :( one can hope

oh, and I drew something for this one too! hehe

tail lights by junewax

another goodie and i loved how Cat (a character only mentioned in tlou2) comes into play in this story. i really like the feel and atmosphere of this story idk how else to describe it - it just captures a certain vibe that i really dug yknow? completed fic.

Both Sides Now by Fuckingvideogames

AU where ellie leaves Jackson after finding out the truth about the FireFlies from Joel and stumbles into Seattle. i LOVE this concept so much and this was such an interesting read. we get some nice early ellabs moments, and also get to see ellie interact with the Salt Lake Crew. sadly another fic which i don't think will be finished, but very much still worth checking out!!

and since this post is getting kind of long, here are links to some other fics i really enjoyed!

iron to the core by houndstoothed

bone chill by houndstoothed

Afterlife by maharetr

Assumptions by inspoburst

hope you find something you like fellow ellabs-enjoying anon! :'D and thanks for the ask <3

[thearchercore]

Something I find insane is I don't remember if it was Charles or Max that said something like if they were teammates someday they wouldn't end up like Lewis and Nico. And I find insane how brocedes can be used as an example by other drivers of how being teammates can go wrong 💀. But also the respect that they must have to be certain of something like that, idk, Im reading to much into it but I was like "aw :)"

yeah! in 2018 max said he thinks him and charles would be more like lewis and seb (a very no hard feelings rivarly) rather than lewis and nico which was eventually a slowburn crash and burn situation with a very bittersweet ending.

i sometiems see a lot of people say max and charles could end up as brocedes if they were teammates but what people don't get is that they basically pulled a reverse brocedes -- they didn't talk as kids and hated each other (brocedes were best friends as children), and got closer later in their f1 career (when lewis and nico had the fallout). they only lack the teammate factor but i think it's pretty neat how many people think of charles and max as a pair even if they never were teammates.

[buginateacup]

MEGAMIND SERIES/DIRECT TO TV STYLE TRAILER thoughts?????

Okay so I woke up less than an hour ago and have watched the trailer exactly ONCE but here goes

First thoughts: Fuck yes MOVIE! Fuck yes MARCH (I was not expecting it to be that soon) Fuck Yes ROXANNE Fuck yes LADY DOPPLER Second thoughts, the animation team did an incredible job with what they had. I got the feeling it wasn't going to be on par with the movie animation because since when are direct release sequels on the same level. I would have loved more colour gradiation on Megamind's skin and for Roxanne to get more than one outfit but I'm happy with what I got and I am much more likely to consume everything in gif format once I've seen the movie so it'll be fine.

Third thoughts: Sequel movie set 5 minutes after the original was not in my weather forecast but I like it because its going to let us slowburn the megarox and not just skip past all the fallout from the first movie.

I'm here. I'm ready. I'm gonna go make sure Channel 7 still has that deal with NBCUniversal about distribution rights in australia

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch. 12

A Ghost From the Past

Prev: Ch.11 Misdirection || Next: Ch.13 Lacking in Virtue Fic Masterpost

Fic Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.

Chapter Summary: Brynjolf is used to dealing with Mercer's temper, but when an old enemy of the Guild resurfaces, not even he is prepared for the explosion that follows...or for its fallout.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence.

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 3,602

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

— — —

“You forgot to get intel from the girl before she left?” 

Brynjolf closed his hands into fists, forcing his face to remain a mask of calm. 

It was difficult; he was sore and exhausted after his long day of travel. When he’d arrived back at the Guild, he’d intended to share the good news that the payout from the Markarth job was likely to be double what they’d expected and then take a well deserved nap. Before he could get out a single word though, Mercer had asked him about the Solitude job. 

Which of course, he’d completely forgotten to get an update on before sending Ariene off to Markarth.

“What do you mean you FORGOT?!” Mercer shouted, and Brynjolf rolled his eyes.

“Is there another meaning of the word ‘forgot’ that I don’t know about?” he asked lightly, and Mercer glared at him. 

“Don’t test me right now Brynjolf, I’m not in the mood for your games.” 

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” Brynjolf said with a sigh. “We were being watched in town, and the job turned out to be just as dangerous as Ariene feared. In all the excitement, the mission to Solitude slipped my mind.”

“I seem to recall one of your main arguments for going to help her was so that we could get the intel from Gulum-Ei sooner,” Mercer snapped. 

“She had to rendezvous–”

“Rendezvous with the client in Markarth, I understand that,” Mercer interrupted. “What I don’t understand is why you failed to do the most basic part of your job and get a report from her before heading back here.”

Brynjolf didn’t answer, mostly because deep down, he knew Mercer was right. He should have thought to ask Ariene about what Gulum-Ei said before letting her ride off into the sunset, but after their near death experience and subsequent conversation, he’d been more than a little bit preoccupied.

Mercer, apparently taking Brynjolf’s silence as confirmation of his suspicions, shook his head, his face twisted with distaste. 

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” he growled. “Gallus was getting sloppy towards the end too, you know.” 

“That’s not fair,” Brynjolf protested instantly. “I told you–”

“That this won’t turn out like last time? You don’t know that,” Mercer shot back. He huffed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, regardless of our differences, I don’t want you getting a knife in the back because you got distracted.”

“She saved my life, Mercer,” Brynjolf hissed. “What, you think now she’s going to turn around and murder me?”

“More than once, I’ve been burned by someone who used to have my back,” Mercer said simply. “In this line of work, loyalty means nothing.” 

Brynjolf opened his mouth to protest more, but Mercer waved his hand dismissively. 

“I’m not saying the girl will turn traitor, Brynjolf. Just that, so far? You’re not doing a great job of proving to me that she’s not a liability.” 

“So you’re just going to ignore her record?” Brynjolf asked. “Take a look around, Mercer. The Guild is finally starting to gain some footing again, and it’s nearly all thanks to her. She’s even managed to win over Vex and Delvin. Just because she reminds you of Karliah–”

“Don’t say her name,” Mercer cut him off, his eyes flashing with anger. “This isn’t about her.”  

Brynjolf ground his teeth in irritation, biting back his urge to reply:

Yes, it clearly is. 

Instead, he took a deep breath and folded his arms, fixing Mercer with a steady look. 

“So do you not want to hear about the massive payout we got from the Markarth job, then?” 

Mercer’s expression was still glowering, but at the mention of money, he raised a curious eyebrow. 

“Payout?” 

Brynjolf’s assurance to Ariene that coin would cheer Mercer up didn’t end up ringing completely true. Mercer was still angry, and Brynjolf’s haul of septims wasn’t enough to totally soothe his temper. However, the promise of even more coin when Ariene returned was enough to spare Brynjolf any further scolding.

He retreated from the cistern, and decided that what he really needed wasn’t a nap, but a drink. He made his way into the Ragged Flagon and fell into a chair, burying his face in his hands and letting out a frustrated groan. 

Delvin looked up from his table and grimaced in sympathy. 

“Mercer’s in a mood, I take it?” he asked.

“What do you think?” Brynjolf quipped as Vekel approached with a tankard for him.

“I think that when even coin isn’t enough to calm that rotten old skeever down, then it’s in everyone’s best interest to keep clear of him for a few days,” Delvin said, and Brynjolf snorted.

He took a sip of his ale, then looked at Delvin thoughtfully. As one of the few holdovers from the time that Gallus had been Guildmaster, the old thief had been a constant in the Guild for as long as Brynjolf could remember. He knew the younger thieves in the Guild thought the same thing about him and Vex now, but that was hard for him to wrap his head around. 

Brynjolf had been only nineteen when Gallus was killed, and had only been with the Guild for a few years. Just long enough to come to idolize Gallus, Mercer, and Karliah, but not long enough to really get to know them. Delvin, meanwhile, had been one of the Guild’s top members even in those days. He was even the first person that Mercer had made a lieutenant, though he had always been firm that he didn’t want to lead anyone. A sentiment that Brynjolf hadn’t understood at the time, but now that he was a lieutenant himself, he couldn’t help but  sympathize. 

Being a thief was hard enough; it was so much more daunting when you knew that everyone else was looking to you for direction.

A thought struck him, and he found himself wanting to ask something that he’d never really considered before.

“Delvin?” he asked, and the older man looked up. “Why exactly do you think the Guild is cursed?” 

Delvin looked surprised at the question, but he leaned forward, eager to have someone listen to his theories willingly. 

“It just ain’t natural, Bryn,” he insisted. “I’ve been doing this a long time, longer than even you or Mercer. I’ve seen bad thieves, and I’ve seen bad luck. This? It’s different. It’s affectin’ every single member of the Guild, even the most experienced. Vex got made on a job, for cryin’ out loud. Vex!”

“There were over a dozen guards…” Brynjolf offered lamely, but Delvin waved his protest away. 

“Guards, yes, but guards that she should have noticed sooner than she did. The fact that she didn’t is just plain bad–” 

“Bad luck,” Brynjolf finished, and Delvin nodded. 

“Exactly. And it’s like that every time. Things that shouldn’t happen, happenin’ to folks it shouldn’t happen to. Look, I know you lot think I’m crazy, but I can feel it. Something out there is doing this to us.” 

Brynjolf thought of the crypt in Pinewatch, of the way Rigel had appeared seemingly out of thin air without either of them noticing. It had certainly felt unnatural at the time. But how on earth could you be sure of something like that? 

Delvin swirled his mug of ale thoughtfully, then he smirked at Brynjolf. 

“At least, that’s what it has been like. I can’t deny that over the last few months we’ve actually been on the up and up, for what feels like the first time in ages. Maybe that girl of yours is some kinda good luck charm.” 

“She’s not my–” Brynjolf began, and Delvin chuckled, cutting him off. 

“Don’t give me that, Bryn. Maybe it ain’t official yet, but everyone knows the two of you’ll be an item soon.”

“Are you going to scold me about it like everyone else?” Brynjolf asked tiredly, but Delvin shook his head. 

“Nah. As far as I’m concerned, she’s a good match for you. Besides, she’s nearly single-handedly pulled this Guild outta the gutter. How could I complain? A word of advice, though.” 

Brynjolf leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow.

“Vekel I could understand, but what makes you qualified to advise me on my love life?”

“Very funny,” Delvin said flatly. “Look, all I was gonna say is this: the girl’s a free spirit. And you’ve gotta be quick to make your intentions clear with ladies like that, or you’ll find that they’ve slipped through your fingers.” 

“Do I pay you to sit around and gossip?” a familiar voice growled, and Brynjolf suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. 

Mercer walked up and grabbed a piece of bread off of the plate that Vekel was bringing Delvin, before dropping one of the ledger books in front of Brynjolf. 

“Look over this, and see if your projected take on this oh so special Markarth job will allow us to pay a portion of what Maven plans to give the jarl. She’s not too happy with the idea of paying for the entire bribe herself.”   

Mercer turned and stalked out of the cistern, and Brynjolf sighed. He reached a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples, then grabbed the ledger and stood up.

“You’re not actually going to work on that now, are you?” Delvin asked.

“Gods no,” Brynjolf said. “I’m going to bed. And if Maven and Mercer are lucky, I’ll wake up sometime before the fifth era and I can finish crunching their precious numbers for them.” 

— — — 

Brynjolf did not, in fact, sleep for hundreds of years. However, he did make himself scarce around the cistern for the next several days, opting to do his accounting work from the relative privacy of what passed for his quarters down in the Ratway tunnels that surrounded the Flagon. 

Fortunately, the gold he’d brought back did provide the Guild enough extra funds to foot half of Maven’s “donation” to Mistveil Keep, and Mercer’s mood improved considerably after the guard patrols were pulled back to their normal rotations. He didn’t apologize, Brynjolf could count on one hand the number of times the Guildmaster had done that, but at least he’d cooled down enough for Brynjolf to walk through the cistern again without being treated to withering glares and backhanded remarks. 

Still, when Ariene finally returned from Markarth, Brynjolf made sure to pull her aside before she went to report to Mercer. 

“It’s my fault, not yours, lass,” he said quietly. “But Mercer’s not pleased that he’s had to wait an extra week for the news from Solitude. Tread lightly, alright?”

Ariene’s face twisted in a grimace.

“Honestly, he could be in the best damn mood of his life and he’d be more livid than a cave troll after getting this news. No sense beating around the bush.” 

“Gulum-Ei didn’t have good intel?” Brynjolf guessed, but Ariene shook her head. 

“Worse.” 

She headed into the cistern without another word, and Brynjolf followed, unease stirring in the pit of his stomach. 

Ariene marched right up to where Mercer was bent over his desk, and the Guildmaster frowned at her as she approached. 

“About damn time you got back,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Please tell me Gulum-Ei gave up some information on our buyer.” 

“He did,” Ariene said bluntly. “It’s Karliah.” 

Mercer’s head snapped up and the room went dead silent. 

“She’s the lieutenant you told me about, isn’t she?” Ariene said, looking at Brynjolf. “The one who murdered Gallus?”

“Aye, lass,” Brynjolf said quietly. “If she’s back…” 

His blood ran cold at the thought.

“You’re absolutely certain?” Mercer asked, his voice low and dangerous, and Ariene nodded. 

“Gulum-Ei acted as a go-between for her with Aringoth, though he swore up and down he didn’t know it was her until after he’d agreed to broker the sale.” 

Mercer swore and slammed his fist down on his desk, and Brynjolf didn’t miss the way Ariene flinched before quickly regaining her composure. 

“Damn that Dunmer to Oblivion! I hoped we’d never have to cross paths with her again, but it seems she won’t be satisfied until she’s destroyed the Guild for good. Did Gulum-Ei have any information about her current whereabouts?” 

“Nothing concrete,” Ariene said carefully. “But apparently she told him she was going ‘where the end began.’ I pressed him for details, but he insisted that’s all he knows.”

“Where the end began…” Mercer repeated, his face darkening. 

He began to pace back and forth behind his desk, muttering the phrase to himself over and over. Ariene glanced at Brynjolf, a questioning look in her eyes, but he could only shrug in confusion.

“There's only one place that could be,” Mercer said finally. “The place where Karliah killed Gallus over twenty years ago…a ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum.” 

“That’s a few hours north of Windhelm, right?” Brynjolf asked, and Mercer nodded absently, still muttering to himself. 

“I’m the only one left who knows all Karliah’s techniques, all her skills. If she manages to take me out…” He looked up sharply. “We have to go out there and stop her before she does anymore damage.” 

“We as in…?” Ariene asked hesitantly, and Mercer glared at her.

“As in you and me, obviously. We’re going to go out there together and kill her. That should put a stop to any more of her attempts to bring the Guild down.”

“Mercer,” Brynjolf cut in, unable to hold his tongue any longer. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Mercer snapped. “This needs to be done, and I won’t hear any argument otherwise.”

“Aye, and I’m not saying it doesn’t, but the two of you can’t go on your own.” 

“I think you’ll find I can do whatever I damn well please, Brynjolf.” 

“This is Karliah we’re talking about, for Shor’s sake!” Brynjolf exclaimed. “She killed Gallus, and she almost killed you! Vex and I should–”

“I don’t need you to remind me what she’s done,” Mercer interrupted, shooting him a withering look. “I am well aware of exactly how capable she is.” 

“So don’t rely on one new recruit for your backup,” Brynjolf insisted. 

“A recruit who’s proven herself capable in combat multiple times over.”  

A part of Brynjolf urged him to back down. He argued with Mercer often, but he could always tell when it was best to put his own concerns aside in favor of the Guildmaster’s will. It wasn’t exactly good for morale if the underlings saw the Guild’s head and second in command fighting over decisions. This would ordinarily be the type of argument where he had to swallow his pride and concede. 

And yet, this time he found that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“Not three days ago you were complaining that she was a liability,” Brynjolf pressed. “Now you want her to help you hunt down Karliah?”  

“She’s a liability for you, Brynjolf,” Mercer growled. “I’ll be just fine. Which is it, exactly? That she’s a competent thief who deserves my respect, or a green recruit who has no business putting herself in danger? It seems to me the answer is whichever is more convenient for you in any given argument.” 

Brynjolf’s face burned, more from anger than embarrassment, though he could feel the eyes of everyone in the cistern on the two of them as they argued.

“You’re making a mistake,” he insisted, forcing himself to ignore the staring. “This isn’t just another job. Leave the lass behind and let me and Vex come with you.” 

“Karliah is trying to destroy the Guild! I’m not putting my best lieutenants in her path.” 

“You’re too close to this, Mercer,” Brynjolf hissed. “You’re not thinking straight. You shouldn’t–” 

“I am your GUILDMASTER!” Mercer roared. “I’ve made my decision, and you are in NO position to question me!”

The shout echoed around the cistern, and any murmuring from the other Guildmembers stopped instantly. Brynjolf and Mercer openly glared at each other, but before things could escalate further, Ariene’s voice cut through the rising tension. 

“It’s fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll go.” 

“Damn right you will,” Mercer spat without taking his eyes off Brynjolf. “Get your things ready and meet me at the stables within the hour.” 

Brynjolf felt a muscle jump in his jaw, but he didn’t speak or break their eye contact, and eventually Mercer turned and stomped out of the cistern. Brynjolf had half a mind to march right out after him, but Ariene’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

“Don’t,” she said quietly. “It’s not worth it.” 

“It’s not right,” Brynjolf said through gritted teeth, and Ariene shrugged, flashing a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but came off as slightly manic.

“Well, look at it this way,” she said, her voice full of false cheer. “Maybe after this, he’ll stop seeing me as a liability.”

She turned and started walking towards the Flagon, and Brynjolf winced.

Damn you, Mercer.

“You don’t have to do this, lass,” he said, falling into step beside her.

“Actually, I do,” Ariene said, ducking through the passageway and into the dingy tavern. “I think he’d kick me out of the Guild altogether if I refuse him.” 

Brynjolf shook his head immediately. 

“I wouldn’t let that happen. Mercer may be too dense to see it, but you’re one of the best we have.”

“I can’t let you use up all your good will with him on my account,” Ariene protested. “You’ve done enough for me already. Syndus!” 

The last was to the fletcher who kept shop beside the Ragged Flagon, who looked up as they approached his alcove. Ariene pulled a coin purse from the satchel at her side and held it up for him to see.

“I need fresh arrows. Two quiverfull.” 

The Bosmer quickly filled her order, and she pulled out a few coins from the purse and handed them over. She turned to Brynjolf and held out the rest of the purse to him. 

“Here. The profits from Markarth. I didn’t get a chance to report to Delvin, but tell him that Endon is happy to open whatever doors are necessary in the city. With any luck, we’ll be able to use the foothold there to start operating more in Haafingar.” 

Brynjolf took the purse, not missing the way that Ariene didn’t quite meet his eyes as she spoke. 

“Are you certain about this, lass?” he asked in a low voice. “Karliah’s too damn smart to let slip where she was going by accident…this is more than likely a trap.”

Ariene sighed, running a hand through her dark hair. 

“I know, but that’s a chance we'll have to take. Mercer is an asshole, but he’s also right. Putting more of the Guild’s leadership in harm’s way than is necessary doesn’t make tactical sense. It’s…it’s better for everyone if I’m the one to go.” 

Brynjolf moved without thinking, stepping forward and taking one of her hands in his. She startled at the touch, but she didn’t pull away. 

“You’re not expendable, lass,” he said softly. “You know that, right? I– the Guild needs you in one piece as much as it needs me or the other lieutenants.” 

Ariene’s looked from where their hands were joined up to Brynjolf’s face. Reflected torchlight danced in her eyes, so deep and blue that he felt as though he could drown in them, and he felt his pulse quicken.

“The Guild needs me?” she repeated, her voice low, and he swallowed. 

Standing inches apart, it was like all rational thought flooded from his mind in an instant. Absently, he reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and he let his hand linger beside her face. It would be so easy to cup her cheek, lean forward and…

The creak of a door and sudden footsteps cut through the silence, and the two jumped apart on instinct. Brynjolf dropped her hand, wondering briefly if he was imagining the flicker of disappointment on her face. 

Damn this sewer’s lack of privacy!

“Well. Good luck, lass,” he said lamely.

She nodded, swinging one of the quivers of arrows she’d bought over her shoulder. The movement made her knapsack shift, and he saw the empty space on her belt where her steel dagger had sat. 

On impulse, he reached for his own belt, unbuckling the sheath of the dagger on his left side. He held the weapon out to her hilt first, and her eyes widened. 

“Here. To replace the one that broke in Pinewatch,” he said.

“I– Brynjolf, I can’t accept that. It was a gift!”

“A gift from Gallus,” Brynjolf agreed. “If you’re going out to avenge him, you may as well take a piece of him with you.”

Reluctantly, Ariene took the dwarven blade and strapped it into place. The silence between them stretched into awkwardness as she fiddled with the straps and straightened the sheath. 

“I guess I should go,” she said eventually. “Don’t want to keep the Guildmaster waiting.” 

She turned to leave, but before she could walk away, Brynjolf called after her. 

“Ariene.”

She looked back at him, and his breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t explain why, but he felt he had to say something before she left, something important, but for once in his life he couldn’t find the right words.

“Just…come back to me in one piece, alright lass?” 

She smiled, though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Of course I will,” she said. “You still owe me a drink, remember?”

— — —

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