#hex characterization | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

livehexmoments · 2 years ago

Text

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.

#the hex #the hex game #i would have edited it a bit more since this is my 2nd draft but nahh #its done ok i dont want to work on it anymore LMAO #anyway i love jay #not only because same name but i feel so sorry for him #i think him and lazarus have a close bond and you cant take that away from me #the ship between him and those two came as a joke because haha reggie likes janitors #classic joke ship to serious pipeline #finally get to share my side characters alive au !!#a lot of my characterization and development for jay directly references this fic #so it made sense to post it first #anyway sorry for the long ramble in tags #im posting this at like 12 am so im tired WQDWQF #if you read the fic all the way ty ty tysm!! I rlly apperciate it <3

10 notes · View notes

mapplesand · 6 months ago

Text

one has to imagine a pokemon smash or pass stream with Marco and Tristan (never forget that Marco is a streamer as an adult) and Tristan has to take a shot every time he has to explain why he'd smash a pokemon

and then Tristan is completely drunk and they try to avoid twich TOS by getting rid of the alcohol but Tristan is already wasted anyway (Marco is fine he doesn't need alcohol to explain his bad life choices)

never forget that Tristan is a furry and this list (that has an extended version just for Tristan btw) is just how insane he can be sometimes, everyone probably thinks Marco is the weird one but they're both together for a reason

Tristan, drunk out of his mind : think... Zekrom and Reshiram

Marco : both ?

Tristan : at the same time

Marco : oh wow, i'm taking away the vodka bottle, i mean the water bottle, cause that's water, obviously

Marco : so Tristan, wanna explain to everyone why the hell you put Arcanine on your smash list

Tristan slouching in his chair, trying hard to form a coherent sentence, gesturing vaguely : ...cock warming

(they probably burst out laughing after that)

Tristan rambling for 10 minutes : i dont understand why they didnt put garchomp on the furry tier list, like, everyone wants to fuck garchomp

Marco : right, any more complaints ?

Tristan : furry artists should draw more of Pangoro, for normal reasons

now you also have to imagine Tristan having to defend his thesis while his life is on the line because this stream is up in the air and someone could just vaguely type his name and it could be linked to him forever

#my ocs #morbid minds #original character #marco klein-valdez #tristan lambert #hex said that it was important characterization #somehow it is yeah #sorry about that everyone i just think it's a funny stream idea for these dumbasses

1 note · View note

cosmicskittlez · 1 year ago

Text

man hex is so pretty dude what the heck, who allowed that to happen. like i just want you to picture this guy in a nice shimmery red dress with a smile on his face. and now i want you to picture him in a nice suit with a messy tie fiddling with his claws. and now just picture that guy smiling. hes a little drop of sunshine and i love him so much omg

#rambles #hm i should write some more hex stuff more often hes so cute #also go read street smarts by livitup for the best hex characterization ive ever seen

0 notes

corinthianism · 5 months ago

Text

SOMETHIN' STUPID || VIKTOR

pairing: viktor (arcane)/fem!reader additional tags: viktor's pov, viktor is a certified yearner, maybe ooc, unrequited love that's actually requited, no physical descriptions for reader other than having dainty fingers and being shorter than viktor, hopefully correct use of czech pet names, barely proofread synopsis: the ever-brilliant viktor finds himself drowning in feelings for his colleague, so what does he do? bury them, of course.... until he learns that love is not something you can just ignore.

author's note: hello everyone! it's been a long, long while since i've written anything so i thought i would try and see if the ol' writing machine (aka my brain) still works lol. this is more of a blurb than anything so please go easy on me. also trying out something new by writing in present tense (lmk if it flows well!) viktor might be a little ooc but i'm still trying to fully understand him. hopefully my characterization of him in future fics (if any) will be more faithful to the viktor you're all familiar with. anyways, enjoy 2k words of viktor yearning like CRAZY 🫶🏼

Viktor doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. How many more times would your eyes meet from across the room at one of those parties he never really wanted to attend in the first place? How many more times would your fingers brush in the early morning, when he accepts the steaming sweetmilk that you so kindly got for him? How many more times would your laughter intermingle softly late into the night, when exhaustion took over and your writing started to look more like chicken scratch rather than letters?

He might just go insane.

How was it possible to want someone this much? Maybe he’s experienced something like this before, in tiny amounts, for people he hasn’t thought about in years. Deep down, he knows that even if he added all of those fleeting romances together, it would still only be a fraction of what he feels now. For you.

He can’t pinpoint that exact moment in time when everything changed. There were definitely a few of those moments that stood out more than others, but none of those instances were the catalyst for whatever this is. But they certainly don’t help his case.

A few words of encouragement.

A book recommendation.

A smile— so soft, so intimate, he briefly allows himself to believe that it was meant just for him. Something precious for him to keep, to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the lab, he finds you asleep on your desk. The humming glow of the hex crystals leaves you blanketed in a gentle blue. He’s heard tales of this before, from when he bothered to listen to such things. It would happen just like this, they said: his heart would beat so fast, it threatened to leave his chest entirely. His skin would burn with something unmistakable, a feeling that left one in a state of simultaneous confusion and clarity.

He feels it all now and he finds it polarizing. It’s too much and not enough. He chases and runs away from it at the same time. A part of him wants it to stop, to go away and leave him forever for the sake of ending this game he’s painfully losing… but a greater part of him hopes that it will grow and grow to the point where maybe you’ll notice and do something about it. His palms get a little sweaty just thinking about making the first move. Symptoms of a lovesick fool.

The soft sound of your breathing quiets the pounding of his heart, prevents the wretched feelings from overflowing and spilling everywhere. Even if it was just for tonight. Tonight, he keeps his lips sealed, fights to keep himself from reaching for you. It would be unbecoming of him.

His eyes land on you again, observing how your head rested on your arms. Understanding hits him then, why you’re so bothered by seeing him stay at the lab so late that he ends up falling asleep. That position couldn’t have been comfortable. Of course, he knew that from experience, but it’s your comfort he’s thinking about right now. He wonders if this is what you felt whenever you woke him up and implored him to go home.

Surely not.

No, he can’t wrap his head around you possibly viewing that act the same way he does. Not when he wants to bottle this moment, wants to capture the preciousness of seeing you like this. It just can’t be the same.

So can you really blame him if when he finally rests a hand on your shoulder to wake you gently, he lets it linger there for just a little longer? An infinitesimal piece of time that he claims for himself. He never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but he cherishes it all: he cherishes the way you blink slowly as you returned to the waking world, and your tired murmur of his name that makes his chest tighten.

It’s just a wisp of a moment, never really tangible enough for him to hold in his hands, but he cherishes it all the same. It’s burned in his memory, in his very being, the same way everything else about you is. Every piece of you that you so generously gifted him.

“You should go home, darling.”

The word slips past his lips before he could even think about it. But he allows himself this one indulgence. He can’t help it. He’s always been a bit greedy.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Far too late for you to be here,” he answers.

You huff out a breath of a laugh, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He finds himself smiling. How does someone manage to be so endlessly endearing without even trying?

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for him to pull back his hand from your shoulder. Had you been more awake and had the room been brighter, he might’ve schooled his expression into something more neutral. Something to hide the unbridled adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t do that now. With the shield of darkness to protect him, he lets the mask come off. He lets his affection for you wash over him in waves. It would’ve been liberating, if it wasn’t for the tiny detail that that affection was unrequited.

Still, he says your name with utmost care. “You must go home and rest.”

To his surprise, you listen. You mumble a tired "okay” and gather your belongings, slipping on your coat. “You should go home, too, Vik.”

“I will. Soon. I just need to finish a few things.”

Your face twists into a frown, “No, you’ll do that tomorrow.” Before he can interject, you speak up again, “Just… come with me? It’s late and I don’t want to walk home alone.”

His brain refuses to reconcile with what his eyes see: the trepidation written all over your features, the way you clutch the lapel of your coat just a little tighter. He knows it’s a trap, you just want to get him out of the lab but how could he possibly reject the promise of a few more minutes with you? The chance to pretend, even if it’s just for those precious few minutes, that he was taking you home as someone more than a colleague? More than a friend? Only a fool would say no to you. Or perhaps he was a fool either way. He really must be going insane.

He says yes almost instantly.

It’s cold in Piltover tonight. It makes his bad leg ache more than it already does, and so his strides are a bit more careful. He doesn’t say anything about how you also slow down to match his pace but he appreciates your considerate gesture nonetheless.

The moon hangs in the sky big and bright, making everything around you seem softer. It’s picturesque. Almost romantic. He tries his best not to entertain that thought for much longer. Instead, he focuses on what you say to him so he could ignore the traitorous thoughts his mind conjures up and the way his knees were protesting because of the cold.

Conversation with you is easy— terrifyingly so. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when you first met.

Early on in the process of finding sponsors and securing funding, him and Jayce quickly realized that they needed help. Yes, Jayce is a friend of the Kiramman family. Yes, Viktor is Heimerdinger’s protégé, but they’re academics. At the end of the day, Jayce’s warm personality could only do so much when he was still greatly inexperienced with navigating these more political spaces and for all of his experience and perceptiveness, Viktor knows he’s no good at sweet-talking sponsors, either.

Enter, you.

Caitlyn Kiramman was the one to recommend you, her former tutor. Jayce was quick to back her up, remembering that you were also Academy alumni; a particularly strategic businesswoman. Viktor was hesitant at first, knowing that a third party could complicate things. Hextech was born out of the dream to help people. He worried that bringing business and politics (even though he knew it was necessary) into the mix would warp Hextech into something it wasn’t. Jayce convinced him to take a gamble, and it seemed that the potential of Hextech was enough to bring you back to Piltover from your travels across Runeterra.

It took him a while to warm up to you. You weren’t nobility, but most definitely well-off. Even more so after your years as a business consultant to organizations all over the continent. He respected you, sure, but Viktor had a hard time trusting someone who was so… privileged. How could you possibly understand how important it was that Hextech remained a beacon of hope for the less fortunate? Perhaps it was naive of him to think that way, as much as he hated to admit it.

But true to your reputation, you delivered exactly what they needed. You bridged the gap between Viktor and Jayce’s hopes for Hextech and the support they needed from sponsors, protecting them and their inventions from being taken advantage of.

Suffice to say, you earned his admiration.

Never in a million years would Viktor imagine that you would captivate his entire being, too.

It was daunting. Scary, really. Especially now that he’s beginning to understand the full extent of his affections. Years and years of burying that softness from his youth deep beneath the armor of his intellect— all that hard work diminished by a pretty girl. Gods, he really is just a man. Not even that. With you, he feels like a highschooler with a crush. It’s painful. Downright humiliating. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when you link your arm around his, laughing at something he said. Was he really that funny? Probably not. He’s just happy to make you laugh.

“You don’t have to be nice about it. Salo is a grade-A asshole,” you grinned. “We both know it. If I have to spend another dinner with him present I might actually stab a fork in my eyes.”

He smiles, “Ah, but that wouldn’t save you from his incessant chatter.”

“I’ll stab the fork into my ears too."

“I might just follow after you,” he hums, “you’ll have to check if it works first, though.”

Your friendship blossomed when your visits to the lab became less for work and more for leisure. You wanted to visit, wanted to learn more about what he and Jayce were working on and why. Everything after that was just dominoes. You, with all your fiery passion and sharp wit, have become a permanent fixture in his life and now? He could hardly imagine life without you in it. You're one of his dearest friends and, much to his dismay, that makes his current predicament even more challenging than it already is.

Before he knew it, the two of you were standing in front of your apartment building— one of the most luxurious in Piltover. He could only imagine how much it cost, though he knew for certain that your penthouse probably barely made a dent in your wealth. He’s gotten somewhat used to your differing lifestyles, but he’s never completely able to not marvel at it. A gust of wind kissed his skin once more as he turned to look at you.

“This is me,” you say, gloved hands in your pocket and your lovely, lovely face framed by your hair and ruby red scarf. He recognizes it as the gift he gave you a year ago now. A spur-of-the-moment purchase on one of the rare occasions he was actually outside Academy grounds. He remembers thinking that the color would look nice on you. He was right. He finds himself holding onto the seconds before he has to go. “Thank you for walking me home, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he nods but the calmness of his voice don’t match the way his eyes bore into yours. “It’s only proper.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. Proper. I am a gentleman, after all.”

His accent comes out thicker, emphasizing the words more than he means to.

“I didn’t take you for someone who cared much about propriety,” you tease.

“Is it because I’m from the undercity?” he deadpans and he relishes in the look of horror on your face that replaces your grin.

“What? No!” you exclaim, smacking his arm when you realize he’s just joking. “You. Are. Impossible.”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, “Oh, that’s cruel. You would hit a defenseless man? How heartless.”

“Shut up. That cane of yours is a weapon of war. Don’t think I haven’t seen you smack Jayce with it.”

“If I hit him with it, he probably deserved it.”

“Poor Jayce,” you laugh as well. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Viktor smiles.

“I do not think you could even if you tried, lásko."

He freezes and so do you. The laughter—the music—that you shared for the briefest of moments was thoroughly snuffed out, leaving you both in a silence that threatens to swallow him whole. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to speak so gently, but there is not a part of Viktor that could withhold this sincerity from you. Specks of the truth, of the confession he’s barely managed to wrangle into submission and lock away somewhere dark and unreachable.

He pulls back on instinct. He’s shown too much, said too much. You don’t move. He is petrified.

Your eyes widen and he sees his reflection in them, staring back at him. This is it, he thinks. He’s crossed the line and he’ll have to deal with the crushing blow of your rejection.

You manage to compose yourself and what you say next is… well, unexpected. Your tone is light, clearing the air and allowing him to breathe again.

“Do you say that to every woman or am I a special case? I’d hate to be part of a roster.”

He’s taken aback, but he feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. You are a miracle in his eyes. Washing away his worries with a kind smile and a few choice words. He laughs again and this time, he doesn’t stop himself from speaking the truth. It’s now or never.

“Surely you know by now that you are singular,” he whispers, his accent a pleasant drawl in your ears. He takes a step forward. It is gravity that pulls him in, not the Earth’s, but yours. A force that he can’t help but be drawn to. Not that he would ever dare to resist it now that his fear has shrunk down to something a little less debilitating.

His face is inches from yours. You don’t move. He gets a little braver.

“I do not appreciate your implication that I would pay attention to anyone else,” his voice is low, honest. “As if anyone could compare to you. As if you don’t hold my very being in the palm of your hand. Miláčku, I adore you. Don’t you know that?”

There is a hint of pleading in his tone, begging you to understand the full scope of his feelings from those few words so that he wouldn’t unravel before you, a bundle of nerves and petals the same shade as your scarf.

“Say something. Please,” his fear rears its ugly head once more. “Say the word and we’ll pretend this never happened. I will remain your colleague and nothing more. A friend, if you would allow it.”

“What if I don’t want that?” you ask, your own voice a little shaky with uncertainty. Maybe it was also fear. That, he’s not quite sure.

Viktor doesn’t fully trust what he’s hearing, thinks it to be a figment of his deluded imagination, but his heart is screaming at him now to push forward.

“What is it you want, lásko? Tell me and it shall be yours.”

You're almost breathless when you finally respond, “You. I want you."

The world stills. Time itself screeches to a halt. There is only you and him, together in this moment that he knows will be woven into the threads of his soul. He has never known euphoria quite like this. He can’t name it yet, doesn’t know if this is love. He can only hope that it will be.

When he looks into your eyes again, he does not see his own terrified reflection. He just sees you. And the sheer intensity of your gaze that rivals his own. Have you always looked at him that way? Was he just too blind to see it?

“Do you mean that?” he finds himself asking. He has to— has to make sure that this is real.

You smile again, dainty fingers intertwining with his. It is a gentle smile, a hopeful smile that answers his question before you even open your mouth.

“I do,” your voice is so gentle and yet it squeezes his heart. “I’m yours, Viktor, if you’ll have me.”

He brings your knuckles to his lips, places a reverent kiss on them like you’ve given him the world. In a way, that’s exactly what you did. Maybe his lips were always meant to be on your skin, worshipping you like the goddess you are. It feels too natural for it to mean anything else.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to hope.

“I would love nothing more.”

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane #fanfiction #viktor fanfic #x reader #reader insert #arcane reader insert #viktor arcane

1K notes · View notes

zyafics · 2 days ago

Text

MAKE RAFE GREAT AGAIN | Campaign

OBJECTIVE: In response to the rise of violent misogynistic, manospheric, red-pill and incel (romantic) characterization of Rafe Cameron, I decided to create a campaign for writers to join me to combat it.

RULES: Simply, write a fic about Rafe and Reader where Rafe (a) doesn't act like those terms above, or (b) if he does, where Reader doesn't tolerate that behavior and calls him out on it. You can create a mean/bitchy Reader if you want, but it's not required. All this campaign aims to do is bring together more writers and readers who want to see less of those misogynistic fics and more nuanced takes.

INTERACTIONS: I will be reblogging all those who join this campaign. I want to help facilitate and build up the community. To do so, either drop your link in my inbox, and/or use the tag #zyafics-mrgacampaign. Also, I will be adding the work to this post for a curated list.

ADDITIONAL NOTES: (Optional) If you want to follow the theme of this post, you absolutely can! The hex codes I used for this post are: FCDD00 - E62601 - 28282B, and the divider I created myself, so feel free to use them!

TO CLARIFY: In this campaign, you can also go the DDDNE route! You can create a misogynistic, incelic, or manospheric character of Rafe. But the objective is to not romanticize it. Address it. Inform your audience narratively, lyrically, or thematically that the context is harmful. That's all I ask.

DATES: 06/24/2025 – Present

#00 EXCERPT

@zyafics ⋆˙⟡ RIVAL!BIKER!MAYBANK!READER

#01 RICH GIRL

@promiscuousg1rl ㅤ⋆˙⟡ KOOK!READER

#02 OLD HABITS

@mrsbarnesblog ⋆˙⟡ GF!READER

#03 TEACHING WINNIE TO DRIVE

@rafesteddy ⋆˙⟡ DAD!RAFE

#04 BABES, BUMS, AND BITCH SLAPS

@rafeslovey ˙⟡ GF!POGUE!READER

#05 INTRODUCING BITCHY!PRINCESS!READER

@tinythebunni ˙⟡ PATHETIC!RAFE

#06 POOR ETIQUETTE

@cherrygirlfriend ˙⟡ HOUSEWIFE!READER X CEO!RAFE

#07 CAVEMAN

@sarahroutldge ˙⟡ OVERPROTECTIVE!BF!RAFE

#08 MAKE THIS PLACE YOUR HOME

@whytheylosttheirminds ˙⟡ MAYBANK!READER

574 notes · View notes

electricgg · 3 days ago

Text

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 12: Don’t Wanna Drive Another Mile Without Knowin’ You’re Breathin’

Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 (Here!)

Twins are two halves of the same whole.

In many mythologies, twins are said to share a bond deeper than that of ordinary siblings.

The bond between twins is often described as unique and incredibly strong, starting even before birth and potentially lasting a lifetime. This bond is frequently characterized by a deep connection, a sense of oneness, and a high degree of nonverbal communication.

Never one without the other.

Not even in death.

Pietro had never known life without Wanda.

The thought had never crossed his mind; it simply wasn’t a possibility to him. The sky was blue. The grass is green. Ice is cold. Fire is hot.

Pietro and Wanda, never one without the other.

Pietro and Wanda, always beside each other.

Pietro and Wanda, never far away from one another.

Pietro and Wanda, against the world and never away from each other.

Pietro didn’t exist without Wanda, and Wanda didn’t exist without Pietro. Sounded simple and logical, right?

It sucks that the universe seemed to have a vendetta against the Maximoff family and loved to see them act as it’s puppets in the scenario of it’s favorite dramatic tragedy play.

Pietro had never known life without Wanda, and he refused to do so.

Three years. Three years since he last saw her. Three years since The Hex. Three years looking for her across the globe. Three years of dead ends and false alarms. Three years of nonstop searches. Three years without Wanda.

Three long years, feeling incomplete.

He could describe it as phantom pain. A missing limb, or more exactly, missing half of his body. There had been countless times when he had turned his head to cross looks with eyes that were no longer there. Times when he had talked to the empty air, expecting a voice to answer back. So many times, his fingers tried to grasp thin, long, gloved fingers just to curl them into tight fists or pull at the seams of his clothes until the fabric tore off.

Erik (whom Pietro had slowly warmed up to call Pops, especially after Wanda had gone… after he started to search for her) had made it his mission to get Pietro out of his spiraling thoughts whenever this would happen.

Pietro had rejected his efforts at first, snapping at him and telling him to mind his own business. Hurling insults and harsh words at him, or speeding away from the man as soon as he felt his stare on him.

But Erik didn’t let his attitude affect him. He was a patient man, and though Pietro was the opposite of patient, he knew his son was bound to crumble at some point from pushing himself so hard.

Erik would be there, waiting with open arms to catch his son when he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together any longer.

And he did.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Genosha was always open to the X-Men, despite their history with Magneto and the Brotherhood of Mutants.

Pietro had gone a few times with the team. But most of the visits were with Wanda at his side, trying to get him and their father to bond with each other despite his obvious animosity towards the older man.

He knew what she was trying to do. Pietro had always known that Wanda wanted a family.

Their story was complicated, to say the least. The two of them had been raised by their maternal uncles, their mother having passed away a few months after giving birth to them. Not a single clue of who their father was until they reached the age of nineteen.

Back then, Pietro had been ecstatic to know about him. Even convincing Wanda to find him and finally meet him face to face.

Of course, that all went to hell when the twins had an encounter with Magneto, trying to destroy governments with his group of loyal mutants in the name of getting justice and rights for their people.

It wasn’t the best introduction, obviously.

Especially when the twins joined the brotherhood without telling the man of their blood relation.

For multiple years, Pietro and Erik’s relationship became a lot more complicated. He grew tired very quickly of his father’s constant need to ‘destroy humankind’, and spiteful of his lack of acknowledgment for his efforts to get him noticed by Erik.

Which led to him quitting the Brotherhood with Wanda and joining the X-Men… after doing a very dramatic reveal that resembled that Star Wars movie, but with switched roles.

As said before, a very complicated relationship.

Nonetheless, Pietro’s instincts led him to the only place his subconsciousness currently recognized as ‘home’.

Why was it Genosha, or more specifically, his father’s house, that he recognized as home? Who knows.

Was it just the place that resembled his childhood home uncannily?

Or was it the person who instantly walked out of the door to take him into his arms and shove him against his chest, consoling him while his limbs trembled out of exhaustion, adrenaline, and hopelessness as he wailed loud enough to make glass shatter?

Was home a place or a person? Pietro knew the answer.

Wanda was his home.

His home was gone.

But his father was here. Muttering to him in his mother tongue, words that Pietro did not understand, but judging by the soft tone and gentle, jagged hands going up and down his back and through his hair, he knew what Erik was doing.

“I-I can’t-,” His voice sounded strained and rough, words spilling too fast between sobs. “I don’t feel her. I can’t see her. I can’t find her. She won’t let me find her-”

“She is not ready,” Erik muttered. “She’ll come to us when she is ready.”

“I need her.” He sobbed, fingers clutching at his father’s shirt. “I can’t go on like this. I’m lost. I’m so fucking lost- and I just need to know if she is alive-”

“She is,” the older man declared. “You know that she is stronger than us. She is in pain, Pietro. Give her time.”

“Her pain is my pain!” He screams. “ She doesn’t have to do it alone! She mourns, and I mourn with her! It’s always been like this!”

His body slumps down, the adrenaline shutdown hitting way too fast. If it weren’t for the fact that Erik was already holding him, he would have eaten the dirt. The man didn’t even make a sound when the white headed boy stopped holding his body weight back.

They stayed outside until the next morning. Erik never moved him away, didn’t even complain about kneeling for those long hours or the shattered windows. Pietro only cried until he passed out in his father’s arms, and even then, tears still spilled out of his eyes.

That day, it had marked a year since Wanda’s disappearance.

That day, Pietro and Erik’s relationship became less complicated.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

It was a very rocky start, but it had turned out alright in Pietro’s opinion.

“What has you so deep in your thoughts, my son?”

Erik seemed to have been watching him this whole time. He stood by the door of his room, looking at him with clear concern on his face.

Pietro had a bedroom at Erik’s house. Apparently, his old man had been more sentimental than he gave him credit for. From the moment Genosha was established as an official country, Erik added numerous rooms to his house, two of which were located directly next to his own room. One for Pietro and another for Wanda, who had stayed there a couple of times when she came to visit Erik by herself. Both Erik and Pietro would sit for hours on her bed in silence, simply letting time pass by.

“Nothin’,” He muttered, sighing deeply as he leaned back against the headboard of his bed. “Just got off a call with Hank.”

“That sounds like there’s more to that call.” His father approached a chair by his desk, which was filled with intricate LEGO figures. Both unfinished and finished.

…So what if he was a full-grown man who liked to build Legos as a pastime? He has already broken plenty of Rubik's cubes and fidget toys. He needed to keep his hands busy, and Legos worked, so sue him for finding a coping mechanism.

And it wasn’t like his dad judged him for it. All those boxes he finds weekly on the dinner table are answer enough.

Pietro shrugged, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he scratched his head. “Just- I’m just helping him out with someone.”

That made Erik lift an eyebrow. “Someone?”

“Yeah, a kid,” his voice softened. “She has been melting off her shoes because of her mutation, so I let Hank look into my stats so he could make her something more resistant.”

“Ah, so she has super speed.”

The younger man smiled to himself, “Looks like it. Logan is keeping an eye on her and a couple of more kids. Something about a case, I think?”

“And why is this keeping you so deep in your thoughts?” His father asked slowly, as if hesitating to pry too much.

Probably because he already knew the answer.

Pietro went silent for a few moments, eyes wandering to the window showcasing the orange evening sky. A suncatcher was hanging from the top corner, letting the light reflect through the crystal.

Wanda had made it for him a few years back.

“Twins sometimes represent opposites. Like the Sun and the Moon,” she had said while handing him the gift. “You are my Sun, Piet. The Moon can’t shine without it.”

“Wanda’s oldest was just like me,” He said. “Same mutation. Same attitude.”

‘Same personality, too,’ his mind supplied, which got a wet chuckle from him.

He rubbed his nose quickly, gaze lowering down as he shrugged. “Guess it hit a bit too close, y’know?”

Erik’s eyes crinkled, a rare smile pulling at his lips.

Pietro didn’t speak a lot about what happened inside The Hex. Neither of them did, the subject still too sore despite having happened three years ago.

“I know it’s way off base, but,” Pietro hesitated, palms rubbing against the fabric of his pants up and down. “Somewhere, in the back of my head, there’s this annoying pull that has me believing those kids are still alive. Still out there.”

“Pietro, you know that-”

“I know, I know!” he rose from his spot and started to pace around the room. “But something is telling me that they’re still alive, and I can’t help it! I mean, c’mon, Wanda’s powers are just-”

He groaned, slamming his hands on the desk and rattling the LEGO pieces and figurines, some of them falling on the carpet. Pietro closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, head hanging low.

“Maybe I’m just reaching out too much.” He uttered.

His father stayed quiet for a moment before standing up and reaching for his shoulder. Slowly turning him so they could see face to face.

Erik’s chest churned deep inside as he noticed the redness on the corners of Pietro’s eyes. His thumb gently rubbed the tender skin, gaining a murmur of complaint from his son.

“You could be right,” Pietro’s eyes perked up. “Wanda’s powers are beyond our comprehension, and there’s a chance the twins could have survived. They’re hers after all.”

Pietro took a deep breath. “So you believe me?”

“Of course I do,” Erik sighed. “But there’s also the chance that we could be wrong, and I don’t want you to jump to conclusions without taking this carefully and slowly.”

The younger man gave him a deadpan stare, clearly letting him know that does last words were somewhat ironic and a bit too much to ask of him.

But his dad was right, they needed to know more information. And thread with it carefully.

“Where exactly is this girl?” the older man asked. “Is she at the institute? Perhaps we can ask Charles for some insight.”

Pietro shook his head. “No, she isn’t there. Logan is still waiting to finish the mission, then he’ll move the kids to the institute.”

Erik frowned at that, his hands gently squeezing Pietro’s shoulders. “And where are they?”

With a roll of his eyes and a scowl, Pietro spat out the name of the city.

“Gotham."

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Damian didn’t remember when it was the last time he walked through this specific hallway.

Back in the early days when he moved into the manor, he had taken it upon himself to explore the grounds. Get familiar with the new environment, or something like that. Probably his training pushing him to just know all the exits and entrances around the big building.

But this hallway, he avoided it as if it were the plague.

Especially after he found out who exactly resided in one of the farther rooms.

At some point, he stopped actively avoiding it and just forgot about it. There was nothing in there that could need his attention or concern him.

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

He would probably choke the air out of his past self for thinking like that. For not being more willing to look past the whole ‘firstborn’ jealousy that burned through his blood when he met his sister.

Damian’s mind was a mess. Too many questions. Too much anger. Too much guilt.

The guilt had caught him off guard.

One of the things that stood out about Damian was that he was prideful. He held honor and pride above anything else. He was proud of being the son of the bat. It was his greatest honor and goal to take on the mantle once his father retired. He never apologized for being blunt. Never regretted it or felt guilty about it .

But as he stood before the door of her bedroom, all he could recognize was that bothersome feeling panging against his chest.

Finding out about her relation to Harvey Dent had put many things into perspective.

Did she actively hide it from everyone? How did he never notice? Was she also ashamed of being related to a villain? Why did she never say anything about it? Why didn’t she come to him?

It would have been logical. He also had a direct relation to a villain: his grandfather and his mother. And while he no longer related to their views, he grew up around them. He had to leave his old home behind and embrace this new way of living. He had to adapt. He had to fit in.

And so did she.

He could only imagine what her life was like before Father took her in. A mentally unstable mother, now interned in a psychiatric ward. Apparently hostile and willing to harm her while having manic episodes. An uncle who was a crime lord, who was not able to take the hint that she was better off with her true family. Sending endless letters and writing pretty words about changing and wanting to move away from Gotham, so that she could live a normal life.

Away from the media. Away from scandals. Away from them.

Damian could understand why his father hid the letters. He was still mad that he hid them from everyone on the team, of course. Knowing about this information would have prevented a lot of things, but Damian could see why he did it.

What he couldn’t understand was why his Father hadn’t killed the bastard already.

It would have made things so much easier in his opinion.

Shaking away his thoughts to the back of his mind, Damian opened the door to the bedroom quietly. The creaking wood made him look down the hall, hoping that nobody would come sniffing around.

He didn't need anyone else giving him a reprimand about privacy.

He had his father's perspective on this mess, now he need hers.

Only the curtains fluttered by the tall glass window, despite no wind blowing since it was closed.

Thinking nothing of it, he went inside the room, closing the door behind him.

The first thing he noticed was how cold and dark the room was. There was no light entering through the window, as if a dark cloud had blocked the sun outside the moment he made his way inside. He could feel the goosebumps breaking under his school uniform.

He could only see the outline of the furniture around the room. The bed, the bookshelf, the wardrobe, and the desk. All of them left a chilling sensation down his back.

But Damian simply walked deeper into the room, each step heavy against the hardwood floor, until he reached the bookshelf.

His gaze moved over the backs of the books, starting from the very top shelf. Most of them were different genres of literature. He noticed that a significant portion of them had Spanish titles and a consistent repetition of genre types that he could recognize from having read them in his private lessons back in the league.

He never imagined his sister was an avid reader of Magical Realism.

The room turned colder and colder with every moment he continued to stand there. He could dare to imagine that if he let out a breath, he would be able to see it, just like in the cold winter days. If it weren’t for the fact that they were just starting October, he would deem it a possibility.

Then, his eyes landed on a book right in the corner of the lower shelf, sticking out slightly from its spot. As he began to crouch down, he noticed some bookmarking post-its standing on the top of the pages. Its title was worn off by time, barely able to read what it said, until the words registered and translated in his head.

‘The House of the Spirits’ by Isabel Allende.

Before he could reach for the book, a freezing, wet hand grabbed his ankle and pulled hard. Making him stumble and hit his forehead on the edge of a shelf and fall to the ground with a surprised yell.

Damian quickly turned his body upwards, sliding back against the bookshelf as he looked around the now completely dark room.

He couldn’t see shit, but he could here something moving.

Or more like someone.

The creaks of the floor put him on the edge, way too slow and scattered all over the place for him to pinpoint where exactly they were coming from. Cold sweat goes down his temple, making his skin even colder.

Then, he gets pulled again. This time, he gets dragged through the room and underneath the bed.

He could feel his limbs hitting some plastic and the clattering of small boxes getting spread all over the floor. His nails scratched over the wood, grunting and struggling to kick off whoever was gripping his leg.

Hands wrapping around the neck of his shirt, and lifting him until his head hit the metal frame of the bed, got his attention. And he finally came face to face with it.

Its face was scrunched up in pure fury, pale skin with prominent black veins crawling up from the neck to the jaw. Hair drenched in water that left a heavy stench, making his stomach churn. Deep red blood dripping down a side of the head and mouth in a snarl that showed all of its teeth, deep gutural sounds coming from its throat.

“Mind your business, you brat.” Its voice clawing at his ears like sharp, shattered glass, making him shrivel in his skin.

Without thinking twice, Damian grabbed the nearest object at hand and hit the being on the side of the head with it.

It let out a distorted scream, throwing him far away and sliding his body once again across the floor. He quickly got up, eyes wide as stuff around the room began to rattle and fall to the ground, and covering his ears as the screams grew into a higher tone.

As soon as he saw its hands claw at the ground, its body sliding out from beneath the bed, Damian ran out of the room. Almost taking down the door with him as he took off through the hall, slamming against corners and walls until he reached his room.

Not far away from there, Maximoff stood by the stairs, looking confused as to why she had just seen the gremlin looking so pale and scared while running through the halls.

“Damn, what is his deal?” She muttered until the wails coming from her bedroom hallway entered her ears. Quickly, she ran to her room, cursing to herself.

Back in Damian’s room, he gripped with shaky fingers an old cassette. It was slightly busted, the tape torn and worn. And now, after hitting whatever that was with it, it looked even more broken.

With a deep sigh, he slid down against his door and passed out.

Meanwhile, Maximoff had to deal with pissed off, hurt ghost who refused to put some ice on her bruised forehead.

Neither of those three had a good night.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Warren rubbed his eyes, sighing deeply. “Never in my life did I think I would be doing some insane shit like this…” he looked to his right side, shaking his head from side to side. “I knew my life was gonna be fucked up from the moment I was born, but this takes the fucking-”

Bobby shushed him, waving his hand dismissively at him without lifting his gaze from the flashlight that was flickering slowly and writing the patterns in his notebook.

“Complain later.” He muttered, biting his lip while scribbling the translation from the Morse code in an unreadable handwriting.

The two boys had been sitting on the benches of the track field for quite a while now. Bobby was even wearing his baseball uniform, having come up to meet with his friends as soon as his practice was finished. The same with Warren, who had finished his debate practice early.

Usually, they wouldn’t be in such a hurry to meet up. But today was a little different compared to the other days.

After all, it wasn’t every day that you got the chance to meet a real ghost.

“She looks beyond pissed today…” Warren muttered, his gaze returning to the running track.

Maximoff was wearing headphones today, some old thing that was already falling apart, and had the leather cuffs flaking off. But she didn’t give it a single thought.

Her eyebrows had a prominent frown that could be seen from the distant spot where the guys were sitting. Hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that wasn’t budging, no matter how hard the tail was wiped around with wind as she ran with a scowl.

She had that expression the whole day.

And that’s without mentioning her snappish attitude. Even Mr. Logan seemed to take his distance from her, just handing her the keys to the field lock and letting her be by herself for today.

Wayne made the flashlight roll off the bench, making Bobby chuckle and put down his pencil.

“Who wouldn’t be? I don’t have siblings, but I would be ticked off if my little brother messed around in my room without permission.”

Warren gave him a quick look, grumbling between his teeth. “Not her brother, remember?”

“True,” Bobby sighed, his hand brushing his hair back and looking around him. “But still, bet you were also pissed?”

The flashlight spun on the ground and pointed directly at Bobby, making him groan when the light hit right in his eyes. Which made Warren laugh, along with an odd sound similar to a sharp whistle, letting them know that Wayne was also laughing at him.

Wayne had also fitted right in with them.

After what happened last night with Damian, Maximoff decided that Wayne needed to get out of the manor for the day. It didn’t take a lot of convincing from her part, since both of them, no matter how annoyed, didn’t want to actually kill the family from a heart attack.

It’s supposed to just make them suffer, nothing else. No need for murder.

No matter how tempting it seemed.

That’s how Wayne was officially introduced to the boys. Well, to Bobby at least.

Warren and her weren’t exactly close back when she was alive. They just found a middle ground where they could benefit from each other. Despite it being a bit embarrassing for both sides, since the two of them made that deal out of searching for approval from their families.

Two fucked up rich kids, with even more fucked up family dynamics, finding a bit of comfort with each other. Sounds about right.

Neither of them talked about what happened behind the walls of their manors. Didn’t need to. The comfortable silence between them on their daily rehearsals was enough, and that was it.

No matter the sinking hole in Warren’s stomach that had been bothering him since that day they went to the mall.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he could have done something to prevent her death. Maybe if he hadn’t canceled the rehearsal that day, she wouldn’t have been killed. Maybe if he hadn’t canceled their meeting just because his father was actually at home for once and reached out to have some dinner with him, she wouldn’t have suffered that fate.

He could have given her a ride home. Or maybe even walk her back. Anything to stop the tragedy from happening.

But that would have meant not having Maximoff with them.

And he liked Maximoff. Probably the first friend, along with Bobby, whom he had ever had that didn’t approach him for need of favors or fame. Just genuine friendship.

But what Warren had with her? With Wayne? It was something different.

Something he never dared to put a name on, and never will get the chance to do so.

Warren got startled out of his thoughts when he felt a cold sensation against his fingers, making him look down at his hand.

A pale, delicate hand brushed its pinky with his fingertips, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. He let himself smile for a moment, a warm light feeling against his shoulder when he drifted his gaze towards the jogging girl who started to approach them.

“Did you guys find anything?” She asked, pulling off the headphones and picking up the flashlight.

“Well, we got plenty of info on the meanings behind the cards,” Bobby said, flipping through the pages of his notebook. “But, it’s pretty confusing if we don’t know about the context behind the reading.”

Maximoff sat on the grass with a sigh. “It’s a start, though, right?”

“.-- . / -. . . -.. / ... --- -- . --- -. . / .-- .... --- / -.- -. --- .-- ... / .... --- .-- / -- --- -- .----. ... / ...- .. ... .. --- -. ... / .-- --- .-. -.- . -..”

We need someone who knows how Mom's visions worked

The speedster bit on the nail of her thumb, thinking to herself about who could probably be helpful.

Alfred was out of the question. He didn’t know Bianca enough to be considered an option.

Bruce? Hard no.

Rio? Yeah, not unless they wanted to get tangled even more in her little game.

“There’s just one person left…” She muttered, looking up at the guys and giving Wayne a lifted eyebrow from her place beside Warren.

“I don’t like that look,” Warren said, seeing right through her apologetic expression.

“.... . / -.-. --- ..- .-.. -.. / .... . .-.. .--.”

He could help.

“Yeah, I don’t like that either,” Bobby muttered, eyes staring wide at the flashlight.

Maximoff sighed, patting her legs as she got up from the grass and took a deep breath. “Look, you guys can take a step back this time. It could get messy, and I don’t want to get both of you into trouble.”

“Well, too bad for you,” Warren stated, getting up from his seat. “Because there’s no way I’m letting you get into trouble by yourself. We still got a deal, remember?”

“And,” Bobby added, also getting up. “I’m also way too invested in this. Like, really invested.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, crossing her arms and nodding at them. “Alright, fine. What do we have this Friday?”

“It’s the recital,” Warren said, frowning. “You know? Part of the deal?”

“Well, the deal is changing now.” She chirped, tilting her head with a grin as Wayne gave a shrill laugh and made the light posts around the field flicker. The boy exchanged worried looks.

“I’m starting to regret agreeing to this…”

Warren sighed deeply. “So what now?”

Maximoff hummed, “Do any of you know how we can sneak into Arkham Asylum?”

Bobby and Warren tried not to scream when they finally saw Wayne, who squealed while floating around them in circles.

Maybe they should have sat this one out.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“Cass, I’m just worried. This is very confusing.”

Cassandra shook her head, hugging her legs to her chest while sitting on the sofa of Barbara’s living room.

She had come to the redhead’s apartment late in the night, looking over her shoulder every single time the tiniest noise was heard behind her. Frown deep between her eyebrows, and lips cracked by continuously biting on them with worry, on the whole way to Barbara’s home.

“Think about it.” The younger woman said. “You have noticed, too.”

“Of course I have noticed,” she acknowledged, moving her chair closer to the Cass. “But it’s probably just her being angry and hurt. She needs space.”

That got a sharp glare from Cassandra, taking Barbara off guard by how intensely the anger in her eyes was directed towards her. As if what she said was the greatest insult she had ever dared to say out loud.

It made her straighten up and clear her throat.

“What I mean is,” she started in a gentler tone. “She is a teen, and she is going through some harsh stuff. She needs time and understanding, not accusations of having an alter.”

Yeah, that was it.

After days of observing and analyzing the behavior of her sister, Cassandra came to this conclusion. Which was solidified when it was revealed that not only was the young girl related to a villain, but to Two-Face of all people.

It made complete sense to her.

The way of talking. Her manners. Her posture. The hostile attitude. The new clothes. The new everything.

Her dear sister had an alter, and it was all their fault.

She had done her research on the condition, the dissociative identity disorder, even going so far as to take Harvey’s file and compare any similarities between the two of them. It didn’t take long to figure out several common grounds amongst them.

Traumatic childhood? Check

Harsh upbringing? Check

Unstable relationship with family members? …sadly, also a check.

And the nail in the coffin. A traumatic event that could have started a new way of behavior or personality.

It was undeniable to her. There was no other explanation.

And it hurt. It hurt to know that she had a hand in this. That everyone had a hand in this. They all contributed. They all caused her harm. They all caused her pain. They all caused her suffering, and she didn’t know how to fix it. If there even was a way of fixing it. A way to atone for her mistakes and errors.

Was there a way to earn her forgiveness?

… Of course, there was. Her sister was a saint. Her main alter, at least. She was good, forgiving, and understanding. She would see right through her and understand that she regrets pushing her to the side for just a moment of silence. That Cass would never ask her to be quiet once again. That she needs her to be loud and please talk to her once MORE-

…Back on track.

This new side was just a protective alter. A way made by her mind to protect her fragile side and punish those who have wronged her.

All that Cassandra needed to do was show that she had changed, and everything would be fine. Everything would be way better than before, even!

But first, she needs the others to believe her. That there’s proof.

Which is why she went to Barbara, who is the only person she thought would be able to understand what she meant.

Sadly, Barbara was not getting it.

“Look,” Barbara sighed, touching Cass’s knee. “It’s been a rough week. For everyone. How about you stay the night here, and tomorrow we can talk about it more calmly. I can see that you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Of course, she was not sleeping well! Her sister was suffering in silence, and she didn’t know what to do about it!

Cassandra stood up from the sofa, harshly shoving Barbara’s hand away and picking up her stuff, slamming the door of the apartment behind her as she stormed off into the street. Leaving a very confused and concerned Barbara behind.

If Barb was not going to understand, then fine.

She was going to find someone who could.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“Did you brush your teeth?” Logan questioned with a raised eyebrow, staring down at the small screen of his phone. Where a little girl pouted back at him with a glare uncannily similar to his own.

“Hnn,” She muttered, nodding at him. He could also hear Hank’s deep chuckle somewhere in the background of the call.

Then, a black woman with striking white hair appeared behind the girl with a warm smile. Her hands gently, going over the girl’s shoulders and letting her snuggle up to her chest, all while still pouting at Logan.

“Laura is a big girl now, Logan,” Ororo said, making the girl hide her face away from the now smirking man. “She even helped out with the dishes today!”

“Did she now?” He said with a teasing tone. “Hopefully I’ll be able to see that when I get back.”

Laura then growled at the screen, nose scrunched up and glaring at her father. But to Logan, she just looked like an angry wet cat.

Just like a certain student today.

“Say goodnight, Laura. It’s quite late for your bedtime.” Ororo said, which Laura responded with a mumbled ‘night’ before she passed the phone to Hank, who also said his goodnights and waited until the two of them left to finally talk to Logan.

“How did the shoes work out? Any feedback?”

Logan groaned leaning back against the headboard of his bed. The professor had gone as far as to get him an apartment for his cover instead of sticking to a hotel and he was beyond grateful for it. Though, he currently preferred to wake up with Laura’s foot shoved against his face after she crawled up into his bed in the middle of the night.

He missed his kid. A lot.

“No complaints. The kid doesn’t look like she is afraid of melting soles anymore, so I guess that’s good enough.” He mentioned.

“I’ll take it, then.” Hank grinned, shuffling some stuff off camera. “How about the case? Any clues?”

“Not yet,” He muttered. “But I have the feeling that I’ll find something very soon. Especially with those three going rampant around the city.”

“Ah, yes,” Hank nodded. “The professor mentioned them yesterday during our meeting. I’m quite worried that such powerful mutants are going out all alone in Gotham of all places. The universe does have a strange sense of humor.”

More like a fucked up sense of humor.

“I’m guessing we will have to open four new rooms in the institute.”

Logan frowned at those words. He was watching three kids. Not four.

“Four?”

Hank looked at the camera and then let out a tiny gasp, quickly smiling while nodding. “Oh, I guess the professor hasn’t mentioned it yet. He detected a new mutant in New Jersey. A boy from Eastview.”

A boy from Eastview, huh?

“Did he sent Scott to pick him up?” Logan scoffed. He knew Scott wasn’t the best at handling breaking the news to families about their kid being a mutant.

“No, he didn’t”

“Huh, that’s good.”

“He did send Gambit and Rouge, though.”

“He sent who?!”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Author's note: Hello everyone, I have big news! I'll be taking a short writing break until the first week of July. My family will be traveling and I'll be facing finals from my summer class (And also working on a short film AS THE MAIN CHARACTER OMGGGGGG-). But, the asks will remain open and I'll answer as soon as possible, so don't hesitate to send asks or comments! Other than that, I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter and I can't wait to see what everyone thinks about it (YAYY, PIETRO IS HEREEEE-) Lots of love, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple @staarflowerr @xoxoyukixoxo @whyiseveryuseenametaken @holderoflostmemories @doggyteam2028 @leeiasure @shadowypeachsweets @jjoppees @astraeasworld @wrenbirde @scarletdfox @letsbedragonstogether @exactlynumberonekryptonite @randomlyappearingartist @angwlart @ceramic-raven @vndexd @suneaterscape @initial-ari

Bonus Memes:

416 notes · View notes