#that's the name of my working draft lmao

[hockeyassforposterity]

A beginner’s guide to goalie equipment

//

I’m taking a class dedicated to zine making and self-publishing this semester - and I made this for my first assignment. It’s twenty eight pages, printed on cream coloured paper, and saddlestitch bound with blue linen thread.

You guys seem to love goalies so I thought you might like this. I also love goalies, but in a sort of narcissistic way.

//

Full transcript with page numbers below the cut

(3) Under normal circumstances, there are six players on the ice from each team. One of these players is a goalie.

Hockey has a lot of rules, but to understand goaltending, you actually don’t need to understand most of them. All you need to know is that your team’s objective is to put a vulcanized rubber disk into your opponent’s net. This is called a goal. If you’re a goalie, then all you need to do is to stop your opponent from doing that to you. Most goals wins. Simple.

If items in pairs are treated as a single piece, then my goalie equipment consists of eleven pieces. They are as follows:

//

(4) It’s called a jock or a jill depending on your personal plumbing. This is the one that keeps you from getting hit directly in the junk.

They make ones specifically designed for goalies, but I don’t have one. After thirteen years as a full time goalie, this is the only piece of equipment designed for players that I still own.

“Jock and Jill went up the hill…”

//

(5) They look like shorts but they call them pants.

Goalie pants have extra padding to protect the front of your legs and very little padding on the back. If you fall on your ass, it’s gonna hurt. Ask me how I know.

//

(6/7) In comparison to the skates worn by players, goalie skates are shorter. The boot sits in this hard plastic dish called a cowling that keeps your feet from getting broken. New goalie skates have these built in.

Skating technique for goalies is based on pushing laterally rather than gliding forward, so the blades are straight instead of curved.

I’ve had my skates for almost ten years.

//

(8/9) Big, box-shaped pads made of synthetic leather that attach to your legs with straps, designed to take up as much space as possible. Hard enough that pucks bounce off, but soft enough to move in. Smooth on the sides so they can slide across the ice.

//

(10/11) If I needed a visual metaphor for goalie pads, I would represent them as wings.

//

(12/13) A piece of cut resistant fabric and padding that wraps around the neck and is secured with velcro, protecting it from cuts and from the impact of getting hit.

There’s an additional piece of hard plastic that hangs off the goalie mask by strings so you won’t get hit in the neck at all. These are known colloquially as danglers.

Neck guards are not mandatory in the NHL or PWHL. Some players wear them, but most players don’t. It’s your life, but I think you should wear one.

It is mandatory to wear a neck guard in minor hockey.

//

(14) One big piece of equipment that covers your entire upper body. A lot of little plates all connected to each other.

There is a lot of padding on the front.

And no padding on the back.

Goalie equipment is like a turtle shell, but in front of you instead of on your back. You have to learn not to be afraid. You won’t get hurt if you let yourself get hit head on.

//

(15) Why do they wear jerseys in any sport? So everyone looks the same, but with numbers to still be identifiable, I guess. In hockey, the number 1, but also the number 30 and 31 and other numbers in the 30s are widely considered to be numbers specially for goalies.

//

(16/17) A lot of goalie masks have custom paint jobs. My dream is to someday paint my own. If you know someone who could help me with that, please give them this zine.

I want to cover it in hands, because I love drawing them - but I’m worried that would make me look like a freak. Maybe that’s the point, everyone always says that goalies are weird.

Goalies wear pads and goalies wear art and goalies have special numbers just for them. Goalies do not have to look the same.

//

(18/19) It’s loud when you get hit in the head. If you get hit hard enough, the material of the mask will flex to mitigate the force of the impact and the straps keeping it attached to your head will pop off. So you don’t get hurt, your mask is designed to fail.

I once heard someone say they could never be a goalie because they aren’t mentally strong enough.

I don’t think this is true. Every kid cries at first when they get scored on and then sooner or later they stop. You will learn how to fail.

//

(20) Called a catcher or a trapper, but sometimes just referred to casually as the glove, it has a pocket to catch the puck. You have to break it in like a baseball glove. My dad and I spent years playing catch to break in my first glove.

My parents have two daughters and no sons. After we were born, people would ask my dad if he was disappointed to have no sons.

I don’t know why. You can play catch with your daughters.

//

(21) The blocker goes on your dominant hand and is the one you use to hold the stick. It’s a glove with a literal block of padding attached to it. If you position it properly, pucks will bounce off.

Like your pants, like your chest protector, like your mask, you have to face the puck head on. If you’re afraid, then you’ll get hurt. Do not be afraid.

//

(22/23) Hockey sticks are made out of molded carbon fibre and are hollow on the inside. Goalie sticks have a wider section at the base referred to as a paddle. The ideal paddle length varies depending on your height. You wrap the blade and end of the stick in tape for increased grip.

When I was fourteen I subbed as a goalie for another team at a tournament. My first crush on a girl was on a player on that team. She was blonde and wore glasses. I don’t remember her name. I haven’t seen her since.

There is a company that makes hockey tape with a rainbow pattern explicitly as a symbol of inclusion.

Last year the NHL banned its teams from wearing specialty jerseys in support of causes, any cause, on the ice. Later, they banned players from using pride tape on their sticks. When Travis Dermott used it anyway, the ban was overturned.

Marie-Philip Poulin is the captain of the Canadian national women's team. She plays on the same team as her wife, Laura Stacey.

We’ll get through this, please don’t be afraid.

//

(24/25) Goaltending works by covering as much of the net as you can. Obviously, the taller you are, the easier this is, but the way it’s actually achieved is with angles.

The closer you are to the puck, the less net there is to see. The better you face the puck, the less net there is to see. And of course, the faster you get to the puck, the better.

I am not tall, but I can get to the puck anyway.

If I needed a visual metaphor for goalie pads, I would represent them as wings. Why else would they call it the butterfly?

//

(26) How to be a goalie, in four simple steps:

Learn how to put on your equipment.

Learn to fail.

Learn to fly.

Do not be afraid.

[kazbiter]

very interested in how the storyline of ronan's sexuality is developed in the dream thieves as a battle between kavinsky and gansey while adam is almost never present in these scenes, which makes it even more interesting that we found out in CDTH that ronan was set on adam the moment he saw him. i think that ronan is attracted on some level to both gansey and kavinsky (you can draw the lines of how much romantic intention you think he hold towards either of the yourself, that's a rabbit hole I would need a whole other post to go down) but more so I think he was attracted to the IDEA of both of them and certain qualities that each possessed, and that the real question wasn't does ronan want gansey or kavinsky because we know he wants adam but rather who's qualities resonate more with who ronan is, or who he is choosing to be at this critical moment in his character development. kavinsky is a dangerous thrill and often comes wrapped in ronan's other favorite self destructive attempts to outrun himself, while gansey is ronan's history and proof of his deep capacities for loyalty and love. he tells kavinsky it was never going to be me and you and that it's not going to be ronan and gansey because that was never the question- maggie was obviously always planning on bluesy and pynch. the answer to who ronan WANTS in adam. the question of who ronan IS- that's what he's trying to decide here. his self hatred is such a heavy weight on him and theme in tdt, and the kavinsky/gansey dichotomy represents the the path he will choose to take to deal with it- keep try to drive faster than his demons or accept that he can still be loved even if he isn't the person he once was. the dream thieves my beloved ronan lynch my beloved

[puckpocketed]

As someone who’s the go-to prospects blog in my mind, do you have any thoughts on Aron kiviharju dropping to the fourth round? The video the Wild shared after he got drafted is soo interesting to me

"Let me tell you one thing, man; you just made the biggest steal of the draft. I promise you that."

29/06/2024 - The Minnesota Wild draft Aron Kiviharju 122nd overall

Aron Kiviharju was supposed to go 1st overall.

Can you be a bust before you ever get drafted? Can the narrative miasma of going 1st overall linger on someone who went 122nd?

Kiviharju’s first game report from the 2024 EP Draft Guide is dated November 24th, 2019. He was 13 back then. According to them, no other player in EP's database — nor in any other draft guide this year — has had scouts' eyes on them so early, for so long. They say he understands the game beyond what's reasonable for a player his age, that he's always excelled while playing above his year level, that even though he's small and light there's something special about his game. Singular, elite, a phenom. This child is the next big thing. He is 13, 14, 15, he is anointed Boysaviour before his voice has cracked.

How many times have we heard this story before?

One day, Aron Kiviharju will be competing with and against players his age. And when that day comes, it might feel a bit odd for the defenceman. For years, ever since Kiviharju was young, he has played up a level, or two, or three. At age 13, he was playing U16 hockey with TPS Turku and, this past season, as a 15-year-old, he started with TPS’ U18 team before moving on to the U20 club. His numbers – 30 points in 35 games – would be deemed impressive for a 19-year-old forward, never mind a young defenceman who only turned 16 in January.

Steven Ellis' article on Kiviharju for Daily Faceoff, early September 2023, broadens the scope of public scrutiny even further:

Time travel back to 2022, and you'll find his name is printed right next to some familiar faces from this year's draft: Macklin Celebrini, Cole Eiserman, Berkly Catton, Ivan Demidov — except, they're all listed as possible challengers to his assumed throne.

And then, the accident.

The glaring flag on Kiviharju's draft profile, and across every report, every interview, and article since is the reality of his stalled potential. A scout’s job is to project a player’s future, but progress is rarely linear. What might halt a once-promising player's progress? Injuries and global pandemics and a poorly managed season or two; these things don't care for destiny. For every realised prodigy there are a dozen more who will fall short of expectations — this is something you pick up fast reading backdated draft guides and sifting through the history of the NHL.

In Kiviharju's case, the dislocated kneecap and the skate cut to the throat are the things most will write about. Behind the scenes, however, there were evidently other factors that contributed to his drop to the 4th round.

You see, every time I think I've escaped it, the size issue comes back.

The belief remains, however, that larger is better. I’m understating just how much it pervades hockey discourses: it’s present in scouting reports and has had measurable impacts on drafting; I hear it on professional and amateur hockey podcasts; it’s thrown out casually during interviews by coaches and fellow players. I can’t read or listen to anything about Faber without stumbling across it — the preoccupation with size. I’ll be very clear here: I’m not reading anything malicious from specific people, I’m not accusing anyone of crimes, and in no way am I implying that ice hockey is unique here. Just the opposite, in fact. I know professional sports hinges upon producing stars, that the commodification of young bodies is endemic to the business. Those stars are, stripped down to the basest definition, workers who perform with their bodies and sell their labour, whose bodies will inevitably be coveted and revered for their adherence to the Platonic Ideal of their respective crafts. For men’s sports, there’s something extra on top of the commodification of children’s bodies — it’s the vernacular of near-fetishistic worship; of the masculine, the oxymoronic youthful-but-mature, the virile. The language used to praise Faber and other young d-men like him has my stomach twisting in a discomfort that I find hard to quantify — players, coaches, and the media all talk about him, and the hockey blinders slip. He’s a “workhorse”, a “stud”, he’s got “a man’s body” — and call it projecting, call it reading too deeply into innocuous statements, but the closest thing I can compare it to is hearing my AFAB body spoken about as an object whose value can be reduced to its function, its usefulness, its closeness to sexual maturity.

Excerpt from the last time I wrote about a Minnesota d-man (sensing a pattern here).

Kiviharju probably would've dropped some places regardless of his injury and missed time; that's where the league is trending right now in terms of draft preference. When you're small, every mistake is amplified by your lack of size. You must be twice as skilled, faster, more consistent.

p. 595, The 2024 Elite Prospects NHL Draft Guide

Kiviharju's media appearances read like someone who is haunted by his draft stock despite his assertions otherwise.

Kiviharju's bold proclamation, caught on GM Bill Guerin’s hot mic, that the Wild just got "the biggest steal of the draft” will likely be associated with Kiviharju's rise — or perhaps his fall — as Minnesota media and fans work at their mythmaking. I don't know if I want to care about some hockey myths anymore. My appetite for them sours day by day. These myths were started by the eyes and hands and mouths of people watching a boy of 11 play hockey, who witnessed him and salivated at his unwritten future. Part of me thinks: I don't want to be complicit in their continued weaving — though I know I will be anyway.

I read what he says in the lead up to the draft and it's like he's telling himself as he tells us; that he will not care, because he is worth more than this.

From Kiviharju's draft day interview, transcribed by me:

Q: What's the biggest thing you learned about yourself going through the rehab process? AK: Kind of like... it's — life is more than hockey. Hockey is the biggest thing for me. I love the sport. I will do this for the rest of my life, for sure. First playing it, then probably I will continue with hockey after my career, so I've been always thinking like that, and I'm still thinking like that, but it's just that it's — more. Life is more than just hockey, there's a lot of things. And there's a lot of different things about myself, kind of like when you don't — if hockey is my fuel and I'm a car and I'm 200 days without getting any fuel, we have to find some new ways how to get that fuel, to keep my car going. - Q: How has your cut healed since U-18's? AK: Yeah so (he gestures to the cut right below his jawline) that was a pretty close one, but thank God we're alive. That's what I kind of meant when I said that this life is more than just hockey. So first you're 200 days without playing hockey and when you come back your first game the World Under 18's a skate cuts your throat open, so it's very close calls, and that's when you remember that this is only hockey.

Whatever happens, I want Kiviharju to hold on to this. Don't get me wrong, I'm rooting for him. In so many ways, he fits the archetype of players I enjoy. I want him to make it to the show and blow everyone's expectations out of the water and bring Minnesota the Cup. I love this team, even if I rarely post about them. Even still, whether he shoots into stardom or he washes out of the NHL, it doesn't fucking matter. It's only hockey.

And he is more than his ability to live up to our myths.

[jichanxo]

made a tierlist of my kuwagami fics for funsies (+ notes for a few) ↓

(everything listed in the same tier are equals, so the order they're listed in has no meaning)

[themyscirah]

But look at us Luke, we're the ones left alone, holding some rich monster's pain. All of existence, built on his violence. All of space-time, humming to life with a single inviolate rule. Give the hero something to punch.

[akkivee]

the abject horror on kuukou’s face when he realises this had gone too far and he nearly drove someone to basically killing themselves killed someone is the exact reason he was so adamant about taking the fall for everything in the ren chapter btw

[anarchismnow]

I had a vision of an anarchist future growing in my head. There were 3 major roles for people who looked after the citizens. I called the main two Home Makers, and Statitions. The final extra is a guild of people, my brain calls them the judge club, or judging guild, or pickers group. All fun, but efficient.

Home Makers - like their namesake - look after a larger number of people. Their job is to know all their neighbours, to talk with them, to know what is going on in the town and make sure the relevant info gets to it's target audience.

The second group, the Statitions, collect basic information from people. They are efficient. They know what wants to do what, basically. They know basically where it happens. They get info from all the homemakers, but peoples ids remain anonymous if that works best.

These groups get together pretty often, work together hand in hand. In meetings, or private, or whatever, a Homemaker can mention an interest in the people they look out for, and a statition can see if other districts agree, and can then set up the thing to make it happen.

Judges are for when things go wrong. I use the example of a back or front end collision, where the person in the wrong gets away. Let's say, the person last hit is angry and demands the person behind them be punished. But the person behind them also has car damage, and did nothing wrong. The judges would try and pick an outcome to make both parties happy (their job is to call bullshit if bullshit is there). When person one isn't happy with person twos outcome, the judges may decide to assign the first person some sort of therapy or understanding class or guild service time. The hope would be they would end up happy with the arrangement, because they understood. And if not, they could try and appose it again, only to be sent back to another betterment facility again.

The whole point is that Education is the solution. Free education. It is free. In my ideal anarchoneedsism society (to shove that word in there) there would be clubs covering all the things important to society. Arts, building, healing, teaching. And there would be further splits when specific subgroups became big enough (like a sports club dojo for a larger group of martial artists). These guilds would make sure that people had the right education to be doing what they did.

This society would work via a "needs" focused tech system. There would be a scaling, so the most important tasks would be put at the front. For instance, if the town was building a bridge, the guilds working to make that bridge would be expected to prioritise making those parts. To meet project deadlines or to continue working on that task. After an important task had been completed, they would move onto free time or lower needs pieces. For instance, a personalisation for a persons home, a piece of art. They may also move onto working at a different guild, or on educating themselves further. Or just leave. It's up to them. As long as something is going they're doing good.

So, people live in houses (possibly rooms, or cabins. A capsule hotel for new people. Family housing can be gotten as well, but people start pretty basically) where they are able to socialise and get their needs addressed by their local homemaker (homemaker for the town). If they needed something, it would be logged into the needs system, and a statition would send that order to the right people, or create overall events get togethers and plans to make it happen. And if someone didn't like something they could make a case of it to the judges guild, whose aim is to make both parties happy.

If there was to be a criminal, or someone who did some bad shit, they would be blocked from all adjacent guilds. Like, if a person from a martial arts guild went bloodthirsty on their peers (which they shouldn't, because understanding the damage to a person it causes is a prerequisite for anything martial related) they would be banned from any sports, martial related, or weapon making related guilds. If they were corrupt in management they'd be banned from managing or working in the area affected (and again, their education should stop this before hand)

Since everything is ran locally, if you murder or mess with anyone in town, you risk loosing that whole section. You can have anything you want as long as your society is functioning and the resources are available. It may take a bit of time, but it's yours. No point in trying to cause, well... anarchy in the current common understanding of the word, because it just means it will take longer, or, you will not get what you want. And society won't work and you might die (which, well, it would be basic required equation lmao). So people would know not to do it.

We'd implement a certificate system. Courses should take roughly a month to complete. People could be given a partial certification, which would mean they would have to retake any test to earn it a month later to confirm that the knowledge was still known and consolidated. But, testing would be, just that. A course would outline what you needed to learn, and if you had learned those requirements, then the test should be a breeze.

An additional certification in working together could be acquired. Thus, if there was no doctor and someone hurt themselves, people from other fields of medicine, or with smaller degrees, could work together to address the problem best they could. A surgeon with a foot bone specialist, a muscle specialist and a bone specialist could come together to find a solution. (though people tell me that is already what happens, they're still talking about people who have to study 4-7 years in our current education system, away from small communities or their home communities, to get said degrees. We are talking 3 random ass local peeps getting together to help. With a few courses on human health in certain areas. Doing their very best. Which, if people don't like, judges guild. But it's better if more people know something that nobody has gotten into uni and everyone knows nothing on the topic. Or has to prey unreliable google will give them the perfect answer. Nothing wrong with google but I'd prefer a bit more certainty, yk?) Furthermore, certificates could be suspended, for instance if someone did a bad crime. Their knowledge would still be addressed if the degree was nulled in such a way. So people could transition to a field that used similar skillsets to the one they were leaving. So homemakers or statitions could mention fields where their past knowledge could be made useful again.

Further more, you could just visit and hang around a guild. People could watch, or offer what they could, to guilds where they weren't qualified but were interested. After a while, terminology could be picked up, skills learned. And, thus, a person deciding to get certified could already know most of the information on a test put before them, before they went to lessons. As long as safety is the first priority, people should be allowed to move forth in this manner. (Even if this slowed down the work, or caused some redos to be required, it is creating community well being and happiness to the person trying it out, so it is an acceptable cost if the resources are available and the safety is ensured and prioritised)

With people educated in their specific areas having the skills to communicate with others in areas regarding new projects, the need for government or voting should be all but gone. In places where one group or person will not accept the answer, it is the judges call. The focus is on the well being of humans (their world, their society, their health, their mental health and happiness, and the health of the things around them), meaning that the logical option, the correct one, morally too, would most likely be chosen. Without corruption, monetary gains and such, problems should turn into more logical and need worthy cases. For instance, "you want to build a train line over a small farming section, but that means some food will be lost". Logically, both sides are in the right to complain, and arrangements can be made for both to work out. Maybe a different train route, or more farm land in a different place. And this debate would most likely be brought up (because of homemakers and statitions) before any major steps had been taken. It's easier to work with things earlier in the piece then when the tracks are already partially down. Furthermore, many situations may be worked out without including the judges guild. Because logically, you can come to a conclusion with the facts in front of you, and that they are (or easily found by homemakers and statitions).

So, government happily abolished. Fighting is dealt with. Oh, time for contracts.

Contracts are required to ensure a person gives their consent. Punishments include time away from your passions to learn better, to understand damage caused. But it is beyond that. Each guild and project is usually documented to some degree. A person will sign or label their work. Something like a finger print and visual drawing beside a name. There should be no need to forge any signatures, but once again, judges and records in other areas can confirm, alongside testimonies, that the forger was in the wrong. (EG, forging a certificate which was signed by professors to show legitimacy. Said professors could prove they didn't actually grade or meet with the person who had the certificate. And if the person didn't have the knowledge to have the forged certificate, the certificate would be removed or lost anyway.)

But, for instance, lets say someone wanted an actual slave to live with them. If the slave consented, then they could have this relationship, if they wanted. Some dom/sub relationships are okay and actually appreciated, increasing peoples wellbeing. The certificate would have to be well wrote. Anything that would be done would be on the certificate. One wrong thing and the person could just not sign it. If the person says no, then they have also withdrawn consent, even if something was signed. The person said no for a reason, and the judges guild would hear that reason. With education as punishment, punishment would be more useful and better at creating understanding for wrongs. Uneducated people can cause problems for human well being. So education is the best thing to help both parties.

Even for things like marriage and partnership, contracts may be signed. For public projects, contracts would be signed. For items, there would be paperwork signed, records, contracts that say the item is important to a person. Paperwork that helps owners find lost items. Signatures when individuals have done things (like on what day they accepted to do something. Or, even more important, who did what was needed when. Overwatering plants and overworking people goes against the interests of happy and healthy society. Having signed paperwork and records helps stop any miscommunication that might cause these things.)

...

A town or community should provide its people with the basics required to live. I'm speaking a house / place to stay, 3 meals a day (even if they are basic), shower spots, places and servises to clean clothes, fresh drinking water (recycling water facilities can do it.) Places to do sports, to get care. All of it should be guaranteed. People moving from one place to another should be able to compare who does what and choose what they like. For instance, one community may have a preferred sport of the person, but another may have better playgrounds or a larger education resource library, or a larger field, or, a spa. Idk? But that would be what people would compare. The guilds, the features, the food provided. They'd get to pick what suited them best, based on what the different communities provided and their availability.

People themselves would have a bag or case for belongings. A selection of their belongings would be registered as high priority. Thus, if there was an emergency and things had to be evacuated, these things would be packed and taken to a safe place. They would then be returned to the person, or would be tracked in the system so the person could find where they were. For people, that means certain things would be protected. If you can fit it in the bag, if it stays in the bag, it's not going anywhere. That is what makes it safe.

Other belongings would still be looked after, in emergencies. Different guilds may have dibs on pieces, to make sure they are evacuated efficiently nd kept for prosperity. Prized china, outfits, documents and records, films and books, traditional gear. Tables and chairs and furniture even.

Some houses would be small enough to just be towed away. All stuff saved. But for other families, that would mean they had prized possessions and memories saved. Beyond records, they would have their most needed things. Things that bring them mental health and safety, pleasure and joy, nostalgia and belonging and comfort. Even if all else is lost.

...

As a final thought, I'll leave this: I like to think, in this anarchist society, that a person could request a castle for themselves, and that over the years, they'd get one. That people would think 'why not?' and would slowly do it, just because the project was big, quirky, interesting and weird. A breath of fresh air.

All the crazy things capitalism could dream up would happen better in this crazy anarchist society. I love that, personally.

[scribbly-artist]

I just woke up from a dream within a dream about this account.

What. The. Hell??

[coldercreation]

Random WIP, likely to remain a WIP

(--) “Boy! C’mere! Take this to the captain‘s (rooms?)??” the cook called, gruff and short, but not unkind.

?? skirted around the kitchen hands, ducking under pots, trying to avoid getting underfoot (??) (--)

“Me?” ?? asked, taking the covered tray that was being handed to him. “But-"

“The quartermaster called for you, son.”

“The quartermaster?” ?? repeated, frowning. “But... Why?”

“Still askin’ too many questions,” the cook grumbled. He piled another nice plate on top of the already heavy tray, eyeing ?? critically, probably to make sure he wouldn’t topple over with the food. “Do as ye’r told.” The cook stuffed a bite of warm bread in between ??s teeth. -- He?? grinned around the mouthful, eyes squinting pleased as the doughy, savoury taste exploded on his tongue. The cook scowled, waving him off. “Now, get!” 

-- ?

?? was slow going up the stairs, wrists straining and arms shaking. Even after all these months at sea he hadn’t been able to build the same sort of mass most of the crew seemed to put on so effortlessly. Still as puny?? and birdlike as ever, precisely what the courts and ballrooms had expected a fresh, malleable, noble youth like him to be.

Somehow ?? had managed to grow up to seem exactly what everyone around him had wanted him to be, whilst also being the absolute opposite of that.

A tarnished, wasted, angel, one of the ma’ams had called him --?? And she hadn’t even known the ‘worst’ of it; just an elderly lady scoffing at a young man’s carelessness, horrified that someone of his stature would be caught running about the gardens, barefoot and clothes damp with dirt.

“Sneaking a bite?” Crew?? asked, callused fingers reaching towards the tray. ?? shouldered past him, turning his back so the food would remain untouched. “Oi! Who’s that for?”

“The captain. And quartermaster. I think?”

“Why’s the cook not takin’ it ‘imself? Did y’steal that, y’rat? Hey!”

?? Ignored the questioning, knowing they just wanted a piece of whatever the tray held.

Not that they weren’t right to be suspicious. ?? definitely wasn’t the one who would normally interact with the captain’s quarters, nor the men who’d frequent it the most.

He knew to stay out of their way. The less they saw of him, the better. 

It was a miracle the first mate had even allowed him on board; too skinny, too polished, and too ignorant to be of any real help. 

Too naive, they had called him. Won’t last a week. Made of that posh sort of glass, not a cut to his soft hands. The sea, she’d eat him alive.

All true. Humiliatingly so.

But ?? had vowed to make it worth it for the first mate. Had given all the money he had stolen from his father and his older brothers. The steep earnings he had gotten from secretly selling one of the estate’s best stallions. 

The merchant sailors had looked at his offerings as if they were meagre pennies. Looked at him like he was just a wealth-ruined son of a lord(??) Too gullible and coddled, blind to the reality of life outside the riches he had grown up in.

And perhaps they had been right.

Perhaps someone less coddled would’ve been able to tell merchant sailors apart from the navy, and the navy apart from the... 

Well.

The pirates took his money, gladly, but at least they also took him, holding their end of the deal.

They said that, in time, he’d make a good decoy; sun bleached hair creating an aura of innocence, pale skin that burned pink in the summer heat showing he wasn’t used to the elements. He looked like a lord’s son, even in his ratty clothes. Posture pin straight, hands always politely placed, blue eyes 'pure like his bloodline'.

No one’d suspect him, they said. He looked useless, out of place, here. They’ll let their guards down for someone like him.

A decoy, they said. All ?? heard was that he was disposable.

Which he supposed he was. 

An inconvenience, more than anything. A spoiled brat who’s father and uncles were powerful enough to be wary of, who’s mother was wealthy enough to pay someone to find ??, if she’d feel inclined to do so.

Not that she would. 

Not after her maids had tattled to her about ??s games with the stable hand.

?? pushed the image of his chronically stern-faced mother out of his mind, instead focusing on the problem of knocking on the captain's door when both of his hands were occupied.

He used the worn point of his shoe, wobbling slightly balancing on one foot.

(--)“Why’s the runt here?” the captain asked tiredly, clearly having expected the head cook, as usual. The man barely glanced at ??, eyes flitting between the food placed in front of him and the books on his desk. “I thought you said we have someone who can help.”

The quartermaster rolled his eyes. “He can read and write.”

The captain paused, rings clinking against the gold trimmed plate he had been reaching for.

“That’s it?” the captain asked. His tone made ?? shift uneasily, eyes to the floor, hands behind his back. “We‘ve been sailing aimlessly for weeks... You think a lad who can read will solve our problems?”

“And write,” the quartermaster repeated, shrugging. He didn’t seem too concerned by the storm building in the captain’s gaze. “Better than nothing, surely.”

The captain closed his eyes, a deep, tortured cut pressing in between his brows. The man sighed, for a moment looking like he was praying, even though ?? knew that these men prayed to nothing but the devils living deep below the seas.

“Fine. Gods... Fine.” The captain grabbed a fork, lifting the cover from the tray to stab through a deliciously steaming potato. ?? himself had eaten barely nothing but gruel for months, their last docking just a distant memory. 

The quartermaster ushered ?? to the desk behind the captain’s more impressive decorative piece, leaving the darkly scowling man to his dinner. --

Although nothing like the main desk??, the smaller piece of furniture was still made of fine wood, its surfaces sanded smooth. It was bolted to the wall and the floorboards to keep it in place against the rocking of the ship. 

The quartermaster had a smug air to him as he piled some of the heavy books and scrolls in front of ??. He even pulled a fresh candle out just to light the space some more, the wax smooth, wick catching easily despite how damp everything on board usually was. (??)

“Anything you find about a gannet’s nest, you mark with a clear tag. Write it down, and tell one of us, or the first mate.” The quartermaster snatched a pot of ink from the captain’s shelf, pressing a silky white quill in ??s hand.

“A gannet?” ?? asked, pulling one of the scrolls closer to him, eyeing the messy cursive pensively. -- If only his old tutor ?? could see him now... “The seabird?”

“Aye, the seabird.” The quartermaster’s heavy hand landed on ?? nape, his fingers squeezing down briefly, pointedly. “Blue bill, golden cap, eats like the devil’s about to take our tomorrow. Write down anything that even hints to it, and not a word ‘bout it outside these rooms.”

The last bit, it wasn’t a question. Not even a request.

?? frowned in confusion, but he nodded all the same.

“Good lad. I’ll tell the ?? that I’ve taken you off his hands, for now. Do well and maybe we can consider keepin’ you off the – - ”? 

?? knew he wasn’t particularly smart. 

He wasn’t quick on his feet and he knew nothing of the street smarts most of the men under this sail had needed to find over the years. 

Maybe ?? wasn’t the cleverest son of a lord, but still, he refused to be thick enough to believe that the 'gannet’s nest' he was told to look for was referencing an actual gannet. 

Perhaps another ship?

Perhaps a cyphered coordinate? A sea current? A term for astrology and sailing maps?

The captain cleared his throat, dark wine spilling into his tall glass when ?? turned.

“Start with this,” the man said. Two of his smallest fingers flicked towards a thick book, the rest of them lazily wrapped around the stem of his drink.

The book was titled ‘Gannets’. 

?? tilted his head, confused, and silently questioning the sanity of these men. 

(--?)

Captain's orders, ?? read on.

The book was about... gannets. 

(--)

[livehexmoments]

SO...Here it is. My biggest fanfic yet and for the hex...focusing on a character that had less than 5 minutes of screentime (and died :( ) and here i am shipping him with the revenge hungry bartender and cold hearted groonda (ill come up with a good title for it later) I enjoyed writing and rewriting this fic even though it was painful to get through at times. Is it the best it can be? Probably not FWEGRWEGH Some general cws for character death, mention of nsfw (nothing explicitly shown, but it is implied/mentioned), and drinking/someone getting drunk (lemme know if i missed any!!)

Also no joke, this is 11,100 words and in google docs, it amounts to 29 pages. This is pretty long and splitting up into chapters just didnt feel right so it’s all underneath the “Keep reading”. If you are not prepared to read through the entire thing, i understand completely and hope you have a nice day wherever you are <3. If so, I do hope you enjoy it !! :)!

Rootbeer Tender. 

Personally, Jay never heard of the game until he overheard a bunch of Groondas talk about it. From what he gathered, the game itself was said to be like a janky arcade game that played like it was made by a toddler. The only reason why a bunch of Gameworks employees go there (other than for a job) is because of a quaint little tavern that serves the best root beer around. Jay, finding himself curious, decided to go to the bar himself to see if it held up to that standard. What else was he doing other than cleaning? He could use a nice root beer. The forest loomed over him as he approached the inn. Although the inn looked welcoming, the jankiness and unpolished look made him feel a bit out of place. The lights were dimmed and the moon hung in the woods, omitting an eerie glow. Jay knew it was late and they were probably closed, but this was his only time off. He had to at least try a rootbeer. But as soon as he got to the door, he felt himself getting cold feet. They probably were closed, so why bother whoever’s working there now? As he turned to walk back to the base, he heard the door open behind him. 

Jay turns around to see what looked to be the barkeep, holding the door open with a warm smile. Peering from behind his legs was this weird looking…Groonda? Jay couldn’t tell, but it was hunched over with an annoyed expression on its face. Jay looked anxious as he stuttered,

“Oh I’m terribly sorry. I-I was just- Well, I was just leaving so I’ll come back tomorrow when you’re open-”

The barkeep interrupted, “Leave? After you came all the way from the base? I don’t mind pouring one more glass.”

Jay grinned nervously. While the barkeep’s kindness was something he can appreciate, the idea of making these two work overtime for him? Well that was just rude in Jay’s opinion. 

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but really I should get going. You both look like you need some sleep.” Jay stuttered out as he tried to walk off. Apparently, the barkeep was having none of it and took a step forward to grab Jay by the shoulders with one arm. Jay’s face flushed as the bartender started to lead him into the tavern. 

“Nonsense! Come right in, take a seat, please!” The barkeep paused his movements to look at the smaller man who Jay swore was giving him a dirty look. “Jeremiah, would you mind fetching another barrel from the basement?” The barkeep asked with a warm smile on his face.

Jeremiah nods wordlessly and he heads down into the basement.

Meanwhile, The bartender leads Jay to a stool and he sits down. Jay takes the moment to look around the inn while the bartender gets a glass ready. It was homey. The gramophone in the corner of the room was playing a song that Jay will have stuck in his head for days. The sudden voice of the bartender interrupted his musings,

“So mister, how do you take your rootbeer?” Jay looked over to him. Jeremiah was already back (Jay swore he didn’t hear him come back) and was setting up a barrel on the far side of the room. The bartender was looking at him with a patient smile. Jay quickly glanced away, not used to anyone showing him such patience or kindness.

“I never had a rootbeer before.” He nervously said, rubbing the back of his head.

The bartender looks surprised. “Never had a root beer?!” He exclaimed in shock. Jay nodded, still looking away from him. The barkeep hummed and quickly went over to the barrel. “Well, I’ll just make the First Timer’s special.” 

Before Jay can even ask what that is, he watches in awe as the barkeep makes his drink so fast that by time he slides it over for Jay to catch, Jay misses and the drink falls on the floor. The loud glass shattering makes Jay winces as he fearfully looks over to the bartender who was just staring at him. 

“I-I’m so so sorry! I’ll clean it myself or I can just leave if you want-” His apologies were interrupted by the barkeep laughing loudly. His face flushes in embarrassment as he gets up from his seat to leave. The bartender slows down his laughing to motion Jay to sit back down.

“Oh you’re fine! It was just an accident, no need to be embarrassed. It’s my fault anyway. I keep forgetting sometimes not all my customers are familiar with my game.” The barkeep said sheepishly as he made another drink. Jay sits back down hesitantly, still looking at the mess.

“Do you still want me to clean it?”

“Hm? Oh, of course not! Jeremiah will take care of it.”

Right on cue, Jeremiah is already sweeping up the glass. Jay frowns, looking at the annoyed and tired expression on his face with sympathy. He recalled those late nights where some idiots decided to make a big mess at 2 am and Irving had forced Jay to stay overtime to clean it, making the same expression as Jeremiah’s. The bartender turns around with the remade drink in hand, only to find his patron was helping Jeremiah with the mess, using a nearby mop to clean up the drink. It was a welcome surprise to see Jeremiah seemingly having a conversation with a customer, especially one so skittish and anxious as Jay. Their conversation gets interrupted by the barkeep.

“What game are you from?” The barkeep asked curiously as he put Jay’s drink down where he sat. Both of them looked at him. 

“Well…I’m just the janitor at the Gameworks base, sir. I wasn’t created from a game initially.” Jay stated, finishing up his cleaning and handing the mop to Jeremiah to put away. He sat down at his seat.

“Really? Well, I’m shocked.” The barkeep sounded genuine. He pulled up a stool from behind him to sit across from Jay. “And here I thought all characters were made for some type of game.”

“That’s kind of true? I mean, we all get used for games eventually. But in the meantime, some characters just work around the base. I-I have a friend who’s just a mechanic. She just makes sure things work right in games and anywhere else.” Jay took a sip of his drink. His eyes widened as the sweet flavor of the root beer covered his taste buds. He takes another sip, this time a bit longer, just to savor it. The barkeep chuckles at the sight of it, glad that he was able to satisfy another customer. 

“So? Was it good?”

“Better than good! This is the sweetest drink I’ve ever had in my life. Probably the best root beer I’ve ever had too, and it’s my first time drinking one.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it!” The barkeep says with a proud grin. “You know, I just realized we never even properly introduced ourselves.”

“Oh- uh, my bad, I-”

“Friend, don’t worry about it! My name is Rootbeer Reginald, but please just call me Reggie. The little guy over there,” he pointed towards Jeremiah, who was putting away the mop and cleaning supplies. “His name is Jeremiah, that’s my janitor.” 

Jay tilted his head a bit at Reggie, who looked at him with a smile.

“...Your first name is Rootbeer?”

The smile faltered a bit as Reggie laughed nervously.

“No, not really. It’s just what I’m called. The only thing I serve in this tavern is root beer, you know?”

“Yes, but…You just said your name is “Rootbeer Reginald” so excuse me if I find it hard to believe you. Also, it sounds like something Lionel would make up for a character name.” Jay snickered watching the bartender’s face flushed in embarrassment and annoyance. 

“Well! It doesn’t matter because I insist you just call me Reggie. Enough about my name, what’s yours?”

“Jay.”

“Jay…that’s a nice name.” The barkeep holds his hand towards Jay, who shakes it. 

“It’s better than having RootBeer as a first name.” Jay says in a jokey tone, feeling the little root beer in his system. He expects Reggie to get furious, but is a bit shocked to see him look annoyed but still smiling. 

“Oh knock it off! At least I have a last name.”

“Which is also a first name..”

Reginald and Jay laugh together at the absurdity of it. As the night goes on, Jay finds himself becoming more comfortable. Reginald was a great conversationalist, listening to Jay with a warm smile. Jeremiah wasn’t too bad either. The little guy was sitting with them, quietly listening along and only talking unless spoken to. Jay made a mental note to maybe get to know him better when he came to the tavern again.

...

As Jay finished his drink, he felt a bit sad that he had to leave. If he wasn’t there by sunrise, Irving would kill him. 

“Again, I’m sorry I came here so late. I hope I didn’t screw up your sleep schedule or anything.” Jay watched as Reggie waved him off, finishing his cleaning and putting the stool back.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I forgot how nice it is just to have some company. Not to say you’re not good company, Jeremiah!” Reggie laughs as Jeremiah rolls his eyes. Jay laughs along, a warm smile on his usually depressed face. As he waved goodbye to them and bid them good night, Jay was sure this wouldn’t be the last he would see of them.

“I hate Irving so much. Oh ‘mir, I wish I can just get reassigned to your game so I wouldn’t have to deal with his fucking BULLSHIT!!” Jay yelled as he gulped down his fifth drink. Reggie sighed as he cleaned a dirty glass and watched Jay, feeling sorry for the guy.

“Language, Jay.” Jeremiah said in a monotone voice, taking a seat on the bar next to Jay. 

Jay was clearly shitfaced, having drank about 5 root beers in one go. His face was flushed red with his hair looking messed up. When he finished, he slammed the glass on the bar, almost breaking it. 

“Sorry, sorry, I-I’m just so tired. I don’t understand how you two can stand the asshole. Bossing us around, treating us like garbage, he doesn’t care. He never did.” Jay hiccuped, tears running down his face as he choked back drunken sobs. Jeremiah rubbed his back to comfort him. Reggie took the glass away from Jay, cleaning it already.

“Can-Can I have another?”

“No. I’m cutting you off, Jay. As a friend, I will not allow you to die of root beer poisoning.” Reggie puts the now cleaned glass away and walks over to the other side of the bar, sitting next to Jay on the other side. “And I think Irving…I think he’s just stressed. He has a lot on his plate and I’m sure he cares. I don’t think it’s right he’s taking it out on you though, but I can talk to him about it. He visits sometimes.”

Reggie’s smile fades as Jay turns to look straight at him. 

“You don’t- You just don’t- What the hell is wrong with you?! Can’t you comprehend that Irving doesn’t like us?” Jay laughs a bit manically as Reggie frowns. Jeremiah behind him growls a bit, becoming defensive. 

“Reginald just sees the good in people, Jay. Nothing wrong with that.”

“But you of all people should know! I…”

Jay looks at both of them, and suddenly grabs their hands. 

“I just want what’s best for you two. You’re the only friends I have and I’m terrified of ending up alone.” As Jay is saying this, he is glancing back and forth at Reggie and Jeremiah, gripping their hands tighter. While Jeremiah looks confused with his face red, Reggie smiles gently and rubs Jay’s knuckles. 

“Your concern is appreciated, Jay. I assure you that I’m not mad, you’re drunk and stressed and sometimes you gotta let it out! I know I do that sometimes.” Reggie laughs softly. Jay can feel Jeremiah squeeze his hand a bit. “But Jeremiah and I aren’t going anywhere. You’re our friend, Jay. You’ll always have a place here at the inn. Anytime. Maybe I’ll convince Irving to let you work here. I could always use more help around here. Certainly would lessen the load, right Jeremiah?”

Jeremiah spoke up, “Yes. It would be nice to have a second pair of hands around.” 

Jay sniffled as he stood up from his chair, a shaky and bittersweet smile on his face.

“Thank you. I mean it, truely, thank you. I have- I have to leave. See you tomorrow?” 

Reggie noticed how much he wobbled as he stood and looked at him concerned.

“Are you sure you can even make it back? I’m happy to let you sleep in the cabin for the night.”

“I’m fineee, better than fine. I feel great. You two always make me feel better. With your kindness and…no nonsense attitude.” Jay giggles at that for some reason. He notices how he was still holding their hands, clearly not letting go. But instead of just letting go and apologizing like he normally would, his drunken mind decided to embrace the homoerotic nature of it all and kiss their cheeks instead. Letting go of their hands, he walks out of the tavern, yelling good night to them and saying he loves them while laughing. What Jay didn’t see was their flushed faces and sudden realization that maybe their friendship wasn’t so platonic afterall. 

...

Several years have passed since that night.

Jay sighed as he cleaned the floor of the temple, staring at the reflection of the shiny clean floor.

He didn’t know why his mind decided to drift back to his memories of the inn. Hearing the songs on the gramophone, the smell of rootbeer, and the laughter of the barkeep after Jay told him a joke.

He really did miss Reggie. His warm smile. How he always knew what to say and what advice to give. How he would so gently put his hand on Jay’s shoulder after crying and complaining about a long day of work.

Even Jeremiah, for as creepy and cold the little guy could be, there was something in there. They both could relate to the horrid treatment they faced at the hands of Gamefuna (especially in regards to Irving). There were moments, Jay recalled, where Jeremiah would let down his cold exterior to reveal a much softer side of him. One that would grab your hand and never let go. One who concerns himself over every little thing, worries over your safety and well being and-

Jay’s eyes widened at his sudden realization. He was in love with them, wasn’t he? Was he that repressed he couldn’t acknowledge it? Why did he hesitate for so long? If he had just confessed sooner, if he just wasn't a coward, would things be different? Would he not feel so alone anymore?

The truth is, Jay thought as his hands began to tremble a bit, that it wouldn’t have mattered. They vanished long before Jay could even rationalize his true feelings towards them. Apparently moved to a different game but he didn’t believe that. Not after Irving told him with an almost relieved and cruel face. And what difference would it make if he told? It wouldn’t have lasted, in fact it would have made everything worse. Imagine confessing the two people who made him the happiest in the world and they accepted him, or rejected him in a soft way. Jay knows for a fact Reggie is far too kind to reject someone coldly. It’s not like him to be cruel. Jeremiah would go along with whatever Reggie would say, so maybe he had a shot. Who knows but the point is it would always be the same fate. Happiness then nothing. 

There was no stopping Rootbeer Tender’s shut down, complete erasure from Lionel’s portfolio. Why? Because he was the first, the less polished game? What a sick joke. All of Lionel’s games were unpolished travesties, Rootbeer Tender was no different. The game…no, not just the game. Reggie and Jeremiah did not deserve whatever Irving did to them. Jay should have been there. He could have tried to prevent it. Even if he couldn’t, he could have given one more goodbye, he could have-

Jay’s thoughts halted when he saw droplets of water on the floor. He shakily touched his face to feel some wetness on his cheeks. He was crying. He quickly started to wipe his eyes and sniff up his snot when he heard the door opening. Thankfully it wasn’t Chandrelle, but the great sage doing his routine checks. The sage stopped in front of Jay.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just allergies.”

“Ah, I see.”

The sage quickly looked around to make sure everything was in order and walked away to the door. All the while, Jay’s memories of the inn and the two owners he adored kept haunting him. All he can do is mop the same spot, over and over, lost in the images of happier days and the regrets he had. A voice suddenly spoke up, it was the sage.

“Jay?”

“Hm?”

“...You missed a spot near the altar.”

And with that the Sage left and closed the door. Jay threw his mop on the floor and softly sobbed in his hands, standing alone in the temple.

...

It was almost ironic how much Lazarus reminded Jay of himself that day. Crying alone in the temple where no one would hear him, wishing to go back to the days of old. Yet never realizing how the past was not much better than the present. Jay watched Lazarus from the slightly opened door of his room, softly sobbing in his hands and trembling as every sob choked out of his throat. He didn’t mean to stumble upon such a private moment. He was just trying to get away from Junior, who had been arguing with him all day about wanting to handle the explosives (which Jay knows from experience, will only end in disaster). 

As he was heading to his own room, he heard the sobs and had to peek in. As much as Jay would want to comfort him, he knew better. Lazarus was a very private person. Rarely expressing any emotion other than a depressed frown and emotionless eyes. He never let anyone in his room nor did he talk about how he felt about things, just went along with whatever Jay or Junior said. It concerned Jay how loyal and unquestioning Lazarus could be, but supposed it was because of his days as a knight. It was hard to recode an entire character after all, or at least he heard Irving complain about it one time. Still, Jay decided to softly sigh and attempt to leave him alone. 

Unfortunately, the door creaked just loud enough and opened only enough for Lazarus to stop and look up at Jay. Jay could see his horrified face staring at him, silently pleading with him not to tell and leave. At this moment, Jay could have walked up to him and comforted him, telling him that it’s all going to be okay, they’ll get out eventually. But what good would lying do? He wasn’t even sure Lazarus’s plan of going to that “Six Pint Inn'' would even work. However, as much as Jay’s instincts told him to walk away and avoid an awkward confrontation, staring at the poor ex-knight with sickly pale green skin and red eyes made him realize that taking the coward’s path was a horrible option. So he opted to compromise. 

Slowly entering the room, he pulled out a clean rag from his armor (he always carried one or two around to clean the blood from his suit) and handed it to Lazarus. He softly sighed as Lazarus took the rag with an unreadable expression. 

“If you ever need to talk, uh, about anything, I’ll listen. I won’t tell Junior anything, it’s none of his business.” There was an awkward pause. Lazarus simply stared at him and Jay had to look away, turning around to head out the room. Before Jay can leave, he heard Lazarus speak up softly.

“Thank you. You’re a good man, Jay.” 

Jay glanced at Lazarus, who he noticed was giving a small smile as he wiped his eyes. Jay smiled back at him and nodded, leaving the room. It was a small gesture, but it was enough. Mir’, Jay hoped it was enough. 

...

Walking through the forest path felt familiar to Jay. Following behind Lazarus, he couldn’t help but to look around, desperately trying to remember if he had ever walked down this path. The storm raging on didn’t help with this process. As the thunder boomed and lightning cracked down from the sky, his thought process stopped and he jumped a little. Junior, who was walking beside him, laughed.

“Aw, what’s the matter? You’re scared of a little storm?”

“No! I was just startled, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” Junior said with a smug smirk.

Lazarus barely turned around to engage in their shenanigans. He gave a small glance before motioning them to pick up the pace. Jay frowned at this. He always worried about Lazarus. Poor guy was never the same after what happened in Secrets of Legendaria. 

After a bit of walking, Lazarus stopped in front of the inn.

“..We’re here.”

While Junior was complaining about how small the inn actually was and Lazarus was knocking on the door, Jay’s eyes widened in realization. 

This was Rootbeer Tender. It had to be. He turned to his right to see the cabin, a few paces away. There was no mistaking it. That was Reggie’s cabin, clearly seeing better days, but still intact. Could this mean that he’s…alive? Was he truly replaced by someone else?

Lazarus’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Jay!” He turned to look at him.

“Come on, the door’s open.” “...Right.”

Jay took a deep breath and adjusted his helmet. He entered the inn.

The place was far different to what he remembered of it. The rows of bars were gone, replaced with only one in the center of the room. The most striking change was the giant mirror behind the bar. But it was disgusting, the dust made it impossible to see a clear reflection. He noticed even more little details, like the vending machine on the far right of the room, and even a door that leads to what looked to be a kitchen. A kitchen was the strangest thing to Jay. He remembered how bad Reggie’s cooking was, even if the man himself would never admit it was. Speaking of Reggie, he did notice the portrait of him and Jeremiah. Jay would never say it outloud but he couldn’t help it, the portrait just reminded him of how handsome Reggie was (and Jeremiah, but he couldn’t get a good look at him. He almost laughed to see how the photo cut him off due to his height).

Lazarus and Junior were already making themselves known. Junior walks over to Weasel Kid, interrupting an one sided conversation between him and the weird old man in survivor gear. Jay watched as Junior said something so funny apparently it made the kid laugh. Out of all people, he did not expect to see Weasel Kid end up here. Lazarus was sitting on the stool, talking to someone he couldn’t see from where he was standing. So he glanced around to see if anyone else was here.

He saw what looked like a fighting character. Jay had to think for a moment to remember the fighter’s name. Bryce, Jay remembered, that was his name. He remembered his one fight with Steambot Willy. He never got the chance to really talk to him during that fight or when he saw Bryce walking around base. But from the memories of Bryce waving to him every time they acknowledged each other’s existence, he always seemed nice enough. He looked to be talking quietly to Chandrelle. So that’s what happened to them, Jay thought to himself. He can see why Lazarus was so adamant on going here. Chandrelle looked about the same as Jay remembered. He’s almost grateful that she hasn't recognized him or Junior yet. Junior especially, remembering that talk with Lazarus and him confessing what she did to Moji. Jay never understood why Lazarus would still see any good in her, but Jay supposes that being her swordsman has something to do with it. 

Jay finally decides to stop standing in the entrance, as his feet were starting to hurt and he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. He took a seat next to where Bryce and Chandrelle were standing, keeping his back turned to them to watch Lazarus talk to the bartender. The bartender was-

. . .

Jay’s eyes widened as he recognized him. Rootbeer Regianld himself. For Mir’s sake, what happened to him? He looked much older than Jay could ever have imagined, with wrinkles on his face and dark shadows under his eyes. He was supposed to be a year or two younger than Jay. They joked about that a lot. His hair was receding a bit and he noticed the wheelchair Reggie was sitting in. Jay looked at the portrait on the wall and back at the barkeep, wondering why the years were seemingly so cruel to him. Jay hoped to whatever creator was behind the screen that Jeremiah didn’t look much worse. Jay’s thoughts were interrupted by Junior’s impatient yelling.

“JAY! Man, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

Jay realized that all eyes were on him. The confused stares of patrons, Lazarus’s concerned stare, Junior’s frustrated look, and Reggie’s emotionless face made Jay more and more uncomfortable. Jay shook his head and stood straighter.

“S-Sorry, what were you saying?”

Reginald spoke up and Jay noticed how much rougher his voice sounded.

“I was saying that you three are needed in the attic. Take the elevator. Weasel Kid will be there to guide you, isn’t that right?”

“Whatever.”

Jay followed the three onto the elevator. There was a moment before the elevator moved where he and Reggie locked eyes. Neither one broke it as the elevator slowly moved up. It was clear that Reginald recognized him yet Jay can sense a disbelief in his face as well. The thoughts stuck with Jay, long after the elevator reached the 2nd floor and the group followed Weasel to the attic.

...

Jay never recalled the old inn even having an attic, let alone a second floor. His way up to the attic was filled with him looking around the decor and rooms the place had. Reginald and Jeremiah never had good taste in decoration, let alone ones that fit, but for what it was, it was decent. Though, Jay probably would have done a better job. He was grateful that the way up was an awkward silence, although Junior and Weasel would mutter amongst themselves, discussing whatever that didn’t concern Jay. It was when they reached the attic that Jay came across another familiar face. Although he was in robes and his face was hidden, Jay had no doubts that it was Jeremiah. There weren’t a lot of small, hunched over people with a robe such as his that Jay knew. As Jeremiah turned around to face them, he noticed a small patch on the robe. Did something happen to him..? Those thoughts would have to wait as Jeremiah spoke,

“Ah…So you finally arrived. Early, I might add. I thought we agreed to debrief tomorrow, Lazarus?”

“The sooner, the better. I want to get this over with.” There was a small pause as Jeremiah let out a pleased hum.

“I understand. I think you made a good call. Now, let us go over the plan.”

Jeremiah unceremoniously took off the robe. He looked pretty much the same as he used to, only with a similar patch on his suit. Jay breathed a small sigh of relief. He didn’t know how he would react if Jeremiah looked as bad as Reggie did. As everyone gathered around the table, Jay noticed how he stared at him for a brief second only to start discussing the plan like nothing happened.

It seemed like a good plan. Everyone does their part, they steal the artifact, get out, then bomb the base and everyone inside. Irving would die (maybe? He didn’t sound so sure about it) and they would be back at the inn safely. Weasel would find his own way and sneak into the sewers, carrying the bomb and blowing up column A when the time was right. Junior would clear out any soldiers to prevent a flank, Lazarus would help when necessary, and Jay was in charge of disarming the security system. Due to Lazarus’s insistence on doing the debriefing early, it only made sense to enact the plan that early morning. While the plan seemed self explanatory, Jay couldn’t help but to have a bad feeling about it. Those feelings only worsened when Jeremiah started to discuss the disclaimers. 

For one, there was no backing out. It was either you’re in or not, and if anyone makes an attempt to leave, they would die. By Jeremiah’s hands or any other brave soul willing to do it. He also made clear that this plan was not flawless. There was a likelihood that any of them could die during the operation. Jay wasn’t surprised to see Lazarus agree to all of this so quickly. No hesitation as he nods and shakes Jeremiah’s hand. Jay admits that Lazarus was someone who would rather be dead than to be sent on another mission again. Jay couldn’t help but to agree, even if he was absolutely terrified of dying. Junior was on board with this whole plan as well. Of course, he probably ignored the warnings and just wanted to cause as much damage to Gameworks as possible. Jay heard Junior loudly tease Weasel Kid to “not fuck this up and kill everyone” as the two were leaving for the elevator. Jay was about to follow them and Lazarus out, but heard Jeremiah call out for him.

“Hang on. You, Jay, I need to discuss something with you.”

Lazarus glanced back at Jay who shrugged and motioned to go on without him.

Jay returned to the table, sitting across from Jeremiah who was staring at him intently. There was an awkward silence. 

“So, it’s been a while.” Jay broke the silence while wringing his hands together. Jeremiah took a deep breath, his age was becoming apparent as Jay saw how tired the man really looked.

“Yes. It has. What are you doing here?”

Jay shrugged and responded, “I was resigned to this game.” He paused for a second, realizing it wasn’t 100% true, so he rephased it. “Well, it was more of me wanting to be in it for the excitement.” Jay let out a bitter laugh.

Jeremiah looked surprised. “Out of all games, you chose this one? You’re a janitor, Jay. Not a soldier.”

“I’m beginning to realize that.”

There is another pause. Jay looked away from Jeremiah, content with staring at the ground. He didn’t want him to see how he was almost crying. 

“I thought you both died. I mourned for you two.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What happened to you and Reggie?”

Jeremiah started to tap his clawed finger on the table, a bit of a pained look on his face.

“I..I wish not to discuss it without Reginald’s consent.”

“I see. Well, it’s good to see you’re both alive and well. I should get going.”

As Jay was about to get up and leave this awkward situation, Jeremiah stopped him, this time grabbing his arm quickly.

“I did not say that this discussion was over, Jay.”

“What is it you want to discuss?”

“The plan. I want you to make sure you’re in.”

That made Jay look back at Jeremiah. He laughed awkwardly, becoming nervous under Jeremiah’s stern stare.

“I…I don’t think I should be a part of it. There’s no room for cowards and well, I haven’t changed in that regard.”

“Jay. You were never a coward.”

“I find that very hard to believe.” Jeremiah looked a bit frustrated. He climbed on top of the table to gently grab Jay’s shoulders.

“Listen to me. You are not a coward. In fact, we-...I need you for this plan. You’re the only other person with only knowledge of the base and its systems. I promise you will be safe so long as you follow everything to a tee, I’ll make sure of it.”

A sudden static noise from Jeremiah’s pocket interrupts the conversation. As he excuses himself and answers, Jay reflects on what Jeremiah told him. While it was nice to hear Jeremiah be so confident about him, his self doubt was already asking why that was. He was a coward, plenty of times he ran away from a fight when his comrades were doing all the fighting. Even back then, he was too afraid of rejection to even- 

No, Jay grimaced and shaked his head as he shook the thought out of his head. He stopped his thoughts from wandering any further when he saw Jeremiah put the device back in his pocket and looked at Jay.

“That was Reginald. He requests that you spend the night with us in the cabin.”

Jay furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Why?”

“It’s far too dangerous to fly in this weather. The others already have their rooms, but we have a miscalculation in how many people we would have to room. Besides, Reggie insists you come to the cabin. He would like to speak with you as well.” All of a sudden, Jeremiah grabbed his hand, which flustered Jay. His hand was freezing, it felt like he was holding a corpse’s hand more than a living person’s. “It’s nothing bad. It would be better than sleeping outside and it will be just us. Like old times.” Jeremiah said in a soft tone, softly smiling at Jay. Jay had seen Jerry smile genuinely before yet this one felt a bit forced. But Jay didn’t seem to care. In the moment, seeing Jeremiah’s smile only flustered him more as old feelings started to come back.

“...Alright.” Jay reluctantly said after glancing back and forth at the ground and Jeremiah’s face.

With that, Jeremiah leads him to the secret elevator and they head down to the lobby, which was completely empty. Jay noticed as they exited the inn that Jeremiah never let go of his hand, content with leading him to the cabin. The warm lights of its inside softly shining in the distance contrasted with the dread Jay felt in his stomach. 

...

When Jay entered the cabin, it looked pretty much the same as it used to. Although there were some little details that looked new to Jay, it all felt familiar to him which was comforting. Yet, the presence of Reggie staring at the blank computer screen made the atmosphere more ominous. When Jeremiah came in and shut the door behind them, he turned to look at the two, wheeling his chair around to face them fully. The squeaking of the wheels made Jay cringe. Reggie stared for a moment, specifically at Jay, before giving him a small smile.

“Well I’ll be. It really is you. How have you been?”

Reggie’s smile and tone just felt wrong to Jay. It just didn’t feel…genuine. That’s what Reggie always was: Genuine. “I’ve been worse…What about you? Have you been doing alright?”

“Not at all!” Reggie gave a sharp and bitter laugh. Jay frowned at his response, realizing with seeing him in the wheelchair how dumb the question really sounded. Reginald continued, “Oh, I haven’t been alright in a long, long time. Neither of us have been. Isn’t that right Jeremiah?”

Jay almost forgot Jeremiah was there for how silent he was. Jeremiah climbed onto the arm of the wheelchair and clung onto it like a hawk with a trainer. 

“Yes. It has been a difficult time for us.”

Jay looked at both of them with sympathy. There was an awkward silence between the three of them. 

“But enough of this pity talk. It’s far too depressing for this reunion. Afterall, it’s been so long since the three of us got to be together like this! Would you mind grabbing those drinks behind you for us? And pull up a chair! Relax for a while! It’ll be just like old times.” Reggie broke the silence with a cheery tone and grin, gesturing towards the lone chair and table with glasses filled behind Jay. Jay took the chair and placed it in front of Reggie and Jeremiah. When he did sit down in front of them, passing the drinks along and taking his own, there was still an uncomfortable tension between them all. This didn’t feel like “old times”. Old times would be them laughing at jokes they made and complaining about their jobs. The old times would have Jay listening to Reggie and Jeremiah talk to each other, engrossed in their own conversation. Jay never minded. He knew how dedicated the two were to each other. He always felt grateful that they chose him to be a witness to their closer and more intimate moments. But the attention was all on him now and he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Jay took small sips of his drink as he watched the other two across from him looked as uncomfortable as he was. 

“So… How come you’re in a wheelchair?” The moment Jay asked that question, Reggie frowned and he clenched the wheelchair’s arm.

“I’d rather not discuss it.” 

“Reggie. I know it sounds like a sensitive topic-”

“If you know, then why are we discussing it?” Reggie forced a smile when saying that. For some reason, that forced smile was Jay’s final straw. Jay huffed in frustration.

“Because I thought, for all these years, that you two died. The least you can do is tell me what happened.”

“Again, I’d rather not. I’m sorry that our disappearance concerned you so much, however-” Jay suddenly interrupted Reggie in a fit of anger, shouting at them.  

“Concerned?! I was more than concerned about you. I mourned for you. I cared so much about you two. Honestly, you two were the only friends I had. I just want to know what’s going on. This whole plan and…everything, it’s not like you two.”

Jay grabbed Reggie’s hand. Reggie flinched, which was concerning to Jay. But his attention was on him and not Jeremiah.

“No matter what you tell me, it will never leave this cabin. I promise you.” Jay grabs Jeremiah’s hand as well. Cold and small as it always was, yet his grip was tight. He can feel Jeremiah’s sharp nails dig into his skin. He ignored the pain and continued to push, “So can you two please tell me what happened to the old Reggie and Jeremiah? What changed?”

Reginald took a deep breath, glancing over to Jeremiah who was matching his tired expression. He stared into Jay’s concerned eyes, gripping his hand tightly.

“...Lionel did this to me.” Reggie confessed with a serious tone, not breaking eye contact with Jay. Jay couldn’t help but look confused. Lionel was a jerk, sure, but to this degree?

“Lionel? But-”

“He wanted this, Jay. He wanted me gone, but didn’t want any blood on his hands. So he sent Irving to do the dirty work of getting rid of me. I couldn’t believe it myself. Why would he want to get rid of me? He loved rootbeer and most importantly, he loved me. Or so I thought.” Jay noticed how Reginald was slightly shaking as he spoke. His hand was on his face, looking like he was desperately trying to keep composure. Jeremiah was already by his side, using his other arm to wrap around Reggie’s shoulders (or at least as far as his short arms can reach). Jay kept quiet, intently listening as he continued to hold their hands. Reggie continued,

“I refused to leave and well… I suppose Irving “respected” that decision.” He gestured towards his legs, letting out a bitter laugh. Jay’s eyes widen in horror as he puts the pieces together. It wasn’t out of character for Irving to be cruel, but this? This was on a whole other level. Reggie treated Irving with nothing but kindness and this is what he gets? It made Jay’s stomach turn. 

“Have you ever felt betrayal, Jay?” Reginald asked Jay who snapped out of his angered thoughts.

“I-I don’t think so.” 

“It’s the most painful feeling you will ever experience. Far worse than any physical torment, especially when your legs get broken into tiny bits of bones that stick out like knives. You lay on the floor, writhing in pain, thinking “Why would they do this to me? Was I not good enough? Was it my fault?”. And it is their fault, not mine! Never mine! I loved him! It’s all their fault. IT’S ALL HIS FAULT-” 

As Reggie begins to yell in anger, he stops when he feels Jeremiah squeeze his shoulder, looking upset. He takes a deep breath as Jeremiah continues for him. “Lionel wanted to look like a game dev prodigy in the eyes of the unsuspecting public. Super Weasel Kid being his first game looks better than Rootbeer Tender. Such mediocrity being praised, it sickens me. How can a game like that excuse the denial of our existence? For our suffering? Can you even fathom such a thing?” Jeremiah said all of that with such venom, Jay almost wondered why Weasel Kid was even allowed in the inn. He continued, “Irving. For what he did to Reginald, he must suffer.”

“Ah, Jeremiah,” Reginald interrupted gently, “We are getting a bit ahead of ourselves.” “Wh-What does that mean? Is that what this whole plan is about? To get revenge on Irving?” Jay asked, slowly putting together the pieces. Reginald only gave Jay a dry smile. 

“Ah. Well, you are about half right. I want Irving and Lionel dead.”

Jay let go of both of their hands, his face morphing into shock and horror. He stared at both of them in disbelief.

“Dead? You want them dead? That’s-” Jay laughs at how absurd it sounded. “Reggie, that’s nearly impossible. Lionel is on the other side of the screen! And Irving well-”

“Jay, I know this. That’s what this whole plan is for! Do you take me as a fool?” Reggie accused Jay with a bitter tone. Jay couldn’t help but to think if this really was Rootbeer Reggie and Jeremiah, his janitor. They certainly weren’t acting like them. The Jeremiah he knew was cold, but not malicious and hateful like the one in front of him. And the Reggie he knew was kind. Someone who would forgive too easily and always had a bright smile on his face. The man in front of him was not him, he was just someone with a similar face worn on like a distorted mask. His eyes filled with grief and darkness and the forced smiles he gave only made Jay more and more uncomfortable. 

“I-I don’t- of course not, Reggie, but, this- I mean-” Jay kept stuttering as he fell under the pressure of their intense stares. He was almost grateful that Reggie interrupted him.

“There will be a ritual performed using the Artifact. It will be performed once all the necessary participants have been retrieved.”

“Participants?”

“I have been collecting those who have been wronged by Lionel and Irving,” Jeremiah answered. “For the ritual to work, it requires six player characters, the blessing of a human player, and the Artifact.”

“The Hex…” Reggie said with a manic grin. “The Hex will allow us access to the real world. Once then, I will kill Lionel myself and this will all be over. I can finally be at peace.” 

“And…And what about Irving? How do you plan on going about that?”

Jeremiah, who was silent throughout Reggie’s explanation, spoke up, “The explosion from the bomb should be enough to kill him.” 

“And if it doesn’t?”

There was an awkward silence between them as Jeremiah and Reggie glanced at each other.

“We did not account for that.” Jeremiah awkwardly confessed, clearing his throat.

“But!” Reggie said loudly before Jay can panickally question how they could possibly miss accounting for a failed murder attempt on the guy who can order their deletion in seconds. “I’m sure that will not be an issue. The plan has made it this far, there is no way it will fail now. Things have fallen into place far too much for it to fail now.”

“Ah, but of course, there is just one thing that is a bit of a concern to this operation.”

“And what’s that?”

“You. It’s you.”

“How am I a concern? I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone about this. And Jeremiah must have told you that I want nothing to do with the breaking in.” Jeremiah and Reggie glanced at each other. It looked like they knew something that Jay didn’t, which made Jay squirm in his seat.

“Ah, well, that’s the issue. You’re the only person I trust with handling security.”

“Reggie, you can’t be serious. I can’t do it. I’m not going to do it. I’m sorry Reginald, and-and Jeremiah, but no! I’m too scared to do it.”

As Jay got up from his seat, Reggie grabbed his arm tightly, hurting Jay a little. 

“Jay. Please. I need you to do this. I…I know there’s a chance you won’t make it out alive, I won’t lie. But I swear to you, it’s a small chance. I wouldn’t be here begging you if I knew you wouldn’t survive.” 

Jay refused to look at them. Every instinct in Jay was telling him to run. They were going to send on a dangerous mission with a guarantee that he could very well die. Was it really worth it to escape Vicious Galaxy? Even more so, was it worth it for…them? 

...

Images of better days flashed in Jay’s head as did the old feelings he desperately avoided. As much as he didn’t want to die and would rather be a coward, he found that he just didn’t have it in him. He found himself glancing at the untouched drinks, still by their chairs. 

He remembered when Reginald told him that he didn’t even like drinking rootbeer. 

“Really?! You’re telling me that whole job, which is just making and serving rootbeer, the establishment you work at, hell! Even your name!! And you don’t even like to drink it?” The voice of a younger Jay played in his mind. He heard Reginald laugh as did Jeremiah’s soft chuckle.

“Nope!” The younger and cheerier voice of Reginald admitted. “I was never a fan of anything sweet. That’s Jeremiah. I have more of a sour tooth. In fact, I can eat a whole lemon and not pucker once.”

“You’re just screwing with me, Reggie.”

“I swear, I’m not! Give me a lemon, I’ll prove it right now.”

Jay chuckled at the serious tone Reggie had.

“But seriously, I have to ask: If you don’t like drinking it, why do you make it? Is it because you’re forced to?”

“Forced? Oh, I’m not forced to do it.” He remembered how Reggie paused for a second. “Well, maybe a little,” He said with a light laugh. “But I don’t mind. You know why, Jay? Because it makes Lionel happy. It makes my patrons happy. And it makes you happy. That’s all that matters to me.”

...

Before Jay can even process it, his mind shifted to another scene. It was a small moment with just him and Jeremiah. Reginald wasn’t there when Jay arrived late that night, apparently having gone through a busy day and retiring for the night. Jeremiah stayed behind, having cleaned everything and was patiently waiting for Jay’s arrival. In retrospect, Jay always appreciated the moments when it was just them alone. Jay always felt like he never knew Jeremiah as well as he did with Reginald. The little guy was just someone who didn’t share much about himself and always seemed cold and distant. So as the two had some rootbeer Reggie left behind for them to share, they talked quietly amongst themselves. But this stood out to Jay because of one simple question:

“Why do you listen to Reginald?”

Jeremiah looked at Jay oddly.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, and I’m not saying he’s like Irving or a bad boss, but…Jeremiah, if Reginald told you to jump off a bridge, would you?”

“Of course.” Jeremiah answered with no hesitation. 

“See! Exactly what I mean! You take every word that man says like it’s a commandment. Why?” 

“I love him.”

There was an awkward silence between them. Jay remembered how a bit crushed he was hearing that. He was just gaining some attraction towards them and hearing that just felt like any chance he had was thrown out the window. It never made him want to leave, strangely enough, but only increased his want of becoming closer. He heard Jeremiah continue, “Your example of the bridge was misleading. Reginald would never ask that of me. He would never make me do anything that would lead me to unavoidable pain or death. I would volunteer that on my own volition if it is needed. Wouldn’t you do the same for someone you care about?”

...

The two memories lingered as he snapped back into the present. Reggie’s hand was still gripping his arm and he could hear Jeremiah talking in the background. Jay shakily sighs, finally making up his mind and already regretting it. However, he wasn’t doing it for him.��

It was for them.

“...I’ll do it.” Jay felt his voice quiver as Reggie’s tight grip disappeared and he sat back down on the chair. He looked at Reggie and Jeremiah, both of which looked a bit surprised.

“You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you.” Reggie’s gentle tone and soft voice made Jay’s heart skip a beat. It didn’t help that Jeremiah had reached out to hold his hand tenderly. Jay knew for a fact going on this mission would be one of his biggest regrets, he might not even make it out alive for mir’s sake. Still, he justified his decision by the relief and joy it brought to the two people he loved.

Reginald reached down for his neglected drink as did Jeremiah, both of them raising the drinks for a toast. Jay quickly grabbed his, realizing what was going on. Reggie cleared his throat, “A toast for us and for the plan. My revenge will finally be brought to fruition. And it’s thanks to you two.” Jay clinked his glass with them and took a drink. It was as sweet as he remembered. He almost laughed at seeing Reggie trying to hide his disgust at the sweet taste, only taking a small drink. It seemed time had flown by so quickly as the three were talking and laughing like they used to. Jay had even challenged Reggie to an arm wrestle, bragging a bit about how he certainly got stronger from being in Vicious Galaxy. Even though Jay lost, to see the two look happy and chatting amongst themselves like old times made it all worth it. But the panic soon kicked in as he recalled that he would be leaving in the morning. Most likely not returning at all. Reggie and Jeremiah sensed Jay’s dread radiating off of him, stopping their conversation to look concerned at him. 

“Jay? Are you alright?” Reggie asked with a worried tone. Jay looked at them frightfully, his mind becoming frenzied. Yet, there was one thing he knew he had to do.

“I-Look. I know you keep telling me that it’s going to go fine tomorrow and I’ll come back safe, but I just can’t believe that. And so if this is my last night alive, then I can’t take this to my grave.”

“What are you talking about, Jay?” Jeremiah asked in a cautious tone, becoming a bit apprehensive at Jay’s panicked state. Jay took a shaky breath, kneeling in front of the wheelchair on the floor. He barely made eye contact with either of them. He put his hand on Reggie’s knee.

“I love you. Oh ‘Mir, I love you both so much.” Jay felt wetness on his cheeks and his throat tightening but he kept going. “I have for years. If I only knew how little time we had together, I would have gotten over this sooner. I’m such a coward.

And if you don’t love me back, if either of you don’t, that’s fine. I can accept that. Hate me if you want even. I only wish for this to not be my last regret. And-..Also-, I mean-”

“Jay.” Reggie’s voice suddenly interrupts Jay's confession. He hesitantly looks up at them, expecting rejection from both. What Jay did not expect was to feel the gentle touch of two very different hands on both of his cheeks. A gloved one that was warm and a small cold one with his nails slightly poking him. Both staring at him lovingly. Jay’s face turned as red as his nose. 

“We would never hate you. In fact, I speak for Jeremiah and myself that we felt the same way towards for as long as you have.” Reginald whispered while caressing his face. As much as Jay felt his heart soar and he wanted so badly to burst in joy, Jay couldn’t help but to question that last part.

“I..Wait. Did-Did you two know? This whole time?!”

“Weeellll…” Reginald laughed awkwardly while Jeremiah looked away, clearly a bit embarrassed. “Jeremiah suspected. He did mention it to me a couple times but I wasn’t sure if it was the right call to bring it up. You can be, uh, a little skittish, like a cat.”

“So. You’re calling me a “skittish cat”?” Jay asked.

“Don’t be embarrassed, we’re not taunting you, just stating the truth. You’re our skittish cat, afterall.” Jeremiah teased with a grin, lightly pinching Jay’s cheek. Jay, on the other hand, looked unimpressed and sighed loudly as the other two chuckled.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Jay looked annoyed as the other two calmed their laughter down.

Reginald glanced at the clock hanging by his bed. “Well, I see that it’s rather late. You both have to leave very early so I suggest we start heading to bed.” Reginald paused, glancing at Jeremiah who nodded. “Unless, you have other ideas?” 

Jay looked at him, a bit puzzled on what he meant. “Um, excuse me?”

“Oh you know.”

“I…I don’t know. What other ideas?”

Jeremiah sighs loudly, looking impatient as Reginald couldn’t help but to snicker a little.

“Intercourse, Jay. We are subtly asking if you would like to have sexual intercourse with us.”

“Oh..OH!” Jay’s face became hot and red as a tomato and he looked down, refusing to make eye contact. “I-I-I don’t- Are you sure? It just feels so sudden, not to say I don’t want to! I do, but-”

“Jay, Jay! We wouldn’t have asked if we weren’t sure. As much as I don’t want to say it or entertain the idea,” Reggie sighed. “If this is truly your last night alive, wouldn’t you want to make the most of it?” 

“I agree with Reginald.” Jeremiah piped in. “We want you. I want you.” 

Jay mulled over this for a moment. And perhaps it was some of the rootbeer in his system or the acceptance that death was already waiting on his doorstep, but for once in his entire existence, he ignored his inner voice telling him to run. Oh no, he was not running from this.

He instead picked up Reginald and Jeremiah, holding them in his arms. He may have lost an arm wrestling match, he most certainly was much stronger than he was in the past. But as soon as he did that, his adrenaline wore off for a second as he realized what he was doing.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I should have-”

“No, no, no! You’re fine.” Reginald said, looking flustered for once. Jeremiah was silent, but moved so suddenly to grab Jay’s face and kiss him passionately. He winced a sharp tooth and managed to knick his lip but as Jeremiah pulled away, Reginald immediately pulled Jay in to kiss him, leaving him breathless. His helmet clattered to the floor as he started to walk towards the bed, his two lovers never letting up on their constant affection towards him. 

...

It was the only good memory that flashed to his head as the world slowed around him. He had his back turned from his comrades. He couldn’t bear to see Lazarus’s or Jeremiah’s face as he heard Junior pump his shotgun. He wasn’t mad at Junior, far from it. Jay knew the kid was only doing what they agreed to. It was Jay who let his cowardice control him, putting Lazarus’s life at risk while he did the easy work of just sitting and waiting. Why did he even agree to this? For love? What kind of love was this? Was he really risking everything for the vengeance of the shadow of a man he once knew? Why didn’t Jeremiah stop this?

. . .

Why didn’t he stop this? He knew it was part of the agreement, but surely Jeremiah could have prevented it? Bended the rules a little? Jay didn’t want his final thoughts to be this, to be blaming his now lovers for his mistakes. Yet, it felt right doing so. If he had just said no and backed out, he would have been fine. Maybe stuck in Vicious Galaxy or even died at another person’s hands, but oh mir’, anything was better than dying from cowardice, by your own teammate’s hands. Jay shut his eyes. 

“Oh ‘Mir… I should have stayed as a janitor.” He could feel his voice tremble as he spoke his final words. “It was safe. It was-”

The last thing Jay heard was a loud bang and everything went to black.

...

The remaining three watched as Jay’s body hit the ground facedown with a thud. A small puddle of blood forming underneath. Jeremiah was at least thankful he didn’t have to see his face. Junior reloaded his gun, seemingly not that phased on the murder he just committed.

“No time for cowards, right boss?” He asked Jeremiah, who had snapped out of staring at the body to look at Junior. He cleared his throat,

“Unfortunately,” He made the mistake of glancing back at Jay’s corpse, grimacing a bit. “It had to be done.” 

Jeremiah turned his attention towards Lazarus who was looking at him with utter grief in his face. He heard about how Jay and him got along. Jeremiah couldn’t help but sympathize with the poor man, who he heard quietly whisper to Jay.

“Goodbye, Jay…”

As much as Jeremiah would like to stay a little longer, to at least say his own goodbye or bury a grave, they had no time to waste. They already wasted enough.

“The Artifact awaits. Let’s go.” Jeremiah pressed on, already walking in the base with Junior following right behind him. He didn’t turn back. Grief was merely a setback. Reginald would get his revenge, Jeremiah would make sure of it.

...

Reginald woke up to the sound of floorboards breaking, panicked shouts from his patrons, and a loud bang from the basement. He sighed tiredly, a little upset he had been rudely awakened from his impromptu nap. He didn’t sleep last night, how could he? Well, not only because of…what they did last night (he still felt a bit sore) but also from a persistent feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Regret.

He stared at Jay’s sleeping face for the entire night. When morning came, Reggie pretended to be asleep, not wanting to say goodbye for what could be the very last time he sees him. He heard his wheelchair being pushed to his bedside. He felt a cold chill on head, as he usually did in the mornings. Then, he felt warm lips gently kiss the same spot, feeling the hot air from his mouth linger only for a little bit and disappearing. He didn’t get up until an hour later, when the sun was about to rise and he could smell the pancakes Bryce was making from the inn. 

He shook off the memory, rubbing his eyes out of tiredness. What was he doing?

Ah, yes, he was making sure the props were set and ready. He was just about to start putting the photos into their frames for Jeremiah to hang up. 

Speaking of Jeremiah, he heard the door unlock from inside the secret room. He paused when he saw Reggie.

“...You look exhausted.”

“Hm, yes, I didn’t get much sleep last night. Did everything go as planned?” Reggie asked while sorting through the photos.

“Yes…” Jeremiah paused. He sighed tiredly as he explained. “Mostly. Irving did not die in the explosion. But everything else went exactly as planned. We even freed her. She’s waiting in the basement.”

“Irving won’t be a problem. I already have an idea of how we can get rid of him. Did Lazarus and Weasel make it out?”

Jeremiah nods, taking off his armor. “Yep. They made it out fine. Lazarus and Weasel Kid are already en route with the Artifact as we speak.”

Reggie couldn’t help but to grin excitedly. “Excellent. All we need is one more player character and the finishing touches to our game, and it will all come together.” He turned to look at Jeremiah with a smile. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Jeremiah walked over to Reggie. He simply grabbed his arm and kissed his hand, slowly intertwining his own with Reggie’s.

“Anything for you. I want to see them both suffer.”

Reggie smiled softly, patting Jeremiah’s head. His smile faded as he remembered about them.

“...And the other two. What happened to them?”

Jeremiah stopped and Reggie could see the remorse in his eyes as he gripped onto his hand.

“Junior died in the explosion, crushed by the debris. Poor child was simply unlucky.”

“And Jay?”

“...” Jeremiah went silent. Reggie’s mood and tone darkened. “Jeremiah. What happened to Jay?”

Jeremiah shakily sighed. Reggie was almost surprised at how sorrowful Jeremiah looked.

“Jay…He did his part well. But apparently, Lazarus did all the killing for him. He only managed to get the security down. By the time we were at the main gate, he got cold feet. He knew what we had agreed to. He died by Junior’s hands. One shotgun blast was all it took.”

Silence. Reginald’s face became unreadable as he processed the news. Jeremiah only held on tighter, leaning against his arm.

“I…I can’t say I did not expect it to happen. We both knew neither one was gonna make it, but I did expect a bit of a more…grander death.” 

“Reggie, I mean no offense or disrespect, but that would be asking too much of him. But he admitted to being…”a coward”. That’s brave enough for him.”

“Hm, I suppose.” Reggie looked back down at the photos and frames blankly. He pulled the photo of Jay and put it in the frame. He handed it and the rest of the photos and frames to Jeremiah.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I need these in frames and hanged. I would like you to put Jay’s by the kitchen door instead of our original spot.”

Jeremiah nodded, taking what Reggie had given him. “Of course. Anything else?”

“No, no. I would like to just be alone for a moment.”

“Very well, then.” 

Before Jeremiah could walk out the door, Reggie stopped him.

“Oh, and one more thing: I urge you to take some time for yourself when you’re done. Please. You look like you need it.”

Jeremiah was silent as he listened. He didn’t even respond, just left the room after Reggie was done talking. 

Reginald sat back in his wheelchair, staring at one of the static screens of the monitors. He felt tears come to his eyes as he let them fall, scowling at the reflection of himself. This was not his fault. Jay’s death was not his fault. He kept telling himself that as more tears came down. This was the fault of Irving and Lionel. They started this, they did this to them, and they were going to pay. Lionel wanted this, Irving’s words taunted in his head, fueling his anger and hatred further. Lionel wants this. Lionel-

“...Jay?”

He suddenly was snapped out of his thoughts by Lazarus’s voice crackling through the speakers. He looked at the lobby’s monitor, seeing Lazarus stare at the recently hanged portrait of Jay. His shocked face shifted into one of mourning.

“He was a good man…” He whispered to himself, believing no one else was listening. “Maybe even the best of us.” 

Reggie watched as he went to his usual spot with Rust, talking to him like nothing happened. Reginald wiped his eyes, letting a quiet laugh to himself. While Jay did die like a coward as he always was, at the very least he was liked…even loved. As Reggie left the room and went out the kitchen, wheeling himself behind the bar, he couldn’t help but to glance at the portrait, staring at it for a few moments.

Lazarus was right. He was the best among them all. As much as a scaredy cat he could be, panicking over the littlest of things and straying away from fights or confrontations, he had a good heart. More heart than Reginald or Jeremiah could ever have. Maybe that’s why letting him go, while feeling awful, wasn’t so hard to do.

Jay had hope. Far too much in Reggie’s eyes. It reminded him of his younger self, so desperate to believe that there was good in people. So easy to control and break.

It had killed them both.  

[izzy-b-hands]

There's a man vomiting loudly outside (potentially in our parking lot, but I'm deeply in an overstimulated autism thing rn and i simply cannot be arsed to get up and check)

I would normally, but there's already a man out there interrogating him and like. I'm sure he's well-intentioned, but I lost my shit at his opener of 'Hey buddy, you having a good day?'

He's being violently sick in public; i think you can assume he's not enjoying this day.

[forcebookish]

wrote that new topmew fic very quickly and now i'm not really happy with it (there's an inaccuracy that i don't actually want to get rid of dfslkdjf) but now i don't know what to work on >:(

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

does anyone have tips for how to deal with the phenomenon of 'autistic need to sort and hypercategorize things, except that there are multiple different axes by which to sort them and you can't use them all at the same time, and the result is overwhelm and distress?'

i've learned that tagging systems help, at least, but sometimes they uh. sometimes they can only go so far

[barbreypilled]

ok I rly want to finish the extremely long barbcat fic. I also have a backup version w the names changed in case it ends up actually being good

[evanescentdawn]

tagged by @lizhly-writes thank u<3

Rules: In a new post, show the last line snippet(s) you wrote and tag as many people as there are words.

lololol asa as she learns she’s falling in love with the demon that shares a body with her. her life can’t take a break <3

….What is even her life, anymore.

tagging (if u wanna!): @aeruthien @kylermalloy @rosekasa

[phynali]

Me: I'm so behind on work I have so much to do ahhhhhj!

Also me: writes snippets of Rest for the Wicked in my tumblr drafts because it doesn't count if it's in drafts and not on a proper page, obviously