#johndaverosejade

[hskin-center]

could i get a playlist for a noncanon no-game dave who dated john rose and jade ??

Time Lapse - TheFatRat

I Am Your Skin - The Bravery

Geronimo - Sheppard

Brazil - Declan McKenna

Budapest - George Ezra

O My Heart - Mother Mother

Resistance - Muse

Tightrope - Walk the Moon

~Mod Feferi

[zenellyraen]

Anonymous asked: Poly Orgy

You're not sure where one of you ends and another begins. 

Everywhere you turn, there's warm skin ready to be touched, ready to be worshiped, and it doesn't matter whose it is so long as it's someone's. You have your tongue lapping up Rose's slick, driving into her sweet core while Dave thrusts inside you. From what you can see, John is kissing Rose, all loose-lips and smiling, and she's jacking him off with a lazy hand, and you clench your eyes shut.

There's a shift, a decision of movement, and you whine as Dave slides out of you. John quiets your noises with a gentle kiss as he turns you over and takes Dave's place. His rhythm stutters briefly. You look over his shoulder to see Dave pressing into him, and fuck, this is all so good. 

You're greedy for them all, reaching and grasping and wanting all of them so much it hurts, and it's good that you have them here with you now.

You reach out, and it doesn't matter who, but someone holds your hand, threads their finger through yours.

You love them.

You have them and you love them.

And it is good.

[indulgingfiction]

Extraordinary; Chapter 7

I meant to get this out earlier, but instead I ended up moving a queen sized mattress all by myself.  I like to imagine that I'm relatively strong, but let me tell you, I'm still freaking pooped after that...  Blargh, life.

Time seemed to slow down to a trickle again, but John was okay with that, cocooned in warmth and soft curves and hard angles and the scent of lilacs and chemicals and coffee and memories, a sense of rightness. He remembered the first time he’d felt that way, back in he laboratory on his land, surrounded by baby versions of his friends, and tiny young ecto-parents/children. He hadn’t even known what he’d done, he significance of it all, but seeing his friends, tiny and vulnerable but right there, was the first time he’d ever felt that bit of contentedness in the back of his mind, subtle though it was. The first hint that he’d been missing something his entire life, brought to the forefront when they were all together again, grown up beyond their age.

He realized that he was only complete when he was with the rest of them, they were made to be together- which made him wonder, later, how he trolls could have stood to kill each other off, because just the thought of losing Jade or Rose or Dave to death, real death, forever death killed him inside-, and it had hurt so much, forcibly separating himself from them, amputating a dead limb before it could infect the rest of the body. I had hurt so much that he hadn’t really felt the pain. He knew it was there, he could feel a dull ache, but it was distant. Buried. Covered, like he was in shock, his brain unable to process what he’d managed to do.

Or didn’t want to. He supposed that would make sense, too, his subconscious protecting his brain, knowing that he couldn’t actually handle what he’d done, and he just hadn’t realized it until then, forgotten that he’d been in pain until suddenly his soul wasn’t hurting anymore. He had plenty of practice at it, after all.

He tried not to dwell on it, though. There was time for that, later, when his friends weren’t around to see him have a breakdown. Or, more of a breakdown.

But, of course, life didn’t cater to his whims, and after what felt like only a few moments (lifetimes), he felt Rose shifting at his side, sitting up slightly, and he cracked an eye open to watch her make a move to reach into her sylladex.

“I know it’s a tad late, now, but we did get you a sort of birthday present- John?”

Birthday had barely even left Rose’s dark painted lips before he was twisting, turning, bucking, eyes wide but unseeing as he tried to get them off, off of him, away from him, a once comfortable pile suddenly turned into a suffocating prison. He didn’t want a fucking present, he’d been hoping, praying that some miracle could have happened and they would have forgotten all about that damn date, he wasn’t going to be fucking gifted because he accidentally made everyone out of weird ass ooze on a certain day. He wasn’t going to be rewarded for not only destroying their entire planet, but for making their guardians, the ones that raised, that had cared for them, that had loved them become perma-dead. A drink for the fallen, for the lost, that was all that he allowed himself on that day, because there sure as hell wasn’t anything to celebrate!

Rose stopped reaching, instead twisting back around to take a hold of one of John’s shoulders, putting more of her weight on it then she would have liked, but he was a lot stronger then he looked, and she was worried hat should she let him go, he’d do something drastic and hurt himself. Jade followed her lead, and presses down on his chest, trying to keep his torso down, even as Dave shifted, holding his legs together, keeping him from kicking even as he held him in place. It all should have kept him still, if not the brute physical strength then the concern lacing the faces of those closest to him, dripping from their voices as they called his name, John, John, John!

John, what’s wrong?

John, please, stop!

John, bro, what did you do to yourself?

But he doesn’t stop, gritting his teeth and thrashing until his shoulders ached, his back burned, because he was right, he’d been right all along, he couldn’t bring anything but pain to everyone, God he hadn’t even been in their presence for even half a day and he was already stressing them out.

“I can’t do this, I can’t Do this, let me go, let me GO!!!” His voice was high, cracking, hysterical, even John could hear that, hear his breath catching and heaving until he could barely get any air at all, everything was dark and heavy and stifling and he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, please!

“Rose, he’s fucking panicking, do something,” Dave hissed as he shifted again, straddling John’s legs, sitting on his thighs so he could keep them still even as he grabbed onto his waist, holding on as well as he could.

“John, breath, please. We have you, we’re right here, you’re fine, I promise, everything’s okay!” Jade laid her forearm across his shoulder and a bit of his chest, holding herself up and him down on I, leaving her other hand free to run through his hair, something he recognized as a comforting act.

But he was beyond comforting at that point.

“It’s not, no, it’s Not okay! It’s never Been okay, and it never Will be!” He could feel his mouth opening, his tongue moving, his throat working to get out words, bu he couldn’t actually hear, his ears buzzing, the sound of his blood rushing overwhelming everything else, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t think of anything but how he didn’t wanna be there anymore. “Why won’t you just let me go, just let me be, please, please I’m fucking everything up why couldn’t you have just let me die in damned peac-fhah!”

His head snapped to the side, and it took him a second to process he way his cheek was burning, stinging. The shock of the sudden pain, in his cheek, in his neck, brings almost blinding clarity, and he hears a growl- Jade, he knows that sound, is intimately familiar with it, and it’s not a sound he ever wants to hear, because it means she’s pissed- and Rose is talking, hissing through her teeth like she doesn’t trust herself to stay quiet otherwise.

“...and after everything we’ve managed to live through, there is no way in hell that we would just sit by and allow you to waste yourself, and I know, Egbert, that you aren’t even nearly stupid enough to believe that we would. So why don’t you stop acting like a child and actually utilize the fully functioning gray matter between your ears like the adult you are?”

Watery blue eyes slowly glanced at Rose, and a quiet voice in the back of John’s head noted that she looked magnificent when she was pissed, pale cheeks flushed with color, amethyst eyes as sharp as her tongue, back stiff, and even with her hair mused- so strange, so different without her headband, she looks so grown up, she is grown up-, she looks regal, in charge. But he barely listens to what she says, picking up the tone, a few words here and there. He’s really not aware of much at all, just that he was limp, still, and that he deserved Rose tearing him a new one. And Jade growling. He deserved that, too.

And the slap. He deserved that slap, and more.

He’d thought about that, before. About how he wished someone would just come around and beat the shit out of him, for everything he’d done, for everything he caused. It wasn’t a thought that he let himself dwell on, but it was always there, in the back of his mind, and for the first time, the thought was humored. And by one of his best friends, no less. Rose. Maybe it started to make up for things, a little. Make up a bit for all of those times that she tried to talk to him, tried to tell him things, and he just laughed her off, geez rose your blabbering monster speech sure is funny isn’t it, why don’t we try a game of charades instead? Make up for her having to find her mother, dead, and his father too, because he’d been too busy going out and having a joyride to come and save them. Make up for the fact that he couldn’t save her, either, when the time came for that.

Despite the thoughts running through his head, John felt... light. Relieved. Better then he had in five, no, eight. Eight years. Since he was thirteen, and didn’t actually know what loss was, when the biggest worry on his mind was how he was going to manage to burn off his baby fat when Dad kept insisting that he eat three cakes a day.

And then there was a hand, on his cheek, a thumb smearing something wet, and he realized that he was crying. And he began to sob.

He started to apologize, in his head, maybe out his mouth, he couldn’t tell, all he knew was that he was sorry, so very sorry, for everything, sorry to Rose, sorry to Dave, sorry to Jade, until he couldn’t even think that anymore, and he was blessedly embraced by unconsciousness.

[indulgingfiction]

Extraordinary; Chapter 4

Three days later, and John found himself laying back on a park bench on as gorgeous a day as one could possibly hope for, looking up at a cloudless, endlessly blue sky, and feeling...

  Well, frustrated, mostly. He wasn't happy, despite the fact that he was sure he'd outsmarted his friends, having not even left the town that Roxy had found him in. That's what he would've expected, had he been looking for someone, that they would've tried to run as far away as fast away as possible. So he did the opposite, staying put, though he did lie low, keeping quiet and too himself, not doing anything to draw attention to himself. And his plan had worked, obviously.

But apparently, success didn't mean happiness, because he wasn't the least bit pleased with himself and the turn of events. He even felt a little... disappointed.

  Which, of course, just pissed him off, because he didn't want to be found. Well, he did, but he knew that wasn't for the best. And he'd been trying /so hard/ to do what was best for all his friends, and he couldn't let his own emotional weakness bring an end to the first thing he'd managed to really do right in probably a decade.

  He didn't have a /right/ to be disappointed that nobody had found him. He didn't have a /right/ to start to wish that he had handled things differently. He didn't have a /right/ to-

  "Gotcha."

  Before he could process what was happening, John found himself in the air, the on somebody else's shoulder, forcing the air out of his lungs as firm flesh bore into his stomach in a way that wasn't exactly painful, but definitely far too sudden for comfort.

  He first move after that should've been to reach for his sylladex and grab out his hammer, and get back in control of the situation. If not that, then he should have kicked, screamed, punched, just made a damn fuss, so the other few people in the park would notice that something was up, something was wrong. But he noticed that they were moving far too fast, and his first instinct was to grab on to his hat. If he had enough time to think, he would have known that that should definitely not have been his priority, but it got a little hard to breath, even thinking about losing his father's hat, and he just... he couldn't.

  But he didn't have a chance to think about that, because almost as soon as he was thrown over someone's shoulder, he was gone, and... dumped into the back seat of a car?

  The sudden change in location was sobering enough that John finally did pull out his hammer, not really paying attention to the occupants in the vehicle, just focused on getting out of the car as fast as possible, fighting in such a closed environment would e dangerous, odds stacked against him, he had to get out in the open where he could actually move around, where he could fight effectively, where he had a chance.

  He had leaned forward, and had his fingers just brushing the handle on the backseat car door, when a hand wrapped around his wrist.

  A soft hand, small, with dainty fingers. Definitely not the hand of some weird kidnapper/serial killer.

  He paused, taken aback, his grip slackening, and he turned his head just in time to see Rose Lalonde pulling his ball pein out of his hand.

  "Oh."

  She raised a brow, her expression showing what she would have verbalized the last time he saw her. /Oh indeed/.

  He glances forward and there's Jade, sitting up in the passenger seat, looking... well, mostly pissed, a deep furrow between dark brows as she glowered at him. His own gaze dropped quickly, unable to keep looking at those bright green eyes, looking too dark with their pupils blown wide.

  So he looked into the rear view mirror, and saw Dave's face, not hidden as much as it used to be by the shades he'd gotten him what felt like a lifetime ago, but he'd finally grown into them. They still managed to be an effective shield, hiding those expressive red eyes, so all he had to keep schooled was really his mouth., which, if John was anyone else, he'd probably think was being kept in a very neutral straight line.

  But John wasn't anyone else, and he noticed the tautness at the corner of his lips.

  "Finally mastered that Pokerface, huh?" he lied, trying to lighten up the heavy tension in the car.

  Jade wasn't impressed, but the corner of Dave's lip curled up for a moment, and he gave a soft nod of acknowledgment.

  There was another loaded silence, the air feeling even thicker, and John couldn't really think of anything to say, but he had to, felt like he wasn't going to be able to breath properly if he didn't.

  "...Really though, guys? Was this really necessary?"

  "You should be thanking your lucky stars you're even conscious right now," Jade barked, and if she still had the dog ears from Bec, they would have been pinned back, he knew it. "I wanted to knock your stupid ass out, and drag you home. Would have, too, if Dave wasn't such a big fucking softy."

  He turned towards Rose, head, shoulders, knees, until his whole body was facing her, hands clenched down on his lap to keep from reaching for her. "Rose." She'd always been the voice of reason, always the one who saw them through any plans they needed, always able to be the most mature among them when they needed someone to make the hard decisions. Surely she'd understand. She'd get that he had to go. "Please."

  She held herself pretty well, all things considered, but John still caught the hint of a grimace on her face, hyper aware of any move she made, even the tiniest of facial twitches. He watched her take a deep breath, her shoulders rolling back like she was about to take on the world, and fixed him with that sympathetic, understanding look. The kind she always used when she was going to tell him something she knew he didn't want to hear.

  "Normally, I'd take into consideration the fact that you clearly do not wish for our company." He barely suppressed a wince, and clenched his fists harder, until short nails were digging into his palms. Did they really think that? That he just didn't want to be around them anymore? "But," she paused for a moment, glancing him up and down, and John was suddenly very aware of the length of his hair peaking out from underneath his fedora, the little bit of stubble on his chin, the stain on his jeans and the tear at the cuff of his jacket, "given the circumstances, it would be in everyone's best interest if we keep an eye on you. And given you recent history, the best way to do that is to keep you as close as possible."

  "...Given the circumstances? /Given the circumstances?/" Were they trying to imply something? Okay, so he wasn't dressed in the newest fashions, and maybe more of his clothes then not happened to have stains and/or tears on them. He hadn't had a haircut in a while, either. He didn't have a surplus of cash. But for a guy who left his home at sixteen, walking and hitchhiking his way across pretty much the whole damn country, who'd tended to make enough money being paid under the table doing odd jobs, performing out on the streets, that he could sleep with a roof over his head, and even have a hot meal if he wanted one. Hell, he'd go ahead and say that he was actually doing pretty damn good for himself, /given the circumstances/! "I don't /need/ you guys to take care of me. I'm not some fucking stray that you pick up off the street and rehabilitate. I am /not/ a charity case!" His voice was low, rough, hissed out through clenched teeth, and he reached for the door handle, yanking hard, even though he wasn't even the least bit surprised to find that it was locked.

  He heard a noise, something like a strangled, paniced whimper, and closed his eyes tightly when he realized that that noise came from him. God, he sounded like an animal he just finished saying that he wasn't. Stuck, trapped. With exactly the people he'd just been wishing he could be with. Heh. Fucking irony.

  John made one more attempt, though, to get through to them, to the only one who'd always given him what he needed, every time he needed it. He pushed himself forward, reaching around the seat in front of him, grabbing onto the sleeve of Dave's shirt, tugging lightly on it, looking into the mirror where he knew the blond's eyes lay hidden. "Dave. /Dave/..."

  The Texan didn't say anything, just shook his head, but John recognized the set of his mouth, lips held so tightly together they were nothing but a straight, unbending line. A resolute look that he'd seen too many times on Davesprite's face. A look that had never boded well for John.

  That was that. Game over. All those years, all those sacrifices, all the good he'd managed to accomplish from it, all the progress Rose and Jade and Dave had made, gone.

  He leaned back, pulling his hat down low, shadowing his eyes because he could feel them starting to water, and he wasn't going to damn well cry in front of his friends right then. His successful, famous friends, who managed to go out an make things of themselves, instead of festering in their own misery. John turned his head, looking resolutely out the window, not saying a single word, even as he showed his defeat by pulling on his seat belt, the click of it snapping into place loud in the otherwise silent car. Not saying a word as Dave started to back out of the parking space, then drive down the road. Not saying a word as he felt three sets of eyes look at him.

  He'd gotten exactly what he wanted, and he still couldn't find it in himself to be happy. So all he could do was wait until his friends, the people who meant the absolute most to him in the world, realized that they hadn't gotten their John back, but something broken.

  Something that, he was sure, could never be fixed.

[indulgingfiction]

Extraordinary; Chapter 3

I'm on a roll, and I think I'm going to finish a little Pepsicola Oneshot today, if anyone should be interested, ehehe.

As always, AO3 link is right over here.

Pst, next up the other Beta's come in!

She could hardly believe it. Even right before her eyes, standing there in the flesh, she could hardly believe that it was really the infamous John.

Of course, the fedora was what first caught her attention, not nearly as old and tattered and dirty as the one that Jane had treasured so much, but she'd recognize the very manly, dadly headgear anywhere. Or, at least, she hoped she did. And her gut instinct had been right, because as soon as the figure wearing said headgear had turned around, she saw a more masculine version of Jane's face. A more weathered, gaunt version, with wide blue eyes, bluer then any other eyes she'd ever seen. Impossibly blue, the kind that only belonged to one man.

Impossibly blue eyes that looked panicked and actually hurt when he looked at her, his expression growing taunt, body tense, like he was preparing himself for some kind of turbulence.

Any other situation, and she'd have her cell out already, calling up Rose or Dave, and Jane, maybe even Dirk, but.... She just never could turn her back to somebody who needed her, and John, for all that he'd brought whatever it was he was going through onto himself, needed help.

"Long time no see, John," she called as she walked forward, not too fast, because she didn't want to scare him off, but not too slow, either. The last thing that she needed was to make him feel like she thought he was like some kind of scared animal, and offend him.

John recognized what she was doing, right off the bat, though he did give her credit for the thoughtfulness. Rose would do that, sometimes, when one of them was being particularly stubborn over something, though when she did it, it was rather painfully obvious. Roxy seemed more casual, but it was still a very Lalonde move.

And maybe that was why it allowed him to relax, to smile a little sheepishly at her.

"It's been a bit, yeah." Roxy noticed his voice was quiet, and while she hadn't heard him talk a lot, it didn't really seem like the voice that had once laughed so happily when he was reunited with his friends, that had screamed with so much rage during the final battle. It was subdued, adult, and nothing like the voice of a boy that had once controlled the winds. "You're looking pretty good, though. Life's been treating you kindly?"

She smiled back, a soft, quick movement of her lips, and nodded slowly, pushing some of her blond hair behind her ear. "It's been pretty good. But I don't suppose this is actually the place to sit and get reacquainted, huh? Taking up space in the middle of a sidewalk. Why don't we go and get a cup of coffee, and chat?"

He hesitated, and she could practically see the gears turning in his head as his hand came up again, fingering the rim of his hat in what she could tell was an unconscious gesture or uncertainty, the same some people twirled their hair, or twiddled their thumbs, before he pulled himself to his full height- which still ended up being a few inches shorter then herself, though still a little bit taller then Jane, at least. The poor dears, it was like the Harley-Englishes had taken all the tall genes. She supposed she should go and thank Dirk for not being an ectobiological jerk and not being too much terribly taller then herself, comparatively.

"Sure. Yeah. Coffee is good. My treat."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't a question, and though she desperately wanted to pay, having no idea just how much money he might have on him- though all things considered, he didn't really look all that worse for wear.. And besides that, she was pretty sure that he’d just go ahead and walk away if she didn't let him- she knew that set look in his eyes all too well, though she was used to seeing it with a much lighter shade.

"Yeah, alright buster. But I get to choose where, yeah?" She didn't allow him to answer, just gently placed her hands on his shoulders, turning him around- he was wearing a heavy coat, and she was feeling a little concerned, so maybe she was just being a worrywart, but she'd swear that his arms felt far too thin underneath the thick fabric-, lacing one arm with his, and began to walk casually down down the street with him, letting herself talk about nothing in particular.

John didn't mind, though, would even nod and hem and haw at the correct times, though he didn't really have anything to contribute about cat-food, or why it was ridiculous that a person couldn't just go and buy some chemical or another at WalMart, when you could get basically the same kind of result from a bag of fertilizer, if somebody wants to blow something up, they're going to do it, and Roxy shouldn't be "punished" because some people simply don't know how to safely play with dangerous chemicals. Honestly, he had no idea what she was talking about half the time, but it was nice. A little nostalgic, even.

"And so then I said- oh, that's sweet, thanks Hon," she paused her story as John opened the door to the small little coffee shop that Roxy had been leading them to, giving him a large smile and patting his hand, a gesture that even a few years ago would have had him rolling his eyes, or even worse, feel irritated that he had to be thanked for doing something that was only common courtesy, like it was something special, or like they were surprised that he'd think to do it. But right then, all he could feel was a little pleased, he'd managed a job well done, one of the small victories that added up, made it easier to keep going, something that, if his father had been there, would have earned him that proud smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle, brought out his father's dimples.

He blinked, when he realized that he'd spaced out for a bit, and in that time not only did they end up in front of the counter, but Roxy was already ordering herself a drink.

“Oh, uh, a small coffee for me, plain please.” John said when the barrista turned to him.

Roxy cocked her head curiously, but managed to not say anything until they’d gotten their drinks, and went to go sit down at one of the small tables in the back, quiet and out of the way, even giving them time to sit down, and John to remove his hat, placing it on the table, another bit of manners he couldn’t consciously recall ever having picked up. “Huh. I always pictured you’d be an ounce of coffee with your milk and sugar kind of guy.”

John chuckled a little at that, but didn’t say anything. Mostly because she was right, he really did hate plain black coffee, but he hadn’t felt like asking for anything more complicated while he was up there. He took a small sip from his styrofoam cup, and gave him a pat on the back that he’d managed not to wince at the strong, bitter flavor.

“So, time to catch up, huh? I’ll go first, I suppose. Life’s pretty sweet right now. Moved in with my Bros and Janey, all together now. Probably something that we should’ve done in the very beginning, but now we can really appreciate that we have each other, you know? It’s fun, though, living with friends like that. Between Jake and Dirk, there’s never really a dull moment, and even Jane’s cut loose a lot! Although...” She paused, narrowing her eyes on John for a moment, and he realized that he’d face an ocean of black coffee before he’d ever voluntarily deal with a Lalonde stink-eye again, “you gave her quite a bit of a fright, young Mister Egbert.”

He winced, legs shifting and right hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, shaggy hairs that had gone too long without a trim tickling the back of his hand, and blushed. An honest to god blush, that pinkened his ears, and turned his cheeks ruddy.

“Of course, I did. Sneaking out in practically the middle of the night like that... Unbelievably shitty of me. God, I really wasn’t thinking all that straight; could’ve handled that much better then I did. I really am sorry, though. Jane deserved better then that...”

Roxy relented, eyes and face and body softening, just a little, though. She wasn’t happy with John, honestly, and what he did. Hurting Jane was one thing- a rather big thing, in fact-, but then he also hurt so many other people in the process. Dirk and Jake had told her about how his sudden disappearance had devastated their family members, Dave locking himself in his room for months, and Jade becoming hyper aggressive to keep from becoming depressed herself. And Rose, oh Rose spent so long, trying to figure out what warning signs she’d missed, wondering why she hadn’t been able to see what was going to happen, constantly drowning in what ifs.

But John didn’t look at all happy, either. He hadn’t just left for shits and giggles. Which only left one question.

“Why’d you do it, then?”

He let out a sigh, but didn’t hesitate as he reached into his coat, pulled out his WalletModus, and took out three items: a Time magazine, dated back a few years, with Jade on the cover, hair up in a bun, glasses pushed to the top of her head, and her eyes looking as green as the uranium she was known for working with, and a curious wrinkle right next to her picture, like somebody had often rubbed back and forth at the cover, like a worry stone; a first edition copy of The Ancestors, well taken care of but obviously well loved, some of the yellow pages a little dogeared, the spine cracked and bent from countlessly opening to book to various pages; and a copy of the movie based off of Rose’s book, wrinkled in the same curious little way the magazine had been, the plastic above the name of the producer and directer.

“You’ve seen all of these, I’m sure,” he said quietly, eyes soft and fingers infinitely gentle as he moved the three items on the small table, fanning them out before Roxy. “Here’s Jade, making leaps and bounds in the world of science, with rumors of a well deserved Nobel prize coming her way. Rose is now a multi-million dollar authoress, who I’m pretty sure could write a ten paged novella about taking a crap, and it’d still end up a number one best seller. And Dave not only can basically run Wallstreet any time he’d like, but he’s also the biggest up and coming director in Hollywood. Hell, he doesn’t even need Hollywood, he could make independent movies all the time, and they’d do just as well as Rose’s books.”

He paused for a breath of air, and glanced up to Roxy, blue eyes meeting pink, watching the expressions roll over her face. “It’s just like how it was in your universe, right? They were all successful, and relatively happy, other then having to fight against the BatterBitch. And do you know what else is the same as there?”

She shook her head, slowly, and John smiled. A small, slightly self depreciating smile. “I’m not around to fuck it up for them.”

“That’s not-” She tried to argue, eyes wide, barely able to believe that he actually believed that, but he just gave her a dry look, before pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose.

“True? Maybe that wasn’t strictly the all that was going on in the Alpha Session,” he relented a little, though it was rather clear by the tone of his voice that he didn’t believe that for even a second, “but I know it is, here. They never would’ve been able to succeed and live the lives they were meant to, if I’d stuck around. I can’t-”

He closed his eyes, and slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his chair, for once looking as tired physically as he felt emotionally.

“There’s something not right with me, Roxy. I don’t know if it’s just broken or sprained, or bent, but whatever it is, it’s keeping me stuck. I can’t just... Hell, I don’t think that I was ever going to be able to really do anything with my life, nothing impressive, even if The Game had never happened. Now, I’m nothing but an anchor.”

He opened his eyes, and Roxy felt her breath catch, because there, that hard set, turning his eyes almost icy, that was the kind of passion she’d remembered seeing from him, all those years before.

“I miss them. I really, really do. But I’m so proud of what they’ve manage to accomplish, in just five fucking, unbelievable years. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to end up weighing any of them down.”

They were silent, for a moment or two, just looking at each other, before Roxy sighed, reaching across the table to take a hold of his hand, squeezing it softly.

“You know I’m going to call Rosey up, don’t you?”

John raised a brow, and grinned sardonically. “You’re out here, in the middle of practically nowhere, on your best friend’s birthday,” he answered, chuckling a little. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not actually stupid. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised that you haven’t texted her our location already.”

She rolled her eyes, but let go of John’s hand, allowing him to almost reverently put away the items he’d shown her, and she could feel her already aching heart begin to break. He hadn’t done the right thing, no, but she knew now, at least, that it wasn’t out of spite.

“I thought about it,” she admitted, thinking about the tweet she’d saw a couple of days ago, completely on accident, about a street performer, who could juggle and play piano, did little magic tricks for the kids, and had the most amazing blue eyes anyone had ever seen. “But I had to make sure it was you, first.” She wasn’t going to hurt everyone else with a false alarm.

John hummed, nodding, and started to stand up, sensing that their conversation was drawing to a close. “I really can’t say that I blame you. I know, if I were in your position, that I would’ve already called up the cavalry. At this point, though, by the time you call them up, I’ll already have a head start.” Which, he hoped, would be enough to be able to slip under the radar again.

She stood up with him, gracefully taking his arm when he offered it, and walked out of the shop together, and even further, down the road, until they came to an intersection.

Rosy tugged at his coat, until he was facing her, and pulled him into a hug, nodding her head until she could press a soft kiss to his cheek, taking in how it was clean shaven against her lips, how he smelled clean, how other then how long his hair had gotten, how his clothes were starting to get on the shabby side, how he was far too skinny, a sight that just didn’t look right on any Egbert/Crocker, it did seem like he was actually taking care of himself, a comforting thought, especially if, by some strange twist of fate, and slipped out of their fingers again.

“You be sure to eat more, you hear me, buddy?”

“Sure thing, Mom,” he snickered, before returning her hug with a quick, tight squeeze of his own, hoping she understood that he really did actually enjoy seeing her again, that he was thankful she just talked to him, instead of kidnapping him off of the streets or whatever sort of harebrained scheme Jake or Dirk would’ve gone through, if it’d been them.

But he couldn’t stay, and Roxy reluctantly let him go, saying a quiet “Happy Birthday” towards his back as she watched him walk away, never looking back, the only sign that he might have heard her was him placing his hat back on top of his head. She watched him until he faded from view.

And then she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, pressing a singular button as she brought it up to her ear.

“Hey. I found him.”

[indulgingfiction]

Extraordinary; Chapter 2

Wow, I'm a slow updater.  I'm working on the next chapter, as we speak, so I don't have any excuse for not putting it out, soon.  Plus, like, three other oneshots that should've been done weeks ago... Ugh.

Anyway, Chapter 2 on AO3

“Twenty One, huh? Consider this one on the house then, pal.”

John glanced up at the bartender, a cheerful looking guy with bright red hair and a beard, passing a cold, frothy glass of liquid gold his way. And a quick sniff showed that it wasn’t even the cheap stuff, which was a little bit surprising and a whole lot appreciated. Still, despite the sentiment, he couldn’t help but shake his head, shifting a bit on the barstool so that he could reach behind and grab his wallet.

“I appreciate it, man, but one beer is all I’m gonna get today. Might as well pay for it, heh.” He managed a small smile as he pulled out a ten dollar bill, sliding it over the bar, and waving his hand dismissively when it looked like the bartender was going to try and give him some change.

The man behind the bar opened his mouth, and was probably going to ask him his story. John knew that’s what he would’ve done, in that position, seeing a young man come in, just turned twenty one, all by himself, with no friends, and only asking for a single beer. It was curious, an oddity, and since it was only about two in the afternoon, the pub he’d found himself in wasn’t exactly busy. Everyone had time for a story.

John just didn’t have the patience, or the heart. He just wanted to make a silent toast to the fallen. There were probably other ways, better ways, less cliche ways of doing that, but he couldn’t think of any off the top of his head, and, well, sometimes cliches were cliches for a reason.

Either way, rather luckily, John found that he didn’t have to answer any unspoken questions, because before they could be brought out into the open air, where he could no longer play ignorant and ignore them, a nice young lady on the other side of the bar asked if the tv could be turned up a little. Some entertainment show, John remembered from when he first sat down and glanced up at the small television mounted in a the far corner. Years and years and years ago, that would have been something that would’ve been slightly interesting to him, something to at least make fun of, to laugh about with his friends, with whatever crazy antics whichever infamous celebrity was getting up to.

Now, it just seemed childish, unnecessary, and he ran the risk of hearing a far too familiar voice.

“Ain’t no thing.”

John sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat at the drawled mumble, which was much more pronounced then the last time he’d heard it, on some cable program or another. Dave must’ve finally put his pride to the side a little, and let that natural southern accent charm the masses, instead of trying to stifle it.

Good. Good for Dave. Now if only John could convince himself to not be a terrible person and not be upset over the fact that he’d only been able to hear his natural accent twice, in person.

“Mister Strider, you’ve been quite popular recently! Screenwriters and actors falling left and right over themselves to get to work with you. Tell me, what do you think is key to your sudden success?”

Stupid question. It was obvious. Dave had only produced one movie, so far, but it had been successful beyond imagining, which was probably a surprise to everyone but John. Two years prior, Rose had written her first published novel, The Ancestors, which had been hailed internationally as the best fantasy fiction to have come out in decades, a bittersweet romance, and a bold analysis of human relationships, human struggles, the struggle between a kind, equal utopia, and the violent, fundamentally unequal reality of the world, and an insightful thought of how a truly peaceful life, civilization will never be able to be reached, because it takes only one small act of violence to upset the entire balance. It had a few critiques, of course, including one about how unoriginal the name “Alternia” was, how cliched the character tropes, how just plain simple the story was. Of course, the story wasn’t nearly as simple, if you heard the whole thing. Sometimes, he wondered if Rose was going to tell the whole story.

Anyway, it had become a number one bestseller practically over night, and almost immediately, there were rumors about a movie being made. Names like Michal Bay and James Cameron were thrown around, but again, John knew better.

And sure enough, about a year after it’s initial release, one Dave Strider, a self made man who played the stock market like it was a child’s game, practically self produced the movie, all with no named actors, no named musicians, no named everything, taking the world by surprise, again. The biggest, best selling independent movie to ever have been released.

That, all by itself, would’ve made Rose and Dave famous. Add to the fact that they were young, good looking, and well spoken, well. Of course they were going to be plastered on every other magazine. Add to the fact that they were friends not only with each other, but with Jade, who was making quite a name for herself in the scientific community, it was practically enough to give the media and paparazzi undying boners.

It was, in short, just the kind of lives that John had expected them to live. And it was because, to answer the interviewer, that was the kind of life they were made for.

“’S’cause there’s somethin’ that I need to do,” Dave answered, and John didn’t need to be watching to know that he shrugged, that easy half shrug, so much like how he only grinned with a single quirk of one side of his lips, a barely there move that expressed so much.

“So there’s a goal in mind. Care to share?”

Good God, that interviewer was ridiculous. How did Dave put up with him? Care to share? That was something you said to a child, a fanciful rhyme to make them more inclined to tell you what you wanted to hear, not to an adult man. An adult man who helped save the whole universe.

Dave hesitated for a moment, and when he answered, it was quiet, almost subdued, and more then enough to set John on edge.

"I need to find my best friend." He finished with a shrug. One of those little half shrugs. John didn't actually need to be watching the screen to know that he did, just like he'd always could tell when Dave grinned, that little lopsided smirk, barely there, a small gesture that had always managed to express so much more then one of John's own loud, open expressions.

He felt his eye twitch, and he chugged down three quick, large swallows of his beer, not tasting it at all, before he pushed his glass a few inches away from him across the bar, and got up to leave, as fast as he could without actually running. He didn't want the attention. Not when he felt so raw, not when he was sure that the smallest breeze was going to tear him apart. He'd gone beyond crying in public. Hell, until that moment, he'd thought he'd gotten past crying, period.

So much for that thought.

It wasn't right, though. Even as he stalked out of the pub, he was shaking his head, blind of any direction he was going but away. Dave wasn't supposed to miss him. Not after five years. Not enough to say so, on television, to millions of strangers. That wasn't right, Dave shouldn't have to expose himself like that, even if he was the most sentimental of the group.

And if that's how Dave still felt, then... what about Rose and Jade?

No, no. They were smart, logical, they understood that somethings just need to be left behind and forgotten. They couldn't still be hurting over him leaving. Dammit, he left so he wouldn't hurt any of them.

He wouldn't be able to stand himself if, even after taking himself out of the picture, he still managed to drag them down in any way.

He wasn't sure how far he'd gotten, or how long it had taken him, but what had felt like only moments, he heard his name called out from somewhere behind him. He didn't respond, though, other then a stiffening of his shoulders, his hand coming up reflexively to pull down the brim of his Father’s fedora, covering his face in it’s shadow. John was a common name, after all. Felt like the most common name, half the time, since he couldn't ever seem to go anywhere without hearing it. It was just a coincidence, hearing it after the Dave incident in the pub.

Just a coincidence.

"John! John Egbert!"

Fuck.

[indulgingfiction]

Extraordinary; Chapter 1

Happy 4/13 everyone!  Let's christen this blog with the start of an Beta OT4 fic, shall we?

Read here on ao3.

GG: He took Colonel Sassacre’s Daunting Text of Magical Frivolity and Practical Japery. The unabridged version.

There was a split second before Dirk responded, considering whether anyone would carry around a book that was more then capable of killing medium sized domesticated animals when dropped from a small height.

TT: Fuck.

TT: This isn’t going to be fun to explain.

It was the twentieth of April, and a very remarkable boy found himself in a remarkably ordinary room, laying on a bed that felt far too small for all the things that he’d seen, staring at a pristine white ceiling. The room was dark, only barely illuminated by the glow of the moon falling through his open window, but even in complete darkness, he could tell anyone who cared to ask where exactly everything in his room was. He could tell which posters were positioned where, could say every slur he’d once written over them in his troubled sleeps. He could tell where the chest where he kept items that, once upon a time, had seemed almost a little bit magical, tools of a trade he’d once dreamed of delving in. He could tell where his computer lay on it’s desk, the same one he’d spent so much time at, talking to people miles and miles away, some even galaxies away, whom he’d considered as his family, never knowing just how close to home that statement truly was.

  Yes, he could tell you everything there was to tell about the room that he no longer felt he belonged in, but owned him so completely. And that, right there, was the problem, as far as John Egbert was concerned.

  He’d played a game when he was thirteen, a game that ate up three years of his and his friends’ lives, their own actual lives, and their universe as they new it. They suffered their way through victory, walking a shaky line the entire way, even as they knew that in the end they were nothing but pawns in an ancient battle, and that the ending was already written down, just waiting for them to turn the page. During the week after things went back to “normal”, or, as normal as it was ever going to be, sometimes that thought was comforting, was peaceful, because things would be what they would be, and it was better to just go with the flow then try and fight the inevitable. On nights like this particular one, though, when things were quiet, and all he could hear was the faint sound of the wind blowing outside his room, inside his head, it was nothing but that final kick to an already downed opponent. Why should he ever bother trying at anything? What was the point if he was just playing into someone else’s bullshit design?

  He knew that wasn’t any way to think. Knew that wasn’t any way to try and move on. Knew that dwelling and stewing over the past wasn’t any good for him, or his friends.

  Oh yes, his friends, who had blown up his computer and his phone once they woke up. Rose, and Jade, and Dave, all making sure he was okay, that it had really happened, that they weren’t just going crazy. And isn’t it amazing, John, because look who’s at home with us? Look, we have our young guardians, isn’t that swell. It’s kinda like having Bro/Mom/Grandpa all over again.

  No, they never said that, and he knew that they didn’t really think like that, but when he walked out of his room, when he ran into Jane, and saw the same disappointment he felt reflected in her eyes when neither of them were a tall man, filled with humor and honor and more fatherly love then John had ever known what to do with, then he could have ever truly appreciated...

  He was bitter, and it wasn’t fair to Jane, who really was a nice girl. She tried, she really had, to make them both comfortable in a home that was so familiar and foreign at the same time, filled with mementos and memories of a father that no longer existed for either of them. It wasn’t fair to his friends, who certainly would never have wished it on him, who offered heartfelt condolences. His friends who checked up on him everyday. To Jade who would ask him how he was feeling, and then tell him about all of the kind of ridiculous things Jake would get into, and how she kept having to yell at him for breaking all the vases in the house. To Rose, who told him that if he ever needed someone to talk to, she’d be there anytime he was ready, but never pressured him into anything, even though he could tell that she really wanted to, that she wanted to crack his feelings open and delve right into the heart of whatever problem she knew he was facing. Wasn’t fair to Dave, who rambled on about the same old shit that he used to ramble on about, because he knew that was what John needed, that sense of familiarity, and even managed to do so without it feeling like he was tiptoeing on eggshells for him, even though that was exactly what he was doing.

  Not a single damn bit of it was fair at all to his friends, to his family, and he knew it. He knew it as well as he knew that there was no way he could stop himself from feeling the way he was, from eventually acting out on those feelings, from eventually blowing up and hurting the only people that really mattered to him. Knew it as well as he knew that they’d figure that out at some point, and they’d stick by him anyway, through whatever abuse he might throw their way in the heat of the moment. That he would draw them all together, and drag them right down, because they were too good to him, and they’d never let him go.

  And so it was, on that night, just a week after his sixteenth birthday, John decided that he was just going to have to do it for them, because he refused to sit idly by while he destroyed whatever chance of moving past The Game and becoming the great and successful people he knew they weren’t meant to be. The kind of person he’d never be able to become.

  It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision, though it wasn’t as well thought out as it probably should have been, either. He moved silently, in the dead of the night, slipping a few things into the sylladex he inherited from his father; his copy of Colonel Sassacre’s, a pipe and a bit of tobacco that nobody in the house was going to be using anymore, and one of his father’s hats, and topped it all off with the birthday gifts he’d received from his best friends three years ago.

  He probably should have left then, without so much as pressing his luck at getting caught, but instead he found his way into the kitchen, his father’s, and now Jane’s, domain. A place where he’d never just sat and watched his father bake often enough, where more often then not he’d start to aggrieve when he should have just appreciated what he was doing, the fact that he even got to spend any time with him in the first place, just... having him there.

  He slipped into the kitchen, and started pulling out bowels, pans, and a recipe book which at first he thought must’ve been Nanna’s, but had his name. Good Old John Crocker, but was, thankfully, filled with simple, easy to follow instructions for baking goods, and not a single Betty Crocker ingredient amongst them.

  It took him longer then he’d thought, this baking, and by the time he’ finished icing the rather puny looking thing, the sun was starting to come up, the sharp songs of the birds telling him that he needed to get a move on. So he grabbed a napkin, and wrote down a quick note to Jane, telling her that he was going out, and to take care of the house while he was gone, placing it next to the only cake he’d ever made, and probably the only one he ever would, and then left, putting on the white fedora, and walking away from the sun, feeling tired, so very tired, but willing to follow where ever the wind would take him.

  ---

  When Jane woke up a few hours later, she was not surprised to find that John isn’t around, since he’d been sticking to his room, or going out for walks for the week that they’d been home. He was so quiet, and she wished that he would talk to her a little bit more, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t understand why he was doing it, why he was that way. He’d come out of his funk on his own, though, she was sure. After all, he was a Crocker- er, Egbert, and they always came back from a fall with a laugh. It was just in their blood. Sometimes it just took a little longer to get up then others.

  The cake was a surprise, however, and she thought even showed a lot of promise, a hint of the good baking skills that she was also sure was inherited. What was also a surprise was that, by the time noon time rolled around, and then well past, John still hadn’t returned from whatever walk he’d gone on for lunch. He didn’t seem to have much of an appetite, but he always made it home, anyhow, just before she started to worry.

  ‘Maybe he’s just caught the bus into the city,’, she thought to herself, sitting down gingerly on the couch, steadfastly not looking towards the kitchen, where his note still lay. ‘He’s just going out for a bite to eat. No point in getting worried over nothing. He’s a big boy, John is, and more then capable of taking care of himself.’

  She’d just managed to convince herself to relax a little, when her phone began to chime in her pocket, that old familiar sound of a chum pestering her.

  timaeusTestified [TT] began bothering gutsyGumshoe [GG] at 2:47

  TT: Jane, would you do me a huge favor and get Egbert to log on line?

TT: Bro is starting to become a little snippy.

TT: It’d be really adorable the fact that he’s worrying so much about the guy, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m the only one readily available to bitch at, and the fact that he’s reminding me of a very dark, very clingy time in my own life.

TT: I feel like I should go and apologize to Jake if I was acting like even a fraction of what Dave is trying to pretend he doesn’t feel.

GG: No, you really don’t need to apologize to Jake. We’ve all put that behind us, so it would be best if we just never bring it up ever again.

GG: But as far as talking to John goes, I would love to, but he’s not home at the moment.

TT: He’s not home.

GG: No. He left a note, and was gone before I rolled out of bed this morning.

TT: And he still hasn’t come back?

  Jane frowned, the worry that she’d forced to the back of her mind starting to work it’s way to the forefront. Surely John wouldn’t have done something stupid, would he? Nothing that could get him hurt. He was way too smart for that. You don’t just go through a life threatening game, only to do something like get run over, or run away without telling anyone only to get kidnapped and/or murdered, especially when there were people who loved him, and depended on him. He couldn’t have. He left her a note, and baked a cake. You don’t just leave after baking a cake.

  Still, she got up from the couch, and made her way into her father’s study, opening the drawers, finding the hidden compartment where there was a goodly amount of cash kept. It wasn’t the only place where it was kept in the house, hidden behind a few portraits and Dad’s old sock drawer, but she’d already seen John come into the study to grab a tiny bit of cash, for grocery shopping, mostly.

  She pulled out the bills, counting them and checking twice, but no. It was still the same amount as it’d been the day before.

  GG: There isn’t any money missing. But I’ll go and check his room, just in case.

  She didn’t even bother to hide the money again before she was making her way upstairs, and straight towards John’s room, which she’d been staying away from, for the most part, only having entered it a time or two with her ecto-father/son’s express permission. But she’d been in there enough to know where the important things were. Or, where they should have been.

  The bunny, John’s bunny, the original one that he’d gotten as a birthday gift, wasn’t in its usual place.

  ‘No, that doesn’t really mean much. He’s just taking it with him, as... a security blanket?’

  But even as she told herself that, as she made his way to the chest in the corner of his room, decorated in stars and swirls that gave more of an insight to who he used to be just three years ago then all of his posters ever could, she knew, she just knew, that she was just feeding herself lies.

  GG: He took Colonel Sassacre’s Daunting Text of Magical Frivolity and Practical Japery. The unabridged version.

  There was a split second before Dirk responded, considering whether anyone would carry around a book that was more then capable of killing medium sized domesticated animals when dropped from a small height for just a short stroll.

  TT: Fuck.

TT: This isn’t going to be fun to explain.

TT: Jane, are you going to be okay up there?

  She wasn’t sure she was going to be. John had seemed like a strong guy, who had everything together, even if he was a little bit quiet. He’d been able to let go a little bit, and laugh and joked and convinced her to join along whenever he wasn’t in his room, even when she thought she couldn’t.

  So if he couldn’t handle what they’d all gone through, what chance did anyone else have?