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HUB 360
This merry little haunt wasn't familiar to Nick, but the address was correct, for what it was worth. There weren't many buildings with penthouses intact, but Hancock had told him to show up here, so here he was. Honestly, as he came up the stairs, Nick wasn't entirely certain what to expect.
Was it a stash house? No, Hancock and he had a tentative understanding about chems. Nick didn't comment and Hancock didn't do them right in front of him if he could help it. It was about the best the synth could hope for, and a fair improvement on their previous arrangement of: nothing.
Was it a new settlement? Bit of a stretch but Evaris did have ecclectic moods.
Maybe he...Nick came up blank. He didn't have a clue or a chance in hell of divining one, so he shouldn't waste the breath (figurative) trying to hash it out. He just stuffed his hands in his pockets, kept his revolver at the ready in case this locale wasn't secure yet, and trudged up more flights of stairs than he cared to count.
At the top he stepped out of the stairwell and through time. One second he was in the Commonwealth and the next he was standing on fine plush carpet in Boston, MA. This place was an absolute time warp, like walking into a photograph, and Nick was entirely thrown as he let the door behind him close and cautiously wandered in.
No turrets...so that was a start.
Cameras? Didn't spot one, didn't see any mics either but he was sure there were a few. This place had electricity and...was that hum an airconditioner?
"Where the hell am I?"
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This is just one of those drastically unfair advantages that comes with being what Nick is. He gets to wreck his ghoul beyond the boundaries of biologically determined stamina. Even Nick The Original couldn't fuck like a machine with the constraints and demand that follow flesh and bone. And Hancock certainly seems here for the performance. ]
I said, I hope you like the taste'a that [ The synth's committed dispassionate drawl inspires the return of the Kingpin's snarling, but it's a far cry from all the venom he started this encounter with. His Poker Face is stained, after all. He cannot believe Nick just did that-- can't repress the sudden demanding desire to taste his own flavor in a profoundly penetrating kiss. He bites back the urge to lean forward against the chains but he can't quite cut how his gaze hangs so hungry on the synth's mouth. ]
Just keep... diggin' your grave... [ Fireworks, again. Hancock's eyes screw shut and his whole body jerks, cruel blood-flow engorging sensitive veins. This time the light show drags through the dark and his spine stays bent, body wound tight. His head thrashes back and forth in stubborn refusal, not so much of what Nick's doing, but of the too-eager way his body is so ready to soak up the assault and comply. ]
Can't fuckin believe... the audacity on you... Thinkin' you deserve much, much worse than bullets, Val.
[ It would be a much more effective bluff if the ghoul's quivering legs were not devoting what little strength they could muster to encouraging every leisurely inward stab. ]
Nah... think I'm gunna make you burn so hot you'll wish I killed you
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[Nick thinks it's irrationally lovely how Hancock looks, oversensitive and thrashing as he fucks into him with lazy abandon. His dedication to the game makes a thrill run through the synth, gets him a little more invested in it and...frankly, he'd already been a bit excessive. Nick grabs that leg at his hip and hikes it up pinning it at his waist. He runs his tongue over his fingertip in a lewd show of self-satisfaction and then picks up the baton at the edge of the table.
He can lean back, now, and he does. It makes his thrusts less jarring but certainly helps him hit that tangle of nerse that have Hancock jumping like a live-wire. With that baton, prodding under the ghoul's chin digging into his throat from afar, is so easy he barely has to think about it.
At this angle, it's not the most damning photo he can take, but it catches Hancock stretched out and the file behind him, spilled across the table into the circle of a spotlight. It's a lovely momento of tonight and Nick snaps a image. He might have to print that one off and put it frame by the bed.]
Look at you. Writhing, begging for it. I keep this up, you'll be painting your face again real fast.
[Nick's dirtbag cop voice is weirdly easy to maintain as he drops it a register and plasters a wicked grin on his face.]
All that talk about how pretty I am--I think you let me catch you. Think maybe you were aching for it.
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shamelesslyshamefully gets him off.The shift in angle that allows Nick to inflict such a violent pleasure is executively evil; the ghoul's grasp on himself is already so poorly splintered. His dignity's already shot, and bleeding. No need to make it a pin-cushion. ]
I'm not-- I'm not fuckin' beggin you, I'm not-- [ His rage is shorting out under an overload of desperation. He sounds like he's pleading, even his the words claim denial. ] I won't-- you can't-- you're not gunna make me-- [ The language center in his brain glitches as he's slipped back into that snarling tongue. He keep shaking his head and rattling the cuffs and bending like a bow. Then abruptly neural pathways swap, and the ghoul's animal growls cut into English mid sentence. ]--shut your fucking mouth you self-righteous jackass! You're wrong, you're wrong, you're-- I didn't, I wouldn't, I--
[ The helplessly blissed-out cry that clashes against his clenched teeth his quite contrary. His knees grip the synth harder, hauling him forward on every inward thrust; an obscene slapping sound punctuates each zealously accepted lunge inward. His greedy motions whisper confessions he's still trying to deny; how much he adores every single second of this. ]
Val--Please--shut the fuck up-- [ Because really and truly, the synth gets under Hancock's skin the most by the wonderfully wicked things he says. And those (probably true) accusations, murmured so low and smug, are certainly no exception. It broke the virgin 'please' off his lips, in a moment of heightened fever. Frustrated, humiliated, oxidizing and aching, the ghoul turns his head away and teeters, trembling, over another drop into oblivion. ]
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[Nick's whole attention is on Hancock. He's enjoying the feel of fucking him, quite a lot, but that broken off please, the pounding of his pulse, and all the little details have Nick closer to tipping over that edge than anything. His hand shifts off Hancock's leg and, just for the feel of it, he draws fingertips along his persistently ignored cock. The feel of that, the way it makes the ghoul's muscles jump, has him dropping frames as he tries to capture it all.
Nick supposes he's a voyeur at heart, or he would, if he weren't so totally entranced by the show Hancock was putting on. (Both real and fictitious.) He wants nothing more than to knock the ghoul for another loop, to watch as he unravels, feel him do it while buried deep in him--but most of all he wants to feel the way his cock jerks as he comes. Nick's touch is light, largely out of an overabundance of caution, but he wraps his whole hand around Hancock's prick and strokes in slow duet with his thrusting.]
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Nick does go mercifully quiet, saving The Mayor the sweet-burning disgrace of a second orgasm without the slightest touch to his neglected cock. The trade off is brutal though, the physical touch triggering a different set of nerves to light and sing. He's out of the pan and into the fire but it doesn't matter because it's what he asked for-- this is all what he asked for and that thought throbs through him like the toll of a bell, vibrating.
A second crash is typically rougher than the first; Hancock's already raw and shattered, with nothing left in him to fight or repress the severity of this blissful assault on his senses. He thrashes harder, arches tighter, roars and cries out until his voice is failing, flickering to nothing but rasping breath.
There shouldn't be more payoff than the first round, but there is. Blame Nick's (Val's?) smart mouth for that one. The first climax had indeed made a mess but this time it's especially obscene, burst after moist burst painting the ghoul's gasping mouth and screwed shut eyes. He looks like he's taken far more than two rounds of bliss to the face by the time the last warm wet drops are wrung from his dick and spatter across his soiled skin.
Even when he goes boneless against the table, he's still breathing like there's not enough oxygen. He can't hold on anymore; his legs slide off of Nick's shoulders, only able to rest at a slack spread, still half-bent. It's as far gone, mind blown, fucked-stupid as he's ever been, but he's got no words to say so and he can hardly believe Nick brought him here, to this place of utter rapture.
The payback is going to have to be very, very sweet. ]
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He'd checked with the mechanist, during that bout of excruciating personaly conversation, and made sure there was a dead man's switch on his new junk. He didn't fancy the idea of himself dropping into a heap while sporting a leaking erection so: cut power meant cut hydraulics.
When Nick follows Hancock his new parts behave comparably to the old ones (albeit with less clattering metal on metal sounds and a somewhat smoother descent). He goes still, eyes blanking as his systems reboot. His grip, both the delicate on Hancock's dick and the hard one holding the baton, goes slack and both his arms and posture slump. His new generation legs last longer than the previous ones, they're better balanced. But Nick takes a while to spin back up, unlike his series 3 relatives. When they finally buckle, his softening dick slips out of Hancock and Nick falls into a loose heap at the side of the table.
Sure it looks dramatic and all that, collapsing always does, but Nick could not be happier with how this went--once he's rebooted, he'll be the cat who ate the canary. Absolutely insufferable in his delight.]
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That dead man's switch is a brilliant stroke of mercy. All the air abandons him when Nick Powers Downs, the ceaseless stabbing recedes and the ghoul's insides can finally recalibrate and stop overloading his nerves with pyrotechnics in fantastical explosions of color.
Hancock is fairly sure that it's his own legs creaking like that as he finally, tentatively corrects his posture to the best of his ability. His feet find the ground by the miracle guidance of gravity, and little by little, the severity of his breathlessness ebbs. Usually, resilience akin to the undead means Hancock can recover some level of-- something, while Nick cycles into reset mode. Even if his wrists weren't still shackled, Hancock cannot see it in himself to move one damn inch. If anything, the cuffs are keeping him off of the floor.
Ah-ha, there's that half a flicker of... not shame, but Jesus H. Christ, he kinda got into that didn't he? Real riled up? Bashfulness is probably a more accurate term. Shame implies regret.
Aaaand...
He's over it. Yup. No more Bashful feeling. (He's over it, god damn it. Also he needs to wash his... everything.)]
Nick [ his voice is absolutely trashed ] Hope ya... get up soon... I got an itch
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The old synth is a little distracted by the new feedback, but he pulls it together. He hasn't felt this refreshed and clear since he woke up in Acadia (well, much more clear than that, but it's a reboot thing). Hancock still looks absolutely fucked out, filthy and dangling from the table, wrists still--Oh, right.]
Remind me to leave the keys on the table next time, Doll.
[He has to fish around his various pockets for a moment before he locates them, jangling in his back trouser pocket, and starts uncuffing his thoroughly debauched boyfriend.]
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Unless he's about to observe the floor come right up under him. The ghoul's feet catch the ground but his knees go 'nope' and immediately fold. Exhausted, sweaty hands grab at Nick's arms just beneath the shoulders. ]
Oh shit there's the gravity...
[ Catch your boyfriend, Nick. ]
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Woah! Hey, I gotcha--
[And he does. It's awkward, shifting one arm under Hancock's and the other under his knees, but Nick manages to sweep him up into an easier carrying position. Hancock is a loose and limbless as Nick after a good crash and, for some reason, that just fills the synth with extreme satisfaction.]
Nice of you to try to join me on the floor, but I think we can probably crash somewhere more comfortable.
[Nick sures up his grip and starts for the stairs down to the main level of his fancy penthouse. His pants sag but that belt had been mostly for show. He still has a set of suspenders holding the waistband up, and he's glad for that even if it feels a bit silly to have his newest addition swinging in the breeze as he heads down a floor.
He's tempted to drop Hancock right onto bed but, given the mess across both of them, Nick opts for a different route. He turns on the lights with one of his elbows and the blue trim ticks on with a hum of neon. With just a touch of illumination, it's an easy walk to the bedroom but once he's through the door, he veers off to one side and heads for the bathroom. He hasn't had much call to try the absurd tub in this place, but given the state of him, dipping Hancock in hot water before depositing him between the sheets seems like a solid idea.]
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[ His limbs don't understand exactly how to operate, and the sated exhaustion that coils around his bones is damn pleased to be indulged. If the ghoul had enough energy left to grouse he would be complaining, without any real heart, about being toted around like either a blushing bride or a sack of flour (he's not sure which metaphor he likes better) but he doesn't. ]
Mmph... definitely the most incriminating part of that blackmail, right here
[ His words are all slurred with lethargy, exceedingly tender with affection. He cuddles right into the crook of Nick's neck and allows himself to be manhandled; it's extraordinarily debonair of the synth to wisk him around from room to room, and Hancock cannot help but feel prodigiously spoiled. His boyfriend is the best boyfriend, clearly. Lookit him here, just killing all the high scores, massacring the scoreboards without breaking a sweat. Because he can't. ]
Good thinkin'... guess I need a hose off
[ Hancock mutters with just a sprinkling of bashfulness across his typical sarcastic humor, as Nick eases him into the fanciest bathtub the ghoul has ever seen in his life. By some miracle of the gods, the taps in this place spit water and even the heating still works, a solid %75 of the time. The piping barely even screeches, as long as you find the right balance between the hot and cold faucets. ]
... Ya think you're waterproof enough to take a soak with me? Already died twice back there, once more would be the definition'a overkill
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[Nick shoots him a sidelong glance as he tries to strip Hancock while the water runs. Soaking his clothing with the running tap is really just a pre-wash, and isn't that fancy as all hell. Nick's dubious tone speaks volumes, but his arms sure aren't shorting out as he sticks them in the rising water. He considers whether or not to dive in after he fishes Hancock's boots and trousers out of the drink and sets them aside. The shirt is easier--the wool coat is heavier--he does have the good grace to look apologetic as he takes the hat, but even that didn't quite make it out of the interrogation unscathed.]
You don't plan on splashing, right?
[The pipes make a really encouraging squealing noise as he drains the last of the hot water from the tanks and into his tub. It's a little low, but with two people it'll be full enough. Nick shuts off the fancy taps and takes a moment just considering Hancock. He hadn't planned on trying his luck in a tub today, but he isn't exactly free from mess, himself. And it's not as if his clothes don't need a good once over with a rag...so it's easy to rationalize this crazy decision, but he doesn't really need to.
In the end it's not a hard decision to make, really, with Hancock looking all lovey-dovey and comfortable, asking if he's gonna join.]
Alright, scoot over.
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You are such a sweetheart, fussin' over me like I didn't get exactly what I wanted
[ It feels wonderful, the stupid-crazy romance of it all. Like this is some classy Live & Love Comic and Hancock's coat should be a red sequin dress. He does what appropriate, weak-limbed wriggling he can to assist in peeling off his sweat-soaked clothing. ]
Nice [ It's a small victorious declaration the ghoul makes to himself, like he's especially pleased with the accomplishment of convincing Nick into the tub with him (as though he did much more than lounge there like Ghoul Jello). Scoot over he does, to the best of his ability, which makes the water pull and ebb around each sluggish motion. In the low blue neon lights, to his tired darkness-toned eyes, the way the water churns and splits the blue glow is stunning. ]
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[Nick admits as he sets his hat aside and strips off his coat. He undresses casually--not because he's worried about partially submerging himself in water, or anything, because he isn't, he swears it. His trousers follow the rest of his discarded gear and, very last, he divests himself of his hat.
Hancock has given 'scooting over' the old college try but he hasn't managed much distance. Nick huffs a laugh and, since he's as refreshed and alert as Hancock isn't, he figures out the logistics. Turns out, the path of least resistance is to slide in behind Hancock rather than alongside him. Nick decides to do that and sits on the edge of the tub, but the moment he drops his feet in that plan goes a little sideways.
Nick's relationship to liquids is a fraught one, at best. He has never been consciously submerged in anything except for that plunge he took with the angler. Now, with his new watertight skin spanning all along him, it's safe enough that he doesn't need to panic. He did not, however, not account for how strange it would be to just...put parts of himself in warm water. His sensitive thermal sensors started going haywire the moment he stuck his feet in, tangled up in tracking the whorls and eddies that came along with fluid dynamics.
Nick ends up frozen for a long moment before he catches back up to himself.]
Oh, maybe this ain't such a great idea--[He's only in the tub up to his knees but he's already got more processor devoted to this than he likes. This is a whole new class of sensory interactions and Nick is not prepared--]
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[ Hancock is mildly impressed with himself for stitching together a whole couple of sentences like that. He needs... what's that thing he had up North? Fire Belly? That. A Far Harbor specialty that equates to a Hot Toddy. The ghoul coughs from deep in his chest to try and soothe the rawness inside his throat but it's not happening.
Whilst Nick undresses, Hancock cups the luxuriously warm water in his hands and splashes it across his face. He repeats the motion several times, the textures, dips, and rivets of his skin unkind in relenting the last traces of clinging mess. Then he shakes his head back and forth, not unlike a dog throwing off water.
His attentions tip back to Nick when the synth's legs dip into the water. There's no sudden spiderwebs of electricity across the liquid's surface, and so far, everything looks good. Well, almost. ]
Hey, s'alright [since Nick had aimed to climb in behind him, Hancock doesn't have far to go. The shades of weightlessness lent to him by the water makes it easier for his aching body to turn, so he can carefully catch Nick's eyes whilst placing a steadying hand on his knee. ] Water, m'I right? Shit's insane. If you're good like this? I'm good too. You can get in behind, sit right there, or towel off your legs if ya'd rather.
Just want the pleasure of your company, that's all. Bonus points if ya can keep makin' sure my heads above the water [ John's smile is so tender and attentive, it's almost hard to believe the guy will knife a back-talker just as quick as look at him. Guy's a cinnamon roll covered in blood, but you're dating him, Nick. ]
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It's not all that bad--just, a lot. Think I'll settle here for now.
[Nick hunches forward, bracing his arms on his knees, just because it seems a little less strange to chat with someone in a tub like this than with perfect posture. Hancock's wet hand on his knee is easier for his sensors to parse, less overwhelming and more familiar. The temperature gagues are having none of it, though, and insist on dancing back and forth at a fever pitch.]
Glad ya liked it. I, uh, sorta hacked your terminal for some of the logs, figured you wouldn't mind too much.
[Nick's not sure how he feels about hanging it in the actual office of the Mayor of Good Neighbor, but who is he to complain. It's Hancock's rap sheet.]
That was...pretty fun, I will admit. I get the appeal.
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[ The ghoul's hand slides back into the water with a casual 'plunk'. Nick seems... okay, and definitely not the type of guy that needs babying. Hancock is very much about letting people make their own mistakes, pick their own poisons as much as pleasures. It's more his style to let Nick move at his own pace, opposed to active fussing or encouragement.
Sometimes it's important for folk to do things of their own volition. Maybe that seems silly, when it comes to deciding exactly how far into a bath one should climb... but making decisions is a defining act of Self. Nick needs those, just like Hancock does. ]
Yeah I noticed as much. Gotta love the attention to detail on this guy-- you just put your whole heart into it, huh? Got me over here feelin' all twitter-patted.
Also don't think it would'a been half as fun if it wasn't with you. So uh... thanks, I guess? For indulgin' me. You're a knock out lover Nick, and a damn good friend. How'd a ghoul get so lucky?
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He huffs out a breath and, carefully, slides into the water behind Hancock. Neither of them are electrocuted but the wash of new readings has Nick stuttering for a few seconds. He can handle it and pulling Hancock into his lap and against his chest makes it easier.]
Keep all that in mind when I accidentally shock us both.
[Nick's not going to be able to stay in very long, not without a substantial risk of crashing, but he's going to enjoy a soft moment and wash himself off in the process.]
Gotta say, glad you agreed to go for a walk, get a drink.
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You... could never do this before, huh? Take a soak in a bath, or get too wet, even... and you're here poppin' another cherry with me?
[ Nick had been the one to choose his place, but Hancock is still reasonably cautious about leaning back against him too quickly. He had not, would not forget what Nick had taken the care to explain, how differently he experiences sensation. He imagines just 'water' is plenty for the synth's sensors, without a handsy ghoul suddenly all over him.
He is feeling lazy and cuddly though, so sated and oxytocin-buzzed. So melt back against Nick's chest he will, albeit a touch tenderly. ]
Uh-huh, and look where that got me. Guess I'm in love with a dumbass. Pretty much tracks for me, I got awful taste. [ he can't keep the smile out of his sore voice. ]
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Before, nope. Couldn't handle a light spritzing if it was aimed right. Even if it didn't short me, rust and corrosion are one hell of a thing...so yeah, guess I am.
Never really thought of it as a loss or anything, its amazing how clean a guy stays when he doesnt sweat, or consume food.
[One of these days he'd have to find a cherry of Hancock's to pop. There had to be one left lying around that Nick could take a stab at.]
not an ATOM bomb but....
[ Once it seems as though Nick's alright with the position and no one is going to get shocked, Hancock lounges without that fine skin of caution, resting more of his weight against Nick's chest. A long sigh rolls out of him but the emptiness it leaves it peaceful, not starving. The ghoul tips his head back and lets it thump against Nick's shoulder. ]
Hey... lemme ask you somethin'... and it's cool if the answer is 'I dunno', alright? What we're doin'... steppin' out together so much... you find yourself thinkin' about puttin' a label to it? Ain't a requirement, but... guess I'm just curious how you're feelin'
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A few flags fly up behind Nick's eyes, a confirmation check, a hundred or so warnings, but he clears them all and lets his sensory network drop off while he's--in a bathtub filled with water. Great idea, you overgrown calculator, it's not like those were important for tracking leaks or anything. Nick shoves his own self-rebuke aside and runs back what Hancock just said. Now that he's got a clean feed, he can give it the attention it deserves--which is all of it, the whole kit and kaboodle.]
Funny, didn't figure I was being subtle about it, what with the movie nights and this whole deal. [He also got a dick installed which has one major purpose and it's making this work better.
But he shouldn't be glib, Hancock's never asked anything like this, not even out on Far Harbor. This is clearly something he's had rolling around in his head and it deserves all that processing Nick freed up. Nick's used to not giving whole answers when the sum totality of the information is...iffy? He debates it for a moment here, but leans toward open truthfulness more than he usually would.
He's frankly shocked that Hancock wants a label, it's not his usual m.o..]
I'm pretty pleased with this whole arrangement, but I will admit, my sensibilities run a little more formal than yours. Never chafed me to be lacking a label, not something I expected, but if you're here for that sort of thing?
Well: yeah, labeling it is something I can get behind. Seeing how I love you and all.
I did mention that, right? [Nick asks again, and now he's being a cheeky shit, leaning over to ask that covertly against where Hancock's ear used to be.] That I love you? I feel like I must have. Seeing how I love you, I'm sweet on you, besotted, and hell, maybe just a dash adoring?
WILL YOU RP-DATE ME-- sorry, sorry, getting caught up in the mood ROFL~
Didn't I already tell ya? Interest, but no expectations?
[ To say the ghoul 'wants' a label might be an overstatement, but he's thinking about if he needs or wants to put a name on it. The answer might still be 'nah' but it's worthy of note that the thought crossed his conscious focus at all. He's certainly not regretting dropping the question though, not with how Nick sticks to him like a shadow and pours all manner of saccharine sentiment against his once-an-ear. ]
Ya might have, once or twice? Never hurts to remind me...
[ For such a shameless pleasure-seeker, he still finds himself surprised to be feeling such unadulterated happiness. There's not a scrap of tension in him either, as much as the zealous railing and warm water contribute, it's more than that. He trusts Nick. To be reasonable. To be honest. And in ways that struggle to be defined. ]
Don't exactly chafe me either, not puttin' a name on it. But I'm... percolatin' the possibilities
[ He's getting far too comfortable like this, considering how quickly (and fairly) Nick might have to jump out of the water to avoid Unpleasantness. His familair penchant of vying for a few more seconds of bliss returns to him like a shadow at dusk, and the ghoul makes himself a little more comfortable, melted contentedly against Nick's chest.
It's the closet thing to a perfect moment of happiness that has ever existed since the end of the damn world. ]
I MEAN. WE'RE WHAT 500 TAGS DEEP? ARE WE NOT? LMAO
What're you thinkin?
[Nick flips through the labels he knows like a rolodex. He's not too fond of Boyfriend, but that's just him chafing against the implied youthfulness of that response.]
I'm pretty partial to Partner and Paramour, all things being equal. Though partner does make it sound like we're doing a sting operation.
On GOD If it's not 500 yet it will be >:D
[ Hancock's eyes sink shut and the weight of his head settles more heavily against Nick's shoulder. He sifts through his own mental schematics, beliefs, wants... but without any needy, cloying desperation. Nick doesn't make him feel 'afraid' in that way-- like he's signing up to owe the guy anything he doesn't want to give, or vice versa. ]
Guess it's like this: I don't usually dive into stickin' a label on just havin' fun. Can make folk... twitchy. Expectations and such, and it ain't even strictly necessary. But... I love ya, and I guess it's feelin' like I could put some kinda name to that.
[ He's going to blame the sheer physical exhaustion for the difficulty he's having sticking his words together. He doesn't feel nervous... but he is taking the time to be extremely careful with how he puts his thoughts into words. Without meaning to, while even trying to avoid it, the ghoul has made Emotional Investments. He'll be more worried about that-- later. In the moment, with Nick and warm water and such open unexpectant affections... he just can't worry about the possible inversion of this joy; the ache it would leave if something he took the care to define as important was lost.
High Stakes typically yield High Rewards, though. ]
Also, while we're hashin' this. Lay on me your thoughts about changin' up dance partners, would ya?
[ The ghoul turns his head, languidly nuzzling his face against the side of Nick's neck. A cannibalistic species' inclination to go for the jugular as never been so utterly tender. ]
IT SURE WILL. BD
*/next week 1000+ tags in like whoops these things do happen LOL
Oh no...what a horrible fate...however will we deal...with massively invested PSL romance....
With Hyper-Fixating, Evidentially LOL */RP Joyfriend at your service*
JOYFRIEND that is a good term. Nick's gonna have to get him some tea.
*/grins in enby LOL also wanna close the scene here?
Yeah we can, this is a good spot.
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