#that would probably stave off my madness for at least a few hours

[comediakaidanovsky]

lol i love dealing with a devastating "reorganization" at work while simultaneously waiting to hear exactly how terminal my parent's cancer is while simultaneously having a massive chronic illness flare up that leaves me barely conscious this week is great

[kores-pomegranate]

This is about to be me, shouting into the void.

I have a neurodivergent six year old daughter. She’s the light of my life but also s u c h a hard kid sometimes.

I’m a mental health therapist and over the holidays (on Christmas Eve, actually), our office building flooded and pretty much got destroyed, so I have been working from home since then.

My kid expressed to us a lot that she really hates going to after school care, so I worked it out to be able to pick her up every day. She had to spend a couple of hours at the office before I’m done, but she’s normally pretty chill with her tablet and some snacks. Since I’ve been working from home, I’ve still been picking her up as normal, and just going straight home. Her attitude has really sucked lately, probably due at least in part to all of the change and transition.

I have been beyond stressed lately, between trying to make everything work with my clients, dealing with new head meds (recently diagnosed with cyclothymia which is a form of bipolar), staving off depression from feeling as though I never leave my house, dealing with an absolutely wretched roommate, and trying to be present for a spouse who is also struggling with his mental health.

A few hours ago my kiddo absolutely lost her shit because her tablet screen cracked. I was in session when it happened, but I’m pretty sure she hit it on something out of anger. I really feel like the natural consequence of her tablet being completely busted is punishment enough, and I told my spouse that I didn’t think it was intentional destruction.

I really feel like he would have hugely overreacted if I told him she broke it out it out of anger. She’s expressed before that she’s really scared of getting in trouble and feels like he is always mad at her, so I made kind of a snap decision to bypass that.

All of that to say, she has already been a l o t lately and that has amped up due to this incident. I feel completely exhausted and depleted and a little alone. I have a constant sense that I’m taking care of a lot of people, and no one is really available or able to take care of me?

[sunshinetaehun]

Do As I Say

⇢ pairing: yoongi x reader ⇢ genre: smut / pwp ⇢ word count: 3.1k ⇢ warnings: cursing, dirty talk, dom!yoongi, humiliation kink, praise kink, voyeurism, mutual masturbation, oral sex (m + f), edging, orgasm denial, deep throating like real deep, kinda breath play i guess, honestly just pure filth pwp

(A/N: okay so this might just be the single filthiest smut ive ever written but hey ho its 3am and i am weak for dom!yoongi x) 

‘Take it off.’ Yoongi’s voice was harsh and demanding as he sat back on the chair in the corner of his bedroom. He looked almost god-like, sitting there in his grey suit, loosening his tie slightly but never removing his darkened gaze from you. You wanted to move your hands, to follow what he was saying but you felt frozen in place, your heart racing faster than you’d ever felt it before. ‘Now.’ 

His tone was sharp and you could feel how wet you were between your legs even while standing still. At his word you unzipped your dress, one you bought especially for this date night, and let it pool on the floor at your feet. You stood there in only your panties, remembering that you chose to go without a bra tonight purely because your dress looked better without. The coldness of the winter evening not even registering to you as your entire body was heated by your arousal and probably by the intensity of Yoongi’s eyes as he took you in. His tongue darted across his lips as he admired you slowly and if you weren’t so turned on at that moment, you’d have felt too insecure to be standing there in the middle of a room almost completely naked. 

You’d been dating Yoongi for a few months now and yes, you’d slept with him. You’d slept with him a lot actually. You knew he was quite rough in the bedroom, surprisingly unlike his quiet and soft mannerisms in everyday life. No, during sex he didn’t shy away from choking you, spanking you, whispering filthy words in your ear as he pounded you from behind but this… this was something else. You’re not sure what brought it on but all throughout your date night, he’d been looking at you with such an intensity, you weren’t sure if he was mad at you or if he was thinking about fucking you on the floor of the extremely fancy restaurant. The way he kissed you as soon as you got back to the car, the way he pulled your hair hard as he tilted your head back to mark your neck confirmed the latter. You decided quite fast that you definitely enjoyed this side to Yoongi. 

‘On the bed.’ He nodded towards the bed as he spoke, his face seemingly emotionless except for the ever-growing lust in his dark eyes. You did what he said without question, laying on the bed, legs crossed and leaning back on your elbows to look at him expectantly. He looked gorgeous as always but now more than ever. His hair was slightly ruffled from the make out session you’d had when you entered his building, his chest rising and falling heavily indicating his arousal just as much as the obvious bulge in his trousers. But yet he made no attempt to move towards you. 

You frowned as you looked at him, expecting him to at least make a move to remove some of his clothing. Here you were, down to only your panties and he’s sat in a full suit, ‘Aren’t you co-’ A small shake of his head answered your question. 

‘No, not just yet. Just do as I say.’ You nodded instinctively to which a small smile appeared on his lips. You felt a burst of pride in your chest at the sight, something you’d never felt before and it confused you but simultaneously you felt a jolt of electricity in the pit of your stomach. ‘Let me watch you touch yourself?’ His words were masked as a question but his tone of voice indicated it wasn’t really a question, more of a demand much like everything else he’s told you to do. 

There must have been a degree of uncertainty on your face at his words because his face softened, though his eyes still remained dark and lustful as they trained on you. ‘I just want to watch you make yourself feel good. I want to see how wet you are for me, baby. I want to see what I do to you without even touching you. Is that okay?’ His voice was deep, almost raspy and laced with arousal and you could feel yourself getting wetter at just his words. You were confident that there must be a damp patch on your underwear by now, your brain clouded with thoughts of the man in the chair in front of you and you didn’t even realise you were nodding until he spoke again. ‘Good girl, you’re so fucking beautiful. Take them off and open your legs, let me see your pussy.’

The softness had gone from his voice again now, only pure want dripping off of every syllable. You felt an unusual level of pride when he called you beautiful, so different to how you felt when he said even just hours earlier. And with that, you did exactly as he asked, pulling your panties off and throwing them to the floor while spreading your legs, facing directly towards him. You used your hands to spread yourself open, running your fingers between your folds to feel just how wet you were. When you removed your hands, a thin string of your wetness trailed from your entrance to your fingers and you brought it up to your mouth, sucking your fingers clean while keeping your eyes trained on Yoongi. 

For just that one moment, you felt as though you were the one in charge. As though you were the one making him sit there and not touch you while you touched yourself. It could have been the look of pure admiration and desperation on his face, the way he licked his lips as you sucked on your fingers as though he was trying to taste you as well. Either way it didn’t last long. ‘Look how wet you are, just for me. I haven’t even had to touch you yet and you’re dripping.’ You could feel heat rush to your cheeks and into your core, arousal and embarrassment were two emotions you never thought would go well together but there you were. ‘Touch your pu- my pussy.’ He didn’t have to ask twice, his choice of words making your head spin with want for him. In that moment, with him sitting across from you making no attempt to move, your pussy did belong to him. Your entire being belonged to him. 

Your fingers reached down to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in the way you always did when you were on your own and the feeling of finally having some kind of stimulation made you throw your head back with a loud moan of satisfaction. ‘Keep looking at me.’ Yoongi snapped and your head shot back up to him as you found a comfortable rhythm that was already making the knot in the pit of your stomach feel tight. Oh god, you were going to end up cumming alone in bed while your date sat on a chair watching you and the embarrassment itself somehow was pushing you even closer to the edge. 

Through lust-blurred vision, you were able to focus on Yoongi enough to see that he was palming himself through his suit trousers; other hand gripping onto the chair arm as he kept his gaze locked on your pussy. His low growls of pleasure were almost too much for you as you pushed one finger inside yourself followed by another. ‘Don’t cum before I say so.’ Yoongi demanded, his hands now reaching into his trousers to pull out his cock; red and leaking at the tip. 

The sight itself was enough to almost make you cum so you slowed down your movements to stave off the inevitable. Though even slowed down, it wasn’t enough to pull yourself away from the edge. Not when you were watching him languidly stroke his cock in time with your fingers pushing into yourself, his hips gently thrusting up into his hand each time. ‘Yoongi, I don’t think I-’

‘Don’t you dare fucking cum before I say so.’ There was a harshness to his voice that you hadn’t yet heard tonight, a tone that really made you think twice about disobeying him but also made you rub your clit faster because it was so damn sexy to hear him talk to you like that. He let out a groan, loud and low as he got lost in the pleasure of his own hand and you watched as he threw his head back, a small droplet of sweat dripping down his neck as his chest rose and fell rapidly. It was too much, you were almost at the point of no return. ‘Don’t fucking-’

Too late. ‘I-I can’t, I’m cumming. I’m sorry.’ The words ‘I’m sorry’ repeated under your breath like a prayer as your orgasm washed over you. An overpowering feeling that made your vision go blank and you felt as though you were floating, no sounds except the low moans from Yoongi as he stroked himself across from you. When you came back, you were still muttering ‘I’m sorry’ through breaths even though you weren’t even slightly sorry. That was the single best orgasm of your life. 

Before you even had a chance to re-familiarise yourself with the room, to check if Yoongi had also let go, he was hovering over you. He’d lost his jacket but the rest of his clothes were very much still on his body as he gently kissed your lips. The feeling of finally being able to touch him after so long made you moan, your hands naturally going to tangle in his hair as his tongue pushed into your mouth and he pushed his hips into yours. His trousers were still on but pushed down slightly, just how they were when he was touching himself opposite you so you could feel the skin of his hard cock pressed against your lower stomach. He hadn’t cum at the same time as you and the knowledge made your body automatically start preparing for round two. 

Yoongi began peppering soft kisses all over your face, nibbling his way down to your neck, focusing on certain areas in particular with sucking motions before moving on to this next. This was bliss. The softness of his touch after the way he had treated you before. Just what you needed after your orgasm, though the guilt of not doing as he asked was still nagging at the back of your mind. He clearly didn’t mind too much though. ‘Was that nice baby?’ He asked softly before his mouth settled on your breast, sucking and nibbling on the skin before focusing on the nipple. You nodded your head with a hum of agreement at his words, sighing happily as his mouth worked your other breast with just as much skill. 

And then suddenly his mouth wasn’t on you anymore, you opened your eyes and his eyes were dark again, filled with even more lust than before if that was even possible. He sat up straight before speaking and it took all your effort to keep your eyes fixed on his when you wanted more than anything to stare at his thick cock sticking out from the waistband of his trousers. You wanted him inside you so bad. ‘You were doing so well but you didn’t do what I asked. You ruined my fun.’ Yoongi spoke in a soft, yet condescending tone before his hand came down unexpectedly to slap at your still sensitive pussy. Just one slap was enough to make you yelp and close your legs to which he chuckled darkly, pushing them open again with such force you had to bite back a moan. 

You watched with an open mouth as he slowly moved down the bed, positioning his head between your legs before looking up at you as he kissed at your inner thigh. A small tut of disapproval fell from his lips. ‘Cumming like that at just the sight of my cock and now look at you. Already desperate for more, aren’t you?’ Yoongi asked and you nodded with a whimper at his words. ‘Beg me. Beg me to eat your cunt like a whore.’ You felt your cheeks heat up with shame at his request but that didn’t stop you. If anything it spurred you on - you made a mental note to look further into this new-found kink. 

‘P-please Yoongi, please make me cum again. I n-need to feel your mouth on my pussy, I j-just need you to touch me. Please, I need to-’ Your words were cut off by your own loud moan as his mouth attacked your pussy with no warning. His mouth circled your entrance gathering up your juices from your previous orgasm as his fingers worked on your clit, a soft yet fast pace that made your legs shake and your head spin. It didn’t take much to work you up to your second orgasm, your whole body alight with sensitivity from both the events of the night and the aftershock of the last orgasm. You could feel the knot tightening again and your body began to tense. This was it, just one more little- and then nothing. 

You whined loudly in frustration as all at once, Yoongi moved both his hands and his mouth away from you. You felt as though you could scream as you tried to push your thighs together, knowing even the slightest friction could push you over the edge. But Yoongi held your legs open firmly until you came down from the edge. He was smirking at you, shaking his head slowly as he let go of your legs and stood up from the bed. Finally, he pushed his trousers down, cock springing free and making part of his white shirt translucent with the precum leaking from the tip. 

‘Bad girls don’t get to cum twice.’ Yoongi stated matter of factly as he stepped towards you, grabbing your hair and pulling you to sit upright. You were looking up at him with pleading eyes, apologising as best you could without actually saying anything. ‘Look at me like a desperate slut all you want, you ruined my fun so I am going to ruin yours. Now on your knees and open wide.’ He speaks slowly and you know to do as he says, his mouth opening slightly in demonstration for what he wants you to do. 

Yoongi didn’t give much warning before he pushed his cock into your mouth, his hands still laced in your hair as he slowly moved your head onto him. You relaxed your throat as he kept going, coughing slightly around his length because while you’d deep-throated before, you hadn’t had a cock this wide all the way back there. Your eyes watered at the feeling of his cock stretching out your throat and as you looked up at him, teary eyed and obviously an absolute wreck, you felt him twitch in your mouth at the sight.

‘Such a beautiful whore, taking my cock down your throat so good.’ You felt warmth in your body at his words, pride oozing out of you, humming with satisfaction around him that made him growl animalistically in pleasure. With that he began to pump his cock between your lips, each time hitting the back of your throat to the point you were almost choking but he held your head in place. The noises he made were all worth it, you’d never heard him so primal - chasing after his orgasm without any other care in the world. He was using you and your mouth and you didn’t care. Not in the slightest. 

And then his cock was buried deep in your throat again, your nose pressed against the fabric of his white shirt and your face now wet with tears. You weren’t crying, just a natural reflex to the back of your throat being hit repeatedly. Yoongi held you there, his cock bottomed out in your mouth as he smiled down at you. His left hand stroked your cheek lovingly while the other lightly slapped your cheek, making you moan in shock and he hissed through his teeth at the pleasure. Suddenly, he was using the free hand to hold your nose and it was a little impossible to breathe with that and his cock blocking your airways. You’d told him when you first started dating that one of your kinks was light breath-play but you’d never imagined it like this. He was fucking perfect; everything he did, even now when you’re lightheaded from being unable to breathe around him, he was softly stroking your face as though were the most delicate thing in the world and you had never felt more cherished in your life. ‘Does it feel good to choke on my cock?’ He asked gently and you hummed softly, eyes fluttering closed. He moaned as he let go of your nose, pulling out of your mouth just long enough for you to get your breath back before he resumed his regular fucking of your mouth, his movements becoming more erratic and his breathing became heavier. 

Yoongi held your head in place as he groaned loudly, his cock hit the back of your throat with final thrust and you had to fight back a cough as your throat was coated with his warm sticky juices. He pulled out of your mouth slowly, painting your lips with the cum left leaking out of his tip almost as one final display of humiliation before his gaze softened. You licked your lips slowly, making sure to take in every last drop of his cum and honestly hoping to keep the mood going so you could get some form of relief from your aching pussy. ‘My god, you’re so fucking gorgeous babe.’ He breathed and his voice was normal, laced with tiredness but no longer deep and slurred with lust. He was done. 

You watched with dismay as he undid his shirt and tie, lazily dropping them to the floor before he let himself fall onto the bed beside you, pulling you back down to lay with him. He placed tired kisses along your collarbone for a while, muttering words of praise that still made your heart flutter not even in the heat of the moment. ‘Yoongi?’ You asked him once his kisses had died down and his breathing was slow and heavy beside you. He hummed sleepily in acknowledgement. ‘Am I allowed to cum yet?’

Despite his half-asleep state, Yoongi still managed a little laugh. ‘Maybe tomorrow.’ He muttered, snuggling closer to you, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist as he buried his face in your neck. ‘Bad girls don’t get to cum twice.’

[katsrnerstories]

BillDip SlowBurn FanFic Chap. 1

Bill had destroyed Dipper's mind.

It has been a few years since weirdmageddon. Since Dipper and Mabel defeated demons from hellish planes of existence and saved the world and their friends from soul and mind crushing madness.  

Dippers a freshman in college now. It was a moment that he had wished for for years. Highschool had been…

Well it wasn't the worst it could have been. Dipper hit a major glow up around the beginning of junior year (with Mabel's help of course) and life was a little easier. He was asked out on dates, went to a few parties here and there that people dragged him to, had some typical highschool fun in the city...

Until around that same time he started getting replies from colleges his senior year, he started to see Bill again. Every once in a while his mind would wander back to that summer, but it was always the good things or nightmares of the horrors they saw.

It started with just a little glimpse here and there. An eye in the back corner of his periphery, some yellow glimpse in a dark room. 

A ghostly hand on his shoulder.

But these things were nothing to the first time Dipper realized something was wrong.

Dipper saw Bill in his dreams. And those dreams were beyond nightmares.

He had had nightmares before. Nightmares of weirdmageddon were common for both dipper and Mabel. But these… these were real; as much as a dream could be.

Because of Gravity Falls, Dipper really wasn't afraid of a lot of things that would have scared him. The unknown was comforting to him. Maybe because it wasn't too unknown to him and Mabel.

But bill. During those nightmares, brought everything he feared to the frontlines. 

It had been a while since Mabel and him shared a room, so Mabel really didn't know about the fear Dipper experienced those nights. 

She was more focused on getting to LA.

She wants to be a criminal psychoanalyst. To look at the minds of people and figure how they tick. Criminals especially. 

Dipper could swear that Bill had done something to her to make her go down such a dark career path, but he couldn't say anything; he neither had a psychology degree nor was untouched by Bill himself.

Who really knows, it could have been anything else that happened to her in those hellish four years of highschool. 

She had moved away quickly after highschool ended to learn in LA. Of course they facetime and text all the time, but the separation was still felt by both of them.

Everyone missed her presence. Her positivity, her unique personality. 

That had transformed into something much darker come junior and senior year. She found out after a few failed boyfriends that she was not only Asexual, but that guys and even girls, can’t seem to give that part of a relationship up. Some even found it offensive that she felt that way.

Dipper went back to oregon. Of course he was in the city, but on weekends he would visit the Mystery Shack and Gravity Falls. 

Soos was happy to give him one of the rooms in the basement. Sometimes even Grunkle Stan or Grunkle Ford would visit. 

They decided shortly after Dipper and Mabel left that they would travel. Of course Ford's labs still sit under the mystery shack, but when Mabel and Dipper visited Soos the summer of their junior year Ford gave them full control of the labs (as long as Dipper kept everyone safe. Which he did too much annoyance of Mabel)

Soos and his wife at that time had just had a little baby boy, and now have a comfortable four kids, two boys and two girls (three of them were triplets) and run the shack not to much better than Stan did, with the same soul in the campy attractions and overpriced merchandise. 

Wendy is in her senior year at a community college in Oregon city, right around the same place Dipper decided to go to school. They hang out pretty regularly, just around weekly.

Robby left gravity falls as soon as he got his GED. Went for New York, looking for a punk career. He sends Wendy emails every once in a while about his music and where he's at. 

Shockingly, Pacifica stayed in Oregon, going to the same college Dipper goes to. They see each other, and after leaving her family, she found a lot out about herself and became a much better person. 

She found she loved a good smoke and art. Apparently, something she hid from the world was that she loved art. She was probably one of the best artists Dipper had seen. After she left the hell hole of her family, she became really chill. Calm. even nice. 

Her and Dipper have coffee pretty much every day. She was one of the only people who also knew what he had gone through.

And she was the only person who noticed as Dipper got worse and worse for wear. 

Bill had been particularly evil the past few weeks, taking much more joy in Dippers struggle. Long ago Dipper had just sort of given up on screaming for Bill to stop. But he always refused to make a deal with him to stop the fear. Not again. 

“Another nightmare again?” Pacifica asks, as Dipper requests 5 shots of caffeine in his already bitter caffeinated black coffee. 

“Yeah. it's getting harder and harder to say no every night. And honestly the empty dorm isn't helping.” 

“Why don't you just move in with me? I've got an extra room that's got your name written on the door if you want it.” 

Dipper almost accepted, but decided against it. It was kind of weird, no matter how good of friends they were, to live with the ex that made you realized you were gay.

It wasn't her fault, it was just…

He liked a different kind of ass, as Mabel had said when he came out.

No, the daily overpriced coffee meetup was enough. 

“Have you talked about it to Ford? Hes got to know something about it if he went through the same thing?” 

“I don't want to bother them with it. They thought they got rid of Bill that summer, we all did. Bills my problem now.”

Pacifica gives him a knowing look. She knew that he was breaking, but couldn't figure out how to help him. 

“Hows journalism?” Pacifica takes her coffee as she changes the subject.

“As boring as it ever is. Graphic design?”

“As confusing as ever.” Dipper takes a big sip from his steaming coffee. It's a briskly cold morning, enough he brought out his knit set Mabel had made for him on their 18th birthday. He had no shame in wearing it, and it in fact felt comforting today, to know that she was still with him in heart at least.

She never grew out of her sweater thing. She still makes sweaters, using it to get her to the next rent payment sometimes. Everyone can count on a big box with sweaters from her every Christmas here in Oregon. 

With their coffees in hand, Dipper and Mabel head off to campus. And once they made it there they said their goodbyes with a hug and went their separate ways to start the day. 

Dipper wanders into the lecture hall for his advanced maths class. People filter in as he types away on his computer. 

The students around him wanted to be scientists, economists, etc. everyone found it weird that a creative writing major was not only taking advanced maths, this early in the morning, but was killing it. His grades spoke for themselves. 

The class starts and Dipper still types away on his computer. He had been bored the night before as he was staving off sleeping and had read a chapter ahead in their textbook. He taught himself the three hour lesson that day in an hour. 

It was no doubt that Dipper took after his great uncle Stanford. Grunkle Ford told him at one point that Dipper reminded him of a young Dr. Fiddleford. Dipper didn't really like being compared to the scientist that started a whole cult under Gravity Falls before going batshit crazy himself for a very long time.

He only hoped that he wouldn't end up like him. He didn't want to be some crazy man who roams the town. 

Dipper had a story that he needed to finish for his next class. He had started to wear away the stories of Gravity Falls with his creative writing classes that he now had to actually think about what story to write. Mabel helped him out with the premise of the story last night. So he spent that class writing a simple flash fiction of one roaming the backrooms. (an urban legend Mabel had read about in an article somewhere.)

He found comfort in knowing that one thing did not exist to him. That one thing did not sit in the pits of Gravity Falls waiting for Dipper or one of them to unearth it.

The story reminded Dipper of falling through the endless pit just outside the Mystery Shack. A hole where they reminisced on days of the summer as they spent the day, or who knows how long, falling. they were all lucky that it was not, truly, endless. 

And quickly the story was finished and the class closed early. 

Dipper went for an early lunch. He scrolls through his phone, seeing Mabels three new instagram posts and all the other people she introduced him to. 

After Mabel found out Dipper was gay, she went on a mission to hook him up with some LA guy. Oregons not terrible with their acceptance, but it's not something to be very open about. Plus Dipper wasn't the kind to walk pride without someone like Mabel hyping the both of them up. Because god knows that she needs just as much hyping up with who she is as Dipper.

When he walks into his empty apartment, anxiety wells up in Dippers chest. Quickly he turns on the TV, letting it run as white noise as he makes his lunch. The apartment had been empty since his recent relationship ended. Dipper is glad it ended, as the abuse just got too much; yet it was bad for Dipper to be left alone with his thoughts. Especially in an apartment that seemed to hold so much sadness and bad memories.

Mabel, after helping Dippers style, had made him a whole cookbook for him. It had all different kinds of foods, but the main dishes all were healthy. She had gone on a fitness rampage her sophomore year and had never truly grown out of it. It was from a bad place, but she turned it to a positive. As she always does. 

She had told him that it was the first thing other than sleep to keep alive longer. She had made him promise that he would try to stay alive. 

At this point it was the only thing keeping Dipper alive. 

Bill had taxed his mind so much it was rare to find him not paranoid. Bill made Dippers anxiety beyond chronic, and the lack of sleep did not help his depression. 

That had developed after Pacifica. It wasn't because of the break up, more at the fact that she had helped him so much. 

She had accepted him being gay. She had helped him gain friends during their relationship, and she even helped him when money wasn't the best. 

All this caused his anxiety to get to his head. 

What if they think I’m evil for breaking it off with her? What if she'll never want to see me again? What if, what if, what if…

His depression had just gotten  worse after the breakup and dealing with being alone again. It was the reason Dipper stayed with someone like that for so long. 

All of the depression and anxiety ended up crashing down at the same time Bill Cypher ended up crashing into the picture. 

At that point Bill only came to terrorise Dipper a few nights a month. It was easier to deal with.  Now it's every night.

Dipper finishes making his food, sitting down in front of the TV to watch a show on Netflix. 

He had been getting through the true crime shows. He swore that eventually he'd eventually either run a show like it with Mabel or be one of the cold cases lost to the world. 

Yet within only a few minutes Dipper not only found himself asleep, but stuck in the mindscape. 

“Been trying to avoid me, Pine Tree?”

Dipper no longer was shocked by Bill's voice. In fact the more and more he heard his voice, the more and more it began to sound almost human.

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

Final Fantasy: At Lucis End - CH 3

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV, Final Fantasy 

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Original Female Character(s) 

AO3

Masterlist

Summary:

    A treaty. A light at the end of the tunnel that King Regis had been staring down for years. A proposal. A wedding that stands to save the lands. A betrayal. That could tear it all down. And a love. So strong yet so torn.

    The war between Lucis and Niflheim could come to an end, but much will have to be sacrificed along the way. And in the end, would it even be enough? Would the loss of life, love, and family be enough to save the people of Lucis? Or will it all come crumbling down in the end?

*** MY WORK IS NOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER SITE WITHOUT MY EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION. THOUGH REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE SUPER LOVED AND APPRECIATED! THANKS FAM!***

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

Chapter 3

     “What did you do to her?!”

     Noctis was standing off to the side of the Regalia at the rest stop, Ignis filling up the car while Gladio and Ara remained inside, and Prompto paced circles around him while he yelled. 

     “She won't talk to me, she won't look at me,” he named off as he counted on his hands, then flailed them wildly as he came to stop in front of him, “and I asked her three times to play Dungeons and Daemons with me, and everytime she said no. She always plays Dungeons and Daemons with me! What did you do?! You broke her!"

     Noct crossed his arms over his chest and brought a hand up to pinch his nose, “It's… Nothing, I did nothing.”

     “Obviously something,” he raised his brows, “this is not her, she's not like this, I've never seen her like this. Are you guys fighting? You never fight, is that it?”

     “I…” he waved a hand, “Yeah, I guess so, kind of, not that it's my choice.”

     “Why? What are you fighting about?”

     “We-”

     “This is ridiculous,” Prompto shook his head, “I mean, you guys don't fight, you just don't, so why can't you just get over whatever it is and move on already-”

     “We’re fighting over the wedding!” Prompto stopped dead, completely frozen, staring at Noctis with wide eyes. “This stupid wedding is what's driven a wedge between us. That's why she's mad."

     "Well… why?"

     Noctis sighed, running his hand over his face before deciding it was best to just give in. "She doesn't want me to get married."

     "... Why not?"

     "Because she loves me."

     "Oh…" He took a second then looked up to Noctis with impossibly wider eyes, "Oh!"

     "And I love her too," Noctis nodded, waiting to see how his friend would react.

     "So," he began, walking a bit closer, "were you two together before this?"

     "No," he shook his head with a solemn look, "we should have been, but we were both too stupid to say anything, and now we're damned to be seperated forever."

     "Why didn't you just say no?"

     "To my father?" Noctis asked, dumbfounded, and Promoto nodded, "Say no to the King when he says our only option for peace is my marriage? I don't think so, Prom."

     "Did you tell your father about Ara?" He tried, "About how you two feel about each other? He loves Ara like family, we all do, surely he would at least try to find a better way if you told him that you two wanted to get married instead. That is what you're telling me right? That you want to marry Ara and not Lunafreya?"

     "I don't want anyone else, Prom," he closed his eyes then opened them to look over at the Regalia. Ara was still inside, still sitting in the back turned towards the side of the car. Noct couldn't see her face too clearly from where he was standing, but from what he could see it looked as if she were wiping a stray tear from her cheek as he turned back to Prompto. "But between my father's orders and her not wanting me to go against this treaty, I don't have many other options."

     "So you two talked about this then," he too turned to look at her, then back to Noctis.

     "Yes, and she doesn't want to go against my father's decision. She doesn't want to break the treaty apart so that we can be together," he rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off the headache he could feel coming, "she doesn't think that Iedolas would negotiate any other terms and she won't risk the continuation of the war. She thinks that my marrying the princess is what's best for the people of Lucis."

     "Do you think there could be another way? Is she right about Iedolas?"

     "I…" he sighed, "I want her to be wrong, but I don't know. Iedolas has all the power in this situation, he's got Lucis on it's last ropes, the old walls and new are going to fall and my father is not getting any better. Every day that he pulls magic from the crystal to keep the people safe, it drains his life more and more. Eventually it will drain him completely and then we will have no defence against Niflheim’s troops. Iedolas knows this, and knows that now is the time to make his demands, and he has. He knows my father is too weak to fight back, too tired to find another way because there isn't one. I don't know what else we could do."

     "Have you talked to Ignis and Gladiolus?" He gestured towards the car, "They're close to your father, maybe they can talk to him."

     "They won't try to change his mind," he shook his head, "at least not until they have solid proof of sabotage on Niflheim’s behalf or a way that won't end in war. But I'm afraid they won't be able to find either of those things before the wedding. We don't have much time here, Prom!"

     "Okay," he raised his arms to try and calm Noctis, landing them on his shoulders with a squeeze, "okay, don't panic. I'm sure we can come up with something, or even a way to delay the wedding until we can. I'll talk to Ignis and Gladiolus and see where I can help."

     "Thanks, Prom," Noctis sighed in relief, giving him a small smile, "thank you."

     "I've always got your back, Noct."

     "Noctis, Prompto!" Both boys turned at the sound of Gladio’s booming voice. "Get your butts in the car, we're leaving now."

     They both nodded and walked together back to the Regalia, Prom’s arm around Noctis’s shoulders, and jumped back in. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Every second they were in the car was a second closer to Niflheim, to Noct’s wedding, to her last moments as a citizen of Lucis. And despite her conversation with Nyx before she left, she still couldn't shake the cloud that hung low over her head. She couldn't even look at Noctis let alone attempt to live in the moment, to be happy with Noctis while she had the chance and pretend to live in a world where she wasn't driving closer and closer to losing him for good. 

     And now it was nearing the end of their first day, already. They had pulled into Hammerhead not too long ago, and were now waiting as Ignis set up a motel room for the five of them. And still, no one had said a word since they left Insomnia. 

     "I've got us a room," Ignis announced as he walked back over to the car, "only one room for the five of us, but there's a pull out, you can have that if you'd like, Ara."

     She just nodded her head and jumped out of the car, grabbing her bag from the back and passing Ignis. 

     The others followed slowly behind her, entering the room as she turned right back around and left again. 

     "Where are you going?" Gladio turned with his arms out in question. 

     "Take Noctis inside, I'm going on a patrol run," she answered, back turned as she pulled out her apocalypse blade, "I won't be long."

~~~~~~~~~~~

     "Should someone maybe go after her?"

     Promoto was now sitting on the edge of the bed, watching as Noctis silently paced by the door, occasionally looking out the window. Ara had been gone for hours. What was supposed to be a quick patrol had turned into almost three hours of Noctis about ready to barge out and go looking for her himself. 

     "She's fine, Prompto," Gladio spoke from where he was lounged back on the other bed. Shirt off, track pants on, and looking like he could pass out at any second, "she's a big girl, she can handle herself."

     "But she's been gone for a while," Prompto tried again, "maybe I should just go out and make sure she's okay."

     "What could possibly harm her in Hammerhead," Gladio answered, "She's fine. She can handle herself."

     "She probably just needed some air," Ignis gave Prompto a look and he just nodded back, dropping the subject. 

     A few moments of silence passed between them all, before Noctis looked out the window once more then hastily moved towards the door. "I'm going after her."

     "You most certainly are not."

     "I can handle myself just as well as she can, Ignis, I'm not leaving her out there alone in the dark."

     Ignis side stepped to block Noctis from the door, earning himself a deep glare. "If it means that much to you, I'll go look for her."

     "No, I'll go," Gladio stood from the bed, stretching and reaching for his discarded shirt, "even though I know she's fine." 

     Noctis thought about it for a second, then resigned with a nod and stepped back to let Gladio leave. Just as he put on his shirt and was about to summon his blade, the front door opened, and Ara walked in. 

     "What's going on?" She asked as she looked around cautiously. 

     "Where were you?" Noctis asked, practically rushing at her, but she leaned back, shocking him to a stop. 

     "I told you, I went on patrol."

     "I take it everything was fine?" Ignis asked, trying to diffuse the very obvious tension in the room. 

     "Fine, the town's quiet."

     "So why were you gone so long then?" Noctis braved another step closer to her, and though she didn't recoil this time he could tell she was fighting it. "I was worried about you."

     "You don't need to worry about me, Prince Noctis, I am here to worry about you."

     Even Ignis scrunched his nose at the use of formalities from her. Though before it could be addressed any further, her phone rang and she excused herself. 

     "It's Nyx," she said, pulling the phone out of her pocket, "I'll take this outside."

     She left the four boys behind without even a second glance back. She knew she was hurting Noctis, but if that was what could put some distance between them, then it would have to be done. 

     She pushed the thought out of her head for now, sitting in the chair outside the room, and answered her phone. 

     "Hey."

     "Hey, baby girl, are you safe?"

     She smiled at the sound of his voice, just hearing it was the comfort she needed right now. "Yeah we're safe. We're in Hammerhead, staying here for the night."

     "That's a fairly quiet town," he agreed, she could hear the relief in his voice, "did you patrol?"

     "All quiet on the front," she sighed as a silence fell over them, then she risked a curious, "Did… did you talk to Regis?"

     "This morning after you left," he hummed, "he's not too keen on this treaty either. Something's up, we all know it and so does he, but he's right in the fact that Iedolas holds the power right now, and we have to let him keep it. Until we can figure out Niflheim’s next move, we have to just keep playing along, or else we could be back at war before we're ready."

     "I should come back," she stated firmly, "if something goes wrong and war hits Insomnia again, I should be there."

     "No, you have to stay with Noctis."

     "Noctis is fine, and he has three other fully capable fighters by his side should something happen all the way out here," she nodded to herself, "I'm coming back."

     "Ara, you are staying with Noctis." She could tell he was using his 'dad' voice now, firm and final, so she sat back in her chair. "Keep to the plan, stay with Noctis."

     "But I'm one of Lucis' best fighters. Wouldn't it make more sense to have me closer to the fight?"

     "Ara-"

     "Don't think I don't know what you're doing," she cut him off, and he waited for her to continue, "if Insomnia and Niflheim do go back to war, it will be to the end this time. There will be no drawing it out for years like before. Both sides will throw everything they have at the other and someone will come out victorious. And you want me as far away from that as possible, which is why you're happy that Regis sent me with Noctis, despite the fact that I could help in the fight."

     There was a second of quiet before Nyx let out a defeated chuckle, "Too smart for your own good, baby girl. And you're right, I am happy to have you far away from what could be the most intense fight any of us have ever seen. But…"

     "But?" She urged. 

     "But," he continued, "Regis is right about one thing. No matter what, Noctis must be kept safe, and you're the best person for that. And if war does fall on Insomnia and the city falls, if Regis falls, those remaining will look to Noctis. He will be our light in the dark, Regis said. So I need you to just stick with him."

     She closed her eyes and had to admit they were both right. If anything happened, Noctis would need to step up and lead. And no matter what was happening around them, she would give her last breath to protect him, Regis knew that. "Fine, I'll stay here. But if things get really bad, Nyx, I'm coming back."

     "Let's play it by ear," he reasoned, "so far it's been quiet, but it feels like something’s building. So until I say so, don't you move."

     "Yes, Sir," she mused in a playful tone. 

     "Your sass will be my end,” he laughed and it made her smile, “but I have to go, I have more meetings to attend. If I get any information, I'll call you.”

     “Sounds good.”

     “Okay, call me tomorrow if you can. Good night, baby girl.”

     “Good night, Nyx.” And she hung up the phone.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Nyx stood before the doors to the throne room, took a calming breath, and pushed. The room was empty aside from Regis who was still sitting on his throne, elbow rested on the arm, and his head in his hand. But it was just him. No council members, no Glaive, no Kingscrown. It was eerily quiet as Nyx walked the long stretch towards the throne, his boots clanging unusually loud against the marble floors, almost sounding obnoxious.

     Regis didn't look up, or even open his eyes, until Nyx stopped at the bottom of the steps. He gave a quick bow then bound up the stairs. 

     “Did you speak with Araceli?”

     Nyx nodded as he reached the top.

     “What did you tell her?”

     “Nothing.” The king nodded, resting his chin on his hand.

     “Is it wise to keep her in the dark?” He asked, rubbing his hand across his beard.

     “She already wants to come back. If the fighting starts again she wants to be here,” Nyx shook his head, “she's right in saying that we could use her on the battlefield, but it's better that she stays with Noctis. If we tell her of our plan, she will return, whether I tell her to or not. Trust me, it's better this way.”

     The king hummed, “Perhaps you're right. As much as I hate to hide this from her, I would rather them both be safe.”

     “As would I.”

     The king nodded slowly, thinking over everything that had happened over the past few days. Everything was happening so fast, too fast. A sudden peace treaty, his son being sent off to marry Niflheim royalty, the looming threat that this was only a ploy, a distraction of some sort to keep Regis in a state of ease, and he was getting weaker and weaker by the day. If he was honest, he wasn't sure he would even see the end of another war. 

     “If we are going to go through with this, your Highness, we are going to need more help.”

     “At this point, Nyx, I'm not sure who I trust,” He rubbed his eyes then turned to face him. “Who do you suggest?”

     Nyx smirked, “I have a few people in mind, people I would trust with my life.”

     The king nodded, “Bring them in, we'll let them know the plan and discuss this with them immediately.”

     “Yes, your Highness.” He bowed and quickly made his way back towards the door, “I'll let you know when we're ready in the briefing room.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

     “You want to do what?!” 

     Nyx was standing in Libertus’s living room. The Glaive member, and his best friend, was sitting on the couch staring up at him in complete disbelief while he remained completely calm. 

     “I can't believe that of all things, this is what you and the king have come up with!?” He yelled, “And you want me to, what? Fall in right behind you as always?! Gullible as always Libertus, following his best friend right into the mouth of death?! You do realize that if we get caught, we'll die, right!”

     “Do you have any other ideas?” Was all he asked, still calm.

     “I… no,” he shook his head and sat in the chair across from Nyx, “I don't have another idea, but that doesn't mean that this idea is a good one.”

     “Trust me, Lib, I don't like it either,” he leaned forwards and rested his arms on his knees, “but right now it's our best option.”

     “And what exactly do you want me to do?” He too leaned forwards on his knees. “Have your back like always, I guess.”

     “Do you?” He asked, brow raised, “Have my back?”

     “Of course I do,” Libertus answered without hesitation, leaning back against the couch, “you know I always do, no matter what. Even when the plan's as messed up as this one, I'll still be right by your side, as always. Just know, if we get caught and killed, I'll kill you.”

     Nyx actually laughed, a little of the stress from the day lifting slightly.

     “So what do we do now?”

     Nyx stood, heading towards the door and Libertus followed right behind, “We have a few more people to talk to, then the rest is up to the king.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: More to come! <3 Getting closer and closer to the excitement!

TAGS: @wisteriayamashi @prettyprompto @tea-time-with-devil-traps @idiotflowerex

I know its been like, a hundred years since I last posted (My bad guys) but if anyone ones to be tagged or untagged then just shoot me a message! <3

[foxtophat]

(still trying to figure out how i link these but whatever)

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!! i decided to just sit down and hammer out the last edits for this lil one-shot so i could get it out today!

i’m gonna be real with you: the only reason i wrote this fic is because i couldn’t get the idea out of my head.  you weren’t supposed to see mercyverse for another month, honestly!!! but it’s been cold as fuck here and it’s made me fantasize about classic bed-sharing tropes, and so here we are!

this is a bit of a slice of life, to sort of give an idea of how day-to-day these guys all interact, especially now that carmina doesn’t have to pretend john doesn’t exist.  plus, i’m starting to see how the caches might be involved in the overarching plot???? awesome!!!

as usual, the full text is below the cut for my friends who don’t wanna leave tumblr.  i hope you enjoy -- feel free to leave a comment, i loooove hearing from readers. likes and reblogs are also great! kudos are fantastic! adding to the hit counter is just fine by me!!! anything you do to show support for fanfic is a good thing imo.  i hope y’all have a happy wintereenmas or whatever and i will see you guys in 2021 with more mercyverse :)

The best thing Nick can say about the blizzard currently sweeping the county is that he could see that it was coming. They'd gotten almost a foot of snow the night before, which gets him worried about getting snowed in, and as the day progresses, the sky grows an ominous gray that Nick recognizes from a lifetime of living in the area. He knows that they probably only have a few hours left before they're going to want to get inside and avoid the worst a winter storm has to offer.

Nick and John spend the entire morning hauling wood into the house, while Kim does her best to clean out the broken chimney and ensure they won't die of smoke inhalation. They also pull in some pre-made stock that Kim had left in the freezer after it had gotten cold enough to use, as well as a few smaller pieces for miscellaneous projects. But with the storm rolling in overhead, they don't have long; they end up leaving a lot of things for later as the wind whips up around them and turns the snow sideways.

By two in the afternoon, they've closed the doors to officially bunker down for the rest of the blizzard. They have enough wood to last them three days, plus their military rations and plenty of coffee, so Nick isn't particularly concerned about their safety. The only thing he's really got to contend with is boredom, which is easier to stave off in the first few hours of captivity than it is later in the evening.

For the most part, Nick passes the time by sharpening their knives, cleaning their guns, and checking the radio every hour for any emergencies. The blizzard ensures that not many people are on, but at least he gets to check in with Jerome and make sure that Grace is safely in her bunker. It's unlikely they'll get in contact with the trailer park until after the worst passes, but that just means Nick's gonna worry about those jackasses all night.

Kim is probably the only one comfortable with the downtime, making the most of things as she chews on the radio's instructions. When the technical jargon gets to be too much, she switches to entertaining Carmina, who gets bored quick when her only job is to keep the fire going. The easiest distraction comes from card games; the deck they'd had in the bunker had shrunk to only 32 cards, but now that they've got a full deck to work with, Carmina is eager to relearn and master games like Go Fish and Old Maid. Nick doubts Jacob planned to be entertaining kids with his survival gear, but it's not like the guy's gonna complain.

Carmina isn't the only one that Jacob is keeping busy beyond the grave. Ever since they found that cache of his, John has been borderline obsessed with figuring out what the point of it could be. He'll go all day without mentioning the puzzle plaguing him, but any available downtime has him staring at the map and its coordinates. Nick and Kim have both been keeping an eye on it, just in case it turns into something worse than his usual tunnel-vision, but so far it hasn't gotten out of hand. If anything, John seems more aware and alert now that he has something to focus on, and now Nick can even pretend he's a normal guy for conversations at a time before being reminded otherwise.

Of course, the blizzard's making it impossible to find alternate distractions. John does spend part of the afternoon in his room, but eventually, he can't help but come downstairs to mull over the map. There's only one problem with that — they've hung the map up in the radio room, so there's about ten minutes every hour where Nick has no choice but to sit in John's presence. It probably wouldn't bother him so much if there was somewhere else either of them could be, but they're stuck for the foreseeable future. John's looming is just going to be part of Nick's life until the storm passes.

In the interest of keeping the peace, Nick reluctantly tries to have the same level of interest in the random dots that John shows. His attention, however, is distracted by the penciled-in changes that he, Kim and John have all been making to the landscape. The river's wider in some places now, and there are doodles of trees in spaces that were once open fields. A few X's mark places where bridges have collapsed, and Kim's circled anywhere they've made radio contact with. Their notations have scattered across the valley, and have even spread over to the river region thanks to Hurk and his raider gang, but they still don't know anything about the mountains, or even the spaces that are supposedly occupied by bow-wielding religious nutjobs. It's going to be a while before any of them get the nerve to go poking that particular hornet's nest.

John has his little notebook open, but he's not writing anything down. Nick's not sure what he would even put down, since they haven't gotten any more leads since early autumn, but he's always got the thing tucked in a pocket nowadays. Maybe Nick should be mad he outright stole that resource from the rest of them, but — well, come on. He can't yell at the man for taking up journaling, not without flying in the face of every therapist Nick had pretended not to listen to. It's just... well, what the hell is there for him to write down?

"Are you staring for any particular reason?" John asks, because of course he does.

"That's rich, coming from the guy lurking over my shoulder all day." Nick flips off the static-ridden radio frequency, leaning back in his chair so that he can get a better look at the map push-pinned to the wall. "I hear if you look at it just right, you can see a sailboat."

John's clearly not much of a Kevin Smith fan, because he only sighs heavily at Nick's flat joke. "If you have something better for me to be doing, I'm all ears," he says, revealing to Nick at last just how bored he really is. Weirdly enough, being in the same boat as John is somehow reassuring.

"Okay, fine. At least tell me what you're staring at, so I know what to fake interest in."

Even though it's mostly a joke, it lands softly enough that John doesn't take offense. Stuffing the notebook in his back pocket, he shakes his head, gesturing at the map. Getting John to explain himself is usually like pulling teeth, but right now he seems relieved to have someone to bounce his thoughts off of. It's a long way away from the guy Nick remembers saving, enough so that it almost catches his full interest.

"It's nothing in particular, really. I've already spent hours staring at this thing, but I'm... still looking for a pattern, I guess. Jacob was paranoid and secretive, but if there's a hidden code buried in these coordinates, it's beyond me to see it. And the snow was already keeping us from traveling too far — now with this blizzard, we're likely stuck with no new information until spring ..."

John sighs, rubbing his forehead as the pretense finally abandons him. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do until then."

That's certainly a feeling that Nick can relate to. Nick is less of a workaholic than John might be, but that doesn't mean he won't go stir-crazy without his own set of chores. Hell, that's why he's been hanging around the radio in between games of cards with the girls and cleaning whatever he can get his hands on. It must suck extra for John; the guy's been spinning his tires in the dirt for years, probably, and being this close to having a purpose beyond doing whatever chores Nick sets him to must be irritating.

Nick props one leg up against the wall, tapping his boot against the wood as he ponders the dots scattered around the map. There are a few still in the valley, but there's no driving until they thaw out. The points in the mountains are probably inaccessible to anybody, and who knows when they'll get to investigate the old vet center or find the Wolf's Den. There are a couple points nearer the trailer park, though, and not for the first time Nick tries to measure the distance from Hurk to the various red dots. There's one near the lumber mill, and one near where that godawful statue was, and of course one right smack dab in the middle of the original Peggy compound.

Nick can't imagine his truck making it all the way there and back, not without more information about the roads. Hurk might not have the same trouble. "I could send the trailer park a couple coordinates," he points out. "They might get to search before us, and it could cut the work in half."

Despite John's scowl, he only sounds tired as he replies, "I've considered it, but I don't trust them. Then again, I hardly trust myself, so who knows."

"I guess you're shit outta luck, then," Nick says. John takes obvious offense at Nick brushing him off, but hey, what else is Nick supposed to do? "God's giving you a freebie with this blizzard. Maybe you should try catching up on your sleep, or something."

"And ruin the precarious schedule I'm keeping?"

"Jesus, then go read a book! Just — you know, quit hovering over me all day. Don't you know how to entertain yourself?"

John seems unphased by Nick's half-hearted outburst. "This is how I entertain myself. Maps, resources, legal documents — that's probably the only decent outlet I've ever had." He stares at Nick's boot, unwilling to meet his eyes. "At least, it's the only one healthy enough to keep."

That is probably a safe bet, Nick realizes, quickly trying to backpedal away from the open scab that is John's history. "Uh, well, what about before the cult?"

John surprises them both with a brief laugh. "If I could source some coke, then yes, I would be entertained."

"Jesus, John."

"I'm not known for my healthy self-care habits," John points out, a little too smug to be truly self-deprecating. At least he seems to understand what Nick had been getting at originally, deferring with a vague hand-wave. "Is my loitering in the kitchen going to be too smothering for you, too, or is that okay?"

Nick rolls his eyes, flipping the radio back on to scan the channels once again. "It's fine, whatever. Just as long as you've got something better to entertain yourself than snaking the whiskey Jacob left."

"I'm more of a gin guy," John admits.

"Of course you are."

It's still a relief, though, knowing they aren't keeping an alcoholic too near his fix. On top of that, John's relaxed disregard for his past vices settles nerves Nick hadn't even realized were rattled. Sure, there's probably a whole other box of American Psycho- esque worms waiting to be opened up from John's time before Eden's Gate, but at least he seems to have comfortably packed that part of his life away for now. Unlike talking about the cult, John has no trouble dropping the conversation, just as casually as he'd brought it up. He retreats into the kitchen to mull over whatever he's written down already, leaving behind no traumatic story or sad-eyed stare — just the casual admission that he would really like to do some drugs.

Weirdly enough, that is probably the most respectable thing about John to date.

Nick spends another fifteen minutes checking the radio, scanning the channels he knows people use most. He winds up with nothing to show for it — either the storm is making radio communication impossible, or everybody else has given up on their radios. It's only after he's cleared the range twice that he flips the radio off and escapes back to Kim and Carmina, leaving John in the kitchen with a broad, somehow-sarcastic gesture towards the now unoccupied radio nook.

Carmina ropes Nick into a game of Go Fish, which Kim seems keen on losing. Nick isn't surprised — Carmina is a wily player, which is to say that she tries to bluff her way through hands with all the grace of a sledgehammer. Kim's not as willing to put up with cheating as Nick is, but neither of them are capable of even pretending to believe Carmina's poker face. It's going to be a problem one day, but Nick isn't exactly ready to teach his daughter how to lie to his face.

Well, that is until she and Nick are on their third round of Go Fish, and Nick has had to pretend not to see through all of Carmina's gambits.

He asks her if she has any threes, and she scrunches her nose up as she glances meaningfully at her cards. "Go fish," she says, making Nick regret not having Kim sit right behind their daughter as a referee.

"Fine," he grumbles, "If you say so."

Kim blinks skeptically at the pants she's fixing, but she doesn't offer Nick any out. If it weren't for his clumsy hands, maybe he could use darning socks and patching shirts as an excuse to quit playing, but as it stands, the only thing he has other than getting trounced is staring at the map with John. And since he already tried that and found it to be mildly aggravating at best...

"You know, this would be more fun with more people," Nick says, desperately glancing at Kim.

Kim, of course, gives him no quarter. "Why don't you ask John," she suggests rhetorically.

"John," Carmina calls out, "Do you wanna play Go Fish?"

Nick opens his mouth to chastise Carmina, but he realizes there's nothing to discipline her for. Especially not when John flippantly replies, "I think your father's looking to play with fewer cheaters, not more."

"I'm not cheating!" Carmina exclaims, not-so-surreptitiously pressing her cards into her lap to ensure nobody's looking at them. Between that and her guiltily furrowed brow, there's no hiding it. Her poker face needs a lot of work.

"Go Fish isn't even worth cheating at," Nick sighs, gesturing for her cards. "If that's the way you wanna play, at least do it the right way. Here, gimme your cards — John, come over here so I can teach my daughter how to lie to your face."

As if playing a game of cards with John wasn't enough to excite Carmina, she's doubly over the moon when he tells her the rules. After all, a ten-year-old girl is the prime demographic for the game Bullshit, especially when she's given carte blanche to shout cuss words at her dad. On top of that, it seems like bluffing really is half of the fun for his daughter — which is a little intimidating, sure, but at least he knows she's smart enough to understand the utility of lying.

John is... unenthusiastic, to say the least, but that only makes the prospect of humiliating him that much better. A few weeks ago, Nick would've thought John was too fragile to be messed with, but now there's a bounce in his step that will make taking him down easier. He's got to do something to remind himself that this nearly-tolerable man is usually a miserable sonofabitch.

Unfortunately, John has a fantastic poker face. Nick figured that from the get-go, but it's still daunting to play against a bored, uninterested party. That's probably why Carmina avoids John in favor of hounding Nick, calling out "bullshit!" with delightful glee whenever she thinks Nick has dropped the wrong face card or played a nine instead of a King. On the one hand, Nick appreciates that he can read her as well as she can, but on the other hand, he'd really like a chance to beat John. So far, he's the only one who's called John out, and all he has to show for it is the extra six cards in his hand.

Although Kim is on standby for this round, she keeps flashing Nick amused grins whenever Carmina calls bullshit. Nick almost hopes John can hold it together to be mundane for two entire rounds of cards because he wouldn't stand a chance against Kim.

Case in point, John lays down two cards that are meant to be threes, and Kim clicks her tongue disapprovingly. Carmina frowns up at her mom, who only shrugs and suggests, "I would call him out, if I were you."

John's neutral frown doesn't change. "Last I checked, you weren't playing," he says.

Kim only shrugs in response. Nick furrows his brow at Kim while Carmina squints suspiciously from the discard pile to John and then back again. Of course, encouraging a ten-year-old to swear is always going to win out, and so Carmina wrinkles her nose and calls John out with a slightly uncertain, "Okay, bullshit."

Without so much as a grimace of defeat, John lets Carmina flip his played cards — one three, and one dirty, rotten, lying, bullshit seven .

"That's what I thought," Kim says, flippantly triumphant. "Guess you're not as hard to read as you thought."

Nick sure can't tell what John's thinking as he lifts one shoulder noncommittally. "I stand corrected."

"Wait," Nick asks, "What gave it away?"

"I'm not helping you too , Nick," Kim laughs. "That wouldn't be fair."

"It's not exactly fair to help Carmina," John points out. Nick bets he's just as interested in what tell Kim noticed, although he manages to be less obvious about it. At least he can't crack Kim's smug smile any better than Nick, which is some small compensation.

Nick manages to win this hand, if only because his play strategy involves lying as little as possible. That seems to work against Carmina no problem, but Nick suspects John threw the game out of personal disinterest. If it weren't for the howling winds whistling through the roof and second story, John would probably excuse himself from another hand by retreating upstairs, but as it is he manages to sit through one more round of cards, this time with Kim joining in.

Carmina's poker-face doesn't improve by leaps and bounds, exactly, but she manages to fool Nick into picking up a fat stack of cards, so that's something. Too bad he'd been trying to teach her to lie to John , not her parents. Well — at least she's a nice enough kid to only do it for fun. He hopes, anyway.

Kim makes John's loss look more organic, at least, and she doesn't rub it in too badly when she wins. It's extra kind of her considering Nick is the one who called her last play bullshit, leaving him to rot in miserable third place after both his girls. Well, fine . At least Carmina seemed to have fun, even if Nick is now sitting with nearly half a deck in his hands. If the blizzard keeps up for too long, they might have to graduate to poker.

Before they can play any more card games, though, they take time out for dinner. It's almost normal, sitting around the fireplace with their military rations and some hot broth — if they were eating Marie Calendar pot-pies and watching Christmas movies, Nick would even be able to ignore John's presence sticking out like a sore thumb.

The next best thing to watching movies is talking about them, which has become something of a tradition between the Ryes. It all started in the bunker, where Kim and Nick ran out of normal Christmas stories and began taking turns narrating whatever holiday movies they could remember. They've run through all the memorable Rankin & Bass flicks, as well as a couple more contemporary ones, so they're starting to reach for their personal favorites or the very bottom of the barrel plots.

Nick intends to be paying Jingle All the Way a tribute tonight, but as soon as he mentions that the Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle is one of his favorites, he's interrupted by John snorting derisively.

"Let me guess," Nick snaps, "You're one of those jackasses who pretends Die Hard is a legitimate Christmas movie just so he doesn't have to watch good, family-friendly content."

"It is a legitimate Christmas movie," John responds, just petulantly enough to tell Nick he hit the nail on the head.

"Look, Kim and I have already had this discussion — just because it takes place during Christmas doesn't make it a Christmas movie . Set dressing alone isn't enough!"

John raises his eyes towards the ceiling, which is as subtle as his eyerolls can get. "Whatever you say, Nick."

"What's Die Hard about?" Carmina asks, excitedly guessing, "Does Santa get to shoot people in it?"

"That would be a good Christmas movie," Nick replies. "No, it's just about some guy who has to fight bad guys in a building."

"During Christmas," Kim points out.

"Okay, fine during Christmas. But nobody's dressed up like Santa, nobody sings any carols, and there sure as hell isn't any Christmas magic that saves the day, so it doesn't count!"

"So what does happen?" Carmina asks.

Damn it — Nick should have known that talking about an action flick would immediately disinterest her towards any sloppy story about consumerism. She doesn't even know what a mall is — but she knows how to shoot a handgun, and now that Nick's thinking about it, she might need to use the duct-tape shoulder holster trick one day. It would be pretty bad-ass if she knew how, anyway.

"Okay, fine, I'll do it real quick. I don't remember all the parts, so Kim, you gotta help."

Real quick turns out to take almost as much time as the movie itself had. Kim interjects whenever Nick forgets a plot point, but at least he remembers the core conflict. Sort of, anyway — by the time he's done recounting John McClane's tale, John looks visibly dissatisfied, and Kim has a "well, sort of" expression on her face that implies he didn't quite nail the execution. Well, who cares what they think? All that matters is that Carmina is entertained, and of course she is. After all, narrated or not, it's still Die Hard . Just so long as she doesn't ask about the sequels, they should be okay.

The wind is still whipping overhead, and Nick can see nothing beyond the windows. There's no telling how late it's gotten. Although his internal clock insists it can't have been that long since sundown, Carmina has been yawning for a while now, and the fire's gone down again. It looks like sleeping through the storm is the only pastime left for Nick to try.

Carmina takes over stoking the fire for the final time before bed, while Kim makes her way upstairs to gather as much of their bedding as she can carry. John follows reluctantly behind, clearly unhappy with the prospect of facing his own cold room, but Nick figures he can deal for five damn minutes. For his part, Nick busies himself checking the radio one last time, just in case there's an emergency. He doesn't know what they'd be able to do if there was one, but that doesn't stop him from checking anyway.

With the radio situated just under the stairs, it's easy to listen in to Kim stomping around in the room above, desperate to keep her temperature up. Nick had put off too many attic repairs before this winter — he's going to have to make up for that in spring, when he and John can worm their way into the rafters and ensure that their next winter won't turn the bedrooms into a cold wasteland. Of course, even if they did patch up the gaps in the floorboards and do their best to insulate the attic, not much can beat a genuine fire in the middle of a snowstorm.

Nick isn't even paying attention to the radio, so he flips it off and trusts that everyone can keep themselves safe for another night. He hears the whump of fabric as Kim tosses their two biggest, least moldy blankets down for Carmina to start with, and the creak of footsteps on the landing overhead. Kim's voice isn't raised, but it carries down to Nick clear as a bell.

"John, you'll freeze if you stay up here," she says. "Get your stuff and come downstairs."

"It's not that cold," John says, attempting to deflect from one weak excuse with another. "I doubt Nick approved that suggestion."

Well, not technically, no, but Nick had sort of assumed they were already all on the same page. What does John think Nick's gonna do, force him to freeze upstairs so he can hog the fireplace all to himself?

Kim doesn't give the excuses a chance to breathe, replying with parental exasperation. "He and I both agree it's too cold to sleep upstairs." Nick can hear the teasing plain as day when she adds, "Just don't be weird about it."

Sure enough, suggesting John might be making things awkward is enough to get him to shut up and follow orders. Nick briefly longs for the days when John would mutely nod and do as told without any additional goading, but only for a second. Even that is long enough retrospection to remind Nick of how creepy and genuinely alarming it had been. Sure, John might get argumentative or exasperated now, but at least there's an actual person to communicate with. Nick might want to kick his ass more now than before, but he absolutely hated dealing with the hollow-eyed monster John had been.

Besides, it's way more satisfying being a dick to him now that he actually gets offended.

Despite John's furrowed-brow glares, Nick doesn't comment whatsoever on him trailing downstairs after Kim, clutching two actual blankets and a tarp that's weather-worn enough to pass muster. He stands and waits for someone to point him in the right direction as Kim and Carmina do their best to bundle together a soft place on the floor, but Nick studiously ignores him until he makes a decision himself. John takes a spot close to the fireplace, off to the right of where the girls are setting up. It's still plenty removed enough, so that nobody will get the wrong idea and think John is supposed to be welcome down here. Nick wonders who he's trying to convince, but there are so many damn demons in the man's head, it's anybody's guess.

With the fire roaring for the last time that night, all the blankets arranged and everybody looking exhausted despite not doing anything all day, Nick finally gets to crawl into bed and put this whole goddamn blizzard behind him. Hopefully, the weather has the common sense to clear up tomorrow — for now, it's time to shut out the cold entirely.

He must be tired. Nick barely stays conscious as Kim and Carmina climb under the blankets, the cool air rapidly warming as they begin to shift around and get comfortable. He rouses a few times at first as Carmina kicks his leg and Kim bumps into him, but eventually, he finds himself dozing in the silence of a quiet house. Far above them, the wind is whipping through the attic, but from down here, it sounds like a generic white-noise machine; coupled with the crackling fire, Nick is lulled to sleep by the sounds of peaceful normalcy.

Who knows how long it is before Nick finds himself conscious again. Even then, he only wakes enough to hear the dying fire popping by his feet. Maybe he should stoke it. But that would mean moving, and Nick is weighted down on either side beneath warm blankets, so that's a hard no. He tries first to roll towards Kim and Carmina, ready to curl into a ball and conserve even more heat, but his right arm is stuck. It takes a few bleary-eyed blinks to realize what's pinned him down, but he's barely coherent enough to make sense of it.

Sometime in the night, John must've migrated from the no-man's-land he'd made for himself towards the Rye's pile of blankets. Unsurprising, really — but more than a little awkward, given how he's pressed into Nick's side, pinning Nick's arm in place. Worse yet, half of his blankets have been absorbed into the mess that Nick's been using to keep warm, which is going to make extracting himself tricky if not impossible.

While he tries to figure out how to avoid making this mortifying situation worse, Nick watches John for any signs of consciousness. The guy usually sleeps light, but Nick watches his breathing for a solid minute and doesn't catch anything. Either his poker-face is just that good, or John is actually asleep. Deeply, peacefully asleep. Nick had assumed that was impossible.

If Nick were a better person, he'd probably be thankful to see it. Glad to know that John's insomnia might finally be coming to an end. But Nick is mostly just an exhausted, anxious mess, and now he's just wondering how to get out of the situation he's found himself in.

John shifts, and like a guilty ten-year-old, Nick immediately closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep. If he's lucky, John will roll away of his own volition, or at least move enough to let Nick roll over himself. If only he'd decided to sleep on Kim's side — she wouldn't have the same trouble Nick has. She'd just kick him away and be done with it.

Slowly, John moves away from Nick. The relief is short-lived as John pulls back the covers enough to send a cold chill down Nick's side; it's a split-second decision that John immediately regrets, hissing under his breath and letting the blankets fall back into place as he recoils from the freezing temperatures.

Nick can't help his quiet huff of amusement — which is enough to break the illusion that he'd been asleep in the first place. He could probably still fake it, but if he does, John will definitely try to move his blankets, and that is going to be a much bigger problem than tolerating John in his personal space.

"Quit squirming so much," Nick mutters. "Gonna let in the cold."

John is silent and tense beside him, but he does stop squirming. It's like lying near a tense bar of iron. After a brief struggle to figure out what to say, John's embarrassment catches in his voice as he apologizes. "I'm sorry," he rasps. "I — must have been tired."

Nick sighs. "Just don't crush my arm again."

Even though John moves as though Nick threatened him, he stops short of retreating from the blankets entirely. Nick can only imagine how cold it must be — every breath of his that makes it above the blanket-line comes with a faint puff of visible air. No matter how humiliating it might be to cuddle up to Nick, it doesn't seem like John had much of a choice in the matter.

Before John can decide to try escaping again, Nick repeats, "Whatever you do, don't let in the cold."

In for a penny, Nick decides, worming deeper into the makeshift bed so that John can have more room. Rolling over is the easiest way to avoid the mortifying process of finding a comfortable sleeping arrangement. Eventually, they wind up back-to-back; Nick normally wouldn't be able to stand John touching him, but the additional body-heat does a lot to soothe Nick's reservations. Who knew all he needed to tolerate John's physical presence would be cold weather and exhaustion?

The Deputy, probably, which only makes Nick grin in tired relief. At least they would be glad to know that Nick's grown as a person. They'd probably be glad to learn he's finally gotten on-board with not murdering the Seeds in cold blood — even if it took an apocalypse to get there. If they could see the shit he's gotten himself into now, they'd probably...

He sighs. It must be a heavier sound than he imagined, because John whispers, "What?"

"Nothing," Nick says immediately, as default an answer as John's yeses are. But that's not fair, he doesn't think, because they never let John get away with his obvious deflections. As late as it is, it's easy to blame his guilt on his exhaustion. "Just thinking about Rook," he admits.

"Oh."

John is clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but he doesn't react when Nick continues sleepily, "They'd get a kick outta this, is all."

John hums. It's a quiet noise, but Nick can feel it vibrate through John's shirt. If there are two people Nick hates bringing Rook up around, it's Sharky and John. Sure, Sharky's crush was the one that was reciprocated, but Dep had always treated John's flat-footed overtures like creepy compliments instead of outright threats. They'd probably figured John's crush was superficial, whereas Sharky's had been more real than probably anything else Nick had seen the poor sap go through. John's infatuation had been about power, control, and Joseph goddamn Seed. Still, Nick can't help but wonder just how much of it might've been real to John at the time.

"They had a bad sense of humor," John finally responds, quietly enough that Nick almost misses the hurt.

"Terrible," Nick agrees.

When John sighs, Nick recognizes it as a sign of defeat. Whatever he's debating with himself, he's clearly lost. Although he doesn't speak up again, Nick isn't sure he's gone back to sleep. He sure hopes he didn't just instill another restless night in the guy, but that's John's burden to bear. Maybe he can use it to finally find some common ground with Sharky.

Nick isn't even sure that he can fall back asleep, but that doesn't seem to matter. Before he knows it, he's being woken up once more — this time by a glance of sunlight coming in through the upper part of the windows. It's just enough light to wake him, but he spends an exhausted minute staring at the wall over Kim's shoulder as he debates whether or not he's really committing this time. He's going to need to use the bathroom sooner or later — and just thinking that is enough to tell Nick that he's not getting back to sleep again.

John's back is still facing Nick, and Kim rolls away as soon as Nick starts to squirm, which leaves his path to escape much more open than it was a few hours ago. He manages to pull himself free without waking anyone else, but as soon as he does, John worms into the warm spot left behind. Nick should probably be upset, but mostly he just needs to pee. He can kick John out of his spot after he takes care of himself.

Nick leaves the rest of them to sleep as he tiptoes across the living room to the front door. Unfortunately, the door only wedges open an inch before it hits a wall of snow. Unwilling to wake anyone else up with catastrophic noise, Nick heads upstairs, going for the broken window in John's room. It's freezing up here, cold enough to keep meat until spring, and Nick pulls his flannel closer as he crosses the room, trying not to take too much stock of his surroundings. He doesn't care about the tallies John used to carve in the wall by his bed, and he definitely doesn't care to snoop through the pile of clothes that John's been growing in the corner. What he does care about is how easy it is to crawl out onto the roof from the window — after all, this isn't the first time Nick's been snowed in, and he's made escaping his childhood home an art-form.

There's a good three and a half feet of snow on the ground below, blocking any exit from the first floor. At least the gray sky above is calm, and the weather seems to have calmed down some. They'll have to prepare for another couple of inches before the week's out, but Nick bets the worst of it is over. Now he can think about breakfast — more specifically, coffee — and debate the best way to clear the doorways. They need a path out to the hangar, although they can wait another day or two before they'll need to press the matter. Nick's still convinced there's a set of tire chains hiding away in there, but it's not like the roads will be in any condition to drive on for a while yet...

Nick spends so much time thinking about what he's got to do, he forgets to consider how willing the rest of the house will be to pitch in. The top-of-the-snow sunlight isn't enough heat to make up for the lack of a fire, and getting Kim out from under the blankets is gonna be like pulling teeth until he does something about it. Worse yet, John's rolled into the spot Nick had occupied — not exactly sprawled out, or anything, but the guy is irritatingly close to Kim's sleeping back. If he decided to roll one more time, he'd probably end up smacking his face into her shoulder.

Nick considers throwing a fit on principle, but honestly, that's too much work. It's much easier to sulk, glowering at the bed he's definitely not getting back into before getting some logs to stack in the fire. He drops them noisily by John's feet, although he makes every effort not to accidentally pull a Misery on the guy.

The sound of hollow wood clattering on the ground is enough to stir John, who wakes with a sharp inhale, and cause Carmina to groan and turn away from the noise. Kim has probably been awake for a while now, but it won't make a lick of difference until the fire's on.

He turns away to toss the logs semi-haphazardly into the fireplace, then remembers the kindling and turns to get it. John has propped himself on his elbows, but his half-waking confusion causes him to overlook Nick entirely as he stares around the room. Seeing Kim and Carmina asleep next to him is initially met with confusion. He barely seems to recognize the shapes bundled in the blankets, but when he does he recoils in shock. All the nasty comments Nick had thought up take an abrupt backseat as he stops to marvel at the physical repulsion John shows. He's not sure if he should be offended or not. Probably not, but this apocalypse has got Nick wired all wrong.

"She's not gonna bite," Nick says. John whips his attention back to Nick the moment he raises his voice, only for Nick to realize that looming over the guy with a thick block of wood in hand might send the wrong message.

Sure enough, John catches sight of him, jerking back with a startled hiss. " Jesus !"

"Shit, sorry." Nick turns and drops the log, wincing at the noise that he'd moments ago been deliberately making. "Well, judging from that reaction, looks like this isn't the first time a man's caught you in bed with his wife."

John's withering glare is enough to lift Nick's mood right up. He turns his attention back to starting the fire, listening as John slowly shifts his way free of the blankets. Part of him wants to make a few more jokes at John's expense, but that can wait until John's coherent enough to be snide in return.

Nick gets the fire going and turns to follow John, who's made his way into the kitchen to peer out the window. "Completely snowed in," Nick tells him as he gets the instant coffee and the beat-up kettle. "But it looks like the worst of it's over."

"Seems to be," John agrees, adding, "We forgot the shovels in the truck. It's going to be difficult digging them out now."

"Not a lot of other options, unless you wanna stay inside until the big thaw. Don't worry, I'm sure Carmina will be excited to help us dig."

John hums in assent, although his mind seems to be somewhere else. Nick can't help but notice that John's pensive states seem damned near reasonable nowadays. He has plenty to think about, and he seems to be keeping one foot in the here-and-now. He's aware enough of his surroundings that he stops Nick before he can leave John to it.

He tries to stare Nick down, but he can't quite manage it. "Thank you for not..."

John gestures vaguely as the rest of the sentence fails to generate. Nick could probably wait it out, but he's just as embarrassed as John apparently is, and he would rather move past the whole thing.

"Don't worry about it," Nick says. "Just don't get too comfortable cuddling up to me."

Rolling his eyes doesn't hide John's faint smile, but he turns away before Nick can see if it lasts. "That won't be a problem, trust me."

Nick is surprised that he does, even for something as small and inconsequential as a joke. "Grab the mugs when you're done looking for Santa," he says, turning back for the warmth of the fire. A few months ago, Nick might've resented how eroded the line has become between John and his own family, but it's honestly too much work to keep up. At a certain point, they're just going to have to include John in their daily routines — Nick just hadn't expected that point to be made by sharing blankets during a blizzard.

Well, there's one good thing about that, Nick supposes — it means that somewhere up there, the Deputy is watching over them. After all, there's no way in hell random chance has the same shitty sense of humor as Rook had.

[here4theheartbreak]

Run to Me (Kim Line Poly)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jin x Namjoon x Taehyung Genre(s): Smut, Angst Rating: Explicit

Written for: @btspolyshipbingo​ Square Filled: Run

Tags: smut, angst, pining, happy ending, polyamory, getting together, first kiss, jealousy, HYYH AU, child abuse, side pairing Jimin/Hoseok, implied side pairing Jungkook/Yoongi, barebacking, drinking, threesome virgin!Taehyung, switch!Taehyung, switch!Namjoon, switch!Jin

Summary: Taehyung has a crush on Namjoon. Not like he stands a chance with Jin there though. Word Count: ~6.6k

A/N: Written for @namjinsmaknaes​, who helped me with the idea for it and hoped I’d write it. Hope you enjoy it!!

“Can I stay here tonight?” Taehyung asked softly. Namjoon swiped lightly at the blood on his lip, and Taehyung winced.

“It was your Dad, wasn’t it?” He asked. Taehyung lowered his gaze, embarrassment coloring his features.

“Yeah.”

Namjoon sighed heavily. He dipped the cloth in water once more, dying it a pale pink. He wiped over the spot again and shook his head. “I hate that man. I wish you’d move out. Not like he’d notice, or even care. At least you’d be safe then.”

“I can’t leave my family,” Taehyung whispered. “Him, I don’t care about but…”

“I know. I know. Yeah, you can stay tonight.” Namjoon smiled softly and rose, cleaning up the supplies he’d used to fix Taehyung’s bruised face. As he washed the cup in the sink, he spoke. “I don’t have much food but we can go get some, if you want.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Well… I was gonna go for a walk in the park.”

“That I’ll tag along for,” Taehyung agreed. Fights with his dad – or anyone – usually made him antsy. So, a good, long walk would be ideal for him. He watched Namjoon wander around the tiny one-bedroom home, gathering up his coat and shoes and a backpack that rattled suspiciously.

“Ready?” He asked, tugging a beanie over his head.

Taehyung nodded, rising and pulling on his own coat. Namjoon smiled at him and Taehyung returned it, feeling his heart skip a beat.

He couldn’t recall the first time he realized he liked Namjoon as more than just a friend. Maybe when they first met, and Namjoon smiled that bright dimpled grin at him. Or maybe the first time Namjoon patched up an injury he’d gotten. Whenever it was, he knew he had it bad. He just wished he could do something about it. But Namjoon would never be into him. Strong, brave, bad ass – he was everything Taehyung looked up to, and nothing he could ever remotely catch as a boyfriend. If Namjoon was even into guys. He was… Relatively sure he was, if some of his dirty magazines had said anything about it, but one could never be too sure. And he wasn’t about to ruin a friendship over a wrongly assumed sexuality.

As the two walked through the deserted park, taking in the cool night air and the stars visible even with the Seoul city lights, Taehyung felt at peace. He opened his mouth, about to ask the one question that had been bugging him, when Namjoon grabbed his wrist. “Come on.”

“Where are we going.”

“You’ll see. Come on, Van Gogh.” Namjoon winked and tugged Taehyung toward the main sidewalk. The two ran together in the night, and Taehyung finally connected the metallic sound in Namjoon’s backpack; spray paint.

His grin widened and he sped up, letting Namjoon lead him into a darkened alleyway. They stopped, breathless, and Namjoon dropped the backpack on the ground. It opened, spilling out a few cans.

“Show me what you can do, artist.”

“What should I make?” Taehyung asked, scooping up a bright pink that matched Namjoon’s hair. He began to work, tongue jutting out from between his teeth. He could feel Namjoon watching him, and an eager little ball of energy began to form in his stomach. Maybe he could show Namjoon just how much he meant this way. He began to spray with more vigor, glancing over at Namjoon.

Namjoon smirked at him around his sucker, leaning against the wall to watch him work. Taehyung switched colors every now and then, little surges of pride at the happy noises Namjoon was making.

A flash of lights dragged the smile of from Namjoon’s face. He smacked Taehyung’s arm, scooping up the backpack. Taehyung’s eye widened when he heard the cop shout. He took off down the sidewalk with Namjoon, laughing a little at Namjoon’s broad grin.

Neither of them wanted to be caught, he was sure, but the adrenaline rush was great. Eager to show off, he turned around and ran backwards, pulling a face at the cop in pursuit of them. Namjoon laughed brightly, grabbing at his jacket to pull him along.

Despite their best efforts, the cops cut them off, having split up along the walkway. They shoved Namjoon and Taehyung against the car rougher than necessary, spitting curses at them.

Taehyung’s eyes landed on Namjoon, who was still grinning breathlessly. A hard knot of lust formed in his stomach. He needed to tell Namjoon the truth. He had to take a shot at this.

Taehyung swore at the cop that banged his head on the frame of the car as he was shoved into the back, the metal of the cuffs biting uncomfortably into this wrist. Namjoon ended up next to him, their shoulders bumping together. Namjoon laughed a little, shaking his head.

“What do we do?” Taehyung asked in a whisper before the cops got in.

“We’ll call Jin-hyung to bail us out. Tell them he’s your big brother. It’ll save you a run in with your dad.”

Taehyung nodded. The cop entered and banged on the metal grill separating them from the front.

“Not a fucking word.”

“How about a limerick?” Namjoon teased. The other cop looked back, flashing him a deadly scowl.

“Smart ass, huh? Not gonna be so smart in jail.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes deeply. “We’ll be out in an hour.”

“You little—”

“Stop it,” the other cop muttered as he drove. “They aren’t worth it, and he’s probably right. Little punks always have ways out.”

Namjoon looked over at Taehyung. Taehyung grinned sheepishly. They remained silent on the remainder of the drive to the police station, only speaking up once the cops asked if they had anyone to call.

Jin picked up on the second ring.

“What’s up, Taehyungie?”

“Ah… I’m at the police station. I’m with Namjoon-hyung.”

“What did you two do?” Taehyung could hear some rustling as he spoke.

“Ah… Tagging walls.”

“Tae—”

“We need to get bailed out. If you can’t I gotta call my dad and…”

“No.” Jin cut him off immediately. “Don’t. I’ll be down there in ten minutes, okay? Sit tight and don’t cause trouble.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

“See you soon.” The phone clicked in Taehyung’s ear and he hung up, nodding to Namjoon.

“He’s coming.”

Taehyung and Namjoon both hugged Jin when they were released from the cell. “Thanks, Jin-hyung,” Namjoon said.

“Can’t leave my boys in a cage,” Jin joked. “We’ll meet you outside, okay, Taehyung?” Taehyung nodded, heading over to the desk to claim the few belongings they’d taken from him before he was put in the holding cell.

Taehyung zipped his coat as he headed outside, hurrying toward Jin’s truck to escape the night breeze. When he pulled open the door he gasped, Jin and Namjoon were in the front, their lips locked together in a deep kiss.

Jin pulled back, his eyes widening. “Taehyung—”

“Sorry!” Taehyung cried, slamming the door shut. He rushed down the sidewalk, his cheeks burning. Though he was embarrassed – he was more hurt. He’d had no idea Jin was interested in Namjoon. There went his only shot. Tears burned the back of his eyes. He could hear Jin and Namjoon yelling for him, but only sped up. He couldn’t face them right now, not like this. They’d ask too many questions.

“I can walk home! Thank you!” He cried back.

“Stop, Tae!” Jin shouted then, startling Taehyung into freezing. He kept his eyes glued to the ground even as their footsteps neared, pounding on the pavement.

“Please don’t run,” Namjoon whispered. “I’m sorry… You must be horrified.”

“Why would I be horrified?” Taehyung murmured.

“I mean... We’re gay. We didn’t… We didn’t want anyone to find out like this.”

“I’m not mad,” Taehyung said, realizing why the two sounded so tense. He blinked a few times, staving off his tears, and looked up, offering a smile. “It startled me was all.”

Jin relaxed visibly, looking close to tears. “Really?”

“You aren’t… Grossed out?” Namjoon asked.

Taehyung shook his head. “Of course not. You’re my best friends. None of us would be grossed out. We’d be happy for you. Are, happy for you. I am, at least,” he added, the lie tasting like ash in his mouth. He wasn’t happy. He was furious. He wanted Namjoon.

“Oh thank God.” Namjoon hugged Taehyung tightly, and the smell of his cologne brought bitter tears to Taehyung’s eyes once more.

“You don’t know what that means to us, Taehyung. Thank you,” Jin said.

“Yeah. I get it.” Taehyung stepped back and plastered another smile on his face, hoping his wet eyes could be explained away by the cool wind, or his hair hid them enough. “I’ll get heading home now. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

“You were gonna stay over, weren’t you?” Namjoon asked.

Taehyung shook his head. “No, I should go check on my family… Make sure… Everything’s okay.”

“You don’t need to … Tae, this won’t change anything between us, right?” Namjoon worried.

“No. Not at all.” Liar. His mind spat. “But I’m sure you two want some time together.”

Jin and Namjoon shared a glance. Even in the low light, Taehyung could see the adoration in their gaze. It burned the knot of rage even hotter inside Taehyung. “I’ll see you later.”

He walked away before they could protest, ducking down an alley and hiding until he heard Jin’s truck drive off.

Taehyung knew he couldn’t avoid them forever. So he didn’t. He did his best to go back to normal. Over the next few months, he tamped down his anger. Each passing day, each moment he saw Jin and Namjoon together it grew.

*******

The party was a blessing. No interferences, everyone just having fun, having some drinks, forgetting. Taehyung didn’t have to worry about his dad, he could just relax. At least… He wanted to. But Jin and Namjoon – now open with the rest of their friends – were so clingy.

As the group sat in the kitchen, watching Jin put together a house of cards, Taehyung’s anger began to bubble once more. Namjoon was right there. He was leaning over Jin, focused on his hands. Taehyung wanted nothing more than to scream. He remembered the night he’d found them kissing. The night he was this close to confessing to Namjoon.

He sipped at his drink, glaring at Jin through the cards. Jin met his gaze, offering a crooked, happy smile. He sat back, having completed the house. Everyone whooped, cheering for Jin. Without thinking, Taehyung batted his hand out, knocking down the house. Shock crossed Jin’s face for a split second, and then hurt, before everyone began to laugh. Jin laughed then as well, his eyes still searching Taehyung’s face for … Something. Taehyung rose, stalking out of the room and into the living room.

He only managed a few moments of solitude before the others filtered in, whooping and talking over the echo of the music in the house. Jin stepped up to Taehyung, cornering him.

“Are we good?” He asked.

“We’re fine.”

“You sure? You seem… Angry.”

Taehyung’s jaw twitched. He wanted to yell at Jin. But there was something there, some deeper concern.

“Nope.”

Jin blinked at him, smiling softly. “You know you’re my friend, Taehyung. I’ll always be around for you.”

“Will you?” Taehyung snapped. He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Jin looked surprised. It faded to a confused hurt then. He grabbed Taehyung’s arm.

“Always. You’re my Tae. I’ll always take care of you.”

“I’m not a baby,” Taehyung tried to growl. It came out weak instead. A knot tightened in his stomach. Jin’s lips were so soft looking.

“I know. You’re tougher than most of us put together. But I’m still there for you. Let me in.”

Taehyung swallowed hard. He didn’t like where his thoughts were going. He shouldered his way out of the corner Jin trapped him in. “We’re fine,” he grumbled.

Before he could get too far, Namjoon grabbed his sleeve and shoved a spray can into his hand. “Paint us a picture, Van Gogh.”

Taehyung chuckled, looking at the can.

“What do you want?” He asked, meeting Namjoon’s slightly alcohol fuzzed gaze.

Namjoon shrugged. “Paint Jin-hyung.”

Taehyung turned to look at Jin, who was still watching him with a confused expression. He grabbed Jin’s shirt and shoved him hard, leading him toward the wall. Jin gasped, making a small noise when his back hit the wall.

Namjoon grunted softly, standing nearby. Taehyung backed up for just a second, shaking the spray can. He hated how good Jin looked pressed to the wall, his eyes dark and hair mussed. It was all too easy to imagine sinking to his knees, pulling a moan from those plush lips—

Taehyung shook the image from his mind. He nudged Jimin over to help him remove Jin’s dark jacket and sprayed a bubbled outline around his form. Grabbing black from Namjoon, he sprayed a line diagonal across the wall, hitting Jin with it. Jin gasped.

“That’s cold,” he complained.

“He said to paint you.” Taehyung crossed it, making an X on Jin’s chest. He’d meant to be angry. Crossing Jin out, so he could take Namjoon… But it felt different. He continued to spray around Jin, making patterns on the wall that seemed to ebb and flow from the outline he created around him. Jin remained still, his gaze softening as he let Taehyung work. Though Namjoon was right behind him, Taehyung could feel Jin’s gaze on his face. His cheeks were burning from the intensity of it, and he hated that he couldn’t read what it meant. He took a step back, and Jin stepped forward, turning to admire the work.

“That’s beautiful,” he commented.

“Thanks.”

“You really have talent, Taehyungie,” Namjoon praised, slinging an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders.

“I guess so.” Taehyung pulled out of their grip and tossed the can to Jimin, heading over to pour himself another beer. Jimin grabbed Hoseok’s wrist, shouting something about needing some air, and dragged him out of the apartment.

In the living room, Namjoon stretched across Jin’s lap, laughing, as soon as Jin sat down. Taehyung took a seat on the floor near to them, trying to focus on Jungkook’s singing behind him.

Namjoon reached down, scooping up the bright red plastic cup nearby and sloshing the amber liquid over his hand as he dragged it up to his mouth.

“You’re gonna spill on my jeans,” Jin complained, but didn’t make any real motion to push Namjoon away.

The door burst open then and Jimin and Hoseok stumbled in, leaning on one another. Jimin tripped over a shoe in his path. He stumbled, trying to keep his balance but went over, his drink splashing over and spilling across the floor. Yoongi shouted in protest, scrambling back away from the spreading alcohol. He slammed himself into Taehyung, sloshing his own cup.

Taehyung leapt to his feet, tripping over Jungkook’s outstretched legs and falling into Namjoon’s lap. The barely contained beer spilled over, ending up going up Namjoon’s nose and over Jin’s jeans.

The seven went still for a moment, the music blasting through the apartment and the smell of hops and ethanol whispering on the air.

It was Jimin that cracked up first, slapping the floor when he realized what he and Hoseok had inadvertently caused. His peal of bright giggles broke the silence, and the seven began shouting and laughing again, blaming with no real venom and trying vainly to right themselves. Taehyung felt his cheeks burn when he realized the precarious situation he’d ended up in – and the way both Jin and Namjoon were looking at him.

“Uh… Fancy meeting you here,” he tried to salvage. Jin laughed, shoving his head.

“Get off me unless you’re gonna give me a lap dance,” Namjoon scolded with no real force, sitting up and scrubbing the alcohol off his face with his shirt.

“My pants are soaked,” Jin lamented.

“Take them off,” Namjoon said.

“Nobody would mind,” Taehyung commented. He realized the words had slipped out just a second too late to cover. So he scrambled to his feet and fixed his shirt, heading to the table across the room to get himself another drink before the burning in his cheeks gave him away.

Times like this, when there was so much going on and all of them were around, able to distract, these times were easier. These times Taehyung could feel like he wasn’t the odd man out, alone and unwanted. But that would change.

He’d seen it happening over the past few months. Jin and Namjoon had set the precedent, of course. After Taehyung had spotted them, they came out to the rest of the group. Everyone had been supportive, just as Taehyung assumed they would be.

Taehyung had walked in on Jimin sucking Hoseok’s cock just a month later. Though they said they were just friends with benefits, their inseparability made it clear that things were a lot more monogamous than they let on. And even Jungkook – who had always had his back – Jungkook was crushing on Yoongi, hard. He’d confessed just last week when he and Taehyung were sleeping over. They weren’t dating – or weren’t open about it – but Taehyung knew it was only a matter of time. And then where would he be? No room for him – all his friends paired off and in their own worlds. Even parties like this would be insufferable – each couple wanting to be with their other. And Taehyung in the middle. Unwanted like usual.

The alcohol was doing nothing to help his rotten mood as he slumped against the wall. But it was numbing the pain, and that was something. The music was throbbing through his skull, and his vision wouldn’t focus for more than a second.

He watched Jimin grab Hoseok’s hand and pull him toward the bathroom, a sly smile on his plump lips. Hoseok looked dazed, and a little drunk, but was grinning from ear to ear as the two moved quickly. Taehyung saw him begin to undo his pants as the door slipped shut.

Taehyung’s vision blurred again, refocusing on the couch. Jin had his hand under Namjoon’s coat, which was placed ever so conspicuously across his lap. Their mouths were moving slowly as they made out, Namjoon’s fingers buried in Jin’s shaggy hair.

Jin slid down, pressing kisses along Namjoon’s jaw. Namjoon opened his eyes, and met Taehyung’s gaze across the room. He offered an open-mouthed smile, not breaking his gaze from Taehyung. It was a deeper knowing gaze, and it made Taehyung’s stomach knot in a weird mix of arousal, embarrassment, and envy.

Namjoon shifted a little, muttering something in Jin’s ear. Jin popped his head up, looking over at Taehyung. He grinned then, and offered a wink. Taehyung’s eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet, his cheeks burning. He rushed into the kitchen before he could make a bigger fool of himself. He didn’t know exactly what had happened just then, but he had the sinking feeling that the two knew more than they were letting on about his dirty little secret.

Taehyung dug around in the kitchen, gathering a few scraps to eat before turning around… And running smack into Jin’s broad chest.

“Hey Taehyungie,” Jin cooed, almost nose to nose with Taehyung.

“H—Hey, Jin-hyung. What’s up?”

“I’d ask you the same thing. You were mad earlier… Then you were watching Namjoon and I pretty close just now.”

Taehyung dropped his gaze, panic settling into his stomach like a rock. He couldn’t read Jin’s tone through the music and his alcohol slurred mind, and it concerned him further. He struggled to come up with any viable excuse.

“J—Just zoning out. I’m sorry. It was rude.”

“That all it was, Taehyung? Zoning out?”

“What else would it be?” Taehyung asked, trying to go around Jin. He cringed away when Jin raised a hand to stop him. Just as quick as he did, Jin dropped is hand.

“Tae—”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” Taehyung whispered. He tossed the bag of chips he’d found on the table and hurried out, darting past Jungkook toward the door.

“Taehyung!” Namjoon called, but Taehyung ignored him, rushing out into the night and hurrying down the alley.  

He made his way through their part of town, dodging the main streets as much as he could. He tugged his jacket a little tighter around himself, the glint of his buttons shining off the streetlights. He hadn’t wanted to run. Jin would never hurt him, he knew that. More than once Jin had kept him out of trouble, patched up bruises and cuts from his father or other fights. Even when they bickered, Jin never raised a hand to him in aggression. He had just been so overwhelmed by how he was feeling, the confrontation – everything.

Taehyung swiped at his tear blurred vision angrily, startling a little when a train sounded behind him. He was being ridiculous. Darting across the tracks as soon as the train passed, Taehyung hopped over a low fence and down the wall of the long-empty swimming pool. It was silent as a grave, looking like a dumping ground of sorts with how empty and ridden with weeds it was. A mattress was laying in the center of it, looking just as discarded as the pile of boxes nearby.

Taehyung flopped on the mattress, looking up at the stars. They had found this place months back, tossed the old mattress there and stored a few non-perishable foods and items among the boxes.

It was one of their many hideouts around the city. Though they all – technically – had homes, the fact was that they preferred spending time with one another over their blood for one reason or the other. And Taehyung didn’t want that to change. It would, he knew; he’d lamented it while he had been drinking and his thoughts still held true. One by one his friends would pair up and he would be left alone.

Taehyung let his tears slide down from the corners of his eyes as he stared up at the night sky. Just once he wanted to be a first choice. He wanted to find someone he could love – that wasn’t already taken by someone far better.

The night stretched on, and Taehyung remained, his tears drying as he drifted to sleep under the stars.

*******

The morning sun was blocked out just as Taehyung began to come to. A hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him. Probably a stranger worried he was drugged or dead. He opened his tired eyes, about to tell the person to fuck off, when he saw Namjoon’s concerned gaze. He smiled shyly.

“Morning.”

“Did you sleep out here all night?” Namjoon asked. He backed up, letting the sun back in and nearly blinding Taehyung. He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you come back to the party?” Jin’s voice startled Taehyung. He looked over, seeing him just a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest. He was still wearing the shirt that Taehyung had spray painted.

“Don’t know. Needed some air. Wandered here and fell asleep… Where’s everyone else?”

“Sleeping it off… We came to look for you as soon as we sobered up and realized you were still gone. You’ve been off for months, Tae. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it us?” Jin asked. He stepped closer to Taehyung, moving slow and cautious like Taehyung was some wounded animal. “Are you mad that we’re… Dating?”

“Why would I be?” Taehyung asked, bringing his knees up to his chest.

“Well… We’re guys—” Namjoon began.

“You think I’m a homophobe?” Taehyung spluttered.

Jin and Namjoon stood still, their eyes on the ground. Taehyung gaped. “I’m gay!” He cried, startling both into looking up at him. “You two are so wrapped up in your own love that you can’t see it! I’m in love with you!”

“W—Which one of us?” Jin asked softly.

“Both!” Taehyung froze then, his mouth agape and eyes wide. The realization sunk into his bones as soon as he spoke it. He loved them. “Both,” he whispered.

“Tae—” Namjoon began, crouching and reaching out for Taehyung. He scrambled back, standing and brushing himself off.

“Don’t. I don’t need your pity. It’s a stupid crush, it’ll fade. I’m sorry I ran,” he mumbled, heading toward the ladder to climb out.

Namjoon grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Before Taehyung could argue further, Namjoon kissed him.

Taehyung tensed at first, his eyes bulging. It hit him then; this was Namjoon. This was Namjoon kissing him. He screwed his eyes shut and leaned into it, grabbing the back of Namjoon’s neck. Their lips slid together, and Namjoon’s mouth was just as smooth and sweet as Taehyung had imagined it would be.

They separated after what was too short of a time for Taehyung. He let himself be pulled, meeting Jin’s gentle gaze. “My turn,” Jin whispered. Taehyung nodded dumbly. He let himself be wrapped in Jin’s arms, their lips meeting in a lazy kiss. Jin’s mouth was plush and soft, his hands sliding firmly over Taehyung’s back to hold him close. Namjoon pressed himself against Taehyung, wrapping his hands around his middle.

When Jin pulled back, Taehyung nearly collapsed between them. “Why?” He whispered. “You’re with each other, I—I won’t wreck that.”

“Who says dating you would wreck it?” Namjoon whispered against Taehyung’s ear.

“You’re perfect. You’re my boy,” Jin said. “You’d never wreck anything.”

“You—Both want me?” Taehyung asked, disbelief coloring his words.

“If you’ll take us. We’re sorry we were blind to it for so long,” Namjoon said.

“When you were watching us last night,” Jin explained, “we got to thinking… Maybe that was what you wanted… You ran before we could ask.”

“I was scared you were mad.”

“I’ll never be mad at you for having feelings, Taehyungie,” Jin promised, pressing another kiss against his mouth. It deepened naturally, Namjoon’s mouth planting needy kisses along the curve of Taehyung’s neck. The two maneuvered him toward the mattress, and Taehyung’s heart very nearly beat its way out of his ribcage when they pushed him down onto it, kneeling over him.

“I’m a virgin,” Taehyung cried, his cheeks heating up at their surprised expressions.

“You—I thought you lost it a few years ago,” Jin said.

“I lied.”

“Was that—That wasn’t your first kiss, was it?” Namjoon asked. Taehyung looked away, nodding. Namjoon grabbed his chin, turning it back and kissing his mouth firmly. “I’m honored.”

“You’re not—”

“If you ask if we’re mad I’m going to spank you,” Jin teased, and Taehyung giggled nervously.

“That wouldn’t be a punishment,” he whispered.

Jin made a small noise in his throat, a cross between a groan and a growl, and leaned down, biting lightly at Taehyung’s neck. He slid his hand under his shirt, reaching up to tug and tease at his nipple as he did. Taehyung moaned softly.

Namjoon leaned back, stripping himself out of his own shirt and tossing his belt to the side. Taehyung reached out, touching his stomach and chest. He’d seen Namjoon shirtless before – naked even – but this was different.

“How far do you want to go, Taehyung?” Jin asked. His voice had a deep, breathless quality to it – and Taehyung wanted to hear more of that.

“I—I don’t have lube.”

“We do… But do you want—”

“I want to lose it. To you two… If—You’ll have… Me. If you want it,” Taehyung stuttered, his cheeks burning. He felt wildly insecure. Jin just smiled. He stripped his own shirt off, his chest still lightly stained where Taehyung had spray painted him the night before. Taehyung reached up, running his finger over the mark.

“Sorry about this.”

“Paint washes,” Jin said, tossing his shirt aside. He pulled Taehyung up and he and Namjoon stripped his shirt off, reaching down to undo his jeans as they took turns kissing him until he felt drunk on their affection.

Only then did they go further. Namjoon moved down, tugging Taehyung’s the remainder of Taehyung’s clothing off to leave him bare. He felt exposed; anyone who looked over the edge of the swimming pool could see him, but also protected, surrounded by the two men he loved most. Namjoon pushed his thighs open, smoothing his palm over the soft skin there. Taehyung moaned.

Jin rose, hurrying to the pile of boxes and digging around for a moment. He came up with a small bottle of lube, and Taehyung cocked a brow.

“Oh, we have definitely fucked here before,” Jin admitted, passing the bottle to Namjoon.

Taehyung nodded. He reached out, undoing Jin’s jeans and pushing at them. He looked up at Jin, his eyes pleading.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” Jin groaned. He rose, stripping himself down and tossing his clothes to the side before kneeling near Taehyung.

“It’s big,” Taehyung whispered, reaching out. He gripped Jin’s cock and gave it a stroke, smirking when Jin cried out.

It was Taehyung’s turn to gasp though, when Namjoon pressed a finger into him. “Not too much?” He worried. Taehyung shook his head.

“No, I… I’ve touched myself like that, so… You don’t need to be too careful,” he assured him. Namjoon smirked then and nodded. “Good to know.” He added a second finger right away, laughing when Taehyung whined and arched.

Taehyung bit his lip, his gaze sliding over Jin’s nude form. Taking a shaky breath, he shifted, sitting up enough to let his tongue slide over the silken tip of Jin’s cock. Jin gasped, grabbing Taehyung’s shoulder.

“You don’t—”

“Shh,” Taehyung scolded. He pulled Jin closer, wrapping his lips around the tip and giving a gentle suck. Jin moaned softly, stroking his fingers through Taehyung’s hair.

“That’s it,” he praised.

Taehyung took more, bobbing his head along the length of Jin’s cock. It was smooth and heavy against his tongue, a little salty and a hundred percent Jin. Each draw back, Taehyung swiped his tongue over the tip, earning a taste of the tangy precoma dribbling freely from it. He’d nearly forgotten Namjoon was opening him up until his fingers swiped at his prostate, sending a jolt of excited electricity through Taehyung’s body. He pulled off Jin’s cock, shouting.

“He’s ready,” Namjoon said. He moved up behind Jin, pressing kisses along his shoulder.

“Who do you want to be your first, Tae? Your choice,” Jin panted.

Taehyung licked his lips, looking between Jin and Namjoon. “I—I don’t know. I want both of you,” he lamented.

“Well… I took Jin-hyung’s virginity,” Namjoon said.

“Were you a virgin too?”

Namjoon shook his head no.

“So… Jin-hyung should get to take mine.”

“I can do that,” Jin said, smiling. He moved between Taehyung’s thighs. Namjoon stripped out of his clothes and laid next to Taehyung, pressing a kiss against his mouth.

“He’s gentle,” Namjoon promised.

“I’m nervous,” Taehyung admitted.

“Should we stop?” Jin asked.

Taehyung shook his head. “No. I want this. I’m ready. Just go slow.”

Jin nodded. He pulled Taehyung’s hips up, adding more lube to his hole and his own cock. He leaned over, brushing their noses together. Taehyung set his hand on Jin’s shoulder, twining the fingers of his other hand with Namjoon’s.

“I’m ready.”

Jin nodded. He pressed a kiss to Taehyung’s mouth and pushed in, slow and steady.

Taehyung’s back arched off the mattress, his eyes rolling back as he moaned happily.

“He loves it,” Namjoon purred, kissing Taehyung’s bared neck. “His cock feel good, Tae?”

“Yes!”

“Take it for us. Open up and let him in, baby. Give it to him,” Namjoon continued, reaching down to stroke Taehyung’s throbbing cock.

Jin began to pump his hips gently, working a little more in on each thrust. He met Taehyung’s lust drunk gaze and grinned. “Feel so good on my cock, Taehyungie. Do you like it?”

Taehyung nodded, whining when Jin shifted, hitting his prostate dead on. “More—“

“God, you sound so good begging,” Jin praised. He leaned over, kissing Namjoon. “Switch?”

Namjoon nodded. He slicked his cock. Jin pulled out and Taehyung whined, reaching for him.

“Don’t worry. It’s Namjoon’s turn. Just relax, we won’t leave you hanging.” Jin leaned down, kissing Taehyung deeply as Namjoon lined up and drove home. Taehyung gasped into Jin’s mouth, the subtle differences in curve and thickness feeling like huge ones inside him. He wrapped his legs around Namjoon’s waist, throwing his head back.

Jin moved behind Namjoon, beginning to work him open even as Namjoon fucked into Taehyung. He moaned and whined, twisting his hips back on Jin’s long fingers and then forward to pump into Taehyung.

They looked stunning. Taehyung’s vision blurred as he watched the two sharing kisses. They were his now.

“Jin-hyung,” he panted. Jin met his gaze. “Put it in me again,” he whispered.

Namjoon pulled out, moving over so Jin could slide home. Taehyung moaned freely, hearing the rustle of birds from the nearby tree. He reached out for Namjoon. “Lemme—“

He pointed to the lube, unable to form the sentence. Namjoon understood though, and handed it over, turning so Taehyung could help open him up.  

Namjoon whined low in his throat when Taehyung pressed his fingers in, crooking them against his arousal swollen prostate. “Oh fuck— You know how to do this,” he praised, pushing himself down on Taehyung’s fingers.

Taehyung flushed with pride.

“C— Can make myself come like this. Learned some tricks.” He twitched his wrist, earning another shout from Namjoon.

“Fuck, he barely makes that sound when I’m fucking him,” Jin panted, watching Namjoon writhe on Taehyung’s fingers as he fucked into him. “Sit on his cock, Joonie,” he whispered.

Namjoon and Taehyung both moaned at that.

“I might come if he does that,” Taehyung warned.

“Even better,” Namjoon murmured. He pulled off Taehyung’s fingers and added lube to his cock, smirking when Taehyung hissed and grabbed the sides of the mattress. He straddled Taehyung’s hips, looking down at him.

“Ready?”

Taehyung nodded. He felt Jin’s hand grip his cock, the tip brushing against Namjoon’s rim. Before he could think about it too long, Namjoon sank down. His ass opened easily, taking the length of Taehyung with no problem. He moaned loudly, leaning back against Jin. His cock dribbled onto Taehyung’s stomach, twitching as his prostate was rubbed.

“How does he feel?” Jin panted, still driving into Taehyung’s ass. His hand was working furiously at his own hole, muscles twitching as he opened himself up.

“So fucking thick,” Namjoon whined, looking down at Taehyung. He rode him lazily, twisting and snapping his hips to get Taehyung as deep as possible. “You feel so good.”

Taehyung whined, digging his fingers into Namjoon’s thighs.

“Please— I’m not gonna last long,” he warned.

“Don’t make him come yet,” Jin pleaded.

“Why?” Taehyung asked. He cried out in surprise when Jin pulled out of his ass, leaving him achingly open - and surprisingly needy.

“I want a turn.”

Namjoon nodded. He pulled off and Jin straddled him just as quick.

“Oh God—“ Taehyung grabbed Jin’s waist as he settled onto his cock, his own barely loosened hole squeezing around Taehyung’s thickness.

Jin threw his head back, immediately picking up a fast pace. Taehyung writhed under him, so close to coming it hurt. He needed more.

“Namjoon-hyung,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with pleasure. He spread his legs wider, moaning happily.

Namjoon moved between them. He laughed breathlessly and drove two fingers into Taehyung.

“So loose and wet,” he purred. “Need a little help? Hm? Wanna come in Jin-hyung’s ass?”

Taehyung nodded quickly. He shuddered whenever Jin clenched around him.

“Fuck him, Namjoonie,” Jin demanded. He leaned forward, pulling almost all the way off before sinking back down.

Namjoon drove into Taehyung without hesitation at Jin’s command, and all three shouted loud enough to echo. Their bodies moved together, each chasing their own pleasure.

As expected, Taehyung lost the battle first. His short nails dug into Jin’s hips and he arched. His cock jerked and throbbed inside Jin as he spilled rope after rope of come. Jin shouted happily, holding himself still, seeming to savor the feeling. Namjoon’s cock seemed thicker, trapped in Taehyung’s ass as his muscles clenched around him.

Namjoon spread him open, fucking into him hard enough to work a few final spurts of come from his softening cock.

Jin leaned down, kissing his mouth and then his earlobe. “Gonna make sure Namjoon fills your ass as full as you just filled me,” he panted against his ear. He pulled off Taehyung then, come dribbling down his thighs. He paid it no attention though, moving behind Namjoon and slicking his cock before driving home.

The motion forced Namjoon deeper, pushing him over Taehyung. They shared a messy kiss, Namjoon’s cock throbbing inside Taehyung as Jin fucked into him.

“Come in me,” Taehyung panted against his mouth. “Mark me up, please, hyung.”

Namjoon groaned softly, he leaned down, his teeth grazing Taehyung’s shoulder. Jin slammed in harder, meeting Taehyung’s tired gaze. Namjoon’s teeth clamped down as he muffled a moan. A split second of pain cut through Taehyung’s sex contented haze as Namjoon’s teeth met his skin. And then pleasure. Namjoon’s cock was throbbing rhythmically against his swollen channel, and Taehyung felt his cheeks burn with a deep pride as he realized he was coming inside him.

He focused just long enough to see Jin throw his head back, his fingers digging into the swell of Namjoon’s ass as he drove deep and went still, his own orgasm hitting him.

The three slumped onto the mattress, sharing lazy kisses as they came down from their climaxes.

“That was amazing,” Taehyung murmured, nuzzling up to Namjoon.

“Yeah? No regrets?” Jin asked.

“One.”

“What’s that?” Namjoon asked.

“That I didn’t tell you guys right away how I felt.”

Jin smiled against Taehyung’s shoulder. “Well we know now, that’s what matters. We’ll make up for all the time we missed.”

“How are we going to tell the others?”

“Tell us what?” Yoongi called, dropping into the swimming pool. Taehyung squeaked, scrambling for his jacket, discarded on the ground nearby. Jin laughed, grabbing it and letting Taehyung cover his lap. He sat up, pulling on his boxers.

“Really?”

“Not our fault you exhibitionists are boning in our hide out.”

“We heard you like a half a block away,” Jimin called. The remainder of their friends piled into the pool as the three tugged their clothes on.

Jungkook slung an arm around Taehyung, tousling his hair. “Finally confessed, huh?”

“What?”

“Dude, you’ve been crushing on them for months. Joonie-hyung for at least twice as long.”

“At this point we were just waiting to see who’d notice first,” Hoseok agreed.

Jin rubbed the back of his neck. “I was oblivious.”

“Well, we’re glad you got it figured out,” Yoongi said.

“Mhm, Tae’s grumping was getting insufferable,” Jimin said. He settled on the ground and stretched out, laughing when Hoseok leapt into his lap.

“What are we gonna do today?” Jungkook asked.

“Those three are cleaning that mattress, first off,” Yoongi said, pointing to it.

Taehyung glanced back and laughed, his cheeks burning. “As if you all haven’t fucked on it.”

“You’re not wrong,” Namjoon agreed, stretching out next to Jimin on the ground. Taehyung sat next to him, reaching out and taking his hand. Jin settled behind him, wrapping a protective arm around his middle. Taehyung sighed contentedly. He looked around as his friends chatted with one another. His boyfriends holding him safe. He’d searched for a family that would accept him for what he was for so long. And now he’d finally found it.

[changelingvixen]

Part 4

She looked at the finished dishes, a few hours later. Yes – she was happy enough. She’d made the curd from scratch and although there wasn’t time to make real Knights’ Bread, which needed overnight rising, she’d used baking powder instead of yeast to get a quick rise and it looked good. She’d signed the sachertorte with lemon sugar icing and although there was plenty to worry about – was there enough curd under the chocolate? Too late to tell now. Would they dislike the yeastless bread? Would the quiche be too eggy? She’d layered the vegetables in a swirly pattern in the top so it looked good. She suspected Royse knew as well as she herself did that food really was a many-sense experience, and visuals were also part of it. For that reason she wasn’t going to cut the Sachtertorte either; she’d serve it with plates, a jug of lemon cream and knives for them to cut their own slices and not ruin the smooth, glossy chocolate.

For a mad moment she wondered if she should have dyed some of it blue, and bit down on the giggle rising in her throat. Breathe – calm down. What happens if they hate it? You’ve lost nothing expect some pride and you didn’t have much of that anyway. You can get Apple and pack up and go back to Gridania and never think of this again. To her surprise, she didn’t want to do that, though. She liked the friendly Latool Ja and his companion, Gaheel Ja, another beastman living in the heart of Ul’Dah. Getting a free room and board was a nice perk. Royse seemed like a decent boss. And there was a strange sense of…well – glamour, excitement – about the place. It was somewhere between a bar and a circus – well, a Carnivale - and she wanted to see the magic. She was curious, she’d admit it to herself. Her skin prickled with nerves when she remembered she was serving to her boss and the star of the show. What was he like, this showman mage? She’d probably never have to see him face to face again, anyway, which was a relief, but she’d like to watch the show, anyway. It felt, for the first time, like a contribution to something greater, something vivid and fun and enjoyable.

A consummate businesswoman like Royse would have laughed at that – that she wasn’t seeing beneath the surface, that she was acting, in essence, like a customer, all google eyes at the show, but she’d never been up close and personal with anything like this. The theatre. The colour. It felt…unique. She’d never really been to much organised entertainment, because going alone was so dismal, but even the passing street bards hadn’t felt like this. She could see why the place was popular.

By the time the doorman – Ocher Mountain – had put a head around the door to say Royse was ready for the starter, she was feeling panicky, her heart galloping. I shouldn’t care this much. But she did. She couldn’t turn it off. Think of Apple. Breathe, for heavens’ sakes. This won’t even have been the most humiliating thing that would have happened to you. She ground fresh black pepper over the bowls of soup and clenched her fists for a moment to stop them trembling, then picked up the tray, licked her lower lip and walked carefully behind Ocher to the dining room.

Royse was there, and another doorman she hadn’t met yet, who raised a scornful eyebrow at her small shaky figure. Ignore it. You’ve had worse. Royse gave her an expectant look. Expectation was fine. The last guest was the Blue Mage himself.

He gave her a big gamin grin. She nearly dropped the tray and, cheeks a hideous and humiliating red, turned her eyes back to Royse. Oh yes, that was definitely a showman. He was attractive, although he wasn’t exactly classically handsome – although he had lovely golden eyes – but he had charisma. It unsettled her instantly. She wasn’t used to having megawatt smiles pointed in her direction. Her eyes must have looked pleading or at least confused, as she stood there rooted to the spot like an idiot, because Royse smiled a little too, trying to be kind. It said a lot that she’d rather face her potential boss’ face than his. Even out of the nice suit, in normal clothes, her had something she couldn’t quite look too long at.

She wished she’d eaten something herself before this to stave off the dizzy feeling.

“The name’s Martyn,” he said, as if he didn’t notice her discomfiture or at least was politely ignoring it. “I’m the resident Blue Mage.” She felt, rather than saw him smiling again.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said on autopilot, because her parents had drilled manners into her. For a moment she thanked them because without the mental memory she would have just stood there, mouth flapping like a fish.

“My name is Sthalmhas,” said the Roe in the doorman’s suit. He neither looked not sounded impressed and that was somehow reassuring. It felt normal, it brought some semblance of realism to the moment. She inclined her head towards him in a half-bow, her limp hands clutching the tray harder.

“Let’s have the soup, then, darling,” trilled Royse – at least someone was excited. She chewed the insides of her cheeks hard to settle herself and, avoiding everyone’s eyes, placed the tray down and served the bowls.

“This smells great!” Royse enthused, and she flushed again. Perhaps she could beg Ocher to serve the other courses while she paced in the kitchen. But they hadn’t dismissed her, so she had to stand there and watch the floor and listen to them eat and chatter to each other between bites, wishing the sands under the building would somehow rise up and consume her.

“I’m surprised,” she heard the biting voice of Sthalmhas, low and mildly…well, not disgusted. “I wasn’t expecting much.”

“I was,” said Royse, smugly. “I thought you darlings would know better than to doubt my skill at finding talent by now. After all, I found you two, didn’t I?” The Roe snorted.

He was saying something now, something jokey and complimentary, and she forced herself to not focus on the words. She got the feeling he was still looking at her, but she kept her eyes trained determinedly on the floor.

Her mind filtered out the rest of the talk until Ocher touched her gently on the shoulder. She nearly leapt a malm.

“Let’s go get the main course, eh?” he suggested, and she nearly melted with relief.

“Do…are you able to serve it, please?” she asked, trying not to sound like she was begging, as they walked back to the kitchen. “While I tidy up the torte?”

He smiled gently and compassionately. “Of course,” he said. If she’d been a different person, and perhaps if they hadn’t just met, she would have hugged him. “Ms Royse can be a little overwhelming but she’s fair, and she’s kind. Don’t worry.”

She wanted to laugh. She wondered what he’d say if she told him Ms Royse was not the problem here. Her heart was still racing so hard she could physically feel it in her throat, smashing a miserable rhythm up and down her body. What was this? Did she really want this job any more? A wild urge to just run out of the Celestium, never to return, gripped her. She could grab Apple and escape. They’d almost definitely never find her. They would get the main course and the tarte for free and she’d never, ever think of those sparkling golden eyes ever again. You literally know nothing about this man – any of these people! You’re not stupid. Stop this at once. A little internal scorn and shouting calmed her down to the point where she could hand the quiche to the amazing, life saving Ocher Mountain, who smiled at her again – the one age group that had always had some time for her had been older people, who apparently thought of her as some sort of misbegotten grandchild – and took the food to be served.

“Is the chef alright?” Latool Ja peered around the kitchen door at her as she stood wringing her hands. “The chef looked unhappy. Latool Ja thinks the food looked excellent.”

She mustered a faint grin. She’d had more positive attention from the folk here than she had in Gridania for literal years. It was ridiculous.

“I’m fine,” she assured the Mamool Ja, willing it to be true. He smiled.

“People here are nice. Martyn is very silly sometimes but a good friend. Martyn taught us Blue Magic, too. He brought us to stay here and made Royse let us live here too and keep learning. Even grumpy Sthalmhas is good person.”

“Oh good,” she said faintly. She could have done without hearing that. Being told he was a nasty person, arrogant, rude, something, anything, would have gone a long way to squashing this inexplicable idiot – hormone feeling. Because that, obviously, was what it was. Her body was stupid and so was her heart.

She didn’t believe in love, let alone at first sight. Crushes on stablehands as a younger woman had left her disappointed and embarrassed, even though she didn’t act upon them. As if the men sensed her burgeoning affection, they went out of their way to mock her. The nicer ones her stupid heart had decided were pleasant had the kindness to simply ignore her. In Limsa she’d smugly decided she’d grown out of being attracted to anyone because it was pointless. Loneliness was a state to learn to live with, and keeping her foolish heart safe was the only way to not be hurt. She’d never felt this monstrous backhand of instant attraction before. She loathed it. Being told he was a decent person as well – who clearly didn’t discriminate against beastmen either – did not help in the slightest.

Maybe there’s still time to ruin the torte, she mused. Then I definitely won’t get hired and I can just leave. But the professional in her couldn’t do that.

Latool Ja was looking at her curiously. “I’m fine, really,” she assured the kind beastman.

“If the chef says so,” he said dubiously, but he left her alone.

Ocher Mountain was her next visitor, and he was delighted. “They loved it,” he told her. “Have to say, I’d be happy to try any leftover cake.” He grinned at the sachertorte. The food. If they have anything positive to think of you, it’s because of the food. Remember that.

That grounded her a bit. “You’re welcome to it!” she managed a weak smile for him, loading up the tray with the cream jugs and plates. “I thought - they could cut their own pieces so they can see the whole thing.”

“Good plan,” the Roe said, balancing the tray gracefully. “You sure you don’t want to serve?”

“If you…um. If you don’t mind…” she mumbled, but he nodded.

“Not a problem. Ms Royse wasn’t bothered, so it’s all good.” He tipped her a small salute with his free hand and disappeared with the sachertorte.

Latool Ja came back in to apparently keep her company, or perhaps just because Royse had him on call as the candidate minder.

“So, you know Blue Magic?” she managed, trying to make small talk. The Mamool Ja nodded.

“A little bit. Gaheel Ja and Latool Ja are learning, although also are sidekicks for show sometimes. Before working here,” he laughed. “Helped Martyn sell job crystals and demonstrate blue magic. Not entirely honest but needed money to help people and not starve.” He grinned. “Martyn mean well and is good salesman and showman but not always totally honest with adventurers.” He waved a hand. “Is also adventurers’ own faults. They not read Blue Magic Spellbook properly.”

“Oh?” she said, and he settled in, leaning against the wall to tell her the story of how they’d first come to Gridania, via near-arrest for slightly dodgy sales techniques.

She gave a small laugh. Well, at least he wasn’t perfect, then. That helped somehow, knowing there was a solid reason to not trust the man. With a smile like that, she instinctively knew not to, anyway. Nobody who smiled like that would be kind to her for its own sake. But she wasn’t naïve enough to buy a dream from him like the adventurers had. She knew when good looking men smiled at her, they were expecting to mess her over in some way, and she might be unattractive but she wasn’t stupid. It helped, to harden her heart a bit. His face had been so open back at the table, his eyes interested and kind. It was good to know that was a lie.

“Yellowjacket think it was for own greed, but that not true. Latool Ja and Gaheel Ja also think so at first until found out real reason. Martyn not tell us. Martyn think he can solve own problems,” the Mamool Ja continued. “Martyn want to help sick friends by buying expensive cure and learn more about Blue Magic. Let people think was greedy and conman, but that is not true. Not really.” He shook his head. “Latool Ja think Martyn very clever and very good mage, but also very stupid sometimes. Latool Ja and Gaheel Ja would help Martyn if Martyn had asked.”

“Oh,” she said, wishing she had a way to say anything more than one neutral syllable. He sounded complicated. She could believe that, this man with the public face and the private, man behind a mask. It sounded like something she herself would have done, if she was honest with herself. Telling the truth left you open to hurt. Not that he would think like that – he wouldn’t need to, not someone like him – but presumably he had his reasons for things. Suddenly weary, she sat down on the kitchen stool, rubbing her eyes. Why did she care? She wished Apple was here, wishing she could breathe in the familiar, safe scent of the ‘bo’s feathers and hear his reassuring ‘kweh’.

“Royse kind to take us all on and help get medicine, though!” Latool Ja continued. “Everyone here nice. Chef will like working here.”

“I might not get hired,” she said dully. But her companion shook his head.

“Food best Latool Ja seen in Crystarium, including Royse’s delivered food!”

She gave a lopsided smile, shrugging a shoulder. “Ah. Well. Thank you. I like food. Cooking is fun. It’s…it makes sense.”

The Mamool Ja opened his mouth to reply, but Ocher Mountain knocked at the door.

“They’re all finished now,” he said. “And ready to see you!”

He waved her out, and she forced herself to stand and follow the Roe, not even managing to respond to Latool Ja’s goodbye wave.

Please just be Royse. Please send me away. Don’t hire me. Don’t look at me, don’t look in my eyes with those eyes, like I’m…like I’m valid. Like I’m worthy of your attention. Just…don’t ever be near me again. I’ve enough to think about and deal with.  

[griimreaping]

@utternocries​ - one word fic prompts

Lower ( part 1 )

The tolling of the church bells was genuinely ominous. An impending sense of dread dominating the grey morning fog, which blanketed Novigrad. Those silvery sounding clangs ringing out through the mist to call forward its faithful masses from the gloom. Pulling the traveling cloak tighter around her shoulders, if only to stave off the nerves rather than the general chill that harkened the coming of autumn, Jean flinches when Geralt's shoulder lightly brushes hers. Nerves had been high in the woman's chest as they neared the city, the last time she'd stepped foot in those walls being the night before her family died. Now with the cold solid stone rising around them, Jean couldn't help be reminded of a tomb.

This must have shown on her face from the flicker of a frown that graced the Witcher's mouth. He'd been summoned on a contract put forth by one of the wealthy governors that had come to occupy a mansion in the northern district of Novigrad. Since he'd taken up residence there, it's caused the man nothing but grief. Deaths in the family, along with some more insidious spectral activity that made even the most persistent of tenants shy away from even renting the place. Which only added to the misfortunes befalling an otherwise uninteresting and mundane man of wealth. With such wealth, he enlisted Geralt's help, and by some lucky stroke, Jean as well. Who had insisted she come along since the governor had mentioned something about black vines overtaking most of the house. 

"What plant has black vines?" Had been the first question Geralt had asked when done skimming the frantic letter that had been sent forward to Downwarren. The Witcher had to stop spending so much time in her little hut, now even people outside of the village were beginning to notice. Plucking the letter from his hands and chewing on the inside of her cheek as she read, Jean's mind crunched over all the various odd species that thrived in this environment.

 "Devil's bramble is the first that comes to mind, but it's more of a shrub than vines. Could also be just a mistaken color?" Placing the letter back down and folding arms across her chest, the Druid casts an uneasy glance out of the dewy glass in her kitchen to the misty bog. She hadn't been to Novigrad in nearly fifteen years. The harsh smell of a house fire coming back in a wave so sudden it took a considerable amount of will not to choke on the air stuck in her lungs. Hugging herself tighter, Jean forces the words out of her lips in an attempt to cast away unwanted memories. To drown the screams.

"You'll probably need an expert on plants and herbs," a glance is cut at the Witcher to gauge how the words are received. "I won't ask for any of your payment, I'm just genuinely curious now and could do with a bit of adventure away from the bog and corpses." Geralt grumbled a few words about how things were dangerous, and Jean's rebuttal of how she could handle a sword along with magic seemed to lessen the worries only marginally. Or at least enough that he put them to bed. Now walking among the cramped sewage reek which clung to the southern district like a diseased lover, Jean begins to miss her bog. Roaches hoof beats echo in the dull mist as they weave through cobblestone streets going north. A beggar approaches before seeing the Witcher and thinking better of his choices, slinking back into a darkened patch of fog that yawned into an alleyway. The struggling morning sun had yet to touch these streets, sleepy shop windows gazing out onto quiet abandoned boulevards. A liminal moment in time before the meager warmth of an autumn day shone through the slate clouds above.

 That invisible line between districts isn't so invisible in Novigrad. A stark change between cramped tenant buildings that had begun to go crooked like a thieves smile, to the gaudy colors in the markets almost hurt the Druid's eyes. Even at such an early hour, a merchant in puffy gold pants tried valiantly to hawk some bruised peaches to her, claiming they were the city's sweetest. More polite "no thank yous" than Jean figured were necessary, and he'd given up his venture only to flag down another tired traveler bustling away. They did not make it out of the markets without expending a small amount of coin, which Jean put out to receive a small set of glass bottles in return, which now clinked softly in her bag. Geralt eyed the merchant selling her the glass wear with a critical eye, waiting to see if he was going to swindle her or not. This intense cat-eyed stare is more than likely what got jean a reduced price just to make them go away.

"I think I have a new idea about what the vines are." The Druid pipped up as another jarring change in scenery happened from the markets to the northern district. Now polished iron gates bore their teeth at them from the mouths of massive walkways up to ostentatious villas. No longer is the lower districts' corpse stench lingering; instead, a delicate waft of mountain roses and lemon trees walk in step with the Witcher and the Druid. Jean felt dirty here like she shouldn't be permitted to touch anything for fear of sullying it beyond rescue.

"There's a rare type of flower which only grows on the site of immeasurable evil. I've only ever read about it, though; the drawing seemed close enough to the description he gave." Rummaging around in the folds of her cloak, Jean produces a very worn and overly bookmarked tome. Roughly the size of her palm, the books brown and yellow pages had the look of something that had been steeped in bog water and perhaps blood at one point. Leafing through to the proper page, the pages crackle with age under the woman's touch.

"Here, Dagon's breath. Black vines with leaves about the size of a supper plate, able to produce flowers but only on full moons. Dried flowers turned into a powder can produce some of the most potent madness-inducing potions known to the world. Since this is such a rare specimen, there are speculations that even the scent of the flower can cause severe hallucinations." Reading this passage aloud, the Druid could feel a cold hand drag down her spine. If this was what they were dealing with, then whatever cast the curse even to make it grow had to be obscenely powerful.

The Dagon is old magic. Older than what most perceived as life it's self, coming from the chaos before time. From all that Jean could find in the books in her home, it was a god born of entropy and discord but required strict worshippers to ensure that it would have a proper host to inhabit when the void took back over. Mages and fanatics alike that dabbled in the Old Gods were ones that put their minds in the hands of babbling madness willingly, hoping to be rewarded with some form of forbidden insight to the world. The thought made the Druid shudder. She'd tasted the sharp edges of madness once before, those dark whispers in a language lost still snaked into the blackest of nightmares that she couldn't wake herself from. They'd always promised such alluringly unfathomable things to her.

It's lost in these troubling murky visions that cause the woman to bump into Geralt when he stops at one of the ornate gates. Placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her, the Witcher's disquiet shows fully. He'd had many half-hearted qualms about bringing her along on this, and now that she was becoming so distracted, it only furthered his worry about her being a liability.

"You should go wait back at the inn. Now that I have a better idea of what this plant is, it shouldn't be a problem." I don't want you to get hurt; goes unvoiced, but his cat-like eyes' narrowing conveys the sentiment. Jean's face flares pink around the ears at her embarrassment, but she doesn't allow the dialogue of the inn to go any further. Making a vague gesture at the nameplate affixed to the gate, the woman lets out an irritated breath, the frustrations more directed at herself.

"We're already here; it wouldn't make sense just to send me away now. Plus, I don't remember which roads we took to get here through the fog. Come on, Geralt, just let me continue, and I'll keep my head on straight, okay? No more distractions." A half-hearted smile that she hopes will cement the words into place only has Geralt absently rolling his eyes. Producing the key that had been sent along with the letter they'd received, the gate is unlocked. A horse post just inside the iron portal is where they part with Roach, who busies themselves with munching on the fresh hay that had been left out.

Path flanked on either side by overgrown flower beds containing every flavor of poisonous plant known to the region. Even a few that look notably exotic had a tight knot of anxiety forming in the woman's chest. A breeze sighing up the path causes the nefarious blooms and grasses to seethe in a green ocean around them, their ghostly voices curling in Jean's ears. Reaching out to place a holding hand on Geralt's arm, Jean freezes in her tracks when the house looms into view from the dismal fog, which had turned into a light misting rain.

When the governor had stated the vines were growing along the house, she had expected a few sparse fingers grasping greedily at the spaces between the bricks. Instead, what they were greeted with was a building that seemed to move with a life of its own. Thick coal-black leaves nearly the size of Geralt's head shiver in the breeze giving a sinister shivering quality to the house from foundation to rain gutters. Interspersed with wine-red flowers sporting elegantly curved petals and long golden yellow pistils that reminded Jean of a great blood-sucking insect searching for its next meal.

Then the whispers.

"Geralt, we shouldn't go in there." We're the words Jean heard herself saying, startled by how her voice sounded so terrified. While the Druid can listen to most of the passive voices of the plant life around her, these held that same nebulous darkness that only spoke to her in deepest nightmares. They carried the same voice as the madness. Their saccharine-sweet smell only there to lure you in closer with beckoning leaves and candy red petals.

Before responding to such a statement, a loud voice calls to them excitedly from the house. A gaunt man in a midnight black traveling cloak hurries toward them, waving his arms and wearing an almost crazed smile that shows far too much of his gums, which are far too pale to be healthy.

"Witcher! And... company. So good of you to finally arrive, and when I fear I am at my wits end!" The man nearly shouts at them, reaching out to vigorously shake Geralt's then Jean's hand with both of his clammy skeletal paws clasped around theirs. When his fingers leave the Witcher's, he notices fresh raw wounds on the man's forearms peeking out from his dark robes' confines. They looked almost like symbols carved into his skin, but such a quick glance hadn't been enough time. Deep-set eyes that once would have struck a woman dead with a glance now flit in their sockets nervously, the striking ocean blue ringed with bloodshot scleras and the deep shadows of exhaustion. The man looked to be hand in hand with death, yet the cold grip that clutches Jean's own spoke of fierce hidden strength that still dwelled like an angry spirit inside him.

"You must come inside! He has told me so much about you. I am looking forward to speaking with you before we get to such dark and dismal affairs. Come come." Voice and grip offering no rebuttal, the governor loops his arm with Jean's, nearly dragging the woman toward the house of dark whispers. Following close behind, Geralt notices the low humming of his medallion as they approach the building. There was nothing good contained within, the corrupted magic oozing out and tainting the air around them.

[incognito-lionbeast]

// Spoilers, this actually happens a little further into my fic than I have posted right now. So, for a little context: Aina convinced the others to spend the night at her apartment, because she has an extra room/a pull out sofa & it’s just easier if they’re all in one place.

Anyway, here’s an excerpt of some self-indulgent Hurt/Comfort involving Aina & two rowdy boys. I have no regrets & must share

Galo shifted in her absence, eagerly conquering the freshly-opened space all to himself; thankfully, and much to Aina’s relief, that was all that happened. He was still asleep. Good. Guilt was the only follow up if she’d woken him for this; he had so much on his mind already, she--Aina bit her lip to stifle herself, heart weighing heavily on her conscience as she slowly picked her way toward the balcony. There was no guarantee that the fresh midnight air would do anything for her flushed cheeks or the tears trickling down them, but she couldn’t lay in bed feeling sorry for herself, either.

It was too much. Everything was too much, backlogged emotions piling up until the dam burst and she couldn’t stop thinking. Aina fought a losing battle, clutching the railing with all her might to stave off a complete, sobbing breakdown. She had to be strong. For herself. For her sister. For everyone in her apartment still soundly asleep with the weight of the world on their shoulders. Galo would have understood; he knew what it was like--he knew what it was to feel this kind of loneliness--but she couldn’t bare it. For every second she spent worrying about what was going to happen to her sister, he... Kray was his hero.

Kray was an idiot. Worse than that--! Worse than anything. She scolded herself, sinking down til her forehead met her hands and smooth, cold metal. He couldn’t help her right now. Maybe. Maybe, they could talk later. Maybe when she wasn’t such a guilty mess, maybe when her eyes weren’t full of tears. They left little pools in her wake, sliding off the railing as they soon fell prey to gravity. Just as everything else did. She hoped her neighbours wouldn’t notice. She hoped...

Exhaustion had to take over eventually, right? She wanted the peaceful bliss of nothingness again and the warmth of a shared bed. Even if that was only by necessity--five people in one apartment was a mess--Galo was a nice man. Stupidly warm and stupidly kind, stupid all around sometimes, but he was a good friend. Aina shivered, praying for the world to stop moving so fast, if only for a moment. Long enough to collect herself so she could go back and leave this melancholy to the stars.

Yet, it wasn’t meant to be.

“Oi,” a voice called to her softly, accusingly. Meis, dressed somewhat less than usual, had also fought valiantly with himself and lost--loitering just outside the door, hoping that the problem would solve itself. It didn’t. It wouldn’t. Aina hadn’t noticed him before or the tired, forced sigh that heralded his entry. Aw, fuck. Meis muttered, dredging a hand through his hair as he got closer. Comforting sobbing ladies wasn’t his forte. Never claimed that it was. Awkwardly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Aina wanted to disappear, voice hardly above a rasping whisper, “...no, did I--did.. I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“Nah.” Another sigh, a shrug, and his hand gently smoothed over where it laid. There, there? Shit, why was he the one handling this? They barely knew each other, and this--whatever it was, probably wasn’t his business. Still, what kinda guest would he be if he just ignored their host? All alone and totally upset. Context clues said that she didn’t want to be bothered, but fuck if he listened to them, either. This way no one could say that he hadn’t tried. “Woke up to piss. What’s up?”

At least Meis was... honest? A pitiful sputter of laughter followed, and Aina tried to straighten even just a little bit--just enough for his bright pink tank top to finally reach eye-level; she couldn’t look at his face yet. Too embarrassed. He caught her red-eyed and puffy-cheeked. How was she supposed to explain that to him? How could she explain any of this to him? She--her sister had done such terrible things. Of them all, the goddamn Mad Burnish weren’t the ones who owed her any sympathy.

“It’s.. personal.” Aina said, far too aware of them touching. It was soft and stranger than anything, locking her in place with the anxiety of simply not knowing how to react. To it, to Meis. Overall.

“Alright,” Meis tilted his head, gaze resting upon the horizon, past the building and the lot below them, and into the starry city lights. Nice night. It would be a damn shame to waste it being miserable and lonely. It was a shame to waste it not sleeping, either, but he had a few hours to kill before the point of no return. Screw it. If Gueira missed him, then they weren’t exactly hard to find. And he would find them. He had found them. “Don’t tell me. I’ll make up a reason.”

Meis didn’t wait for an answer, “Right now, my reason is that I don’t wanna be known as the asshole who ignored a nice girl bawling her eyes out. Sound fair?”

Aina nodded hesitantly, and to his credit, her sobbing had eased with company. Yet, although the trembling faded and her body stilled, tears still threatened to spill over again at any moment. She tried wiping them away--to save the tatters of her shredded dignity--albeit ineffectually. She wanted to explain something, anything to make up for it. Something to cling to that wasn’t abruptly monologuing her whole life story to a man only trying to be decent. She settled for a half truth, “Sorry, I’m just overwhelmed.”

“Shit happens.” Meis glanced her way and then back over his shoulder. Gueira wasted no time noticing he was gone, huh? Sometimes he tried to remember what his life was like before they were attached at the hip. Probably less exciting. Yet, leering incredulously from inside, Gueira mouthed, ‘What are you doing?’ What wasn’t he doing? And why weren’t you doing it with him? Come join the party, you Burnish bastard. Meis insisted, jerking his chin toward Aina.

Son of a.. Gueira shoved his hands into his jacket, accepting his fate--but know this, Meis, it was not without light protest--and strolling out to take his place on the other side of their host. Unfazed by her surprise, he greeted Aina with a lazy ‘hey’, fumbling with the lining of his pockets for something. Two somethings. What the hell. All three of them were going to Hell in a hand-basket for not thinking this through, anyway. The least he could do was make it a little more enjoyable, finally producing a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Chastise him later.

“Do you smoke?” Gueira offered. He wouldn’t believe her if she said yes. Hell, he almost couldn’t believe it when she obliged, cracking up as he watched in real time as Aina’s puffy red face considered, bargained, and eventually gave in with the quietest ‘no’ he’d ever heard in his life. Her voice even cracked. Christmas, this girl was going to kill him someday, and it’d be an honour dying to something this funny. Sure, her hands were wobbly and she’d clearly never held a cigarette in her life, but who was he to stop her from making bad life choices?

“Good, neither do we.” He grinned, lighting them up before passing his lighter over to Meis. It was a damn good thing he’d kept it or else this might’ve been a little awkward. Being powerless again was a real pain in the ass. Though, draping an arm over Aina’s nearest shoulder, Gueira didn’t mind invading her space while he took a drag--snickering when Aina’s attempt to follow through ended as totally expected. Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes never smoked a day in her life. She coughed, bracing herself against the railing. Ow.

“You know, Galo would kill me if he saw,” Aina managed through embarrassed sputtering. Leave her alone, her training was to avoid breathing in smoke, not to welcome it. It was vile. A stupid, no-good distraction, but a distraction, nonetheless. All the while, Meis’ hand had long dropped to her waist, trapping her in this poor decision with one bad influence on either side. She didn’t mind, though.

“Yeah, Lio, too,” Meis agreed in an exhale, nudging her. “So, don’t tell boss. We were supposed to quit.”

Sometimes, though, rules were there to be broken. Much like the ones in Aina’s lease that forbade smoking on the property, but who was gonna stop them? Nobody that was awake, that’s who. Besides, Aina wasn’t crying anymore, right? Hell, he considered this a mission fucking accomplished, and she got brownie points for being cool about it. They weren’t close and this was probably just a band-aid for whatever brought her outside in the first place, but--maybe that was all she needed right now. He wasn’t sure.

Her friends would figure it out.

“It’s our secret,” Aina promised, wading through her guilt to give them a small, crooked smile. Neither of them saw, but she knew it was there. That’s what mattered.

[imagine-darksiders]

Afterburn

Chapter one - Adjustment period.

Minecraft Story Mode - R O M E O  +  J E S S E 

Words: 12,912

Summary: It’s the day following Jesse’s triumph over the Admin, and in a move that rattled all of Beacon Town, their plucky hero extended a hand of friendship to her former adversary and allowed him to recuperate within the city walls, at least for a time before he would inevitably set out for the Underneath to find Xara. 

Stripped of his powers, confused and ashamed, Romeo must venture out into the city that ultimately hates him in the vague hopes of restoring the hurt he’s caused. The problem is, he doesn’t know how. 

It’s a good thing then, that Jesse does. 

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Tags: Female Jesse; The Admin; Romeo; Radar; Jack; Nurm; Angst; Slowburn; hurt/comfort; budding friendship; Romeo gets protective; impromptu cafe date; villain experiencing real kindness for the fist time in a long time; there is a hug; 

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Alright, so I know this isn’t a Darksiders fic but to be honest, I’ve felt like they’ve been lacking a little recently, so I thought step right away and write something for my second favourite fandom, just to refresh my brain :) I’d love to know your thoughts X

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Power corrupts.

Odd how one little locution could plague the guilty conscience of a man who wholly believed for years that he was the exception to such a rule.

Sitting alone in the dark at the end of a queen-sized bed, the disgraced admin – Romeo – expels a long, pent up sigh, bending forwards until his elbows rest on top of his knees, pale fingers clenched tightly around fistfuls of bouncy, scarlet hair.

The silence of early morning is disturbed only by the rhythmic 'tap,' 'tap,' 'tap,' of his sneaker's heel on the birch wood floor and a whispered word that slips, soft and reverent as a prayer, from his tongue.

“Fred...”

Romeo couldn't tell if the choice in flooring was the reason he'd been given this room, or if it had merely been an unfortunate happenstance that nobody thought of in the midst of yesterday's pandemonium. Not that it particularly mattered, in the end. He was never going to get any sleep in here regardless.

Fred had loved birch. Fred had also been an admin, right there alongside Romeo; the man who was supposed to be his best friend.

Though unlike Romeo, when Fred gained his omnipotence, he had remained completely unaffected by the bewitching delirium that comes with obtaining phenomenal power. Xara too, the third and final admin, had managed to stave off its influence.

Not Romeo, however. The power that came with being an Admin had not only corrupted him, it had shoved and bullied its way between his ribs, sunk its jagged teeth into his heart and clung on with a stubborn fervour that refused to be shaken loose. It turned him into something monstrous and the most harrowing part was, he hadn't even noticed the transition that had been so painfully obvious in hindsight.

A tiny sliver of sunlight finds a gap in the bedroom curtain and creeps steadily across the floor towards Romeo's feet. Absently, he watches its gradual journey, noting with no small degree of nausea that morning has indeed come, despite his efforts to stave it off so he might be allowed to wallow in self pity forever and a day inside this dark room, in the left wing of Jesse's Order Hall.

At the thought of Beacon Town's hero in residence, the former admin tugs a little more sharply on his hair.

Jesse....Her name leaves a bitter taste on the back of his tongue. Not because she had defied all odds and defeated him, turned him from a near–god to the tiny weakling he used to be, so very long ago, but because she – however unintentionally – serves as a glaring reminder of everything he wants to be. Everything he ever wanted to be.

Liked. Loved. Admired...

... A friend.

That's what it was all about. His power mad, envy-driven rampage was simply down to the fact that he wasn't Jesse. And even when he was her, for that briefest of moments, it didn't go as he imagined it would.

When Jesse was Jesse, she was adored. When Romeo was Jesse, somehow he still managed to botch things up and turn that carefully accumulated love into fear and hate.

It wasn't until the end that he recognised the heinousness of his actions - when it was all over and he was staring up at her from the cold, hard ground in terminal space.

Power corrupts. Stripped of it, and he'd been rendered lucid and humble – devastatingly aware of what he'd done under its influence.

At long last, Romeo's fingers disentangle themselves from his hair and he lowers them gently to the dusty pink duvet at his sides.

Already the sunbeam has moved over his shoes and is well on its way up the opposite wall. The ex-admin glares at it with more heat than is really necessary. He can't very well continue to mope around inside this guest room all day, not the room that Jesse always reserves for her friends, if the polaroids scattered on a patch of wall above the headboard are anything to go by.

Romeo had passed several hours last night scouring them, staring up into the beaming face of the hero herself, with her arms slung around the shoulders of a heavy-set man, hair black as an enderman's hide and clad in an emerald green shirt. He towered over the other two; Jesse, and a woman dressed almost exclusively in red, who's eyes were sharp enough to cut diamonds, dark and analytical. Romeo had hardly bothered to learn Axel and Olivia's names in the beginning. They weren't Jesse.

For a long time, he'd stared and stared and stared at the pictures, wondering why he was suddenly hit by a nagging sense of deja vu, and then aghast to lift his fingers and find an unfamiliar wetness forming on his cheeks.

There they were, all three friends. The brains, brawn and in the middle – always in the middle – was the heart. Romeo had had to exercise an extraordinary level of self restraint to keep from tearing those photographs off the wall.

Heaving out a weary sigh, he scrubs a hand over his face and pushes himself off the bed, stretching out a kink in his back with a grunt, knowing he can't continue to delay the inevitable. Eventually, he'll have to wander outside and face the mistrustful, scathing glares of the Beacon Town residents.

...Might as well get it over with.

Smoothing out the wrinkles in his grey t shirt, Romeo sucks down a steadying breath and drags himself over to the door. His hand has just grasped the metal knob when he pauses, bracing himself for...what?

For facing the full extent of what he's done?

For the hateful words whispered behind his back?

For Jesse to turn that unwaveringly patient gaze onto him and ask with a genuine smile, “How did you sleep?” As if he hadn't tried to kill her and her friends on multiple occasions. As if he hadn't tried to bedrock over her whole world like a toddler throwing a tantrum when it didn't get its way.

A groan bubbles up the old admin's throat but he swallows it down, taking in a deep inhale through his nose and letting it out again in a loud, gushing sigh.

Before he can give into the temptation of retreating underneath the duvet again, Romeo sets his jaw, turns the knob and yanks the bedroom door open, stepping out into the wide corridor...

...and straight into Jesse's skittish intern.

The young, bespectacled man had been happily ferrying an enormous stack of build authorisation documents from Jesse's office to the dingy vault down inside a basement beneath the Order Hall. The papers are all a formality, of course. Typically, the hero in residence is more than glad to let people build whatever they want. But apparently, the lack of organisation had vexed Radar so much, he sat down one evening when he had nothing else to do and drafted up records of every past, current and future construction project in Beacon Town. When he handed them to Jesse, she hadn't had the heart to tell him they were a bit redundant.

Unfortunately, the precarious pile was stacked so high, he couldn't see where he was going, relying more on his in-depth knowledge of the hall's layout than his own eyesight. So in choosing to step out into the corridor at that precise second, the ex-admin really threw a wrench in the works.

The intern crashes into Romeo with a sickening crunch, prompting the former to blurt out a yelp as he bounces off a sturdy body and topples backwards, throwing his arms out to catch himself and subsequently scattering his carefully organised paperwork all over the place. He lands on his rear, the impact jarring him and flinging the glasses off his nose where they clatter to the ground at Romeo's feet, who - for a few, terse seconds – remains rooted to the spot, starting down at the boy as a tiny inkling of dread begins to gnaw at his gut.

'Oh no...That's Jesse's intern. I just knocked Jesse's beloved intern to the floor,' he shudders, 'If this is any indication of how my day is going to pan out, I'm heading back to bed.'

Suddenly, Radar lets out a pitiable whine and leans forward to pat around on the carpet in search of his glasses, soft brown eyes squinted harshly under puckered brows. “Oh my gosh! I-I am so sorry.” he stammers, catching the former admin by surprise, “I didn't see you there!” He continues to ramble out apologies, his fingers skirting closer and closer to the glasses but never quite near enough to find them.

It's at that point Romeo realises that the kid has no idea who he'd just crashed into.

Part of him is tempted to quietly slip away so he won't later be accused of picking on the Hero's friend. Glancing over a shoulder, he takes a step back. Then, quite unexpectedly, he's drawn to a halt by one, quiet thought. 'What would Jesse do?'

...Probably something noble, heroic even. Jesse would lift Radar to his feet, brush him down and softly reassure him that it was her fault for walking into him.

The ex admin has to bite down on his tongue to keep a sigh from escaping. Here he is, vowing to be a better person and he can't even nail down the basics. Face burning with shame that the prospect of sneaking away had even occurred, he bends to one knee and gingerly retrieves the boy's spectacles, mumbling, “Here,” and pressing them into Radar's outstretched hands.

“Hey, thanks!” The relief in the young man's voice is palpable as he sits back and hurriedly slides the glasses back into place on his nose, blinking a few times and roving his gaze upwards from a pair of red sneakers. “Sorry for bumping into you. Wasn't really watching where I-” The moment his eyes meet Romeo's jet-black stare, Radar freezes and his words sputter to an abrupt halt whereas the former admin utters a completely ineloquent, “U-um,” before he falls silent, flexing his fingers and glancing between the intern's gaping mouth and the papers littered about on the floor.

Clearing his throat, Romeo tries again, grimacing when it still comes out as a croaky, “Uh..”

Good grief, just yesterday he couldn't shut up, but now it's as though someone has coated his tongue in lead. Radar's face is a confused amalgamation of worry, trepidation and suspicion, but above all, fear.

'They don't love you, they're afraid of you!' Jesse's desperate cry rings in his ears, twisting Romeo's features into a crestfallen frown.

After a moment or two of uncomfortably being subjected to the youngster's guilt-inducing stare, the former admin hesitantly reaches down to offer him a hand, choosing to ignore Radar's less than subtle flinch.

“Here, let me he-”

“NO!”

The blurted exclamation catches Romeo off guard and he jerks his arm back just as the boy lurches forwards and scoops the sheets away, clutching them protectively to his chest, eyes wide behind his glasses. “Uh! I-I mean, I've got this,” he squeaks, ripping his focus away and hurriedly scraping his precious papers together, “You-you should go and find Jesse.”

The intern's reaction shouldn't have stung the way it had, alas, Romeo finds himself wilting at the outright rejection of his offer to help.

Clenching and unclenching his hands, he merely observes as the young man frantically stacks his papers into neat, little piles. All too soon, the quiet becomes too thick and a sudden urge to break it nearly overwhelms the former admin, prompting him to gulp loudly and ask “Jesse....wants to see me?” The heart in his chest gives a resonant buck in the same manner an unruly student's might if they were asked to pay a visit to their headmaster's office.

There's an unexpected degree of apprehension in his tone that gives the intern pause. Glancing up, Radar cocks his head at Jesse's former adversary and chews absentmindedly at his bottom lip. “Um..Not exactly. She told me to tell you – if I saw you – that she's...she's at Nell's house.”

He finally places the last sheet on top of the stack, hefts them all up into his arms and attempts to get to his feet but nearly drops everything all over again when a large, strong hand slips around his skinny wrist. Startled, he jumps at the unexpected contact, fighting against a compulsion to shake himself free as he's gently tugged upright. The instant he's steady on his feet and no longer in danger of tottering backwards under the weight of all those papers, the hand swiftly retracts.

Peering around his pile of documents, Radar gapes after Romeo, who's turned on his heel and is beating a hasty retreat towards the hall's front entrance, head ducked low and hands stuffed into his pockets.

Once their old enemy has disappeared through the doors and they slam shut with an almighty boom, Radar lets out a wheeze and slumps a little on his trembling legs.

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“Jesse, dude? You have outdone yourself once again.”

Nell claps a hand down on the hero's shoulder and the two of them step back to admire the statue sitting on a pedestal just outside Nell's front yard. For the better part of the morning, Jesse had painstakingly set about removing the Admin's handiwork that had been built on top of the original sculpture she'd made specifically to welcome her new friend into Beacon Town.

Wiping her palm through the light sheen of sweat gathered on her forehead, Jesse turns to shoot Nell an apologetic frown. “It's nothing. I'm just sorry I didn't change it back before. But I didn't want to get you in trouble with you-know-who.”

And a good thing too, considering that mere seconds after she'd made the executive decision not to tear down Romeo's statue, the man himself had materialised out of thin air to carry out an impromptu inspection.

“Oh pshaw! Don't sweat it, pal!” she replies, blowing a long, blonde strand of hair out of her face, “You probably did me a solid. No telling what that Admin guy would have done if you'd-” Just then, Nell's voice cuts off and her head snaps to one side, looking past the resident hero at something in the distance. “Uh, oh,” she mutters a moment later, a phrase that send cold fingers of dread creeping up Jesse's spine.

“Uh oh? Nell, you know those are two of my least favourite words.”

But her free-spirited companion is too busy staring apprehensively across the square to respond. Instead, she nods towards the beacon that gave the town its name, her eyes narrowed to soft, blue slits. “Speak of the devil...” she warns.

Jesse follows her line of sight and begins to scan the crowd until she eventually spots a familiar mop of wavy, red hair poking out from behind the monument's low wall.  

Inevitably, there is an instance in which her heart rate quickens at the sight of her former adversary and she has to remind herself – quite forcibly – that he isn't a threat any more.

Stamping down on her gut reaction to move in front of Nell, she raises an arm and waves at him. “Romeo! Over here!”

The ex admin – who until that moment had been lingering beside the beacon, trying to work out how best to approach the hero and her friend – gives a start, glancing left and right as if to make absolutely certain that she was addressing him before hesitantly returning her wave, albeit with far less enthusiasm.

Lowering her arm, she looks back at Nell. “Hey listen, I've gotta scoot, but it was great hanging out.”

“Wait, huh?” Her friend pales, tearing her eyes off the him to gape at Jesse, “Where are you goin'?”

“Got some errands to run. Thought I'd bring Romeo along to lend a hand.”

“....Who's Romeo?”

Jesse blinks, suddenly remembering that most of the town still only knows him as The Admin, and if he was ever going to be accepted, she would have to rectify that. “That's Romeo.” She juts her chin at the man standing beside the beacon, almost as though he's afraid that moving will provoke a nearby citizen to spontaneously attack. “He doesn't go by Admin anymore..”

Nell is quiet, wrinkling her nose and slowly blinking at the smaller woman. “...Seriously?” she says after a while, “Dude's name is Romeo?”

Huffing out a soft laugh, Jesse shakes her head and lightly touches her friend's shoulder in farewell. “You'll get used to it. I'll see you around, okay?” And with that, she turns on her heel and makes off towards Romeo. All of a sudden, a hand grasps her upper arm and pulls her to an unsteady halt, prompting her to glance back over her shoulder, one, dark eyebrow raised expectantly. “Um..Yeah?”

Nell promptly leans closer and puts her lips up to Jesse's ear, whispering into it consiprationally whilst keeping a flinty glare aimed in Romeo's direction. “Uh, Jesse? Pal. Now, I know you can handle yourself, but are you sure you wanna be..like.. alone with that guy?”

They both return their attention to the man in question and notice how he's hunched in on himself, eyes cast to the stone underfoot as a last measure of defence against the disdainful glares shot his way by nearly every Beacon Towner in his vicinity. Jesse notes – with a strange concoction of satisfaction and concern – that he seems a lot...smaller than he had been before.

Hooking her thumbs into the straps of her dungarees, the hero flashes Nell her trademark, reassuring grin.

“You don't have to worry. Romeo isn't the Admin anymore. And besides-” Her grin softens as she flicks her eyes back over at him. “- He's not gonna hurt me. I think he really wants to try and make up for what he's done.

Nell, however, doesn't look so convinced. This time though, she refrains from pulling Jesse back when the hero throws a farewell over her shoulder and strides across the square, meeting him halfway.

Pulling her lips into a tight line, Nell murmurs, “Man, I hope you're right, Jess. For your sake.”

The moment he sees Jesse move away from her friend, the former admin tenses, limbs locking up at his sides and he swallows, trying to gauge if her approach is threatening or not. Cautiously he observes her, privately marvelling at the openness of her face.

The corners of her mouth are turned up into an easy smile and her large, too-trusting eyes no longer burn with that ferocious determination he'd been privy to as her enemy. Now, as she draws nearer, he can make out the smudged khol still muddying the skin beneath her eyelids, evidence that she'd been too exhausted last night after her long ordeal to bother removing the make up before bed and there are even faint, red veins zigzagging across her sclera. Despite the airy smile plastered on her face, there's a shadow hanging over her, and a sluggishness to her gait that he hasn't seen before. Either she's been awake since the wee hours, or – like him – she'd hardly slept at all.

Both notions twist his stomach into remorseful knots.

“Hey, Romeo.”

He stiffens, blanching as he realises he'd been caught staring at her eyes while she made her way over to him.

With more effort than should really be necessary, Romeo blinks. “Oh, Jesse!” he blurts out, as though he's surprised to find her here at all, “Fancy running into you!”

The hero stops just shy of a metre from him, hesitates, and then takes another step closer. The gesture – though small – doesn't go unnoticed and his lips give an appreciative twitch.

“Yeah, sorry. Thought I'd get an early start on fixing some stuff around town,” she says, curling her fingers around a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind her ear. “Did Radar find you?”

She gestures down the road he'd just come from and beckons him to follow.

Hesitating for a second, he watches her stroll past him. Then, shaking his head, he hurries along after, easily matching her pace wit his far longer legs. “Yep,” he tries for a laugh that ends up sounding forced, “Jittery little fellow, isn't he? Said I might find you out here, talking to ol' Nellie.” He glances back to see the blonde watching him like a hawk, arms folded across her chest. “Good, uh..Good sort, that one.”

“Who, Nell? Yeah, she's good people. So glad she decided to settle down here. Radar too! I don't know what I'd do without him around. Probably forget a lot of social obligations for a start.”

Narrowly avoiding a painful collision with an exceptionally cross-looking woman's shoulder, he echos, “Social obligations?”

“Oh, that's Radar's way of trying to make mayoral responsibilities sound fun,” she explains breezily, “It's just stuff like, attending town meetings, overseeing build contests. Dinner parties, dance parties...”

“Sounds exhausting,” he admits, recalling the few days he'd tried being Jesse. The demand for his attention had bordered on oppressive and he'd only been subjected to it for a fraction of the time she had.

A trio of parrots that had busied themselves by idly hopping around the path in search of dropped food suddenly take to the sky at their approach. Jesse regards them wistfully, exhaling through her nose before she offers a response. “It's not so bad really. You get used to it.”

Romeo hums, scrutinising her from the corner of his eye. She doesn't sound as though she's used to it. In fact, she sounds like she wants to sprout wings and fly away with the rest of the birds.

She confirms his suspicions a moment later by quietly admitting, “I do miss being able to just go on adventures whenever I want. I'm not as...free as I was a couple of years ago.”  

Once again, Romeo finds himself unable to offer little more than an evasive grunt, uncertain of how he ought to reply. In truth, he's distracted.

She fell into a conversation with him far too quickly and easily, she has yet to bring up the reason she brought him out here, nor where they're currently heading. And not once has she sent him the same, heated glare he seems to be receiving from every other person in town. To say his nerves are frayed would be an understatement. Romeo can't remember ever feeling so on edge, suspended in a state where he's perpetually braced for something bad to happen.

He very nearly asks her to just get it over with and start laying into him about what a terrible person he is, but at that moment, they turn a corner and his attention is immediately diverted elsewhere.

They've emerged onto a busy street, lined with quaint little cafes and general traders where the atmosphere is made bright and airy by slats of early morning sunlight that break through gaps in overhead structures to warm the stone beneath their feet.

Romeo's mouth falls open comically wide. “They've rebuilt so much already?”

It isn't difficult to detect the pride in Jesse's voice as she leads him towards a cafe at the very end of the road. “Yep, everyone here was super keen to get the town back to normal after – uh....” Awkwardly, she trails off, biting her lip and sending her former nemesis a sidelong grimace.

“After I destroyed it,” he finishes for her, his expression neutral, although she can see the tightness in his jaw.

“Hey now, you didn't... completely destroy it,” she offers lamely, hurrying past a house in the process of having it's entire roof reconstructed, “You just...sort of...revamped it. Yeah!” Smile renewed, she sweeps an arm out at the surroundings. “I mean, lose the golem guards, a few less fires and take away the threat of being zapped into a cage at a moment's notice-”

At her side, Romeo winces miserably.

“- and Beacon Town is pretty much back to normal.”

He gives her an incredulous squint, unable to stop a derisive snort from jumping out of his nose. “Sorry, normal? Are you forgetting about the ginormous, horrifyingly daunting tower of colossal proportions up there?” he huffs, throwing a hand up to indicate the structure looming over the rest of Beacon Town, casting its long shadow out over the western forest.

The Admin Tower. A monument he'd built as a show of his power and talent. It had seemed so impressive once. Now, he can hardly stand to look at the damn thing, standing there in all its ostentatiousness, his magnum opus that perfectly reflected its gaudy creator.

Jesse, however, appears to have a different opinion. “Okay, I didn't want to tell you this while you were...the old you,” she says behind her hand in a hushed tone, leaning close enough for him to catch a whiff of the sandalwood shampoo she uses, “But that tower? It's pretty mind blowing.”

“Mind blo- whu-?” Apparently, 'mind blowing' was the most apropos term she could have used. Tripping over his own tongue, Romeo nearly walks into a wooden chair sitting just outside the cafe they'd been heading towards, where small, square tables are dotted about and several bunches of daffodils rest in glass vases at the centre of each.

Casually, Jesse makes her way around the table and tugs out a chair on his opposite side, sitting herself down whilst he simply gawks at her, incredulous. “You...you like my build?” he breathes, his body moving of its own accord until he finds himself seated on his own chair without really registering the motion.

“Well, yeah! Why did you think we decided not to tear it down?” Jesse raises an arm to wave at someone behind him, though he's too taken aback to try and see who. “You were a jerk, sure. But that doesn't mean your builds weren't incredible! That icy palace of doom?” She leans forwards to rest her elbows on the table and sends him a pointed look, “Horrifying, don't get me wrong. But, credit where it's due – it was pretty awesome.”

The former admin's heart leaps into his throat, breath hitching at the approval she'd just hit him with.

“I still can't believe you built all that, just for me.” She shakes her head and her smile falters for a fraction of a second, a pensive frown darkening her eyes.

Momentarily, Romeo has to wonder why she'd think he wouldn't build something like that for a friend, but just as he opens his mouth to reply, he's cut off by the sound of a throat being cleared sharply to his right. Startled, he jerks his head around to see who'd rudely interrupted the conversation and nearly jumps out of his skin as a folded menu is brusquely shoved into his hands.

Standing over them, eyebrows slanted sharply in a seemingly permanent scowl, is a fair-haired man wearing a bright, green pinafore, his lips stretching into a tight smile which looks a hell of a lot more genuine when he turns it onto Jesse.

“Always good to see you, Jesse,” he drawls, handing her another menu, “We may not be back up to full efficiency just yet, but thanks to you, we're at least open for business.”

Ducking her head and lifting one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, she replies, “Ah, it wasn't all me. Everyone's been pitching in to help get the city back to normal.”

“Indeed,” the waiter sniffs and pauses until she begins glancing over the menu before he throws Romeo a look dirty enough to stain, “Well...Almost everyo-”

“I think I'll have the rabbit stew!” A vicious glare accompanies Jesse's snapped interruption, though both are so out of place for the amicable hero, the men have to do a double take just to make sure it had been her who spoke.

After a brief second of stunned silence, the waiter gives a start and fumbles for his notepad, swiftly jotting down her order. “O-of course, rabbit stew. We can do that!” Turning hesitantly towards the former admin, the man whispers down to her, “And...uh...What'll he have?”

A rush of irritation tickles at the back of Romeo's mind, bridling at the waiter's attitude. However, the glimmer of anxiousness that flashes across Jesse's face catches his eye and quells that surge of aggression.

'You asked for this,' he reminds himself dismally, swallowing down the anger, 'However they treat you, that's on you.'

Sucking in a breath, he tries to respond when he realises there's a problem: He has no idea what's on the menu. He hasn't even looked at it.

Come to think of it, when was the last time he actually ate anything?

As an admin, he had no need for sustenance.

Now that he's normal though...

Romeo peers inquisitively at the dark-haired woman sitting opposite and cocks his head to one side, struck by a sneaking suspicion that she'd had a similar thought at some point or another. Why else would she bring him here?

Conscious that he still hasn't provided an answer, he settles to offer up a tiny shrug and utters, “Same as her.”

Clearly taken aback, the waiter's eyebrows shoot up his forehead and nearly disappear beneath his wispy, brown fringe. In the end though, he nods and all but snatches the menu out of Romeo's hands, taking Jesse's too before he bustles off back through the door leading into his cafe.

Once the little bell hanging above the entrance stops tinkling, the hero deflates, slumping forwards over the table and covering her face with her hands.

“I am...so sorry about that,” she moans.

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, somewhat bitterly, “You didn't seriously expect it to be any different, did you? Not after how I...how I behaved.” Raising his eyes to the street, he counts no less than seven people who're trying to look busy while simultaneously throwing him wary glances every now and again.  “I mean, it's hardly any wonder most of Beacon Town wants me gone...And I don't think they're very happy that you-” He jabs a slender finger across the table at her. “- decided to let me stay for a while.”

Pressing her lips together, Jesse frowns, cautiously venturing, “You know, Romeo...If you want to leave, I'm not going to stop you. The gate's right there. I just -” She heaves out a sigh. “- I know what it's like down there, in the Underneath. You do not wanna be there unprepared. I thought that, if you're really going to go and find Xara, you should at least wait until you get your strength back.”

Stubbornly folding his arms across his chest, he grumbles, “M'already strong.”

“You went from having god-like powers to having no powers at all.” Jesse drops her eyelids and levels a skeptical look his way. “Trust me. There'll be an adjustment period.”

And because she sounds as though she knows what she's talking about, because her eyes betray no disdain yet still make him feel about an inch tall despite being thousands of years her senior, Romeo doesn't argue - doesn't see any reason to. She's right. Loathe as he is to admit it, he isn't the same, powerful creator of worlds anymore, and that thought both comforts and terrifies him.

He meant what he'd said in the Terminal; that without his power, he's nothing – less than nothing. Just a shell of his former self.

For a while, they simply observe one another across the table, Romeo's hands slowly closing into fists atop the cloth. There's an apprehensive tension choking the air around him, borne of his own bewilderment.

Why is she acting like this? Why isn't she addressing the elephant in the room? How can she sit there in front of him – all smiles and impeccable manners – and imply that she gives a hoot about what happens to him? That's something friends do. And he and Jesse are not friends. He ruined any and all chance of that by being utterly monstrous to her.

Heart in his throat and now on his sleeve, Romeo suddenly heaves himself halfway out of his chair, knocking it back a few feet.

Jesse blinks, but doesn't otherwise react as he stares her down, unaware of the tremor in his arms that are braced against the tabletop. “Alright! That's it!” he blurts out, “I can't take anymore of this!” Through gritted teeth he chokes out, “Why are you being so. Bloody. Nice!?” He punctuates the final word by slamming a fist down, rattling the flowers in their glass jar.

Over his rapid intakes and exhales, he notices that the whole street has gone deathly silent, and he doesn't need to look to know that everyone is staring at him, watching with baited breath to see if they need to step in and defend their beloved leader who has the ex admin locked in her tired, green gaze.

It's under that gaze that he finally begins to wither, the frustration leaving him like water from a leaky pail.

Jesse lowers her eyes and he finds himself moving down with them, sinking back into his chair as his mouth opens and closes around an apology, never quite finding the courage to break the spell of quiet. He wishes she would though. It's becoming unbearably thick.

All of a sudden, the bell above the cafe door rings loudly and he jumps, shoulders tensing when the waiter approaches their table with two, steaming dishes of stew balanced in each hand.

“Sorry for the delay,”he says, setting one dish in front of Jesse and promptly dropping Romeo's in his place, mindless of the stew that sloshes dangerously close to the rim, “Will that be everything?”

At last taking her eyes off the former admin, she turns a smile up at the waiter and nods. “That's great, thanks.”

“Well...You let me know if you need anything.”

Romeo has a feeling that the offer doesn't extend to him.

With a last, lingering glare, the man strolls off back into the cafe and the silence descends over them once more.

Desperate for something to do with his hands, Romeo hastily picks up a small fork and uses it to prod at his stew with feigned interest.

“Romeo.”

The utensil slips from his fingers and tumbles into the food with a wet splat, sending flecks of gravy flying in all directions. Reluctantly, he lifts his head to look at her and braces himself for a scolding.

Instead, she throws him off kilter by flashing a toothy smile and pointing her fork at his face. “I don't know if you remember how food works, but it's supposed to go in your mouth, not on your chin.”

“Huh?” His hand flies up and, sure enough, there's a spattering of thick, clumpy goop stuck to his red tuft of beard. Grumbling, he scrubs it off with the back of a hand, glowering at the hero. “Don't change the subject...You didn't answer my question..”

Now it's her turn to stare down into her stew and shovel some meat idly across the dish. “You want to know why I'm being nice?” she reiterates, peering up at him through her dark lashes.

Swallowing, Romeo nods.

The young hero sits back in her chair, humming and searching his face intently before she eventually takes a breath. “It's because -”

“It's because she's Jesse.”

The two of them give a start at the sound of a gruff, surly voice calling out from somewhere nearby and suddenly, strong fingers clasp Romeo's shoulder, pulling an undignified squawk from his throat.

“Oh no,” Jesse mumbles, covering part of her face with a hand as a burly man sporting an eye patch and an impressive beard saunters around Romeo towards her side of the table and grabs a chair from nearby, dragging it right up next to her and plonking himself down into it with one, broad shoulder pressed up against her. His lips pull back over his teeth to grin at the ex admin, though it only invokes the image of a lion baring its teeth.

Thoroughly cowed, Romeo shrinks further into his seat.

Eyes as hard as an iron block, a thick mane of dirty blonde hair and muscles that bulge out from beneath the sleeves of his navy vest – It isn't difficult to recognise the newcomer.

Puffing out his chest, Jack sniffs, staring his former nemesis down from across the table.

Without his powers, Romeo can at last appreciate just how intimidating Jack is. Even sitting down, he manages to dwarf Jesse.

Exasperated yet too fond of him to push him off, she resigns herself to lean into his shoulder, throwing Romeo an apologetic look.

Years ago, Jack had lost two of his best friends – Sammy and Vos – to the Admin's sea temple during a hunt for the legendary treasure supposedly buried within.. Their deaths had utterly devastated the man, left him with post traumatic stress disorder and a lingering tendency to fret profusely over those closest to him.

Jesse is among the few friends he has, which has – on more than one occasion -  rendered her prone to his often overprotective nature.

“Hrnn!” A second voice, this one far gentler than Jack's, draws their attention and before they know it, a villager has slipped into another chair on Jesse's right, though at a much less invasive distance. “Hmm, hrn hnn,” he continues, scowling at the adventurer, who blinks rapidly and recoils, affronted.

“I am not, Nurm,” he hisses before raising his voice, throwing an arm around Jesse's shoulders and grinning, “What? I'm not allowed to say 'hello' to a friend?”

Rolling his eyes, the villager lets out a huff and shifts around to smile warmly at the girl.

“Hey Nurm,” she greets, earning a soft hum as he extracts a hand from his robes and lays it gently over hers, patting it fondly.

That simple action sends a pang of longing racing through Romeo's chest.

There'd been a time  - long, long ago – when he, Xara and Fred had been that close. Close enough for physical touches that didn't hurt.

For a moment, it feels as if he's the interloper here, and they're the ones who Jesse had invited to eat with her.

“So,” Jack barks suddenly, clapping his hands together and startling Romeo back to the present, “We were just passing by – totally not following you, by the way – and we couldn't help but overhear you shouting at our Jesse here.”

At his side, Nurm grunts, mimicking his partner's stern glare.

The young woman sandwiched between them must have noticed that Romeo's face turns ashen because she carefully squirms until Jack gets the message and retrieves his arm from her shoulders. Once free, she taps a finger sharply on his clenched fist, a subtle, silent command which he reluctantly obeys, letting his fingers stiffly unfurl until they lay flat on the tablecloth.

“Romeo and I were just having a chat.” She glances at him pointedly. “Right?”

At the other end of the table, the ex admin runs a finger around the inside of his collar, adam's apple noticeably bobbing up and down and betraying his anxiousness. “We were! I-I was just asking her-”

“-Why she's being so nice to you. Yeah, we heard,” Jack interrupts, rolling his good eye, “The whole of Beacon Town heard.” Under his breath, he utters, “And most of us are asking ourselves the same question..”

Releasing his shirt, Romeo drops his hand against a thigh where it lands with a soft 'thwap' as he sighs defeatedly, forehead puckering. “I just don't get it,” he mumbles, partly to himself, partly to the other three, “She should hate me.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, the rest of us do,” Jack helpfully puts. A loud thump from under the table accompanies Nurm's admonishing, “Hrrm!” and the bearded adventurer flinches, wincing.

“Ow! What the heck was that for?”

Leaning back in his chair, Romeo waves a dismissive hand at the villager. “No, no. He's right. I mean, I'm not completely blind – not anymore...  - Everyone's got a good reason to hate me. Especially you.” His dark eyes find Jesse's and hold her gaze for several seconds before his nerve gives out and he drops his head again.

Nobody speaks for a time, Jack, Nurm and Jesse all exchanging sidelong glances while their old enemy watches the steam slowly rise from his food.

Jack can feel his other half's wizened stare on the side of his head, but he pays Nurm no mind, too preoccupied with scrutinising the disgraced admin before them.

Admittedly, he is a rather sorry sight.

Pallid complexion, dark circles beneath his eyes that make even Jesse's look small, hunched shoulders and a general lack of deluded grandeur leaves Romeo a damn sight less impressive than he'd once been.

Deep, deep down, there's a tiny part of Jack that sympathises. Losing that sort of power in one fell swoop would take a toll on most people. He imagines it would feel like having his own rippling, super athletic arms taken away and replaced with...with baby arms, or something. The very notion sends a shudder coursing through his body. “Listen, er...Romeo,” he begins, scratching at his nose, “I gotta be honest – Jesse here? Heck, I don't think this kid could hate anyone. Now, I'm not saying that's a bad thing!-”he rushes to explain as the young woman opens her mouth to protest. “I just mean, this isn't exactly the first time she's forgiven someone who almost destroyed the world.”

Nurm hums his agreement.

“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds pretty bad,” the hero in question mumbles, abandoning all hopes of eating her stew while it's still hot. Luke warm would have to do.

At her statement, Jack barks out a laugh.“Ha! Not from the bad guy's perspective!”

Romeo can't help but to purse his lips, nodding soberly. “S'true. When I was the Admin, that selflessness of yours? Bah! Oh, I just thought it was pointless! Now though...” An incredulous smile nudges at one side of his mouth. “I'd have to say, I think it's one of your more attractive traits.”

He doesn't miss the way Nurm and Jack bristle, whereas Jesse herself raises a sly brow and the corner of her lips begin to twitch. It takes him a second to place a cause for their reaction. “Oh for!- Not attractive like that!-” Blowing out a rasping huff, he prays that the heat creeping up his cheeks isn't too noticeable. “You know what I meant.”

Harrumphing, Jack narrows his eyes but at least the tension drains from his shoulders.

“Well, Jack, Nurm-” the young hero nods to each of them in turn. “-It was great to see you guys...” She trails off, leaving her sentence open-ended in the hopes they'll interpret her hidden prompt to bid farewell. Jack looks about ready to batten down the hatches and glue himself to the chair, yet his intentions are thwarted as the villager gets to his feet, gesturing at the dishes of stew and murmuring something to the gruff man beside Jesse.

“Nurmie, the food isn't getting cold,” Jack huffs, following his partner's lead regardless and standing up. “Look! I can still see the steam....Oh wait, no. No I can't. Sorry Jess.”

Wordlessly, she shakes her head and grins, waving his apology aside.

Eyeballing Romeo for a last, lingering moment, he turns to her and rumbles, “Hey, listen...Me and Nurm are gonna go start putting the shop back together.” He lowers his voice, adding gently, “If you need anything, you come get us, okay?”

Sometimes, Jesse wonders if anyone even remembers that she can look after herself.

However, for the umpteenth time in her life, she decides to humour him. “Don't worry, Jack. I will. Bye Nurm!”She waves at the villager who has made his way around the table and takes his partner's elbow, tugging the larger man away from Jesse.

“Hrrm, hnn!” he chimes, waving back. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he offers a small nod to Romeo after which he and Jack make their way back down the street, heading for their home.

Twisting around in his seat, Romeo stares after them, teeth worrying at his bottom lip as a nagging thought pushes to the forefront of his mind and before he can stop himself, he's calling out, “Hey! Hey Jack!”

The man jerks to a halt, spinning around, his good eye round with surprise.

For a second, Romeo falters, feeling the stares of every Beacon Towner boring into him curiously. Unfortunately, it's far too late to back out now. Besides, Jesse's watching. So, setting his jaw, he swallows his pride – what little he has left – and continues. “I never apologised! For...for Vos and Sammy!”

He hears a soft intake of breath from the hero behind him and very quickly realises that mentioning Jack's deceased friends – especially the one he'd impersonated – probably wasn't the best idea.

Even with the distance between them, they can see Jack's entire body stiffen, sorrow clouding his rugged features.  There's a worrying second or two where Romeo is convinced that the adventurer will march right back over to the table and punch him square in the jaw. Apparently, Jesse seems to be on a similar train of thought as he hears the chair behind him scrape against the ground and her shadow falls across their table, letting him know that she's on her feet. Typical Jesse. Always prepared to intervene should a bust-up occur.

Neither of them need have worried though.

The villager at Jack's side rests a mollifying hand on his partner's rigid fist, squeezing gently until it goes slack. Then, without taking his eyes off Romeo, the adventurer turns his hand over and intertwines his fingers with Nurm's, returning the comforting squeeze while a humourless smile tugs at his lips and he softly calls back, “Sorry's just a word, pal. You want people around here to start forgiving you? You gotta show 'em you're sorry. No good just saying it.” Shaking his head slowly from side to side, he twists himself about, transferring Nurm's hand into his other one and the two of them start off down the path once again, though not before the former admin catches one last statement tossed over Jack's burly shoulder, one that's almost lost among the low hum of the bustling street. “But saying it is a start..”

Jesse and Romeo wait in silence until the adventurer and his companion turn a corner at the end of the road and disappear from view.

Several moments pass in which activity gradually picks up around the cafe again and all of Beacon Town seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Unsurprisingly, Romeo finds himself exhaling right alongside them. He turns back to face the hero in residence only to find her looking at him thoughtfully, a lopsided grin brightening her face.

“...What?” he asks after a pause.

With a coy shrug, she returns her attention to the stew on her placemat and stabs at a chunk of meat with the fork. Raising it up to her lips, she replies, “No, it's just... that was good of you. To apologise, I mean.”

He blinks as she pops the food into her mouth and immediately prepares a second forkful, etiquette all but forgotten in favour of eating the stew before it grows completely stone cold.

Hesitantly, Romeo lowers his eyes from her face and takes up his own fork, following Jesse's lead by scooping a piece of rabbit onto it. “He's right though, your friend...Saying sorry just doesn't feel like it's enough..”

Humming around her mouthful, Jesse gulps it down, pausing between her next bite to say, “That's because it kind of isn't.”

She's watching him closely now, expectantly, causing his ears to grow warm under the intensity of her stare as it follows the food all the way up to his mouth where he stops to give it a wary sniff before pushing the fork past his lips, eyes narrowed in anticipation. As soon as the meat hits his tongue, an explosion of flavour lights up his tastebuds and he's mortified at the groan that escapes him. His face must have done something funny as well, seeing as Jesse hastily brings a napkin up to her lips just a bit too late to hide her broad grin. “That good, huh?”

“Mhmm!” he nods eagerly, already shovelling in another fork load and nearly swallowing it whole. “Blimey!” he exclaims once he's no longer in danger of choking, “Remind me why I stopped eating food after I became an admin.”

Jesse's eyes sparkle like the sun on water. “If you think that's good, just wait until I reintroduce you to cake.”

Letting out an acknowledging grunt, Romeo wolfs down the rest of his meal, only sitting back when the dish is completely devoid of even the tiniest morsel. Using the back of a hand to wipe away any excess food off his chin, he sighs and offers the girl a contented smile. “Thanks for this, Jesse.” He indicates the dish, but hopes she'll figure out that he's thanking her for so much more. “You didn't have to do this.”

“Eh, you looked like you needed it.”

“No, seriously -” The former admin's expression turns instantly sober and he leans forwards, palms flat against the table. “I...what do I owe you?”

“Oh, don't worry about it,” she replies casually, putting her cutlery down inside the dish, “The guy who owns this place got into a bit of trouble with some skeletons last year and I saved him. Ever since then, he lets me and my friends eat here, totally gratis. You don't owe a thing.”

To her surprise, the ex admin roughly shakes his head, fingernails scraping over the tablecloth. “Jesse, please, you have to let me repay you somehow. How can I ever make up for what I've done if you won't let me?”

“Romeo,” she huffs, firmly enough to get him to pry his fingers from the table, “You don't need my permission. I'm not stopping you from doing good things. You should help people because you want to, not because I tell you to.”

“I – I do want to help people! But I just..I just...gah!” Frustrated, he exhales brusquely, slouching back into his chair and giving Jesse the most imploring look she's ever seen. It'd even put Radar's to shame. “I just don't know where to start.” Trailing off, he lowers his eyes down to rest on the hero's knuckles, where he can see the purpling bruises lingering on her skin, testaments of her final showdown against him. It seems even Fred's golden gauntlet – powerful as it was – couldn't wholly protect her from the full might of a desperate admin.

Unbeknownst to Romeo, his eyebrows knit together and he scowls darkly at the bruises, unaware that while he's peering at them, Jesse is busy casting a sympathetic glance over his face.

“You know,” she begins suddenly, drawing his head up a little, “If you really want to help out, I think I know how to get you started.”

Immediately, he brightens, “You do?”

The hero in residence doesn't bother to conceal her smirk. His enthusiasm had once been utterly horrifying and bordered on obsession, but now that he's no longer a giant megalomaniac, it's an unexpectedly endearing trait. “Come on,” she says, standing up and digging around in her pockets for something, “I'll tell you on the way.”

Curious, Romeo gets to his feet as Jesse fishes a gold nugget from her overalls and places it down next to her dish.

“Hey!”He points at it accusingly, trotting around the table and falling into step at her side. “I thought you said you ate here for free?”

“Yeah, I know,” she shrugs, “But...he works hard, and it just doesn't feel right to leave without a trade.”

“Hmph. No wonder they love you.”

She chuckles warmly but doesn't dispute his comment.

The unlikely duo make their way down the winding streets in silence, simply taking in the sounds of Beacon Town until Jesse leads him around a corner and the enormous, north gate comes into view. It briefly occurs to Romeo that she's taking him somewhere outside the walls.

“So, where exactly are we going?” he asks, eyeing a large, balding man leant against the side of a porch up ahead. The stranger has a mean glint in his eye, flicking a glare between Jesse and the ex admin with each glance growing increasingly sour.

“The mines,” she replies breezily, waving at a few passersby.

Romeo falters and stumbles on a piece of uneven cobblestone. “The mines? Why the mines?”

“Well,” she starts, biting the inside of her cheek and casting her eyes up towards the clouds floating along overhead, “Since someone decided to pull everybody out of the mines to prepare for a festival -”

The former admin cringes and hisses through his teeth, already realising what she's about to say.

“- No one's been down there to monitor the Heck mouth situation for like, three days.”

“Heck mouth?”

“That giant, monster-spewing hole in the ground? The one you made so I would find your gauntlet?”

“Ah...That Heck mouth.” Gnawing on his lower lip, Romeo exhales. “Listen, Jesse... I'm so-”

“It's done now,” she interrupts him gently, “What matters is fixing the problem.”

“Oh, I'll tell you how you can 'fix' the problem...”

Unexpectedly, Jesse's arm flies out, stopping Romeo in his tracks as a shadow falls over them and they find their path blocked by the same man he'd seen on the porch.

Electric blue eyes contrast the angry red flush blooming from the man's neck to his face. With flaring nostrils, he raises a hand and jabs Romeo in the chest, hard.

“You can fix it by doin' what you should've done yesterday, n'chucked this guy off the nearest cliff!”

He advances, forcing the ex admin to stumble back and bring his hands up, instinctively covering his face when, all of a sudden, despite being half a head shorter than either of the men, Jesse pushes herself between them, shoving the newcomer away from Romeo and thrusting her chin out, challenging him. “Hey! If you've got something to say, you can take it up with me.”

“Believe me,” he sneers, “I got a lot of things to say to you. The first bein,' how could you let this...this monster stay in Beacon Town!? You're s'posed to be keepin' us safe!”

Cowering behind the hero, Romeo has to marvel at this man's gumption, screaming into the face of the woman who defeated a Witherstorm and an Admin. Jesse – remaining true to her un-confrontational nature – does her best to pacify him, drawing his attention from Romeo and directing it onto her. “Look, you're angry. I get it, trust me. But there isn't any point taking it out on him now! It's over. He's done and he's trying to make up for it!”

But the man either isn't listening, or he simply doesn't care. Face contorted into an ugly snarl, he takes a step closer, bumping his chest against hers and glaring down his nose, forcing her neck to crane back just to keep his gaze. “Oh yeah? And you seriously believe that? Cos it seems to me he'll tell you anything just to save his own skin!”

Bristling like an angry ocelot, Jesse squares her shoulders and slowly grinds out, “He's telling... the truth.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I trust him!”

At her back, Romeo recoils a little and his eyes grow wide and round along with his mouth, which drops open to form a small 'oh.'

'She trusts me?' The impossible notion turns itself over and over in his head and he latches onto it, clinging tightly, too afraid to let it go.

Had he misheard?

No. Her words had been so firm and clear, he couldn't have misunderstood.

Is she lying?

Hardly likely. Jesse is one of the most frustratingly earnest people this side of the Nether.

So why in gravel's name would she ever trust someone like him? Nobody trusts him! - admittedly, with good reason. Not even Xara had, in the end. In fact, the last person who ever trusted him was Fred, and then he'd....he'd....

The painful memory resurfaces and Romeo scrabbles to squash it down, shaking his head to clear it and letting his eyes focus on the back of Jesse's head, a tender warmth igniting deep in his chest and gradually spreading outwards.

From what he catches, the man still hasn't calmed down and her attempts to sate his rage only seem to agitate him further.

“He'll turn on us the moment we let our guards down!” he roars, throwing an arm out that narrowly avoids clipping the young hero around the ear as he gestures over her shoulder at the ex admin.

“No, he won't. Look – Just -”Exasperated, Jesse knocks his arm aside. “- I don't want a fight to break out, okay?”

Finally, the man pauses, darts his eyes down to her face and then drags them back up to Romeo again. The lull in aggression entices Jesse into a false sense of security and her shoulders relax, a tiny breath hissing out between her teeth.

She should have known better.

Curling his lips back suddenly, the stranger growls, “Then you shouldn't have let him stay,” and before she knows what's happening, he brings an arm up again, this time using his elbow to shove her roughly in the ribcage, knocking her completely off balance.

In that instant, time slows for the former admin.

He sees Jesse teeter sideways, sees her expression of shock and disbelief. Then, he sees her hit the ground with a jarring thump, her palms scraping over the hard cobblestone as a cry bursts free from her lips.

After that, all he sees is red.

A terrible roar cuts clear across the square, turning every head and shaking Jesse out of her daze. Snapping her eyes open, she's just in time to witness a furious Romeo surge forwards to meet the man head on and seize him by the lapels of his jacket, hauling him off his feet and high into the air with a strength he simply shouldn't possess.

Kicking and struggling in the former admin's unshakable grip, all previous bravado seeps out of the man and his face turns ashen. “H-Hey!” he squawks, “Let me go, man!” Frantic, he grabs Romeo's hands and attempts to pry them off to no avail. “Somebody! Get this guy off me!”

Hearing the terror in his voice urges Jesse to scramble back onto her feet, wincing as she pushes off her grazed palms. “Romeo!”she shouts, “Put him down!”

People are starting to take notice, some fleeing the vicinity while others move a few steps closer, glancing between each other and the scene playing out before them, unsure of whether or not they dare intervene.

The ex admin is completely oblivious to it all.

His eyes are firmly locked on the man dangling from his grasp as a feeling akin to hatred begins to bubble up from his stomach, building to a roiling crescendo and spurring him to give his victim a violent jostle, pulling a whimper from his lips.

'Good,' he finds himself sneering gleefully, 'he deserves to be scared!'

Meanwhile, completely unbeknownst to him, Jesse has latched onto his forearm and is tugging on it for all she's worth. But it's as though he'd suddenly turned to stone. Limbs locked up, his sinewy muscles barely even quiver with the effort of keeping a man as large as he is aloft for so long, a fact that unnerves the young hero. She hadn't realised he would be this strong, even without his admin powers.

Desperation bleeds into her tone when she sucks down a deep breath and pulls herself up to be closer to his ear, yelling into it, “ROMEO! STOP!”

And just like that, as if emerging from a dream, he blinks, sound and awareness rushing back to him all at once. Turning his head stiffly to the side, he's startled to find Jesse's blazing, green gaze mere inches from his nose.

“J..Jesse?” he rasps as an instant wave of calm washes over him, dousing the fire in his belly.

She gives his arm another yank.“Romeo! You've gotta put him down, now!”

“Huh?” He jolts, finally registering an uncomfortable twinge in his arms and the fingernails scrabbling frenetically against his knuckles. Swivelling his head forwards again, the former admin gasps, seeing his hands clasped around the lapels of the man who'd pushed Jesse over.

When did he?.....

Deflating, he promptly drops the man in a heap on the cobblestone and staggers backwards.

Eyes. There are eyes everywhere. He can feel their hateful glares on him as he spins in a slow circle, taking in the small crowd of people that have gathered seemingly from nowhere to surround him.

“Jesse..” He turns to face her once more, slowly shaking his head. “I-I didn't..I didn't mean to-”

Trailing off, he bites down on the inside of his cheek when he sees the look on her face .

Frustration. Wariness. Disappointment.

He's suddenly hit with an itch to bury his head in a block of sand, if only to escape that expression.

Tongue glued firmly to the roof of his mouth, he takes a few, bumbling steps towards her, not missing how her shoulders tense at his approach. “Jesse, I am so, so sorry!-”

A murmur starts to circulate the crowd, growing louder until he can distinctly make out certain words that cut like knives, chipping away at his resolve.

“What was Jesse thinking?”

“Somebody throw him outta here!”

“-thought she said he was harmless?”

“He just attacked that guy!”

Eventually, someone scurries forwards from the crowd and grabs the man on the ground, helping him upright again but the moment he's steady, he shrugs them off, straightens out his jacket and shoots a dark glare at Romeo then turns to shake his head at Jesse before spinning on his heel and stalking towards the gaggle of onlookers.

A few of them part to let him storm by, several even following after him, no doubt in the hopes of garnering some more information about the encounter.

Romeo can do little but watch him leave, mouth opening and closing like the world's most helpless goldfish. He would probably have remained that way for many hours if Jesse's small, warm hand hadn't suddenly snagged his wrist and given him a sharp pull. Too stunned to protest, he allows himself to be dragged across the square in the direction of Beacon Town's front entrance.

'Oh, now you've gone and done it,' he admonishes himself miserably, 'Kicked out on day one...'

But just as they near the gate, the hero unexpectedly veers to her right, instead leading him on a new path towards the entrance to the town mines.

In spite of his confusion, he keeps his mouth tightly shut as she stomps down the narrow staircase, her fingers still closed like a vice around his wrist.

They get to the bottom and it's only then that she releases him.

He trails slowly to a halt and chews his lip, sheepishly watching her move several metres into the dimly lit mine before she whips around to glare at him, arms folded tightly across her chest and a slender eyebrow quirked expectantly.

“What-” She begins, voice terse, “-Was that!?”

“I-I don't-”

She cuts him off, throwing her arms up into the air and closing the distance between them. “You were doing so well! I thought I could trust you!”

She may as well have twisted her sword into his gut.

Staggered, Romeo wrings his hands together, coming dangerously close to pleading when he rambles out, “No! No, no, no, please! I – You can! You can trust me, I promise!”

He can't lose that. He can't. He hadn't felt that good in a long time when she said she trusted him.

Though his words are saturated in genuineness, Jesse doesn't seem convinced. Huffing, she pinches the bridge of her nose. “How can I? You just attacked that guy! Why? Why'd you freak out on him like that?”

Shuffling awkwardly, he looks down at the toes of his sneakers and mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?” she asks briskly, cocking her head at him.

Drawing in a deep breath, he reluctantly pulls his eyes up to her again, swallowing thickly before he whispers, “He hurt you...”

“I-”Jesse falters, taken aback. “What did you say?”

A little louder, Romeo gestures to her weakly, repeating, “He... hurt you. I – I saw him push you and-...I don't know, I just....It's like I switched off! Like I wasn't in control anymore.”

She looks a little perturbed by his explanation but he doesn't know how else to word it. It is the truth, after all.

Ever so slowly, the young woman's face changes, moving from stern to puzzled before his eyes.

“Why would you care?” she says after a pregnant pause, “Dude, you literally tried to kill me. Like, a lot.”

“I know,” he breathes, wringing his hands, “And I can't ever take that back. But...when I saw him push you, after everything you've done for me, I couldn't just stand there and-...” He has to rein himself in after noticing that his fingers have begun to twitch in her direction.

For some time, only the sound of torches crackling nearby permeates the stillness of Beacon Town's mine.

In the end, it's Jesse who takes a tentative step forwards - once again bringing her within touching distance - and sighs, shoulders slumping as she rubs at her temples. “I guess I can't really be mad at you. Not if you were just trying to help...”

“Wait, what?” He recoils, squinting. “You're not...angry?”

Jesse emits an airy laugh.“For what? Standing up for me?  If I got mad every time one of my friends did that, I'd spend my whole life in a bad mood! It will be harder to convince those people out there to let it slide though...” She chews on her lip, one side of her face scrunched up in thought. A few seconds later, she chuffs, hands coming up to rest on her hips and she aims a funny look at the former admin. “Man....It's hard to believe that just yesterday, you hated my guts, huh? Now you're defending me from the locals?”

“Jesse...” he frowns gently, “I never hated you.”

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Uh. Again – you tried to kill me?”

“I was angry with you. Livid!”A nervous little laugh wheezes out of him and he turns away. “I wanted to hurt you because you hurt me.”

Cocking her head to the side, Jesse pulls a face. “Romeo, what exactly do you think I did to hurt you in the first place?”

“You didn't want to be my friend,” he tells her simply with a shrug, “And don't tell me that sounds pathetic – I know it does. You were the one person I wanted to be my friend – the one person I thought would want me as a friend. But then, you didn't.” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and kicks at a loose chip of stone, feeling Jesse's astonished stare on the side of his head.

Following a moment of hesitation, she says, “I... didn't realise it meant that much to you..”

The former admin doesn't respond, so she moves around to his front, ducking her head to catch his eye. “You must have been pretty lonely.”

“I wasn't lonely,” he protests weakly, “I was...I was....” But in lieu of any legitimate excuse, he trails off, averting his gaze to the walls, the ceiling – anywhere that isn't Jesse. In the end though, he slumps forward in defeat and finally drags his head up to look at her, swallowing audibly. “Alright, so maybe I was.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” The tilt of her lip lets him know that she's teasing and seconds later, she has her thumbs hooked into her overall straps as a pensive looks washes across her features. “Welp, I don't mean to brag, but I happen to know a thing or two about making friends.”

In spite of himself, a tiny snort betrays Romeo's bemusement. “So I've noticed.”

He balks when suddenly, Jesse reaches down and takes his wrist, just as she had outside, except this time, there's a grin on her face instead of a scowl whilst she pulls him further into the mines. Luckily, the gloom conceals a dusting of pink that creeps onto his cheeks at the unexpected contact. He allows himself to be guided once again towards a wall near the back of the main chamber, a place well lit by torches, until they come upon a humble little crafting table. It's surface is littered with notches and chips, worn down over the years by hundreds of experienced hands.

As they approach, Jesse's fingers slip from his arm and he instantly mourns the loss of gentle contact. She kneels down a few steps to the right of the table, in front of a wooden chest that looks to have received the same level of love, and places her hands on the lid, hefting it open.

A raucous creak rends the still air as the chest's hinges protest against the unexpected intrusion but it nevertheless swings open and thunks against the wall, giving Jesse enough space to plunge her arms inside and rummage around whilst Romeo lingers at her back, twiddling his thumbs and glancing up at a deposit of iron the craggy ceiling.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks, pulling out a wooden stick.

Without seeing her face, he can't hope to hazard a guess as to what she's thinking but she's dropped the jovial lilt from her tone. Uncertainly, he replies, “Uh, course you can.”

For a while, she hesitates, her shoulders heaving up and down though he doesn't hear her sigh. Another pause, then, “I meant what I said you know. Back in your tower.”

“Oh, um...” Romeo scratches absently at the back of his neck. “You might have to refresh my memory. It all just seems like a it of a blur now.”

She still doesn't turn to face him, and he's starting to think she's only pretending to look for something in the chest. He watches her place the sticks down next to her boots before she continues, “You were just about to bedrock over the world. And I said that we could still be friends, remember?”

“Y-yeah.” He blinks and leans an elbow against the crafting table. “Yeah, I remember, sure.” Though he wishes he didn't..

“Well, I wasn't just saying that to stop you. I knew there was at least some good in you and....I wanted to find it.” At last, she pulls her arms from the chest, bringing a pair of iron bars along as well. Then, gathering the stick in her free hand, she stands up and turns to face him fully, eyes shining with so much sincerity, his chest gives a dull throb.

“I really did want to be your friend, Romeo.”

A heavy weight settles like lead in his stomach. Just another chance, he'd squandered. “Guess I should have taken the offer then and there, huh?” he laments quietly, glancing down at his feet.

All of a sudden, a burst of laughter catches him by surprise and he lifts his head again to find Jesse shaking her head at him and beaming as she abruptly pushes the stick and iron bars into his arms. “The offer still stands, dummy!”

“Oh.” This time, there's no use hiding his blush. They're standing too close to a burning torch, the firelight illuminating his face and and setting sparks dancing in Jesse's eyes. Prying his tongue from the room of his dry mouth, Romeo croaks, “You're serious? You....you want to be my friend? What, even after-” He breaks off, gesturing at himself helplessly.

Jesse's hand finds his shoulder and turns him gently to face the crafting table. “Yeah, weirdly enough, I kind of do. You're not the bad guy anymore, and I think it's important you know that even if it doesn't work out with Xara or the rest of Beacon Town-” Her fingers give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before they slip from his shirt. “- You still have at least one friend out there.”

Romeo's arms clutch the items closer to his chest, a familiar ache beginning to build in his throat.

The next thing either of them know, he's dropped his load of crafting materials onto the table and lunged forwards, slinging his gangly arms around Jesse's shoulders and clutching tightly to the back of her overalls. He has to bend considerably to accommodate for her shorter height but in the spur of the moment, he barely notices the awkward angle.

Jesse meanwhile, lets out a startled yelp, although it's lost in the fabric of the former admin's shirt. Blinking, she turns her face to one side so that her cheek is squashed against his bony chest instead and she can strain her head back to peer up at the underside of his chin. He has his eyes clamped shut while a dopey grin gradually worms its way across his features.

Once the initial shock has worn off, Jesse finds herself relaxing slightly in his warm hold. It's less crushing that one of Petra's hugs and a little too angular to be as comfortable as Lukas's, but it's far from unpleasant and soon enough, she hesitantly slides her arms around his scrawny waist, feeling him flinch for a second before he promptly melts against her.

“Ha..Never had you pegged for a hugger,” she jokes.

Romeo's only response is to let out a soft hum, smile growing even wider until suddenly, he registers what he's doing and his eyes snap open. In a rush, he lets go and springs away from her as if he'd been stung, holding up his hands up and blurting out, “Oh, Nether! I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me.”

It could just be his imagination, but he'd swear that Jesse's laughter chases away the mine's oppressive gloom. “You don't have to apologise for hugging me! Actually, I think it's a vast improvement from yesterday.” She flashes him a wink, setting his nerves at ease.

“Sorry if it was weird,” Romeo mumbles, scuffing his sneakers on the ground.

“Not weird at all.” Knowing that the truth would only make him self conscious, she waves his apology aside. It had been weird to receive a hug from an ex-immortal who had shaped the very world she stood on. Weird; yes. Though certainly not bad.

He's starting at her again in such a way that reminds her briefly of how Ivor had looked at her when she told him he could build a home in Beacon Town. It was the first time she'd seen the old wizard's smile grow so tender.

Eventually, Romeo's attentive stare starts making her fidget and she clears her throat shyly, tucking a stray hair behind her ears. “We'd, uh...We'd better get to it. That Heck-Mouth isn't gonna check on itself.”

“Huh?” He shakes himself out of his trance. “Oh, right. Right. The Heck-Mouth, yeah.”

He moves back to the crafting table when Jesse taps it and raises a quizzical brow at him. “Just in case we run into trouble, I thought it'd be a good idea to make you a weapon,” she says, “When's the last time you crafted something without your Admin powers?”

“Ah. Heh. I suppose it has been some time,” he confesses, rubbing at his beard.

“Don't worry about it, you'll relearn. Starting with....” Turning her attention to the crafting table, Jesse sets about separating the iron bars. “A sword, I think. Okay, so for one of these, you're gonna need to put an iron bar here...aaand...here....”

She continues to teach him the basics of weapon crafting while Romeo stands close to her side, nodding at appropriate intervals but paying absolutely no attention to the table whatsoever, too busy watching his new friend with a curl of warmth rolling around in his chest.

'Friend.' Romeo's lips stretch impossibly wide, wider than they have in years. 'My friend.'

[blueyemxn]

My Persephone (Pt. 5)

A Broken Exchange

Spoiler Warning: Content below contains spoilers for the lvl 80 Shadowbringers MSQ, if you have not reached this point in the game and do not wish to be spoiled please refrain from reading. Otherwise enjoy my trash shipping at your own risk.

Relationship: Emet-SelchxWoL          

Ao3 Story - Here    Part One: Here    Part Two: Here    Part Three: Here    Part Four: Here    Part Six: Here

“This really is unexceptionable. I gave you very specific instructions.” 

He lumbered sluggishly, still slouched over as he approached the Warrior of Darkness and her companions, eyes ever downcast in disappointment. Disappointment in her, that she would dare share this ancient ground with others. That she would bring her friends to a place only special to themselves. He had known from the moment they stepped into Amaurot that she wasn’t alone, and yet now he complains about it? How so… him.

“Emet-Selch.” There came a growl from Alphinaud, but Nua paid him no mind, her eyes focused on the Ascian before her. 

She took a step, then two, then three and suddenly she was there in front of him, so close that if she took a deep breath their bodies would touch. “Last I checked I didn’t need your permission to do anything, least of all to bring them at my final hours.” 

Her eyes bore into him, challenging his golden stare that didn’t change from its disapproving glance.

Her chest tightened; she hated it when he looked at her like that, like he was trying to make her feel guilty. “Though, all things considered, I did try to come alone, seems my friends are just as stubborn as I.” 

“As if we’d let you confront this bastard alone in the state you’re in,” Thancred said as she heard a click from his gunblade. Cute, but Nua didn’t find it necessary, though it warmed her heart to know they cared about her that much. To risk themselves like this when she was about to turn and probably devour them all.  

“No matter. In the end my invitation was for an abomination, a being ripe with power to bring about this shard’s annihilation. Not this half-broken… thing. Whatever am I to do with you?” He asked mockingly, the last of his words ending in a sneer as he continued to stare down with condescension. She glared back, the word broken echoing within the realm of her mind, digging itself into her heart.

Broken.

Broken.

Broken.

“I’m nothing but broken.”

“Such an odd thing to say, it’s something Emet-Selch would surely debate against.”

“Only because he doesn’t know.”

“You’d be surprised. He may not speak about such things, but he knows, he always knows.”

Cracks began to form beneath her feet, splitting the marble as the beast within grows restless. Her fingers dug into her arms, twitching as she was given the overwhelming desire to slap him across the face with such force his head would come clean off. The only thing that stopped her was a tug at the heart, a long forgotten devotion to a man who wasn’t himself anymore. 

“It took a painstakingly long time to make that and here you are breaking it into pieces. Are you already so far gone that you can’t control yourself?” There came a long, drawn out sigh from his lips as he looked down to the floor with a bored expression before those orbs of ichor went back to hers. 

Her eyebrow twitched and she opened her mouth to say something.

“You’re not going to let him get to you that easily, are you?” Ardbert asked, walking next to her. “He knows nothing about you, nothing about this world. He does not have the right to dictate who lives and who dies. It stands to reason he shouldn’t dictate how you feel, right?” There was a warmth in his voice, as if he were smiling, but Nua dared not break her eye contact with Emet-Selch to look. 

Her shard was right though, giving into her anger would just fuel the rapidly encroaching light within her soul. She had to stave it off as much as possible. And she refused to let the bastard have the satisfaction of tipping her over the edge just because he knew how to push her buttons.

For a moment she closed her eyes and in that time did the cracks stop and the air went back to normal. She opened them slightly to give off the same bored expression he had. “As if I’d get angry over the lies that spew out of your mouth; please.” She scoffed, half turning away.

“As I’ve stated before, hero, I have not uttered a single lie through this entire endeavor; about you least of all. You are what your are, a broken shell, a shattered remnant of what once was and what will be again once the one true god is resurrected.” 

“And how, pray tell, do you intend to bring back the dead? Even a god as powerful as yours couldn’t simply bring back every single one of your people without something drastic in return.” Y’shtola noted, hardened glance on Emet-Selch to see if he had an answer. Such a request was hardly an easy task and even Hydaelyn had no such ability to reanimate, though that was never her intended purpose.

Suddenly he smirked and he lifted his arms as if he were preaching the holy word of the one true God. “Once all the worlds have rejoined, we Ascians are to offer up the Source’s remaining inhabitants in sacrifice, that we might resurrect our brethren who died to bring Zodiark into existence. And thus, everything will go back to the way it was, the way it was meant to be.” He spoke with such lavish and conviction, a duty he was wholly dedicated to no matter what it took to achieve such an end. He had dedicated eons to restoring his people and if the First could be rejoined he was one step closer to that goal. Or at least he thought.

The room stiffened and Nua cursed under her breath as a result of this madness. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She muttered, though she knew very well that he was not. “Back the way it was meant to be? Nothing is going to go back to the way it was ‘supposed’ to be, not after this. When everyone finds out you’ve killed billions just to bring them back to a doomed world, they will look up to you in horror.”

“You do not kn--”

“I know enough!” She turned to face him again, a very stern look on her face as she tried to keep her temper at bay even when she was hearing such nonsense coming out of his mouth. “I may not have all of my memories but I have enough to recount the tear between our people when you and the rest of the Convocation kept spilling blood for your god. How were we to safeguard the future of our people when you were butchering them in the present?!” 

“This can’t keep going, Emet-Selch, too many lives have already been lost.”

“We don’t have a choice, Zodiark needs more sacrifices so that he may restore the star.”

“Are you so blind that you don’t realize that it's killing the few we have left? We will have no future at this rate.”

“Fandaniel we’re doing the best we can. Zodiark is the star itself, it knows what it needs. Just a little bit more, he just needs a little bit more and everyone will--”

“Even if he does decide to finally answer our wishes, there will be nothing left for them but a city full of ghosts.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find a better solution.”

“Nothing good has ever come out of sacrificing those to a primal and Zodiark is no different.” Nua felt her chest congest as she waited for Emet-Selch’s response, waiting for him to show something, anything. But the bastard was never one to give what she would have wanted, no, he just decided to be his usual uncaring self as he shook his head.

“Even now, after everything, you refuse to listen to reason. You think that it's unfair that you are subject to suffering? That your lives will be sacrificed for the ancients?”

“Of--”

“Look at me!” He demanded as his voice became unmasked and raw while he grabbed at her arm, forcing her to close the small gap between their bodies. “I have lived a thousand thousand of your lives! I have broken bread with you, fought with you, grown ill, grown old! Sired children and yes, welcomed death’s sweet embrace. For eons have I measured your worth and found you wanting! Too weak and feeble-minded to serve as stewards of any star!” His voice trembled as the one unoccupied hand shook with heated frustration as the other holding her in place squeezed with unnatural strength.

Nua did not flinch, not until she felt his soul again, caressing at her, snapping at the edges of her confines as gut-wrenching disgust vibrated through her being. She nearly buckled, feeling the hopelessness he felt for the inhabitants of the Source and the Shards. 

Not worthy. They cannot hope to be so. They are not our legacy. They are weak. They are feeble. Not worthy. notworthynotworthyNOTWORTHYNOTWORTHYNOTWORTHY--

The words spiraled out of control, filling her mind with endless chattering. She could hear her friends in the background shouting, but what she could not understand, nor was there any reason to. Slowly did she put up a hand, bidding them to cease, hoping that they wouldn’t be so foolish as to try and fight when it was obvious that the only person who could ever hope to stand up to Emet-Selch was her.

Then her soul screeched back, pushing back against his, stubbornly unmoving, unyielding. 

They are worthy. They can do this. We can do this. Give us a chance. We are strong. We can persevere. We are ALIVE! WE ARE WORTHY!

She intensified her feelings as much as she could; not that that said much. It was difficult due to most of her memories missing and unused to using her soul in this way. When she saw the small amount of amusement on his face, she knew that her efforts were anything but effective.

“Have you not learned that your ignorance and frailty begets only endless misery?” His voice, though soft, managed to drown out all possible others, causing them to grow quiet and still as his smile faded away. “How long do you mean to perpetuate this farce? How much more must I endure your bumbling interference?” Emet-Selch looked to her, eyes boring into her own, though she had a feeling that he wasn’t talking to her, not directly. He closed them briefly, seemingly contemplating before his eyes met with her other companions.

“Even if the world were to face true annihilation once more, do you honestly believe that half your number would sacrifice themselves to save the other? Of course they wouldn’t. And if you had witnessed history unfold as I have, you would have reached the same conclusion.” He said, still continuing his lecture in a softer version of his voice; of which he was not entirely wrong. 

A quiet sigh left his lips and his grip on her loosened enough where she could easily pull away; she did not. “I will bring back our brethren. Our Friends. Our loved ones. The world belongs to us and us alone.” 

I promise, Persephone. 

His fingers slowly loosened before lazily falling away before he turned his back to her, perhaps unable to gaze at her any longer, tired of fighting and tired of not being able to get his point across. Those words of his, that were meant for her hearing only, echoing in her mind as he started to walk away.

Hades!

Her soul reached out when verbal words would not, trying to coax him out of this fantasy he had been planning to bring about for eons. But he ignored her, heading out towards the door.

“Emet-Selch!” Amidst the buckling silence did Alphinaud manage to find his voice where Nua or the others could not. While the boy looked pained, his resolve was clear within his stable voice. “We understand. Truly. But it makes no difference. The ones you love are in the past. While ours are here in the present. One day, we too will be ashes and dust, but not today. Our time is not yet finished. We share your conviction… and that is why we will not abandon our course.” 

Such a way with words; Alphinaud was always better at them than Nua ever hoped to be. She thought actions were better; to feel, taste, breath, hear and see then to listen to a person speak words that were only made to impress others. Alphie managed that and more most of the time, but knowing Emet-Selch, knowing her Hades, it would not be possible. He was dedicated, he was so filled with insurmountable love that he would do insurmountable atrocities to achieve them.

Emet-Selch was silent, standing there, arms loosely hanging at his sides, posture slouched as if something heavy was weighing them down. At first Nua thought he would not bother arguing further, but then she felt fire. There was no heat, but she could feel something burning from him, his soul flickering and intensifying. She knew it well; the uncontainable rage that threatened to overtake one’s being. His back straightened slightly and Nua felt her gut clench. 

“You think us the same? You think your tattered soul of equal worth to those I lost?” His head turned ever so slightly, golden eyes constricted as he gritted his teeth. “Then come-- earn your place. Prove yourselves worthy to inherit this star.”  The burning pulsed, but within that flame of resentment Nua could feel a deep wound, a hurting chasm that could not be filled or healed. A grief that would not allow itself to be overcome.

And before them the golden doors opened, revealing a wall of fire and beyond a crumbling city full of despair, hopelessness and death.

“Behold, the coming oblivion. T’was the end of our era, and the beginning of our great work. A fitting backdrop… for your final judgement.”

[sweetboybucky]

Feelings

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1800

Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs 

Summary: Your date doesn’t end the way you expected. 

A/N: Hi, everyone! So this is my entry for @bucky-at-bedtime ‘s 1.5K Writing Challenge! The first thing I wanna say to the lovely Jess is: congratulations on 1.5K! You totally deserve it, my dear. Your work absolutely blows me away. 

My prompt for this was AU number 3: “You’re the bartender and you catch someone slipping something into my drink.” This oneshot was a bit of a challenge for me because I don’t normally write fics like this, but it was also super fun. I had a great time writing this piece and I just want to thank Jess again for hosting such a fun writing challenge. And I apologize in advance for any typos. I do my best with editing, but it’s easy to miss some things. Anyway, enjoy! 

My Masterlist

***

Your night is not going as planned.

Leaning against the bar, you place your elbow on the smooth, wooden surface and let your cheek fall onto your open hand. Your date drones on about something he brought up some ten minutes again you struggle to keep your eyes open as he talks.

The guy’s name is Derek, and you’d met on some dating app your friend, Nat, had forced you download. She had immediately stolen your phone from you once it was installed and set up your profile for you. She even liked a few guys for you.  

One of those guys was Derek.

After an hour or so of having the app, and once Nat had left, he messaged you. Trying to be polite, you responded. It’s not like you had anything against dating apps, and you had been single for a while, so you didn’t think it would hurt to make some small talk with him and then slowly stop messaging him back all together.

Derek, however, had been persistent and had jumped on the chance to ask you out. The moment you received the message, you debated whether or not to go on the date or tell him to back off, delete the app, and call Nat to scream at her for making you download it in the first place.

Obviously, you chose the former.

The bar is crowded and humid, the air making sweat stick little baby hairs to the back of your neck. You look up from where your gaze had been fixated on the ice cubes in your drink to look at Derek, noticing that he’s still talking.

A tiny groan escapes your lips and for the first time since you got to the bar, you’re happy it’s loud enough that your date won’t hear it.

Looking at him, you realize that this won’t even make a good bad date story. It’s not like the guy is some psychopath, as far as you can tell. He doesn’t have some crazy backstory or weird mannerism to laugh at.  He’s not even the least bit interesting. Derek is, in fact, probably the most boring person you’ve ever met.

“... it’s just so pointless, y’know?” he voices, still discussing something you can’t really remember. You hum in acknowledgment, glancing at his face briefly before focusing your eyes back down at your half-empty drink, lifting it up and swirling the liquid in the glass.

Someone clears their throat behind you and, putting your drink down, you swivel on your stool to see who it is. You notice Derek’s now strange, pinched expression as you do, but you don’t pay attention to it, just assuming that he’s mad your focus is elsewhere. You also hear his exasperated sigh as you smile at the person who’s now grabbed your attention.

Bucky.

You knew your dark haired friend was a bartender at this place but you hadn’t expected him to be working. You’ve never been happier to see him, though, as he grins back at you, one of his hands coming up to tuck a stray piece of long, dark hair behind his ear.

“Hey, Buck,” you say, affection changing your tone. For the first time since getting to the bar, you’re glad to be here. Bucky seems happy to see you as well because he’s beaming now, his perfect teeth on full display.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice silky smooth. “How’s your night going?”

You roll your eyes at him and discreetly mouth the words “so boring” to him, leaning a little closer so he can see you in the dim lighting of the place. He chuckles and gives you a sympathetic glance.

“I didn’t know you were working tonight,” you say. “Why am I just seeing you now?”

“I’ve been upstairs most of the night,” he explains, gesturing to the staircase at the far end of the large room. You’d forgotten that there was an upstairs to this bar. “Private party,” he whispers, bracing his hands against the counter and leaning closer to you. He winks. You laugh.

Just as he’s about to say something else to you, his eyes fixate on something behind you, his grin faltering immediately.

“Bucky? Wha -”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing back there?” Bucky bites.

You flinch a bit at the sudden change in tone and stare at him. He’s not looking at you, though. His gaze remains on something behind you.

Turning in your seat, you see Derek. His hands are shoved in his pockets and his face is completely flushed. He looks nervous - no, terrified - and more confusion morphs your expression into a frown.

“What’s going on?” you ask, looking between Derek and Bucky.

Bucky still isn’t looking at you. His mouth is set in a hard line and there’s a fire behind his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You’ve never seen the teddy bear of a man in front of you so angry.

“This asshole just put something in your drink.”

Your mouth falls open as you look at Derek. A million thoughts race through your mind as Bucky keeps barking at the guy.

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice that? I’m standing two fucking feet from you.”

Derek flinches at the words, his body curling in on itself as his gaze flicks down to Bucky’s metal arm. Bucky notices.

“How fucking stupid do you think I am?” Bucky adds.

“I-I, I j-just -” Derek starts, his voice and body shaking. But Bucky cuts him off.

“I don’t care. Get the fuck out before I jump over this goddamn bar and beat you half to death.”

During this entire exchange, you remain motionless. You don’t even move when Derek mutters the smallest version of an apology and stands so quickly he nearly falls over. In an instant, he’s out the door.

Blood roars in your ears and your skin crawls as you look at the glass from which you were drinking just two minutes ago. You’d never imagined that you would be caught in a situation like this. But you know that if Bucky hadn’t seen what Derek did, you surely would’ve finished that drink.

So he was a psychopath after all.

Bucky is saying something to you, but you can’t hear him. You can only see his lips moving out of the corner of your eye.

But then he’s in front of you and his metal hand feels cool against your shoulder. You force your eyes to focus on his, the deep blue loosening the vice grip around your heart.

“Hey, Y/N. Hey,” he whispers. You’re surprised you can hear him over the roar of the people in the bar. “Are you okay? Do you feel dizzy or sick at all?”

When you shake your head at his question, he lets out a relieved exhale. He looks away from you for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, but he keeps his cool hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of your blouse.

After a moment of silent pondering, he looks back to you, his eyes flitting over your face and lingering a little too long on your lips. You notice but you don’t say anything. Your brain is too preoccupied with the fact that you were almost drugged.

“Okay, just breathe, doll,” he says carefully, his flesh hand tucking some the hair that has fallen in front of your face behind your ear. “I’m gonna take you home, alright? Is that okay?”

The sweet tone of his voice makes your brain feel a tad less foggy. But once you’ve registered what he’s said, your brows furrow.

“But you’re working,” you mutter.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says quickly, his gaze is affectionate and soft and the weight of the room and the night and the situation you nearly found yourself in gets lighter. “Let’s just get you home, okay?”

---

“I got you some water.”

Your head snaps up from your hands to the doorway at the sound of Bucky’s voice. He walks carefully across your bedroom and places the glass on your bedside table before taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to you.

Bucky had been nice enough to drive you home rather than just call a cab for you like you had expected. His car had been soft and warm and he had driven so carefully you’d nearly fallen asleep. Exhaustion had crept its way into your bones and you were more than ready to curl up in bed and never leave.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him, flashing him a grateful smile before looking back down at your hands. Your fingers tangle in the hem of your shirt.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is so tender and his fingers ghost carefully over your arm as he asks. Tears gather in your eyes as you look back up at him.

“I shouldn’t be so upset,” you mumble. “I shouldn’t be so upset,” you repeat. “I didn’t even drink it, thanks to you. Nothing even happened to me and I still feel so -”

“Anxious?” Bucky questions. You nod at him, wondering how he was able to finish your sentence for you. He reads the confusion on your face and sighs. “It doesn’t matter if something happened to you or not. It’s still scary.”

“You’re allowed to have feelings, Y/N,” he continues. He inches a little closer to you to brush a stray tear off of your cheek. You almost hadn’t noticed it was there.

Leaning forward, your forehead meets his collarbone. You take a shaky breath and bite the inside of your cheek to stave off more tears. Bucky just rests his flesh hand on your back and rubs circles with it, trying to help calm you down.

A few minutes later you’re yawning against his shoulder and he’s chuckling at you and the sound of his laughter seems to brighten up your room more than the small lamp on your bedside table ever could.

“You should get some sleep,” he whispers. “I’m gonna get going so you can rest.”

When he starts to pull away from you, you grab his bicep and hold him in place. He looks at you, clearly waiting for you to speak.

“Please stay,” you finally choke out, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. As he opens his mouth to protest you continue. “I want you to stay.”

“Okay,” he sighs. “Okay,” he repeats. He moves around you to the other side of your bed and leans back against the headboard. You lay next to him, pillowing your head on his thigh. His metal hand ghosts over your temple and forehead before settling in your hair.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” you ask, tilting your head up enough to look at his face. He smiles down at you and the look he’s giving you is so gentle you nearly melt.

“Yeah, doll,” he answers, his voice impossibly soft. “I’ll be here.”

He takes your hand and kisses it, his lips feeling exactly the way you imagined they would against your skin.

[misfiredsynapse]

writing post

Teldryn x OC, Valkri The first snippets of a longer fic Bit of flirting, a very brief fight, Nothing explicit except the banter Mild innuendo if you squint

I'll be honest. Valkri is kind of my baby; she's the one I've been working on rounding for the last few months, she's the one I've been writing and rewriting a backstory for. Just when I think I've finally got most of her storyline and personality figured out, she goes and changes something on me. She's by far the most difficult character I've ever tried to write, but at the same time my favourite.

“I don’t suppose you have need of a sword, sera.”

She eyed up the mer across from her, his strange armour and unfamiliar accent hinting at something foreign and maybe a little dangerous. Solstheim was so far removed from anything Skyrim had to offer and this stranger seemed to sum it all up. “Do I get the mer attached to the sword as well?”

Behind his helmet, he hacked a cough and roughly cleared his throat. “For five hundred septims, you do,” he said.

Valkri winced. Her coin purse wasn’t exactly full, and the expense seemed a little extravagant; but she had seen the holes in the Bulwark, heard the Redoran guards talking about monsters living in- and created from- the ash. “Tel Mithryn,” she said. “Do you know the way?”

“Quite well,” he drawled, leaning on his elbows across the table. He seemed to sense that she was considering his offer and was eager to seal the deal. Valkri imagined it wasn’t often a potential patron walked into the Retching Netch. “I assure you, I’m worth every coin.”

Valkri slid a hand into her pocket. Tallying up the expense of passage over, plus the two nights of board she was paying Geldis for, and the tuition fee that Neloth was bound to ask of her; she had just enough to hire herself a guide and a guard with little to spare.

But arriving alive to see out her year was worth the coin.

“Half now, and half when I safely arrive,” she offered. He remained silent until the coin purse clinked on the table between them. Valkri shifted awkwardly in her seat while he counted it. Old warnings about crooked scam artists and dishonest elves flitted through her mind before she shoved them away. A Nord’s upbringing sat ill-at-ease with her blood heritage.

“Congratulations, Outlander. You just bought yourself the finest swordsman in Morrowind,” the stranger lifted his head to look at her through tiny glass goggles. His face was completely obscured but Valkri thought she heard a grin in his voice. “Teldryn Sero, at your service,” he said, offering his hand with a flourish.

“Valkri Fairchild, at yours,” she replied, a small smile tugging her mouth. “Shall we leave in the morning?”

Teldryn took his time in adding her payment to his pocket, but he nodded at her in assent. “You’re the boss,” he said, his voice a low rumble. Valkri felt her stomach flip over and cursed the reaction, biting her tongue to avoid telling him not to use that tone. If he noticed the blush spreading across her cheeks he didn’t comment on it.

-{-}-

“ – and Master Neloth is the top mind in Enchanting, and he even creates his own staves, which isn’t exactly common practice back in Winterhold. It’s all too fancy I think, or at least far too expensive to have the components shipped in for a bunch of students to practice on. My Enchanting master, Sergius, was one of Neloth’s apprentices about thirty years ago and he was pushing for me to come here too. He’s half the reason why I volunteered for this,” Valkri waved her hands wildly in the ash-scented air. She had been chattering non-stop for an hour. Teldryn walked in dutiful silence beside her, nodding when she paused for breath, his eyes scanning their surroundings for danger. The quiet sat ill inside her, forcing her to babble on to fill the silence.

“Only half the reason?” he asked her, tone hinting at teasing.

Valkri scoffed. “The other half was the adventure, I’ll admit. Morrowind is outside the Empire.”

Teldryn’s mouth turned up in a slight smile. “There are nicer places than Tel Mithryn, Valkri.”

Valkri kept her pace even with his despite the height difference between them, only a little out of breath because she couldn’t stop talking. “Good for them. As for me, I’m here and I’m happy for it. It’ll be nice to not have the Thalmor breathing down my neck all the time.”

“Thalmor?”

Her nose screwed up in comical disgust. “Advisor Ancano,” she spat the name like it tasted foul. “He says he’s at the College to advise Arch-Mage Aren, but I’ve never seen him actually do any advising. He mostly lurks in shadows and tries to catch us doing something he doesn’t approve of, for the excuse to haul us off for interrogation.”

Teldryn snorted. “He sounds pleasant.”

“He’s a delight,” Valkri replied flatly. Her tone lowered, and a scowl pulled at her brows. “He seems to have a particular interest in me. Keeps asking about my family, like I should know where I came from. It’s like he doesn’t believe that I don’t.” Her voice turned strained and she walked ahead, quickening her pace to take the lead. Teldryn didn’t miss her shaking hands or the way she wiped her face, trying to pull herself back together. Over her shoulder, Valkri said; “Stop looking at me like that.”

Teldryn raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. “I’m not looking at you in any particular way, sera.”

“I’m a magic-using mutt raised among Nords. I don’t need to see a face to know when someone’s looking at me,” she replied, quick as a whip.

Teldryn made a low hacking sound that she’d quickly come to identify as a laugh. “Alright,” he conceded. “I was just wondering what the punishment for punching a Thalmor official is.”

Valkri barked a laugh, stopping her maddened pace to spin and stare at him. “You’ve known me a day and you’d punch a Thalmor for me?”

“Of course! I would be glad for the opportunity!” Teldryn declared wildly, over-enunciating and flinging his arms wide, just because it made her roll her eyes and the downturn of her lips disappear. The darkened moment passed quickly, and as soon as Tel Mithryn graced the horizon Valkri was back to babbling about Neloth Telvanni, enchantments, and magical theories to make Teldryn’s head spin.

"Has anybody ever mentioned that you might talk too much?" Teldryn asked her. His tone was light and Valkri laughed it off, just as he expected she would.

"All the time. I used to drive my family mad, then poor Farengar had to put up with me until I was old enough to go to Winterhold. It's my one biggest flaw. In fact it's probably the main reason why the College agreed to send me here."

"You volunteered," Teldryn said, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Three paces ahead, he saw her white hair bounce in a nod. "Yeah but I'm barely an Apprentice. It's rare the first-year students get picked for an honour like this."

Teldryn snorted. "You and I have very different opinions on what's classed as an honour, Valkri Fairchild."

She laughed and waved her hand at him. Teldryn broke into a half jog to keep pace with her; she might be small but years of hard farm work and chasing bandits for bounties left her with plenty of speed and stamina. An advantage in a fight; Valkri would never overpower someone but she could outmanoeuvre them easily.

"Do you hear that?" She said, her tone dropped to a harsh whisper. Teldryn tuned in and caught up at once, cursing himself for not hearing it sooner.

All around them, the ash began to move. He summoned his atronach and drew his sword in the same motion, turning to face three of the ash spawn. He felt Valkri at his back, heard the harsh buzzing of a summon- and froze to stare at the daedric warrior towering over him. The beast of a creature let out a scream and charged headlong into the battle, caring little for its own wellbeing and demolishing everything in its path.

Valkri stepped after it, aiming careful bolts of lightning and striking her targets clean. Teldryn snapped out of his reverie as a sword swung in front of his face, nearly cleaving his chitin armour.

"Boethiah inspire me!" He roared. In minutes the fight was over; six ash spawn lay dead and Valkri stood between him and her hulking daedric companion. With no more targets it set its black stare on him.

"I WILL CRUSH YOU!" It bellowed.

Valkri shoved her palms out, an empty summoning orb absorbing the warrior in mid-stride.

The look she gave him was almost sheepish. "Sorry about him," she said. "He gets a little carried away."

Teldryn's mouth was hanging open, not that she could see it beneath his helmet. Shock gave way to grudging admiration, something warm and tightly coiled beginning to form in his stomach.

"I'm glad that I'm finally travelling with someone who seems competent," he said, the words feeling forced now even if they made Valkri laugh and reach a hand up to pat his shoulder. His throat was dry, and he couldn't take his eyes off her when she headed off into the ash.

If she could summon creatures like that to protect her, why on Nirn did she hire him?

[manymessyfandoms]

Prompt idea for u. Maybe like Tony and Peter switch bodies for a day because of some enemy spell and chaos ensues. I love your irondad writings! They’re so good!

This was more fun to write than I had anticipated akjdkjdskjdf, I HOPE YOU ENJOY (((: 

(ao3 link here)

TONY

“You alright, kid?” Tony asked Peter. They had just finished taking down a couple wack-jobs with some toys from outer space when one of the guys they missed blasted them with something Tony didn’t know a few seconds before Peter webbed him up.

“Y-yeah. I think so. What was that?”

Tony ignored the weird fuzzy sensation starting at his toes and climbing up to his head. “It was probably nothing. You feel okay? All in one piece?” Tony gave Peter a once over, making sure he wasn’t missing any vital body parts.

“I’m good,” Peter replied. Tony almost missed the slight shaking of his body. 

It was the next morning when Tony had the realization that something was incredibly wrong. 

“Peter, you need to be up for school!” Tony groaned and rolled over before shooting up. That was May’s voice. But what was she-

He was not at the tower. He was at the Parker residence. More specifically, Peter Parker’s room. 

“What the hell?” he said before yelping because, yeah, that was definitely not his voice. He shakily got out of bed and creeped to the mirror, hiding his eyes behind his hands as if that could stop him from seeing what he knew he would.

“Shit,” Tony mumbled as he saw the teenager’s face staring back at him. 

“Peter,” May said as she walked into the room, “I’ve got to go to work. There are some pancakes downstairs for you.”

Tony stared at himself in the mirror for a few seconds before replying. “Yeah, thanks, May.”

She scrunched her eyebrows. “Alright. See you after school.” Tony didn’t reply.

He needed to find Peter.

PETER

Peter woke up feeling weird. There was no other way to say it. Before he even opened his eyes, he knew something was wrong. 

The sound of a door opening had him jumping up. Peter barely held back his gaping looks as he glanced around a room that certainly wasn’t his. “Tony, Peter’s here,” Pepper Potts said. “He’s acting really weird too.”

“W- what?” Peter stuttered and he slapped a hand over his mouth when he heard his voice. 

Pepper eyed him suspiciously. “What is going on?”

“Nothing!” Peter yelled in Tony’s voice. “Y- you said Peter’s here? Peter Parker is here right now? You saw Peter? Parker?”

“What is going on right now?”

“N- nothing, I just have to go talk to him. Right now. I’ve got to- uh, go talk to that kid. That little… rascal.” Peter got up and walked over to Pepper. “I’ll talk to you later… darling?” And with that, Peter fled the room. 

“FRIDAY, where’s Peter?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly. 

“Mr. Parker is currently in the living room, where Ms. Pott’s told him to wait for you.”

“Great.” Peter immediately made his way there.

“Oh, good. There I am. Thought I lost myself for awhile there,” Peter saw himself say. “Calm down, kid. It’s me, Tony. I think there’s been a little mix up.”

Peter gaped at Tony. “‘A little mix up’?” he practically yelled. “I- I’m looking at myself right now! You’re me! This is-” Peter bent over as he tried to stave off the growing panic in his gut. 

Peter saw his face roll his eyes, and okay now he knew why Tony got so irritated with him when he did that. “Calm down, Pete. We’ll figure this out. FRIDAY, call Bruce. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

“Will do, Mr. Parker.”

Tony sighed and scratched at his face. “This is so weird.”

“You think?” Peter asked still taking deep breaths. “I- I can’t be you! I have a science test tomorrow!” Tony raised his eyebrows at him. “A big science test,” he grumbled. 

“You think you’re worried? I can pass those tests for you, kid. I have meetings with important people. You can’t handle being Tony Stark.”

Peter blanched. “Well, excuse me, Mr. Big Shot. This isn’t my fault!”

“Yeah, I know that-”

Just then, the elevator doors opened and Bruce Banner walked into the room and walked up to Peter. “What’s going on, Tony? Some kind of emergency?”

Peter froze. “Um, well, you see Mr. Banner, it’s just-”

“Kid,” Tony interrupted Peter’s nervous ramblings, “just be quiet. Let the adults talk now.”

“Right, sorry, Mr. Stark.”

Bruce was whipping his head between the two of them. “I’m sorry, what’s going on exactly?”

Tony had an irritated expression on Peter’s face. “It seems that me and underoo’s had a little switcheroo.” 

Bruce looked stunned. “Tony?” he asked, looking at Peter’s body.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me, in the flesh. Well, not really in the flesh.”

Bruce’s eyes were still wide. “W- what happened?”

“It was crazy, Mr. Banner,” Peter intervened. “Like, there were a couple people with all this weird alien stuff and then they blasted us, right? They blasted us, but nothing happened. Well, we thought nothing happened, but obviously something did because I woke up this morning to Ms. Potts walking in the room telling me Peter Parker was waiting downstairs, and I’m Peter Parker.”

Tony had his eyes closed and was shaking his head slightly. “Please tell me I don’t sound like that on the rare occasions I’m thrown off enough to ramble.”

Bruce looked like he was holding back a laugh. “Okay, why don’t we start with some tests, yeah? Try to figure out what’s going on.”

Tony pointed at Bruce and said, “You better help us fix this, Banner,” before walking off towards the lab.

“So weird,” Bruce muttered before following him.

It took all day of tests before they had answers. 

“Well,” Bruce said, “I think I’ve mostly figured this out. Surprisingly, it wasn’t very complicated. Simple, but as you can see, highly effective.”

“Lay it on me, doc,” Tony said and Peter just chewed his nails for a second before Tony slapped his hands away. “Don’t ruin my nails, kid. I don’t want to have nasty fingers when I get my body back.”

“Sorry, Tony,” Peter rushed out and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Bruce glanced between them, amused. “Right. Well, let’s begin.” 

After a half hour of Bruce trying his best to explain the situation, Peter realized what he was saying. “So we’re stuck like this? For how long?” he asked with a slight tremor in his voice. 

“Maybe two days, tops. Don’t worry, though. You will go back to normal.”

“Don’t look so anguished, kid,” Tony said. “At least you get to be a handsome billionaire. Which by the way, it’s criminal that people don’t compliment me more. I look damn good.”

“Moving on,” Bruce said before Peter could snap back. “I think you guys should just roll with this until it wears off. No use in worrying everyone. Tony, just call May and tell her you’re staying the night at here. We’ll just take this one day at a time.”

Peter nervously glanced at Tony. “One day at a time. Then it’ll be over, and things will be back to normal.”

“Right. Normal.”

TONY

Tony felt ridiculous. He was walking into a damn high school with a JanSport backpack hanging off his shoulder. He couldn’t believe the kid actually convinced him to go to school and take his stupid test for him. 

“Hey, Peter!” a kid that Tony recognized as Ned walked up to him. “You still coming over after school?”

“I- ” Tony flinched when a nearby locker slammed. That was another thing. Tony wasn’t used to Peter’s enhanced abilities. “I can’t. Super important stuff with Tony today.”

Ned squinted a little. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Everything’s… coolio.” Ned’s head cocked so Tony continued. “I’ve got to get to class. Got that test. Bye, Ned.”

Tony was one of the first ones in class. The only other people were a girl and a guys, both sitting on opposite ends of the classroom. Not even the teacher was there yet.

“Hey, Penis Parker!” Tony yawned, not even realizing that that was directed towards him. “Parker!” Then a wad a paper his the back of his head, and he startled. 

“You talking to me, kid?”

The guy looked irritated. “Who you calling a kid, Penis?” He got up and into Tony’s face. “You know I can do a lot more than shove you around, Parker. My mom’s a boxer. I know how to fight for real.”

Tony was too busy registering that this punk had been picking on his kid that he didn’t even realize that the other girl in the room walked up behind him. 

“Sit down, Flash. No one wants to hear it.”

“Shut up, Michelle. Maybe Parker here needs to be taught a lesson, and not a science one.”

Tony would’ve laughed at Flash’s poor attempt at a burn if he hadn’t been so angry that Peter had to put up with this everyday. 

Before anything else could happen, the class startled filing in quickly, just as the bell rang, and the teacher entered and started passing out the tests.

Tony was the first one to finish. It was too easy, really, and the look on that Flash kid’s face when Tony finished first was almost too good.

“Parker!” Flash yelled after class. “Think it’s about time for that lesson, don’t you think?” And then he punched Tony in the face. 

Tony was so taken aback that he didn’t even think to dodge it. After the punch was landed, he was angry. Very angry. 

“Asshole,” he said before shoving him, hard. Harder than he intended, but Peter’s abilities were harder to control than he’d thought, and Flash went sprawling, gasping for breath. Unfortunately, he landed right at the principal’s feet.

“Mr. Parker! My office, now.”

Peter was going to be so mad at Tony.

PETER

Peter was really planning on laying low, just hanging around the tower until things went back to normal, but Tony Stark didn’t just hang around. There was always someone looking for him.

It started with Pepper, who was still weary of him. “So, how was Peter? He alright?”

“Huh?” Peter asked before understanding. “Oh, yeah! No, he’s great. Everything’s fine.”

“Okay. I just know how you worry about him.”

“I- I do?” Pepper looked at him confused. “I mean, of course I do! Don’t want him ruining the Stark brand, you know?”

Pepper scoffed. “You and I both know it’s more than that. I still haven’t forgotten what you said the other day.”

“What I… said?”

“Tony, what is going on with you?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Nothing, I’m just… tired.” He forced a smile. 

“Alright, just go take a nap or something,” she said before walking out of the room, leaving Peter wondering what Tony had told her. 

After Pepper, it was goddamn Steve Rogers. Captain America. 

“Tony, I have a question for you.”

“What’s up?” Peter squeaked in a distinctly not-Tony-Stark voice. He cleared his throat. “I mean, what can I do for you?”

“It’s just, it’s kind of stupid, really. I just know how hard you worked for Peter’s birthday, and Bucky’s is coming up, so I was just wondering if you could help me.” He must’ve taken Peter’s silence as rejection. “I know, we’re all old and birthday’s are stupid, it’s just been a rough year, and I thought maybe a party could be fun.” 

“Y- yeah,” Peter stuttered. “Yeah, I’m good at that. Like when I planned Peter’s party.” Peter thought back to one of the best days in his entire life. It was the most elaborate and amazing birthday’s of his life. Tony had insisted that everyone had planned it.

“Man, that was a good party. You nailed it, and it took you, what? Month’s to plan? We don’t have to go that big. Just a little something to make the day special.”

To say Peter was touched was an understatement. “Yes, of course. I’ll help you out sometime this week.”

Steve grinned widely. “Thanks, Stark.” And then he left. 

The last of Peter’s Tony Stark duties was… a bit of a mess.

“Mr. Stark, you have a conference call in five minutes.”

Peter opened his eyes from where he was napping on the couch. “Conference call? With who?”

“The president.”

“What?” Peter choked on his own breath. “The president? She’s needs to talk to me?”

FRIDAY paused. “Yes, it’s been planned for quite awhile now.”

“Why didn’t Tony tell me this?” Peter mumbled before standing up and running to get dressed. He couldn’t exactly let Tony blow off the president. 

When the call came in, Peter froze for a second before accepting the call. 

“Hey there, Ms. President. I mean-”

“Tony Stark,” she interrupted. “I’m glad I was able to get ahold of you. I was worried we’d miss each other again.”

“Yeah, it’s a good-”

“Peter Parker is entering the building,” FRIDAY’s voice rang out, and Peter’s blood rushed out of his face. 

“Um, Ms. President, can you give me just a second?” She gave the slightest of nods. “Oh, great! Just a sec.”

He ran down the hall, moving slower than he was used to, before he ran into Tony. 

“Peter, I’ve got to tell you-”

“I’m talking to the president, Mr. Stark!”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry, did you just say you’re talking to the president? Why are you talking to Jane?”

“To Ja- Mr. Stark, you didn’t tell me you had a conference call with her!”

Tony sighed a little. “I guess I forgot. Oh man, did she seem mad? I bet she was. I guess it’s a good day not to be me.”

Peter slapped his arm. “Help me!”

“Okay!” Tony said. “Sheesh. Alright, I’ll come in the room and be your intern or whatever. Just follow my lead.”

And Peter did. He followed his lead, and only messed up a couple times. To say he was relieved when the call ended was an understatement. 

“I’m going to give you stress ulcers, Mr. Stark. I’m sorry in advance.”

Tony laughed. “I should apologize too. I kind of got you detention for two weeks.”

“You what?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were being bullied, Pete? I could’ve helped you.”

Peter gaped. “Can we go back to the part where you got me detention? May’s going to kill me.”

“Peter. Why didn’t you tell me about Flash?”

Peter’s face burned. “It’s- it’s not a big deal. He never really does anything.”

“I know he shoved you around. Punched me in the face today. Would’ve been even more pissed if he didn’t have such a lousy right hook.”

“He punched you?”

“Yeah, so that means he punched you. Kid, you can tell me about this stuff. I, you know, care and shit.”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, Tony, I know you care and shit. You planned my birthday party. If that doesn’t show you care, then I don’t know what will.”

Tony grimaced. “Rogers?” Peter nodded. “Damn. Who else ruined my reputation today?”

Peter hesitated, thinking back to his conversation with Pepper. “What did you say to Pepper?”

“Huh?”

“It’s just- I was talking to her and she said you cared about me, and that she hasn’t forgotten what you said the other day.”

Peter knew his own face, and he knew that Tony was contemplating something. “You know… you know I care about you, Pete, right? And I don’t know how it came up, probably started with something about my shitty dad or something, and I mentioned something about wanting to be better for you.”

Peter smiled a little, his heart growing warm. “You are, Tony. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Tony grinned back and patted his shoulder. “Well I can tell you where you wouldn’t be without me. Detention.”

Peter laughed. “I am so mad at you for that.”

“I’m only kind of sorry. Flash shouldn’t bother you now.” Peter just laughed again.

When he woke up the next morning as himself, he felt relief flood his body. Tony walked downstairs, smiling wide. 

“There he is! Peter Parker as Peter Parker. Isn’t that amazing.”

Peter smiled and pulled him into a hug. He hesitated for only a second before wrapping his arms around him back. 

Peter felt better than he had in awhile, and he thought maybe being Tony Stark for a day wasn’t that bad. 

Not bad at all. 

[originaldetectivesheep]

Tales of the Missing 24 - Declamatory Judgment

Now in every name of god at once, upon what 5-meat doth this Little Caesar's feast, that it is grown so great?  Age, and thou art shamed, to bestride your narrow world like a Colossus.

Declamatory Judgment

"To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,"

– "Uh, miss?" –

"when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause."  

Kathleen did not pause, not more than to push her glasses back up, and certainly not to look up at the guy in the uniform t-shirt standing off her table like he was trying not to be threatening or anything as he tried to get her attention.

"There's the respect that makes Calamity of so long life: For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,"

– "Miss! Miss!" –

"the Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely,"  

– "Miss! Please!  I don't mean to interrupt, but please, there are other people here!"

Kathleen did not stop, and Nic for his part was getting a little concerned, and more than a little anxious about what Judy would have in store for him if he couldn't get her to stop, or at least quiet down a little.

"– the pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay, the insolence of Office, and the spurns" – "Miss!"  Nic gave up, and he was leaning in almost right over her.

"– that patient merit of the unworthy takes, when he himself might his Quietus make with a bare Bodkin? Who would these Spargels bear, –"

Kathleen tripped up on "Fardels" in that last one, because honestly who wouldn't, and while she checked the footnote to be sure what the hell it was even supposed to mean, she noticed, finally, someone standing over her.  She looked up and flushed a little, fumbling at her glasses to be sure they were in place.  "Oh!  Oh, I'm so sorry! I must be making a scene – I'm sorry, I'll go, I was just going."

Nic shook his head. "It's fine – I'm not here to throw you out or anything.  I mean, it's okay to read, just, if you're reading out loud, can – can you try to not disturb the other people?"  He looked around a little sheepishly at this, because there weren't that many other people in the café, and the few of even them who were looking over this way didn't look like they'd minded Kathleen's Shakespeare rant all that much.

She took a deep breath and bushed back a stray strand of hair.  "Right.  I – I'm sorry for the disturbance; I'm just practicing, and sometimes I just can't help getting into it.  I'll try to keep it down." Nic almost said something else – the way her eyelashes fluttered as she looked back down at her book made him almost think she might have been waiting for someone to say something – but she was straight back down again, mouthing along as she traced out the lines of the soliloquy, and he made his way back over to the counter.  If he wasted time talking to customers instead of making up their coffee orders, Judy would be mad about that too.

It was later and Nic was done with the huge break-time order from the startup that their intern Consuelo had to spend like half an hour fretting over and ferrying back, and he was feeling real good about handling Nancy and Galvin's daily counter-staff-abuse ritual (today's subject, "where is the proof that the marmalade is gluten free") without yelling at them or anyone who asked him how much milk room to leave in a normal Americano or calling in Judy, who hadn't found anything else to get mad at him about yet.  Then the crescendo started coming up.

"A Curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic Fury, and fierce Civil strife, Shall cumber all the parts of Italy: Blood and destruction shall be so in use, And dreadful Objects so familiar,"  – she was getting kind of really loud and he knew this part, really bad stuff was coming, and so Nic ducked around Candace and almost ran out around the bar into the floor –

"That Mothers shall but smile, when they behold Their Infants quartered with the hands of War: All pity choked with custom of fell deeds, And Caesar's Spirit ranging for Revenge, With Ate by his side, come hot from Hell, Shall in these Confines, with a Monarch's voice," – she was standing up, didn't notice him coming up on her, and jesus that was Judy back there, standing in the door –

"Cry havoc, and let slip the Dogs of War, That this foul deed, shall smell above the earth With Carrion men, groaning for Burial."  

She punched the air, and Judy cleared her throat, and Nic winced, arms spread out from his sides, and Kathleen looked up, and her eyes swelled wide, mouth open, embarrassed and more than a little anxious.  "Oh! Dammit!  I'm sorry – I'm so sorry, I won't do it again!  I should go – I should go, right – I'm going, I'll just go now."  She scrabbled for her handbag off the arm of her chair, her book slipping out of her hand and bouncing across the table.

"Miss – no, no, we're not going to throw you out for just yelling Shakespeare the first time," Nic said, louder than he needed to for Judy's benefit, because he would have to throw her out if Judy heard her doing it again, and she didn't mean anything by it, she was just getting into the play. "Just, like, maybe don't yell so much so loud about babies getting chopped up and the dogs of war – like.  If you've got another part, or if you're not so loud."  

Kathleen nodded, an anxious glance back over his shoulder at Judy smoldering in the door to the kitchen.  "Right.  I – I will.  I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I made a scene like that.  Thank you – thank you so much for not just tossing me out."  She slid the strap of her bag back over the chair, and pulled straight down on the tails of her jacket, straightening herself out.  "I'll be good – I promise."

"It's okay," Nic said, reaching out to bus off her empty coffee cup, as long as he was out here.  "Just as long as you don't go doing, like, Titus Andronicus or nothing.  Are you trying out for a rep company or something? Just, you started up with Hamlet, and now it's Julius Caesar."

"Oh no, no," Kathleen said, waving her hands, trying to stay back out of the way as Nic cleaned up her place.  "I'm not an actor – I'm just a law student.  My advisor gave me all of these soliloquies – it's to practice delivery for, like, doing openings and closings, when you sell your case." She stopped, and blinked, looking him over.  "But you – you knew both of the plays – are you an actor?  I'm sorry I'm so bad!"

Nic shook his head, smiling.  "No – I wanted to be, but my old man laid down the law and I got to do something I can make a living at. I'm just a law student, same as you – I used to do amateur, when I could, but this term and last it's been too heavy, and I got to work too."

"Really?" Kathleen folded up her hands in front of her, looking Nic straight in the eye, not the least idea about sitting down, "That's wonderful – where are you studying?"  Judy coughed with all the subtlety of an earthquake tremor, and Kathleen snapped to attention, then sat down, as Nic made a half-nod and turned away to run her cup and saucer back, scoop up and lug in the whole tub of dirty dishes so that his hands would be full and he could push past Judy and go load the dishwasher without getting yelled at.

It was later and Kathleen had come up and gotten another cafe latte with vanilla syrup no cocoa powder and made a point of waiting till Nic was the one to take her order and given him her credit card with a meaningful look so he could have her name (she obviously knew his off his nametag, so that was them even maybe?) despite how Judy was out on the other end of the counter and staring daggers at Nic just barely not fraternizing with customers on the clock and also messing up people's fritatta orders because she was the manager and didn't actually know jack about how the line worked, and it was starting to be almost time for the lights to come on, the heavy carbon filaments in their old hand-blown bulbs high off the distressed-wood floor and far down out of the open-beam ceiling shedding more ambiance than actual illumination, and most of the café patrons had drifted away: young parents home, middle schoolers to the library or the sub shop, barflies to the actual bar.  And probably, because there were fewer people, because Armando'd turned the music down when he came in for his shift, Nic was able to hear it from the start; the problem, though, was that Judy heard it too.

A speech for a quiet café, maybe; a quiet place at the end of the day and that was where and how it came from:

"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!" – Judy slammed her tongs onto the metal counter with a ringing clack, and Nic dove to get out ahead of her.

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player" – Nic clattered up to the end of Kathleen's table as she stood, hand out, gesturing out the windows to the street –

"That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing."

She shook her head, full of mournful regret, and it was Joe and Ahmad looking up from their dominoes game to clap, Rebecca in the corner beaming and nodding over her teacup, a hand on her Wilson's withers so he didn't start barking, that staved off the catastrophe, but Judy was still there, a volcano of furrowed bows behind tortoiseshell cat's-eye rims, and one look from Kathleen over at Nic told her that she didn't want to turn the rest of the way around and see it. "Oops?" she asked, pursing her lips.

Nic shrugged, heavy shoulder muscles rolling, and smiled as he nodded over at the door.  "Oops."

"Did you really need to escort me out?" Kathleen asked, leaning in as he held the inside door for her.

"My, uh, my manager's kind of hardcore," Nic said, wondering how much eye contact it was right to make in a situation like this, "and – and I wanted to let you know that I didn't mind it.  I don't think anyone else did either – the Macbeth at the end.  Like, if, sometime, when Judy's out, like you're not banned – I'd love to hear you read again."

Kathleen stopped, turned, her back into the outside door.  "Then – if I can – it doesn't have to be here, right?  My advisor's into this – I think she works with one of the in-the-Park companies – so if we met, like, maybe, at when they're doing Twelfth Night from next month – she might be able to get us backstage."  She colored, faintly, briefly, as she stopped.  "Because – I want to hear you read, too."  Literally all pink up to her ears, she turned and shoved her whole body into the door, not waiting to see Nic hold up a hand.

"Sure – any time.  I'll see you around."  "Nic!"  He turned back, away from the door before Judy really lost her shit, and didn't see if or how Kathleen was looking back – what a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculty; in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel? "I'm done, Judy – it's handled."  He breathed out and set his steps, ready to inevitably get chewed out again: o, wonder, how many goodly creatures are there here – how beauteous mankind is.  O brave new world that has such people in’t.

further Tales of the Missing ...