#HES SO PRECIOUS HOLY SMOKES!!!

[sodorsteam]

OH, WHAT OH MY GOSH!!! dude he’s soooo pretty here!! those GORGEOUS EYES and that soft thick plush fluff, and thay delicate paw! he’s BEAUTIFUL! you did such a GLORIOUS DRAWING, IM SO SMITTEN!!

🚂💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜☠️!!!! I

i had a tough week with a lot of work and this was SUCH A LOVELY SURPRISE, GOODNESS! thank you so much for taking the time to draw my big silly train xD!!!!

This is for @sodorsteam

I just want to say I like how you do with your train I was I like how you do it and stuff and I hope you like mine I try my best on the fluffy and the fluffy fur stuff I'm not good at it but I try my best but I hope you like it 😁

And it was kind of pretty difficult to have like you did it and stuff but I tried my best on it I hope you don't mind on it 😅

I'm pretty bad speller 😓 so I hope you can read this better sometimes my sentence are not kind of right but here you go

But I hope you like it though 😁

[starkwlkr]

mum said no | lewis hamilton

an: i love hot ones <3 that’s all

After canceling many times, Lewis finally made his appearance on Hot Ones with Sean Evans. He was a big fan of the show so he was happy to finally get to be a guest. Not only was he a big fan, but so was his eleven year old daughter, Maeve, so naturally she accompanied him to the set.

Maeve Hamilton watched as her dad ate spicy wings and answered questions. When talking about Roscoe, Maeve payed close attention. She loved talking about Roscoe so much.

On the monitor, a picture of Roscoe and Maeve appeared. Maeve was wearing a black Lewis shirt that her mum had bought from an Etsy store while Roscoe licked her face. It was the British Grand Prix and Maeve, along with her sisters, was beyond excited.

“Look, Mavy, that’s you and Roscoe!” Lewis pointed to the screen. “That was taken last year. Do you remember?” Lewis asked his daughter.

Maeve looked at the picture and nodded. “Angela took it!”

“Is your family always at the races?” Sean asked.

“Most of the time during the summer, yeah. It’s always a great time when they’re in the garage, but when it’s school time, they stay home with their mum.” Lewis explained. “They don’t like that at all. But I always tell them education comes first.”

“But I get lots of good grades.” Maeve cut in.

“What’s your favorite subject?” Sean asked the girl.

“I like science.” Replied Maeve.

As the show went on, Maeve was seated next to the camera crew, laughing at her father. He was now taking bigger bites.

“You can do it!” Maeve cheered on.

“Thank you, baby. Love you.” Lewis chuckled and blew a kiss to the girl. “I can always count on my girls to cheer me on.”

“On the topic of family, is it possible that Formula One could get another Hamilton on the track? Or do they want to go into other careers?” Sean asked.

“At one point, they did say they wanted to, but now they’re discovering more careers that they’re interested in. I will support them in whatever choice they make.”

You and Lewis both knew that your daughters would never be Formula one drivers. You both talked about how hard it would be on them. He saw how fans were tough on Mick. He didn’t want his girls to go through that.

The wings got spicier and all Maeve could do was laugh at the faces Lewis was making. He drank milk but that barely helped. Tears were starting to come out his eyes. Maeve noticed and quickly went to her father’s side and used a clean napkin to clean the tears since she didn’t want him using his own hands that were covered in sauce.

“Thank you, baby.” Lewis said as Maeve cleaned up the tears.

“What kind of reaction do you get when somone pulls up alongside of you and then sees that it’s, you know, Lewis Hamilton behind the wheel next to them?” Sean questioned.

“Most people are just like ‘Holy Shit!’ um. . .” Lewis chuckled.

“They’re not revving their engine at you or anything?”

“I’ve had people, yeah traffic light that wanna race yeah.” He nodded. “Definitely when I was young, I felt like yeah. . . smoke this fool.” He laughed.

“This man wanted to race you yesterday!” Maeve spoke up. “Mum said no.”

“I got kids now!” Lewis laughed once again. “I got precious cargo, I can’t be fooling around.”

“And mum said no.” Maeve whispered to him.

“Yup, and mum said no.”

[distinguisheddwarffriend]

Inspired by that post about Thranduil being all defensive/protective over Gimli in Valinor:

We all know the head canon of Thorin being all "no nephew of mine even associates with an elf" BUT

Just imagine, in a world where all three Durins survived, and Tauriel saved Kili (again), and some other elf healed his and Fìli's wounds last minute.

Thorin saw both his nephews almost die before him, has LIVED through how the gold sickness twists the mind and perception of things, and after coming to terms with Bilbo's theft of the Arkenstone, he for a while questions EVERYTHING.

And yes, he totally has a dramatic phase of self pity, holing up in his rooms, drinking Elvish wine (cus thats all there is atm) and smoking Gandalf's pipeweed, and mourning how "everything i knew is a LIE" and "if elves can make such amazing wine there HAS to be some good in them" and "I almost got my boys killed I am such a failure boooohoooo", and after Bilbo kicks his ass out if depression (and a STRONG worded letter from his sister) he is like "okay FUCK y'all I have TRAUMA TM and will do WHATEVER I WANT!!"

So when Kili all shyly comes forward one day asking if Tauriel can please stay with them in the mountain because she's banished from the Woodland Realm he's all "OF COURSE she can stay, you do you my precious boy, if Thranduil is stupid enough to let such a great warrior go we'll stick it to him"

and BAM, Tauriel joins Dwalin in leading Erebor's guard, and Dwalin is torn between "excuse ME u want me to share my job with a pointy eared maiden?" And "holy hell that lass has fire can't show how impressed I am".

And Tauriel Takes No Shit even from her own boyfriend, so Kìli is forced to take his new responsibilities seriously because "I did NOT lose my home to live with a CHILD, Kili", and Fili gets dragged into the whole thing without really understanding what happened, but hey, his lil brother is happy so who cares really.

And whenever someone at council (like Dain) complains about an Elf in the mountain, Thorin goes absolutely FERAL like "are you saying I don't know what's best for this mountain I just won from A DRAGON?! are you suggesting that my perfect baby nephew has bad taste? Huh? Exactly, didn't think so!!!!" And is a protective Papa bear "listen Tauriel if someone gives you shit you SHOOT them. No, not killing them, but, you know, just maim them a little to make a point. Trust me I'm the king."

And once Kili and Tauriel have their first child Thorin constantly kidnaps the kid and has them in the forge before they can even talk because "need to keep up that good old dwarven influence".

Anyway I'll go cry myself to sleep now.

[iid-smile]

what they call you

gojo, geto, nanami, shoko, toji, shiu, ino

if they were dating you series.

gojo

baby, chimichanga, pookie

baby is simple, and he calls you that regularly. also uses it when he's whining and sulking, trying to persuade you do fo something or forgive him. if the two of you are just starting off in a relationship, then this is where he starts off.

i'm still on my gojo as deadpool saga </3 chimichanga would actually be cute though. chimi for short, ninja if he wants to tease you, 'chimi cha cha slide changa' if he's feeling silly, or some variation of that. at some point, he'd actually want to try chimichangas with you.

pookie seems so gojo... i can't even explain it. if he has instagram but keeps the identity of you private, your codename would be pookie.

geto

angel, beloved, lovely

angel because he would believe you're saving his life. or maybe it's the other way around idk... you'd be there to comfort him when times were extremely low, it's like you're a blessing to him.

to geto, you're definitely a number 1 priority, which applies to every category known to man. you're his beloved because he protects you and never wants you to get hurt.

lovely would sound so lovely from him </3 his voice is smooth, so every time it comes out of his mouth is just heaven.

bonus!!! even him just saying your name holds so much love and value, so sometimes it may even feel a little weird having him say a nickname instead.

nanami

darling, love, dear

the holy trinity of course. honey or sweetheart may or may not pop up here and there, but not as frequently. i can't even make them separate because they all have the same reasoning anyways. all of them just sound perfect. nicknames that show how precious you are to him >>> nicknames that highlight your beauty. i don't make the rules.

actually!!! nanami uses love when he's comforting you. subtle way to remind you that he does love you, no matter how you're feeling or what you think about yourself.

bonus!!! wife. just "my wife." husband nanami is so real for this. we all get it.

shoko

cherry/loosie, pretty, babe

cherry and loosie are cigarette references. it would sound so nice coming from her until you ask what it actually means or why she calls you that. they're usually said when you talk to her on her smoke breaks.

UGH i can just imagine pretty rolling off her tongue when she calls you before doing an operation. i think she'd call you pretty daily too, both noun and adjective, and especially over text.

i don't think she'd really use overly cute nicknames, so babe is just right. mostly used in casual conversation, or if any coworkers are around.

toji

girl/woman, mama, sweet/sugar

toji is a sassy man. if you just nagged or scolded him, would say "okay, girl?" with no regrets whatsoever. says it as if he's innocent too, doesn't even blink an eye, or even care when you (pretend to) get annoyed or offended.

no he doesn't want any(more) kids, but he does call you mama. kinda comes from the time when he would do sneaky links, but you don't need to know that. when you're doing domestic activities like cooking or doing chores, this one frequently slips out. it's on impulse and he can't help it.

not sweetheart, just sweet. if we're basing this off of post mamaguro toji, i think sweet would come from "bittersweet", because he'd probably feel that way after getting into another relationship. sugar just sounds right as well. get it? because it's sweet.

kong shiu

darling, princess, missy/mrs kong

he's a darling guy for sure. the right amount of formal, but he can make it sound like a tease when he wants to. mostly used when the two of you are at home.

shiu would make you his princess whether you like it or not. you're his passenger princess, so it's natural he just calls you princess on it's own. feel free to decorate the seat as well because he'd actually let you.

mmm... mrs kong. he'd start saying that a few months before he proposes to you, and you wouldn't pick up the hint at all. makes an emphasis on it when he says it as well, just because. when you guys knew each other only for a bit but nicknames seemed okay, missy was a top pick. imagine shiu's driving you somewhere and he does a lil glance and calls you missy while talking... mhm...

takuma ino

bubs, sunshine, queen

ino definitely calls you cute things, and this applies to all of the above. bubs, however, is on another level. when he gives you headpats (canon because i said so) he'd drop a compliment and call you bubs on top of that.

would say it when he wakes you up in the morning with a call or text. "good morning sunshine!" hello??? get me a man that would say that to me every morning WITHOUT FAIL (that's also canon because i said so) you'd be the light in his life and he won't let you forget that.

umm.. i have no solid explanation for this, but it feels right yk? ino would treat you like a queen honestly... in his eyes, you'd be at least ten levels above him and he means that.

bonus!!! he always uses loml over text. there's definitely multiple strings of you calling each other loml and seeing who can keep it up for longer in your messages.

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

[kiirotoao]

No but holy shit the implications of “I think there is someone he likes, because he has been acting… weird.”

Just imagine El’s confusion over her brother. California is obviously not that great for the Byers. In that very intro scene, we see El making her diorama (which, as sweet and lovely as it is, it ends up getting nothing but ridicule in school), Joyce getting frustrated with a client, Jonathan hurriedly hiding the fact that he’s smoking weed; things are not picture perfect. But Will? Will’s in his own world, in a dreamland of his own, holding to his friends and his life back home by painting it with a focused and tender look in his eyes.

While everyone at home openly struggles with something, our first glimpse of Will this season is something precious and untainted, a struggle that doesn’t develop until much later when he chooses to face his feelings.

We never see Will acting, quote, “weird.” Will has never really been a character that we see out loud. It all lies underneath. It always has. And when I think about that underlying struggle and yet deep fondness, it just. God, it breaks me.

Imagine Will months prior, starting up this project. He picks out a giant canvas, a page that covers his entire easel. Maybe this is his first time using paint as his medium. Maybe not. But whatever the weather, it’s bigger than anything we’ve ever seen him craft. Ever.

Imagine El’s excitement. She learns that Will is a great artist, and she knows it the minute he shows her a single piece. After that, she’s interested in his art, and yet… it’s at the worst time, because he doesn’t let her into his room, anymore. But she knows that he’s working on his easel day in and day out. The minute he’s home from school, he’s playing music, painting again. Maybe he throws out one or two torn-up drafts. Maybe he skips dinner over it. Maybe he ends up so tired that he’s fallen asleep with paint on his face and doesn’t even know it until she points it out.

She’s impressed and she wants to see what he’s doing, especially because he seems so passionate about it all the time, but he never lets her. He bites his lip and shakes his head. He guards it with his very life. And El is left wondering what has him acting so secretive. So nervous. What is the emotion, where is the energy coming from?

It’s out of place. It’s weird when moving to California isn’t as fun as whatever is on that canvas’ face.

So it must be love. Of course it is. Of course it’s for someone, some girl. What else could it be? What else would make Will seem that out of place, seem that… crazy?

And for all of it to be happening upward of six entire months? That painting didn’t take a day or two, I mean, look at it. It must’ve taken him weeks to get in every detail.

And all of it. Every little smile. Every dreaming thought. Every ounce of passion. Everything. Was because of Mike.

God.

God.

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 22 - Bleeding through bandages, "oh that's not good"

This is my 100th lu whumptober fic. how on earth has it been that many. holy CRAP. I have so many things wrong with me.

It's not the most amazing 100th fic, but unfortunately my sister gave me her awful cold, so here we are lol. thank you all for indulging my love for (beating up) these guys all these years <3

Warnings: eye injury (not in detail), blood

Ao3 link

————————————————————

The battle had been going fine.

Time and Twilight were alone in a forest, the others missing after a portal, but they were handling the lynel that had come across them just fine, dodging in and out, taking turns dealing blows.

They’d both taken some small hits, but nothing serious, and easily fixed once they got their hands on some healing supplies. Time wasn’t as familiar with lynels, but Twilight enough of their tricks that he was able to assist him where necessary. Even with the early-morning fog curling in tendrils around their feet, blocking the first golden rays of sunshine and lowering visibility, the battle was going fine.

Until Twilight dodged just a little too slow.

Time didn’t see exactly what happened. He’d flipped away from the lynel as it had swiped at him, dodged a furious charge, and then moved away to shelter from a plume of fire it launched at him. It was nearly dead, only a few hits left, and Time sheltered behind a tree for a few precious seconds while it finished blasting fire.

And as he came back out, he watched the lynel swing out and Twilight fly backwards, a cry coming from his descendant as he hit the ground.

Then made no move to get up.

Time yelled, heart stopping, and he ran for the lynel. Blood stained its blade, and fury rose in Time. The lynel snarled at him as he got between it and Twilight, and Time didn’t hesitate in slashing his claymore across its chest.

It snarled even louder, and Time danced around its blade, ducking and leaping to the side. He ignored every small injury plaguing him, ignored his sore arms and aching feet, and focused only on defeating the lynel.

It charged at him, blade swinging to take his head off, but Time leapt around behind it and stabbed the beast through its spine.

The lynel let out a dying roar, falling to its knees and collapsing in a puff of dark smoke and black blood, but Time only had eyes for Twilight.

Who still wasn’t moving.

A wolf’s agonized howl echoed in his memory, and Time bolted, memories flashing through his mind. He was unable to stop the visions that shot through his head of Twilight lying near death, Hyrule trying to heal him over and over, blood staining his fur, his skin, words they'd all thought would be his last whispered through trembling lips—

“Rancher,” he said frantically, falling to his knees beside him, “Twilight, can you hear me?”

He got a moan in response, and Time exhaled, trying to look at Twilight’s face. The small pool of blood on the ground was concentrated under his head, and Twilight had a hand clasped tightly over his right eye, his breath coming in short pants. Time tried to gently pry his fingers away, and Twilight whimpered, his uncovered eye squeezed tightly closed.

“Twilight, I need to see it,” Time said, stuffing his fear deep down where it couldn't reach him.

“Old man, I... it’s— it’s my,” Twilight gasped, still clutching at his face. “It— Time my eye—”

Time’s stomach lurched. “Twilight, move your hand. I won’t touch it, but I need to look at it.”

Twilight shuddered, and drew his hand away, bloodstained fingers trembling.

There was too much blood to tell how bad it was, but Time could see the line slashed across Twilight’s eyelid, practically in the same place as his own scar. He breathed in sharply, then took Twilight’s hand in his, warm blood smearing on his fingers.

“Okay,” he breathed, trying not to think about his own eye, how his markings had been seared onto him that same day, the pain both physical and mental clawing at him. “Okay. I’m out of healing supplies, I assume you’re the same?”

Twilight shakily nodded, and Time swallowed.

“Right. We’ll have to join up with the others, I know Legend still has a few left. I need to wrap this in the meantime,” he said in a voice calmer than he felt, and Twilight breathed out, giving him another small nod.

Time pulled out the roll of bandages he had in his bag, as well as a clean cloth. He helped Twilight sit up, leaning him on his shoulder, and carefully wiped away the worst of the blood that was around his eye.

Twilight flinched, knuckles white where they were balled into fists. Time didn't wipe everything, afraid of hurting him or making the injury worse, and started in on wrapping his face. He covered up Twilight's injured eye with swift, practiced movements, and though he was as gentle as possible, he could tell Twilight fought to keep himself still through it all.

Time had to keep Twilight’s head tilted to the side while he worked, and his throat tightened as he saw a tear escape Twilight’s other eye. He finished as quickly as possible, and Twilight slumped against his shoulder, breathing heavily.

His uninjured eye cracked open, and Time carefully helped him stand, Twilight leaning heavily against his arm.

“Alright, I’m sure the others are close,” Time said, looking ahead into the fog, and ignoring the few twinges of pain he got as he adjusted his hold on Twilight. “Just hold on for me for a little while."

Twilight nodded wearily, and they got moving.

(...)

Time hadn’t been keeping track of the time as closely as he should have been, but he still knew they should’ve found the others by now.

Twilight was still walking, somehow, and Time carefully supported him, blood drying on his fingers as he and Twilight traveled through the foggy woods. Faint beams of sunlight glittered through the fog, catching on golden birch leaves, but Time wasn’t focused on the scenery at all.

Just on any sign of the others, and Twilight's quickly fading strength.

Twilight’s steps faltered a little, and Time clasped his arm, keeping him upright. Twilight sighed wearily, the noise shaking, and Time gave his arm a light squeeze. They kept walking in silence, though Time's thoughts roared with memories and worry and barely held-back panic. So much so that he almost missed it when Twilight spoke.

“Was... it like this f’r you?” Twilight murmured after a bit, and Time blinked.

“What do you mean?”

Twilight stepped carefully over a root, leg shaking. “With your... eye.”

“Oh,” Time said blankly, putting a hand to his own face. The scar itched, but he ignored it. “No, not... not exactly.”

“...Kitchen accident, then?” Twilight asked, and Time couldn’t help his snort, shaking his head.

“No, though Malon knows I have plenty of nicks from that sort of thing. I step foot in a kitchen and suddenly everything is out to get me,” he sighed, and looked over at Twilight. Then stiffened.

The bandages he’s wrapped carefully over Twilight’s eye were stained red.

“What’s wrong?” Twilight murmured, blinking at him with his working eye. Time carefully put his hand on Twilight’s cheek, tilting his head to the side, and bit back a curse as he saw how red the bandages were.

They’d almost entirely soaked through.

He’s bleeding too much, he’ll lose his eye, you'll have to watch him fade away again—

“You’re still bleeding a lot,” Time admitted, trying to keep the worry from his voice. Twilight frowned, and lightly put a finger on the bandages, wincing as he felt how damp they were.

“Oh. That’s not good,” he mumbled, and Time resumed walking, a little faster than before.

"Maybe we'll find a fairy around here," Time tried to reassure, remembering blood-soaked bandages wrapped around Twilight's middle, his descendant barely able to even raise his hand up. Ignoring the voice in the back of his head wondering if Twilight still couldn't be healed by normal means, if the Shadow still had some kind of grip on him even though it had been weeks.

"Maybe," Twilight said quietly. "I hope... so."

Time walked faster.

The fog around them began to dissipate, the water melting away as the sun rose higher. It was becoming a truly beautiful morning, but Time wanted to scream at the sky as Twilight leaned on him more and more heavily, arm shaking where it was slung over his shoulder.

Twilight was fading, and he was helpless to stop it.

Again.

“Time?” Twilight asked after another few minutes, and Time hummed. “Am... I gonna lose my eye?”

Twilight’s voice was small and scared, no doubt intensified by the blood loss. Time swallowed, and squeezed his arm, trying not to think back to those first days when he wrestled with the fact that his eye was no longer his own.

“I can’t promise anything,” he admitted quietly. “But the others have potions and fairies. And if those fail I’m confident in our traveler’s healing abilities. He saved you once, after all.”

Twilight’s lips upturned in a tiny smile. “True. H-he’s stubborn.”

“Indeed," Time said gently, and shifted his grip again. "You'll be fine, rancher. You'll be fine."

He wasn’t sure if he was saying it for Twilight's benefit or his own.

Twilight hummed wearily, and Time dragged him onward, ignoring the blood beginning to slip down Twilight's cheek, his face almost as pale as the fog still fading around them.

You'll be fine. Please be fine.

I can't take another loss.

The woods stretched on. Time kept walking. He was nearly carrying Twilight now, his descendant white as a sheet and shaking whenever he so much as took a step. Time tried to distract him by asking questions, remembering what Warriors usually did when one of their number was injured, and each response Twilight gave was more unintelligible then the last.

Twilight's legs finally gave out on him at one point, and Time hefted him onto his back, Twilight's head lolling as it fell against his shoulder. Time jogged as fast as he could, his mind whirling with options and last-ditch ideas, the mask humming in his pouch next to an instrument of near-equal power.

He lost himself in his desperation, world fading down to nothing but his rapid footsteps and Twilight's panting breath, blood staining his neck.

And Time was so intent on getting Twilight help, that when the help finally came, he almost didn't realize it.

"Old man! What happened?!"

Time jumped, hand going to his sword, but then the others appeared out of the last vestiges of fog, faces shocked and worried.

Relief slammed into Time like an avalanche, and he sank to his knees, pulling Twilight off of his back with shaking hands.

"It's his eye, a lynel," Time panted, realizing abruptly that he was out of breath. "I was too far, he needs..."

"Healing, gotcha," Legend said with a nod, and he began fishing in his bag, Time holding tight to Twilight.

The others gathered around as Legend fished around, checking their own bags for supplies just in case. Four stood next to Time’s elbow, watching Twilighth intently, and patted Time on the arm, giving him a gentle look.

"He'll be okay old man," he said softly, and Time nodded, holding Twilight even closer as Legend pulled out a fairy from his bag.

"I know," he replied, eyes never leaving the fairy. "I know."

So why am I still shaking? He wondered as she spun around Twilight, gentle sparkles falling from her wings.

Twilight visibly relaxed as she finished, and Time carefully pulled the blood-soaked bandages from his face, sighing in relief at the sight of Twilight’s eye. There was a faint pink line scored across his face still, and blood encrusted all over the place. But the wound had been healed. And it looked like the scar would barely be visible.

“Well if there was any doubt you two are related, I think that’s gone now,” Warriors said lightly, and a few chuckles went up.

“Yeah wow, do eye injuries run in the family?” Wild asked, the deep worry that had been on his face carefully banished.

“Very funny,” Time said with an eye roll, managing to keep his voice from shaking. Twilight shifted in his arms a little, and he tuned out of the conversation that ensued, looking down at him.

Twilight cracked open his good eye, and smiled weakly at Time, still white as a sheet from losing so much blood. Time returned it, albeit shakily, and held his descendant close, gently picking dried blood from his hair.

“Stop scaring us like that,” he whispered as the others chattered lightly around them, seemingly unaware of how terrified Time had been.

Twilight merely nodded, and curled into his hold a bit more.

[wonysugar]

it’s so over for me…. ch. 12

wdym y/n’s drunk??

word count: 2.9k

warnings: alcohol, weed and sex!! :]

tags: puppy kink, spitting kink(?), sub!aeri, dom!yn, bathroom sex, it’s a college house party idk what to tell you,,

there you were, in the middle of this horrible-decision-making-young-adults infested place, clothed in what you swore you wouldn’t even consider wearing. look, there was nothing else you could’ve done, it was around 11pm at the time, every store was closed, and even if they weren’t, you had like, no money. you had to work with what you had which was apparently a bunch of fuckass warm hoodies and sweatpants.

stopping yourself from just standing somewhere just observing everyone having fun, you decided to walk around after a bit. squeezing yourself through the unending piles of people drinking and smoking just by the front door. it reeked of marijuana as soon as you entered the house, but honestly, it was a college house party, what were you expecting?

at the corner of your eye, you spotted your two surprisingly decently dressed best friends, heejin and kazuha, standing next to the very cliche, very heavily liquor-filled red cups. heejin was wearing a black crop-top that very much showed cleavage with a black short skirt, the outfit completed by thin fishnets and thick black boots. kazuha, went for a more cozy look and wore a baggy white long-sleeved shirt under a brown graphic tee. her baggy pants were black and matching with her black and white converse.

you quickly rushed to get to them, waving at them as you still squeezed through. soon enough, they noticed you as you got out of the huddle of students.

“..what are you wearing.” heejin raised an eyebrow, her eyes slightly widened at the sight of the god-awful clothing before her. you shrugged, also eyeing her up and down.

“look. you know that i had nothing to wear! actually, let’s not mind my clothing, you wanna talk about the fact that you dressed up like a gothic slut?” you teased back, earning a small, amused oohh from kazuha.

“this is a college party, y/n, not bible study. everyone here is supposed to dress up like whores.”

you both subtly looked at kazuha’s attire, her innocent face looking back at the both of you just making the whole ‘loser girl who got lost on her way to the gaming café’ vibe look even more ridiculous. it’s okay though, she looked gay and confused enough to attract girls.

-

ning and aeri were watching this very random guy who’s been doing a very random handstand for about 20 minutes whilst everybody was hyping him up.

“holy shit he’s so fucking red.. he might actually faint from this oh my god??” said aeri, wiping away her tears of laughter with her finger while still cackling hardly at the scene. she was being careful not to damage her nails in any way. i mean, she got them done three days ago, they were precious.

ning glanced away to contemplate if throwing this party was even a good idea in the first place, that’s when she saw you watching your friends down whole cups of vodka and laughing with them.

well that answers her question!

she nudged a still laughing aeri with her elbow, annoying smirk plastered on her face as she still watched you from afar. “aeri, look at this.” she said, eventually, said girl looked in the same direction, still barely getting over the dude that was circled by people while he was practically doing acrobatics, “huh, what’s up?”

“isn’t that your girlfriend? you should go talk to her.” ning suggested playfully, earning a scoff from aeri. “also what the fuck is she wearing.” she quietly added, not realizing that she said that sort of outloud.

“i’m not going over there, she’s gonna like, judge me.” said the japanese girl, now gently rubbing on her arm as her expression morphs into one of worry. aeri uchinaga displaying nervous tics? that’s new.

“aeri, you’re the most popular girl on campus, everybody wants to either be you or be with you. if y/n l/n judges you, then you can jus-“

“where the fuck is jimin? we’re already all out of booze, god damn it.” minjeong interrupted, crashing into the conversation with absolutely no care about what they were talking about beforehand, which was typical minjeong behavior, so they weren’t offended.

“i don’t fucking know? probably making out with some girl?” aeri responded, wearing a cocky smirk while ning chuckled. it was very, and i mean very probable that jimin was doing someone right now. sure, she pretended to be homophobic when it came to aeri for shits and giggles, but that girl basically fucked everything she found remotely attractive. and that, included lots of girls and boys on campus, who were also coincidentally all rich?

“oh how lovely. well, we all wonder when that’s gonna be you with y/n! you fucking bitch..” she shoves her cup onto aeri as she mumbles that last bit then glares at both of the girls before walking away. in minjeong’s language, that basically meant “okay, thanks for letting me know! love you!” so they just sent her her way with a wave that she didn’t even get to see. ning immediately then turns back to aeri.

“okay, so, like i was saying! you should just be cool, unbothered, nonchalant. you know what i mean? who cares if she rejects you, there’s plenty of fish in the sea.” she said, trying to reassure her best friend and pretending like she didn’t completely rat aeri out to y/n not even a week ago at starbucks.

aeri, in return, only gave her an even more worried look, the one that she usually had whenever she sighed deeply and went “ughhh i don’t knowww..”, but this time she just stayed quiet. she was gonna have to watch from afar, yet again.

ning eventually gave up on convincing aeri to talk to you and went to go have well-deserved fun which meant finding minjeong and grinding on her just to piss her off. aeri, on her side of the room, was leaning on the wall and just kept staring at you, dramatically drowning in her own despair as she took small sips of her drink, sighing and biting her lip.

that’s when you two made unintentional eye contact, the both of you feeling awkward and quickly looking away, the ‘wanting to sneak a glance at someone but not knowing they were already looking at you in the first place’ cliche, if you will. that’s when aeri decided she needed to grow some balls! she exhaled sharply, taking one big gulp of her vodka, then gripped the cup in her hand for security.

she was gonna talk to you tonight, whether you liked it or not.

the next time you looked at her from across the room, she was already staring you down, which caused you to look back at her, trying your hardest to look intimidating, and also somewhat hot? you ran your hand through your hair, grabbed your drink from the table next to you and took a sip, holding very intense eye contact with her. the alcohol went down your throat, spiky, and you did your best in not grimacing. you were also hoping this wouldn’t start anything violent, considering that heejin went to go dance and kazuha was probably somewhere in the house, standing in a corner playing candy crush on her phone, so you were kinda powerless in this situation.

seeing you stare at her like this, all while swallowing some strong ass alcohol as if it was a regular tuesday for you turned her on way more than she’d like to admit. it infuriated her how pretty she found you in your ridiculous, bland, stupid, cute outfit. oh she was livid. she took one or two step towards you as she was practically guzzling down her drink, as if to challenge you.

oh it was on.

-

“heyy kazu, have you seen y/n? i can’t find her, she’s not upstairs nor is she in the basement.” heejin asked, leaning on the table. she wasn’t exactly worried about where you could’ve been, just weirded out. you’d usually stay in one place for a whole event then go home after a few hours.

kazuha, looked around, slightly tipsy, but still being able to articulate proper words, “uhhhhh no? last time i saw her she was downstairs chugging down booze. knowing her, she’s probably drunk as fuck right now.”

heejin furrowed her eyebrows hearing that whole sentence, “drunk?? what do you mean y/n’s drunk, she never gets drunk???”

-

you snatched the random vodka bottle that was conveniently next to you, ignoring the wasted frat boy whining and telling you to put it back, then you take a step of your own towards her. you very aggressively take off the lid of the bottle and chug it down, which you very quickly realized was a really bad decision. since you barely drank in your day to day life, you were already sorta drunk, so making out with the bottle and drinking all of its fluid was not helping. you felt your vision go blurry.

several, and i mean several minutes of taunting each other, getting voluntarily tipsy out of your minds and getting progressively closer to each other, you ended up face to face. her hooded eyes piercing through yours. her face slightly flushed from alcohol. her bottom lip swollen from the amount of times she bit into it while looking at you and oh my god her eyeliner looks really really really well done? you wished you could do it as good as he-

focus, y/n. this is war. confront her, ask her why she’s this much of an asshole all the time, why she’s been on your ass ever since you quote retweeted that definitely-not-pretty-at-all picture, why she totally has a big humongous lesbian crush on yo-

suddenly, you felt her lips on yours, hungrily kissing you, seemingly not giving a fuck about who sees. her hands roaming your body, gently tugging at your hoodie as she made out with you.

what the fuck?

what the fuck??

wow her lips felt nice?? you confusingly kissed her back, with just as much desperation. you couldn’t lie that the kiss was making you feel some sort of way, especially with the manner that her hands sneakily cupped your ass as you allowed her tongue to roam your mouth, quietly whimpering at the feeling. she wouldn’t hear it anyways, not only was she completely out of it, but the music was also too loud to even hear anything of the sorts.

she pulled away for a quick while, hazily smirked at you and gently grabbed your wrist, leading you into what seemed like… the bathroom? you really couldn’t tell, your vision was a blur. you quickly put the bottle somewhere on a counter close by before entering the restroom.

the only thing on your barely functioning mind at that moment was kissing aeri again.

-

“there you are. i’ve been looking for you for what felt like hours.” said minjeong, staring down at a red-eyed jimin, sitting on the couch holding a lit and rolled up joint whilst giggling.

“sorryyyy, i was exploring this one girl’s body right then some really hot guy joined in? shit was wild minjeongie you should’ve been the-“

“i don’t give a flying fuck about all of that yu jimin, we’re out of booze, fix it. quickly.” coldly ordered the shorter girl as she crossed her arms, making the taller one groan annoyingly.

“oh my goddd girl, i put a bottle on the table downstairs, just drink from that.” whined jimin, taking yet another puff of her almost finished joint.

“yeah, i was going to until y/n took the bottle. i have no fucking clue where she put it, so get up and go get more.”

-

there you were, leaning on one of jimin’s bathroom doors, hand on the knob to block anyone from entering. aeri was pinning you to it, her head in the crook of your neck, kissing and licking on it while her hands rest on your waist, fingers occasionally digging in.

your top was off, because according to her, “it needed to go”, which could mean multiple things ranging from sexy to just mean, but you were too drunk to even comprehend simple words, so you shrugged it off and just took off your hoodie for her, leaving you with only your bra.

with time, she went further down with her mouth, getting to your collarbone and placing hungry kisses there, then to your barely clothed boobs, where she did the same thing. you could feel her smiling stupidly against you as she kissed them, then she wrapped her arms around you, unhooking your bra.

she put her mouth on one of your nipples as soon as they were exposed, making you gasp at the sensation that was amplified by 10, thanks to the alcohol you consumed earlier. one of her hands now groping your other tit and playing with the bud. you felt her other hand tease your lower stomach, slowly sliding it down your sweatpants.

“fuck aeri..” you quietly moaned out, feeling her smirk against you yet again, gently rubbing her long fingers on your clothed and embarrassingly wet cunt. it angered you, how horny she got you.

she pulled away from your chest, looking at you cockily as she slightly tilted her head, “you’re so wet for me y/n, i thought you hated me?” she scoffed.

does she ever shut up?

you rolled your eyes, now annoyed, “god, you’re so fucking infuriating.. use your mouth for something good for once and just eat me out already. you’re the one who dragged me in here, so shut the fuck up and do something.” you saw how aeri’s smirk dropped a tad bit, oh how it amused you. she definitely wasn’t expecting you to be this.. demanding. it, very surprisingly, turned her on. a lot.

she was always the one doing the talking, she was always doing the ordering, now why were you always the one to make her discover things about herself, damn it?

you groaned at her. she was looking at you like some baffled dumbass. you grabbed her straightened long brown hair in a swift motion, earning an unexpected but very welcomed whine from her.

“did you not hear me? take my pants off and get on your fucking knees, i don’t have all night.” you sternly said, watching how her eyebrows furrowed, she really didn’t like the idea of you being in control of things and it showed. yet, she obeyed, like the good little bitch she was, she obeyed.

as soon as she pulled your pants and panties down, aeri got on her knees and looked up at you with glossy eyes, probably tearing up from the pain she felt on her scalp when you pulled on it. that poor girl, her expression a mix of anger, lust and fear of what you might do to her.

in response, you could only chuckle, seeing her this vulnerable looking, completely at your mercy, it did something to you. you never thought you’d enjoy this, especially due to the fact that you’re usually the submissive one in these types of situations, but it seems like the alcohol was doing the speaking for you.

“come on, get to work puppy.”

she kept eye contact, exhaled heavily as she closed her eyes a moment, giggled nervously as she mumbled a small ‘what the fuck am i doing.’ then, ended up going in.

her tongue gave small puppy licks to the entire surface of your slit, messily tasting the slick that was coated all over it, eventually teasing also your folds and entrance. you threw your head against the door you were leaning on, running your hand through her now not-so-straight hair, so intoxicated that you couldn’t control the noises that came out of you, you just kept calling out her name, you just kept muttering how much of a good bitch she was being for you, and she loved every second of it.

aeri, apparently was too, heavily intoxicated, because whenever she gave a suckle to your clit, or even when she inserted her tongue inside of you, she just couldn’t help but let out every noise that wanted to come out of her mouth. humming and moaning your name against your core, even digging her new nails into your hips and thighs.

“open your mouth baby.” you ordered, running your thumb across her wet bottom lip.

“m-mhm.” she moaned, looking up at you with teary eyes, her mascara running down her cheeks, her eyebrows upturned as she stuck out her numb tongue. you spat in her mouth, still rubbing her lip with your thumb. she didn’t even bother to question it, she just swallowed it like the stupid, desperate whore she is for you.

despite how exhausted you might’ve been, despite how blurry everything was to you at that moment, despite how confused you still were about everything, one thing you did know was that she was making you feel soooo good, you couldn’t stop using her pretty mouth, so much so that you planned on using it all night long.

-

“no seriously where the fuck is y/n?? i’m not leaving without her jimin.” yelled a very worried, very tipsy heejin, screaming at jimin while kazuha, the only one remotely sober at that moment, held her back from jumping the other girl.

“damn girl, relax.. your friend is probably somewhere upstairsss.. i’ll send her off tomorrow whenever she wakes up, okay? now please, leave.”

and just like that, the door was slammed shut on both of your best friends’ faces. they processed all of it, then had to call a cab to get them home safely.

while in the car, they were both praying you were okay, and that you were sleeping soundly somewhere in that house.

they thought of every possible scenario that could’ve happened to you,

but aeri tonguefucking you all night in the bathroom definitely was not one of them.

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[munson-blurbs]

Argyle x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: literally just Argyle being the sweetest during sex with his pregnant girl.

WC: 820

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), pregnant!Reader, Argyle calls Reader "mama" (but no mommy kink), allusion to daddy kink

A/N: shoutout to @chatteringfox for being the most feral over Argyle with me--not only for this fic, but also 24/7. Also, happy birthday Eduardo Franco. Sorry that we want to have your stoner babies.

--

Argyle was always gentle during sex. He held you as though you were the most precious thing to him, pressing soft kisses down the column of your neck. Even when you were on top, he’d languidly roll his hips upwards to meet yours, never once rushing through or chasing his own orgasm until he was certain you’d gotten yours.

Part of that could be attributed to the marijuana haze he kept himself in, but the primary reason was simply because he loved you so much and wanted to savor every moment.

Now, he braced his arms on either side of your body, groaning as he slid inside you. You were so wet for him, so eager and ready, a regular occurrence since you’d entered your second trimester. The nausea had subsided and had been replaced with an influx of hormones that had you craving his touch every second of the day. 

“Fuck, princesa,” Argyle murmured, sucking in a sharp breath. “How do you always feel so goddamn good?”

You could only whimper in reply, relishing in the way his happy trail brushed against your bump. Your fingers dug into his back, drawing him even closer. His raven curtain of hair draped over one side of you and tickled your bare arm.

Now fully seated within you, Argyle lifted one hand and let his thumb graze over your left nipple, his tongue swiping over the right. It was too much; the feel of him playing with your breasts was overstimulating on its own, but then adding in the additional sensitivities of pregnancy…

“A-Args,” you whispered, your breath hitching in your throat as he kissed you.

“Yeah?” The word, said against your lips, sent vibrations through your body.

It was impossible to concentrate with him filling you so perfectly. Every thrust was both lazy and intentional, the kind of movement that simultaneously said ‘I’m safe with you,’ and ‘I’ll take care of you.’

“S’too much.” Your eyes met his, and all at once he understood. This wasn’t you being a brat or teasing him for more. 

The hand on your breast moved to your side and caressed your bump with a tenderness you’d only ever imagined before Argyle. You relaxed into his touch and allowed yourself to be immersed in all of him. 

Argyle would always be Argyle, true to his core. The whites of his eyes were tinged pink from smoke. His fingers were strong and perfect for massages (a back massage was, ironically, how you’d ended up pregnant). The scents of cologne, weed, and flour mingled together and created an aura so utterly and uniquely Argyle. 

“‘S that better, Mama?”

And, oh, did that denomer do it for you. 

Your half-lidded eyes widened, your own movements temporarily stalled as you processed what he said. 

The corners of Argyle’s mouth curved into a gentle smile the moment he clocked your reaction. “Such a beautiful Mama, having my baby. Y’know,” he nipped at your bottom lip, “I always thought you were beautiful, from the moment we met. But now? Holy shit, s’like I didn’t even know what beauty was until now.”

Wrapping your legs around him, you pulled him in even deeper, eliciting a groan from both you and him. 

“Little faster,” you urged him. “I’m so fucking close.”

Argyle tucked his lips into his mouth, focusing solely on giving you what you needed. He thrusted into you faster than before, each movement sending a ripple of pleasure through your body. 

“C-Can’t hold out m-much longer, Mama.”

You nodded and threaded your fingers through his hair. “S’okay. I’m right—right—oh my god, yes!”

Your orgasm wasn’t gradual; it crashed into you with unfounded speed. You could feel every inch of him, the ridge between the head of his cock and the shaft hitting your sweet spot and making your toes curl. 

“Baby—Princesa—I’m c-coming,” Argyle panted, his breath warm against your neck. “That’s it, fuck, take it. Take my cum. Take it all…unngh.”

Argyle spilled into you with everything he had. His grip tightened around you as though he was grounding himself, lest he wake up and realize it was all a dream. 

Lucky for both of you, this was reality. 

He flopped down on his back, his bare chest heaving as he came down from the high. Perspiration darkened the thatch of hair between his pecs. 

“So.” Argyle turned his head to look at you. “Being called ‘Mama’ really does it for ya, huh?”

You gave him a wry grin. “Apparently.”

“Good to know.” He breathed out. “Good to know.”

“Why, you plan on using that to your advantage?”

He laughed and pulled you closer, letting his hand rest on your tummy. “I would never,” he said mockingly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Good.” You shifted so you were facing him, mischief dancing in your eyes. “Because then I just might have to see how you’d react if I called you ‘Daddy.’”

--

[junedenim]

a vision trip

part 1 part 3

one day with a familiar face in a foreign country

word count: 10.4k

It's May in Paris. The breeze is light and the air is sweet. Alex sits in a cafe, picking at his nails, waiting. He nurses a coffee, but it's too bitter, and he's too nervous to ask for sugar or cream. He debates ordering food but decides to wait for his counterpart. He's tired. Too many shows and an overwhelming amount of traveling. There isn't much keeping him awake other than the people bustling around him and the person he's awaiting.

She was supposed to be here at 12 and it's 12:10 now. He won't complain. He isn't one for punctuality either. He can't think about the show tonight. It's draining but he'll soak up every minute of it. He just doesn't want to wait. He wants to take a nap. He'll wait 10 more minutes and then leave. It's fair enough.

He's tapped out. People-watching in Paris is quite a thrill. People sitting outside are smoking and he wishes he picked a seat out there so he could at least have a cigarette keeping him awake. There's a couple across the street either arguing or just passionately talking. It's hard to tell the difference.

Then, the chair across from him screeches across the floor loudly, drawing his eyes up. All the color drains from his face, his ghostly appearance recognizing the phantom that stands before him. His heart has fallen out of him. It's lying on the floor somewhere, the blood spurting out of it. Alex is certain he has fallen and hit his head and this is the dream sequence that plays in the movie. He's lost in a circle of time. It could be minutes or seconds, he sits there with his mouth begging to catch flies.

She smiles. That same fucking smile. Bright, pearly, the kind she'd give that made him want to lean in and kiss her. She looks the exact same. Even has a bandana on, although, now it's tied around the back of her head, holding that blonde hair back. It's longer now. She's dressed in jeans and a blue-and-white pinstriped button-up. It's almost like they are matching. Could be, if they wanted to with his trousers and white button-up.

He blinks like twenty times trying to clear his vision, make sure of this sight. Confirm this is real. It stays the same. "Holy fucking shit," he finally utters.

Her smile grows wider. "Wow," she sighs, "your French has gotten much worse. You're supposed to say bonjour."

Alex finally allows a smile to crack his face, despite his certainty that this can not be real. "What—what are you doing here?" His brows furrow, still unable to take in her whole image.

She takes off the saddle bag. It's leather this time. Not her old cloth one with the pins. She sits fully down in the chair across from him. A wide smirk displays across her face as she rests her head on her left hand. "Interviewing you."

As if this interaction couldn't get crazier and his jaw could possibly hang open wider. "Seriously?"

She gives him a pleased nod. "I don't usually do music but someone atmy work mentioned the Arctic Monkeys concert coming to town and the opportunity for an interview and I begged my boss."

He tries to quail his quickened heartbeat but she isn't making it simple. None of this is simple and he's gone dazed and crazed. He must have. "I can't believe you're here. You're in front of me. I feel like you're so calm and I've completely lost it."

"Well, I knew I would be seeing you again for about a month and I tried to regain my cool in front of the bathroom mirror for about 45 minutes. Do you want to go do that?" She points behind her to the toilets with a dream-inducing grin. She's proud of that joke.

"I might have to. Go in there and se branler." He motions jerking off loosely with his hand and it gets that precious fucking laughter out of her.

"You remember any French other than that?"

He gives a quick shake of his head. "No, not really." Prompting more laughter from her. He stares at her, giving her a thorough examination. "I can't fucking believe it. It's been 11 years, you know, how fucking crazy is that?"

"Don't tell me that." She rests her forehead in the palm of her hand. "I'm still trying to deal with turning 30 and that was 2 years ago."

He's amused by her. It's 11 years ago and yesterday for him. He feels they've snapped right back into place. No time has shifted and they are 21 again and this is what life would have been like if they had July in Paris. "So, you finally figured out your life," he recalls her ramblings. Revels in them.

She shrugs. "For the most part. It took a while but we're here. It was kind of, well, our day in Brussels helped point me in that direction. You probably don't remember"—he remembers everything, seriously—"but you made this compliment about how I had all these good questions or something and I thought, after you, well, told me about the whole band thing, and I figured out how big you actually were that I could do that for a living. Interview people. I don't usually do rockstars though not since you."

A thumping rings in his red-hot ears. He tries to take a deep breath and has to try several times. "What do you usually do?"

"Mainly the art section. I go to at least a dozen gallery openings every week but I love it."

"It sounds perfect for you. You helped me understand Magritte."

She smiles with pride. "You always had a keen eye. I only pointed you in the right direction."

He lets out a puff of air loudly and shakes his head. He doesn't look down at his hands but already knows they're shaking. "I'm sorry. I just can't fucking believe you're in front of me. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

She giggles. "I didn't really either."

He becomes a tad solemn as he leans on his hand, closer to her. "Can I ask you something?" She nods. "Why didn't you come to the Paris show?"

She leans back in her chair and her demeanor shifts. She's remorseful-looking and toying with her hands. He supposes that habit has stayed the same. "I wanted to. I tried to be but I had got into this journalism program in Boston. I saw you there but I didn't think you'd want to see me after ditching you in Paris. I didn't really know how to get backstage or anything either. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't be sorry. Why did you think I wouldn't want to see you?"

She tries to hide her face. "I swear I wasn't searching you up every night and stalking you but I saw you and your girlfriend back then, uh, Alexa. Didn't want to impose on anything because that was back when I didn't have the belief of women and men being friends."

"Like Harry Burns? I'd want to see you no matter what." He doesn't want to admit to her how hurt he was by her not showing up in Paris. How her name had been on every backstage list for the Favourite Worst Nightmare tour. Let alone that embarrassed trolling around Paris he had done. His start with Alexa, however serious that relationship ended up becoming, was rooted in getting over Lottie. He still hadn't fully dealt with that last part. Not until she sat in front of him and he realized.

"I had a different mind at 21," she explains. "I changed therapists."

He throws his head back in laughter. "What was the final straw?"

"Well." Her eyes drift away from his, looking down at her locked hands. "Moving to America was the main reason. I couldn't deal with any more defense of porn-addict boyfriend."

Alex takes a sip of his coffee, forgetting its bitterness, but enduring it to indulge in her sweetness. "She never let up on that one?"

"Not really."

Lottie orders a cappuccino and Alex, unsure of what to do, says, "You know, I have a concert later tonight."

"I know. I'm gonna go if that's alright. For the article and everything." She says it like she's informing him, rather than asking for permission.

"Well, I don't have to be at the venue for another couple of hours and I've never really gotten the chance to explore Paris." The smile that spreads across her face tells him she knows what he is thinking.

She snickers, "I should get a flat day rate for being your tour guide."

He leans forward on the little cafe table between them. "Come on, I'll give an exclusive. Complete unabridged day with a rockstar."

She giggles. "My boss would be very mad if I didn't take that."

"Perfect." He means every bit of that. His 21-year-old self's fantasies are finally coming true. Imagining life as it truly should have been. He thinks how much he has changed since then. How much he has stayed the same. She's stayed the same in his mind. A ghostly presence in his mind. An angel that came and visited for a day. She looks much of the same, especially compared to his differing appearance. Longer hair, less scrawny, light stubble regrowing post-goatie. He's grown into himself more, no longer an awkward boy under a hoodie. He's getting hot under his suit jacket. "So, what have you been up to the past 11 years?"

George points a finger at him. "Aren't I supposed to be asking you questions?"

He smirks and leans back in his chair. "No, see that's part of the deal. You tell me what you've been doing for the past decade and answer all my questions and I might tell you exclusive material. But you have to hold up your end of the bargain."

She raises an eyebrow but smiles and nods. "Let's see the last 11 years. I mean, I lived in Boston for 5 years. About 5 years too many."

"Why? Did you hate it?"

She tilts her head back and forth in an indifferent gesture. "It's a nice city but I don't think I belong in America. I fell into a fantasy there. By the time I had been there 5 years, I felt I had been living a lie the whole time. You know, I didn't like my apartment or my friends or even my job and I was 26 and it was either change my shit now or live like this for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, yeah. I feel that now. I've been out in LA for about 5 years now but had never really settled until this past year. I loved it my first year. It was so different than anywhere I've ever lived but last year was the first time I had been there a full year and I think I hate it."

"America's a mess now anyway. I couldn't imagine living in LA. It doesn't seem fun."

Alex shrugs. "I like it but I think I've fallen away from it. And everywhere is a mess now anyway. Brexit's happened and England's a mess and I haven't even lived there fully since 2008 but part of me thinks I'd like it."

"When I moved back to Paris after Boston, I felt my whole body realigned and I'm not one for that energy crap but I think there has to be something to these places because I immediately felt a relief I had never felt in Boston." His head is filled with thoughts of telling her, I know exactly what you mean, I feel it right now looking at you.

"Maybe after this next tour but I don't know if me girlfriend would do it. She already moved out to LA for me. I'd feel shitty making her move to a whole other country."

"Is she American?"

He nods, even though he has a feeling she already knew that but she's trying not to seem like she already has all the answers to him already from her research. "You seeing anyone?"

Her face crosses. "Kind of." Her resolve breaks with a laugh. "God, how embarrassing is it that I'm 32 and kind of in a relationship?"

"I think you're fine. 32 is still young. You don't have to worry about that for another decade."

She leans forward with intensity, the same level she had at 21. "Except, I'm getting down to the wire here as far as having children." He throws his head back in laughter. It's nice to know that she hasn't changed a bit in 11 years. "I'm serious. And, I know, I know, science is so advanced these days and there are millions of children to adopt and blah blah blah but I don't want to be a 50-year-old pregnant woman or a single mother. I mean, I'm not opposed to it but I don't think there's anything wrong with having the fantasy of the nuclear family. Except I don't know if I really want that or that's just societal pressure I'm feeling."

It's deja vu for him of the romantic nostalgia variety that if he could package it into a pill and take it as a prescription forever, he would. "You said the same thing in Brussels."

She groans in frustration. "Great, so I'm a broken loop. I'm a woman moaning about men and babies. I put shame on all the feminist icons."

He waves his hand at her. "I think you're fine and it's nice to know how you feel about these things, even if it's the same. I feel that way right now."

"With children?"

"Yeah, I mean, most of me friends have settled. Everyone in the band has kids and I don't know if I want that. Me girlfriend wants that, I think, but I can't imagine touring and having kids at home. I still feel too young to have kids or to get married."

She groans, "Yuck. Don't even get me started on marriage."

"Don't believe in it?"

"I don't want to. I think if I was with someone who really wanted it then maybe but when I was engaged it felt like such a doomful thing."

She nonchalantly says it but he needs to know. "You were in engaged?"

Lottie gives a small head nod and sips her cappuccino. The subject is still an odd one for her. "For about 6 months in 2012. It was a disaster, to say the least, mostly on my part. He was a good guy but I was too immature to settle and he was the last thing keeping me in Boston. Once that ended, I came back to Paris."

"You were engaged to an American?" He leans forward with intrigue. It shocks him for some reason. 

She furrows her brows. "Aren't you dating an American?"

"Yeah, but it's different," Alex excuses.

"How?"

There isn't actually a difference other than bubbling jealousy but he can't admit that. So, he shrugs. "I'm a lowly Brit and you're a sophisticated French girl dating an American, let alone one from Boston."

She tilts her head in slight agreement. "He was awfully rowdy."

"Was he a big Red Sox fan?" Alex jokingly asks.

She sticks her tongue out and shakes her head. "Yuck, don't talk to me about baseball. Sports is the primary reason I left. His family had season passes and it was like the Salem Witch Trails if you didn't go to every game."

"See this is why I can't picture you engaged to an American."

"Fair point," she says. "What about your girlfriend?"

"Oh." He doesn't know why he's taken aback by the question. It makes him stir with guilt. It's not that he doesn't love his girlfriend, he has a fucking tattoo with her name, but suddenly Lottie sits down in a cafe in Paris across from him and he is thrown. 

"She's great." He stops there but then Lottie stares at him and he realizes he's being short. He stares down at his cup. "She's—she's funny, beautiful, and very lovely." The description doesn't exactly help his case.

She doesn't push him any further. In fact, she smiles, and says, "She sounds nice. I'm sure you don't deserve her."

Alex chuckles initially at the comment but it grows painful inside of him. He struggles to digest it and the words weigh heavy as it turns from a joke into the truth. He shakes it off as best he can. "Who is this 'kind of' relationship?"

She sighs loudly. "We met at this weird work function. He works as a freelance photojournalist and travels to these warzones for months at a time and then he'll be here for a month or 2 before heading off again."

"Wow," Alex utters. How can I compete with a warzone photojournalist who is kind of her boyfriend? He shakes it. You don't need to compete because you have a fucking girlfriend, you idiot. "That's cool." Idiot.

"Yeah." She displays a similar demeanor as him: outmatched with no chance of catching up. "It's—he's a good guy. He does this incredible work but I can't help but constantly feel undercut by him. It's not his intention but—no offense to you—I'm telling him about some avant-garde art show I just reviewed and he's like 'That's great, I'm photographing Syrian refugee camps.' You feel like a complete loser next to him."

"You're helping keep art alive and maybe I'm stroking me ego too much but isn't that what we need during all these shitstorms? It feels like the only thing keeping me sane at times."

She leans forward onto her hand and smiles and, fuck, he feels his heart skip a beat. He can't shake her off of his skin, off his mind, off his heart. If he was a smart guy—a good guy—he'd do the interview, and leave. Play the show and leave France. Go home to his girlfriend and leave Lottie as a fantasy in his mind for the rest of his life. But then he thinks about his 21-year-old self who swore he wouldn't let her become that to him. Someone he would lie awake at night and imagine what life would be like if he got her. She's danced in and out of his mind through the years, but he'd be lying if he didn't think about what would have happened if she showed up in Paris. She got on that London-bound train. If they exchanged fucking phone numbers. He can't lie awake and think what would have happened if he didn't shun her. "Do you want to walk around now maybe?"

"Sure." She eagerly stands up.

She opens her bag and takes out her wallet. He holds his hand out. "You have to let me pay for your coffee, at least. I never paid you back for the hotel." The thought of the hotel room sends shivers down his spine. 

Alex tosses a few bills to cover the check and then some. She giggles, "You finally have Euros."

He shrugs with a hidden smirk too shy to show him how pleased he is that she remembers. Even if it's his dorky mistake. "A little more prepared this time."

They exit the cafe into the Latin Quarter with Lottie leading the way to their next location. Their pace is the same as it was in Brussels. In step with one another through talks of one another's lives. 

"What has the last 11 years been like for you?" She returns his question to him. "I mean," she admits, "I know some of it."

Alex narrows his eyes at her. "You've been keeping tabs on me, Lottie?"

She breaks eye contact away from him and shrugs but the smile that breaks through tells him everything he needs to know. He gets too much of a kick of that. "Well, you're not the easiest to avoid. I also did get really into your music after, you know, Brussels and all."

It pleases him until a realization drops his heart into his gut. He looks for a display of any reaction on her face but she keeps steady and walks ahead. He won't say it if she doesn't. Maybe she doesn't even know. Maybe only he paid attention to that kind of thing. Maybe only he paid attention to their hotel room number.

"I mean," he exhales loudly. "Everything you know is probably the extent."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on, in the last 11 years all you've done is music. That's not true."

And, sure, it's not, but it kind of is. He doesn't want to tell her about his ex-girlfriends and he doesn't need to indulge her in whatever stupid stories he has of LA. "I think it is. It sounds pretty depressing, doesn't it?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think so. You're living a pretty cool life. Unless you don't see it that way."

"No, it's just..."

"What?"

"I feel like I've been in the same place since I was 21. I'm stuck in some cycle that I can't stop. I know I've changed and I've had experiences. I mean, I lived in New York for a little and I've been in LA for a while but when you're touring for more than a year at a time for pretty much a decade, it's hard to feel significant changes."

"I feel the same way since moving back to Paris."

"Really?" It's hard to feel like anyone knows how he feels. Everyone around him has had big life changes and he feels...the same.

"Boston was a whirlwind but it was my 20s. Now, I get up and go to work every day and I go home and repeat it. I have friends and we go out for dinners but I'm not getting married, I'm not having children, and I'm not visiting Antarctica. I'm still. For years, I liked that feeling but now..."

He finishes, "You feel stuck."

"Yeah. I swear I'm not depressed. I'm not going to throw myself in the Seine or anything."

He chuckles. "No, no. I know what you mean. It's just growing pains."

"Pft," she says, "at 32 I thought that would be over with."

"I don't think it ever goes away."

"At least I'm not getting zits anymore."

"Small victories."

She points her finger out. "There's this park, the Luxembourg Gardens, down the road. It's beautiful if you'd like to go."

And just like before, where she leads, he will follow.

"My father died last year," she tells him.

He isn't sure what to say. For the first time, he touches her, places his hand on her arm. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head and shrugs. "No need. I never really knew him."

"Oh," he says, "I didn't know that." He suddenly realizes that the perception he had of Lottie for the last decade has been shaped by one day, not even a full 24 hours. A time they spent together where he didn't even know that she never knew her father. 

"Yeah, I never—I don't talk about it very much. I feel like I've finally started to work through some of the childhood trauma shit that I swept under the rug for so many years. My parents' relationship was complicated."

"In what way? I don't mean to be nosy—"

She interrupts to reassure, "Never. You never are." She smiles over at him like a sunray. "I like telling you these things. It feels like a vessel I can put it in and send out to sea. I know you'll never tell another soul, right?"

He motions locking his lips and tossing the key. It makes her giggle and he forgot the thrill he got from doing that.

"My father was married when my maman had my brother and me. Never divorced his wife. I have a half-sister I've never met. She's like 20 years older than me."

Alex doesn't mean to have a visible reaction but he can't help but utter, "Wow."

"Yeah." She slips her hands into her jeans' pockets. "I don't know. I've been trying to work my way through all of it. I think I feel grief over it but I'm not sure if I'm mourning his death or the potential relationship we could have had."

"I don't know. I've never been in that type of situation with death. You know, the finality of everything. But with people that I've drifted away from, I imagine all these what-ifs." It's hard to ignore the person he's talking about is right next to him. "What I could have done differently to make them stay or like me or whatever but I've realized that no matter what you do it doesn't change the way the other person is. With your dad, I can't imagine not wanting to know you. Something must have been wrong with him."

"Probably," she agrees before laughing. The thickness of the conversation is split in two as they both laugh lightness into the air.

"So, you just grew up with your brother and mother?" Alex asks.

Lottie pulls a face, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips. "I wish. My mom had her series of boyfriends. Some better, some worse. Nothing bad and she never married any of them but it was a weird revolving door. The longest one was the British diplomat. That's why my English is so good. Well, if I do say so myself."

"I still can't speak a lick of French so you're 1000 times better than me."

"I can't help it if I'm so fabulous," she jokes as she skips into the gardens. He's left watching her cheer from six paces behind. Mirth floods him and he feels a snap inside him like a glowstick coming to life. She's lit him up all over again. Prescribed him exactly what he needs. If he was smart, he'd leave now. He got his fix and he should go to the concert venue and leave it at that. He walks into the Luxembourg Gardens.

Alex follows her as she walks through the green parterre of gravel and lawn. The area is decently populated but the wide expansion of the park prevents any crowding. He can't stop staring at the back of her. It's not in some sexual desire way. He's not staring at her ass. He's not really focused on one area. He watches the way her trainers plant their way into the ground. The way her bandana flutters from the wind. The way her hair moves slightly side-to-side with each movement. He wonders if she takes him in this way. Noticed the way his loafers tap into one another every once in a while when he's walking. The way his hands are in his jacket to prevent the wind from blowing it around. The way he has had to keep pushing his hair behind his ears.

Then, she stops and sits in one of the metal chairs they have, Alex sits across from her, and she says, "Your hair is longer."

Witch! She must be psychic. He pushes his hair behind his ear again as if on instinct. "Yeah, that's different. It's changed a lot through the years."

"Yeah, I know. The quiff was a funny one."

"Are you mocking me?" He leans closer and teases. 

She giggles. "No, never."

"You don't look too different to me."

She scrunches her face up and scoffs, "Yeah, how plain am I."

Alex shakes his head slowly. "Not plain. You don't need to change anything about you. You were beautiful then and you're beautiful now." He's trending in territory he shouldn't but it makes her smile, like really smile. She turns her head away from him and covers her mouth with her hand.

"Whereas you still look ugly," she mocks with a smug smile.

His jaw opens dramatically. "You are mean, Lottie."

"I'm kidding," she reassures. "You've always been a charming-looking man."

"You make it sound like I'm some dandy."

Her face twists up again. "What's that?"

"A dandy?" She nods. "For once, I know something you don't."

"You know many things I don't."

"Yeah, right."

"I can't carry a tune to save my life. In fact, I should win an award for not attempting to ever play music."

"I don't know. I think if you applied yourself to it you could be good."

"Are you trying to recruit me to your music school, Mr. Turner?" It's the first time she's said his last name ever and he realizes he doesn't know hers.

"You could be a good triangle player." She punches his arm when he says that. He asks, "What's your last name?"

She smirks. "Guess."

"I don't know. Something really French."

"No. Guess."

"I don't know," he says again. "Something like Bonaparte or whatever."

"No. Guess."

"We're going to be here all day if you don't at least help me narrow it down."

She grabs hold of his face, hands on his cheeks, which are growing embarrassingly rosy. "My last name is Guess."

His face drops. "Wait. Your last name is Guess. Charlotte Guess."

"Yes and ew. Don't call me Charlotte."

He sighs loudly, "I don't know, Charlotte. You put me through a lot of trouble there."

She relinquishes her hold on his face and leans back in her chair. He's unnerved by how the cold rushes to his body as soon as she isn't close. "You'll manage."

She oozes cool, always has. She props a leg up on the chair and leans back with such freeness that wasn't there 11 years ago. She's not twisted up inside, she looks relaxed. He wants to ask her how to get there. Lately, he's felt like knots of stress. Any effort to dissipate has been met unsuccessfully because he can't put a finger on what's causing all of it.

"You know," she says, "I do have to interview you at some point."

He waves her off. "I know, I know, but I'm still adjusting to the fact that I'm seeing you right now. I want to know more about you."

That hint of a smile comes back to her cheeks. "Like what?" The tip of her shoe knocks on his shoe and he isn't sure what to make of it. Looks down and wishes he could take a photo of it.

"Do you still paint?"

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head in disbelief. "You remember that I paint?"

Alex doesn't see it as a big deal. Why wouldn't he remember all those little things? "Yeah, and you're a decent cook, right?"

"Jesus," she lets out under her breath. A quickened heart rate and a brush of pink to her cheeks. "I don't even think my mother remembers I paint. I still do it from time to time. I was never very good at it."

He shakes his head. "I doubt that."

"You never seen anything I've painted."

"I don't need to see it to believe it. If you think it's bad it's probably better than what most people, including myself—especially myself—can do."

"Well, maybe if you're lucky I show you something."

"I'd like that." He hates how much he'd like that. "What do you paint?"

She shrugs. "This. That. Abstract kind of things. I like painting faces but I'm not very good at that. I get the proportions all mixed up."

"Like Magritte or something?" He chuckles.

She shakes her head. "Not quite. More like that botched restoration of that Jesus painting."

Alex can't help but think of the two of them standing before A Stroke of Luck and the cigar, but not a cigar painting (so, screw him, he can't remember the name of it). His mind can't help but reminisce on them in the park sitting in the grass afterward. Lottie, delicate and cherubic, picking flowers to place behind his ear, and then, kissing her. If he reaches out into the memory, he can practically still feel his hands on her skin. 

"Do you want to go to another art museum?"

"What like the Louvre?"

"Sure."

She laughs. "I am not going to the Louvre."

But Alex is already standing and reaching his hand out to her. "Come on, I've never been."

She sighs and places her hand in his. It's soft like a baby's freshly washed skin. His hand feels rough against the smooth surface, callouses old and new can be felt. Alex pulls her up out of her chair and they begin to walk to the park's exit. "How have you never been to the Louvre?"

"I've never had time," he explains. "Generally when I've visited Paris it's been for a limited number of days."

"But didn't you record the album in La Frette? Couldn't come in on a day off for the Louvre?" She's still holding his hand. He's not being responsible, he knows. 

In fact, he's passed irresponsible when he leans in close to her ear and says, "I missed when you didn't know anything about me."

She giggles and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm the one taking you to the Louvre at 1 in the afternoon with no tickets. I think you can manage the sacrifice."

"You must go all the time considering your job," Alex says.

Lottie says, "Oh, I haven't been to the Louvre in over a decade," before bursting out into laughter.

"And you're shaming me for having never gone?"

She lets go of his hand and wags her finger at him. "Hey, I have at least gone. Multiple times! And the Louvre isn't exactly a place getting new and upcoming art all the time." She drops her hand back down to her side. Their hands never re-intertwined. "The last time I went I was 17 and I made out in the staircase with Alain Millardet the whole time."

"So, you really saw all the sights." He follows her directions as they cross the street.

Lottie gags from the memory alone. "He was a horrible kisser and we ended up getting caught by an employee. They told our school—our Catholic school, by the way—and it was the only time I ever got in trouble. The only thing that lessened the blow was that my maman was away with her boyfriend and never found out."

"You were a goody-two-shoes in school," Alex teases.

Lottie squishes up her face. "What does that mean?"

He grins at the way her little button nose is scrunched up, her eyes slightly squinted, the wrinkle formed between her brows. "Just means you're a rule follower."

"Oh." She giggles. "I just didn't get caught." Every inch of her intrigues him. The secrets she has buried deep within that he has an eagerness to uncover. The flip of her hair as she walks her way down the streets. Her hands clutch the brown leather strap of her bag. Those blue eyes glancing over at him as ripples of laughter echo through her.

They begin to cross over the Seine when she tells him, "This is the Pont des Arts. It used to be covered in locks, you know, the thing where couples put a lock on the bridge and throw away the key, but they had to remove it after the bridge nearly collapsed, which thank god because I had one with my ex-boyfriend on it and I couldn't bear the thought that we would be locked here together eternally."

Alex chuckles and puts his hands in his pockets. "Me first girlfriend did that with the lock she used for her locker. At the end of the school year, she wrote our names on the back and locked it to a fence. About a month after we broke up, I walked by the fence she'd put it on and it was gone. She had gone back and removed it."

"Aw," she coos, "poor girl. You probably broke her heart."

"Thanks for your lack of pity for me, Lot." She grins at the nickname. "How do you know she didn't break my heart?"

"Because only a heartbroken girl would go back and remove the lock."

"Yeah."

Alex gazes up and spots the glass pyramid, realizing they've already made their way to the Louvre. The courtyard is populated with people taking pictures of and with the structure. Someone is playing violin, likely busking, in the distance. 

As they approach the building, Lottie gasps and then begins to laugh. "What?" Alex asks with a hint of his own reactive laughter.

She gives him a funny frown. "It's Tuesday, isn't it?"

Alex confusedly responds with a dragged-out "Yeah."

She snickers. "The Louvre is closed on Tuesdays."

They both just take to laughing in the middle of all the tourists. Lottie clutches his forearm, which he reciprocates, making their arms plank over each other. Then, Lottie suddenly stops, stands up straight, and looks him in the eye, saying, "Time for me to interview you."

 Alex chuckles, "Nice try." He takes to guiding them out of the courtyard, walking ahead of her. "Where to next?"

She's right behind him. Alex can feel the edge of her bag touch his butt. "Are you trying to get me fired?"

The pleasure he gets out of taunting her should probably be illegal. "You'll get your interview," he promises. "I've already given you so much unknown information. I've never been to the Louvre, still to this day, my French is horrible, and I'm desperate to see some art so why don't you show me some of yours."

They pause at a crossing. "Are you trying to invite yourself to my apartment?" She has a habit of making him flustered easily. Her fluttering lashes flapped away at him. He swears they blow an ocean breeze his way.

He plays a tricky game. "Well, if we go to your apartment, maybe you'll finally get your interview." The light flashes green and he walks ahead.

She trails behind fighting a crooked grin. "I highly doubt that."

Alex hums.

Either way, they headed off in the direction of her place. Down the stairs to the metro where they wait for the 4 train. The platform is sparsely crowded, predictable for a Tuesday afternoon just before rush hour. 

"I have to say something." Her demeanor is coy. She's holding her hand in a fist up against her mouth. Her eyes peer up at him demurely. "I've been debating whether to say it or not but I figure out with it. No secrets, you know."

Alex nods curiously. "Okay."

"The song."

The two words make a chill go through him. Spins around his spine and hits each vertebrae. She does know. He can't help but physically react, muttering, "Oh, god," and placing his hand on his forehead in exasperation.

She giggles at his reaction. He is only calmed by the fact that she doesn't sound pissed. Still, he feels embarrassed. "It's one of your most popular songs."

Alex doesn't care. He lived up off the hope that she had somehow missed that one. Or she only ever listened to the most recent album for her work assignment. When he wrote it, it was felt under the impression he would see her again. Not under the impression that in 11 years he would be standing on a metro platform with her about to be interviewed by her. 

He re-establishes himself. He gets his footing, drops his hand from his face, and looks over at her. She's still looking amused by his reaction. The train pulls up to the station. "Which one?"

He is able to get a chuckle in when her jaw drops slightly. Feeling he has the upper hand, he hops on the train, having her dash behind him. Alex finds two empty seats and takes a seat next to the window. Lottie sits down next to him.

She seems to have composed herself. Tight jaw and curious lips. "Now, I meant 505, what are you on about?"

Alex shrugs. "Pft, who said 505 was about you?" He is staring straight ahead, calm, cool, and collected.

Her eyes are glued to him, watching his every move. "I'm not an idiot, Alex, I can read. Our hotel room was 505."

"Oh, what a weird coincidence." He is almost chuckling with pride in his humorous fibbing abilities. 

"Come on. I doubt many girls were lying on their side with their hands between their thighs for you, Alex." That memory strikes him hard. If he closes his eyes for long enough, he can still trace the outline of her body in his mind, memorizing every crevice.

He chuckles with a wide grin. "It was a nice memory."

She crosses her arms in a pleased manner. "I knew it was about me."

"Yeah, well, I had a lovely time with you." His eyes are intently on hers. A knowing smile is splashed across his face. 

She returns the favour. They are in a duel with their eyes, fighting grins in their smiles. "Me too."

"Good."

She leans in closer. "Now, what's this other song about me?"

Alex looks away from her, gazing at the station they are approaching. "I think this is our stop."

He tries to stand up and she grabs his arm and yanks him back down. "Shush. You have no clue where we are even getting off."

Her hand stays gripping his forearm, keeping them steady. His gaze is resistant if ever pleasurable. His eyes trained on the doors and unsure of what to say, tossing between giving it up or burying it away. He plays with his hands, bringing them together, and then apart, and then back together. "I wrote this song, you know, in the, uh, hypothetical sense."

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, whatever that means. Out with it. You know, people are usually flattered by the thought someone would think of them enough to write a song about them. Let alone two."

"Alright," he calms. "The song isn't really all about you. I guess, you sparked the original idea."

She gestures for him to continue. "And?"

"Cornerstone."

She leans back against the train's wall. A small smirk plays on her face. "Really? You were seeing me all around town?"

He can't help but smile, although, forced to shield it behind his hands covering the surface area of his face. "Don't make me sound like a creep."

"No, no. It all feels like flattery." She looks like she wants to say something else but keeps it to herself. He's tempted to ask but she's pointing slowly to the train station and softly saying, "This is our stop."

They get up as the train stops. The doors stay closed though. "Flip the handle up," Lottie says.

He grabs hold of the door handle and follows her instructions. The door opens at a quick speed. So quick that Alex, still with his hand on the handle, nearly gets his arm yanked off. Lottie erupts in laughter behind him. He sucks in a breath and steps off the train. She places her hands on his shoulder as she follows behind him, too blind with laughter to properly guide herself. 

"You're really making a fool out of me today." Alex turns around as they ride the escalator up.

She's still emitting giggles when she says, "I'm sorry. It was too tempting though."

Her apartment is just outside the metro station. The building, Haussmann in style, is cold and dark in the stairwell. Lottie tells him to watch his step as they head to the second floor before she flips on a switch outside her door. Before she unlocks it, she turns and tells him, "I'm a messy person and you have rudely barged in on me so you can not judge."

Alex agrees and she unlocks the door. She has, of course, exaggerated the mess of the place. It's a loft of a decent size. Her bed is in the far corner, unmade with a plum-coloured mandala-printed blanket thrown over it. Clothes from this morning are strewn about the floor. Her kitchen is small and her plate from breakfast is still in the sink. In the back corner, across from her bed is a collection of canvases. They are all turned inward making him unable to look at any of them.

Lottie stands awkwardly in the kitchen, hands behind her back, bobbing on her feet. "Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water? Alcohol?"

He chuckles at her delivery, struck by her grace. "I'll take a tea."

"Okay." She busies herself with that as he examines the room closely. A shelf of books piled to the brim. There's a vase of flowers on a lower shelf. On the bottom: a record collection. He smiles to himself. "Can I put on a record?"

"Sure," she absentmindedly says. She's showing Alex her tea packets: black, green, mint, ginger. Black, he picks. 

She stills at the opening strings. Her heart patters at the clacking of the castanets. I found my love in Portofino...

She dips the tea bags into the hot water and turns around. She leans against the counter, staring at him at the place he has taken on her small loveseat. "You know, I got a record player because of this album."

His arms are crossed and he looks pleased with himself. "Inspiring a new generation to buy records. You know, AM is one of the best-selling vinyls of the 2010s."

She squints playfully. "Are you usually this boastful about yourself?"

"Stop, you're making me feel like a self-absorbed asshole."

Lottie crosses her arms, playing his game back to him. "What's the saying? If the shoe fits."

"Hush now. Sit." He pats the seat beside him. The air is thick and she cuts through it by walking over to him with two cups of tea. 

She prompts hopefully, "Interview time?"

Alex ignores her. "You know, I went and bought my own copy of this."

"The record?"

He nods. "God, I'm such a dweeb."

She shakes her head. "No. It's a good record."

He gazes over at her knowingly. His chin is tilted down and his eyes are blazing at her. "I didn't buy it because it was a good record."

Suddenly, she breaks. "You can't do that."

Alex gets the message, turns away, and focuses on the warm mug in his hand. "I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No," she reassures, calm and clear, "it's fine. I just can't sit next to you in my apartment with you saying things like that and not..."

"Not?" He tries to get more out of her.

She gazes over at him knowingly. Her chin is tilted down and her eyes are blazing at him. "You know."

He nods.

"I still have that photo of you. The one I took on that hill. It's buried deep in a drawer somewhere." She's tempting him and she knows it. She's not abandoning the topic of their romantic evening. She's not insisting on conducting an interview. She's flirting.

Alex smiles back pleased. "I probably look like a dork."

"Yeah," she dryly agrees making him laugh. "But a cute dork."

"Whenever I came to Paris, I would walk around, duck into all these cafes, and I had these visions of seeing you there. That's where Cornerstone came from," Alex confesses.

"I changed therapists because of you," Lottie confesses.

"What?"

She leans on her arm against the back of the couch. "It wasn't because I moved away. I came back from Brussels and told her about you and she said that you were a fantasy but not a realistic man. I shouldn't get my hopes up on delusions and should invest myself in some reliable man. That I was falling for a rockstar who probably did that thing all the time. The whole time she's saying this to me, I'm thinking, 'She has no fucking clue what she's talking about. Reliablity? Who has reliability at 21? My porn-addict boyfriend.'"

Alex laughs. "I still really love this porn-addict boyfriend of yours."

"Well, you and my therapist." The room goes quiet. She sinks into a corner of the couch and sighs. "So, you were the final straw."

"I've done that cafe shit every time I've been to Paris."

"What?" She sits up straighter.

"I just—I've always wanted to talk to you again. It felt weird when you didn't show up in July. I figured, or maybe hoped, something big happened for you not to be there."

She's stiff and awkward and looks down at her legs, awkwardly stiff. "I tried to be there. I wanted to. You have to know, if it weren't for the program, I would've. I mean, I still go to your shows, and listen to your records, and, for crying out loud, I harrassed my boss into letting me interview you. He probably thinks I'm some obsessive fan."

"Harrassed?" He raises an eyebrow in amusement.

Lottie looks up sheepishly with a shy smile. "Yeah, well, at this rate, I'm not even gonna have an interview."

"You'll have an interview. I'll give you the best fucking interview." There's something in the way he looks at her. The tone of his voice makes her believe he is a lion and she's the gazelle he's waiting to maul. But those eyes, soft and dreamy. Eyes she could fall asleep next to every night.

"And then you look at me like that and you think you're the soppy one. I'm falling to bits over here. I've felt crazy for 11 years but then you look at me like that."

"Why'd you feel crazy?"

"I thought I made the whole thing up in my head. Like I was some psycho who imagined a whole night with you just because I liked your song. I mean, I ruined every relationship because I was hung up on you."

"What?"

"And now I'm ruining any possible relationship with you by blabbing on about this. I can't help it, you've infected me, you've ruined me, and I sound crazy." She's messing with her hair to really emphasize this fact. "But I'm stuck on the Boston T, riding the slowest train ever, sitting next to this guy I'm about to marry, and we have nothing to talk about, and all I'm thinking is 4 years ago I got on the wrong train." 

Her breathing is heavy. Rattling and refusing to calm her heart down. She can't distinguish what his eyes mean.

Alex is quiet when he speaks. "Fucking hell, Lot."

Any move he thinks about making is interrupted when she quickly stands from the couch and separates herself from him by pacing in the kitchen. She clutches her hands around her face, cheeks trying red. She takes a deep breath and says, "I think you should leave. I'm sorry for that whole display. I'm so lost in myself and I'm crazy and I'm sorry."

Alex stands and takes a step toward her. She takes one back like they are the same side of a magnet repelling one another. "Lottie."

"I'm sorry."

He takes a moment for himself too. Runs his hands through his hair, heart pounding he puts his hand over to still it and takes a deep breath. "No," he insists. "First, you're not crazy. Second, I haven't seen you in 11 years and I have thought about you for too long to let you go—go on that other train again." Something chokes him inside. Maybe it's the guilt, the thought of his girlfriend back home. Maybe it's Lottie, who looks two steps away from crying, and all he can think about is being left on that train platform again. "Third, we have to do the interview."

"Oh, god, that stupid interview." And then he laughs. So, she laughs.

Alex attempts to step toward her again, cautiously like she's a cat he is afraid he is going to scare off. She stays in her place. He leans down and hugs her. She's hesitant but then she hugs back. Tight like they are each a moment away from slipping out of one another's grasp. 

Alex pulls away, but keeps an arm around her back, pushing them toward her front door. "So, let's go eat some lunch and do an interview."

She sniffles and then smiles over at him in a remorseful manner. "Okay."

They head to the cafe on the street corner. The conversation grew lighter and Alex joked that he still didn't get to see her paintings. She countered that she still hadn't interviewed him.

On opposite sides of the table, each holds a cigarette and chats over an ashtray. Lottie asks him questions regarding the album and Alex answers formally, which is almost too proper and comes off more jokey than serious. Nonetheless, she quotes him on it. 

He grows hot and takes his jacket off, halfway through, around the time their dishes arrive. The interview, more-or-less, ends there as they each inhale their meals and split the stack of bread. "I'll be here tomorrow too, you know."

She nods. Of course, she knows.

"We could do the Louvre then."

She smiles with amusement at him. "You're really obsessed with the Louvre."

"I'm determined to go and now to get you to go. Maybe we'll makeout in the stairway and get caught by one of the nuns." The comment is cheeky and they both laugh at it, even if it should hold more guilty weight than it does.

A woman then approaches them. She's old, enough to be someone's great-grandmother. She speaks in French to Lottie, who has grown a furrowed brow, as she repeatably says no to the woman, who holds up a necklace at her. 

"What's she saying?" Alex inquires.

Lottie sighs and says warningly, "Alex."

The woman smiles big and looks over at Alex. She speaks very broken English, but tells him, "Her neck, nothing." She gestures over to Lottie's bare neck, the way her top pulls down (notes of cleavage, but he's got to get his mind out of the gutter), accentuating the bareness of it. Alex has shameful thoughts in remembrance of kissing it. Fuck, he's screwed, if the pull of his pants says anything. The woman holds the necklace high in her hand. "For beauty. Beautiful woman needs beauty."

Lottie begins to speak in French to the woman as Alex wordlessly reaches into his wallet and pulls out a bill. The woman lights up in delight and accepts the €20 as Lottie shakes her head. "Her ears, nothing," the woman tries to push more.

Alex cheerfully says, "No, no, just the necklace. Merci beaucoup." The woman attempts again but Alex ignores her and her English is too poor to keep trying for another sale.

Lottie is staring at him. He can't decipher if it's a look of pleasure or unease. "You shouldn't have done that."

"The necklace is nice and I gave the poor woman some money. Now put it on."

She stays still for a moment but gives in and sits up to accept the necklace. It's simple. A chain with a small blue pendant on the bottom. It matches her eyes. She mutters a thank you, if for the gesture alone. After a few careful tries, she clasps the necklace. "I'll probably get some sort of infection from it."

He chuckles. "Probably."

They sit in silence with one another. They are stuck in the middle of a staring contest where fireworks spark between them. Alex breaks it and looks down at his empty plate, a flush of shyness overcoming him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Are you interviewing me now?" She giggles, pleased with her joke.

"Hey! I let you get all your questions in. It's my turn," he insists.

She relaxes back in her chair and crosses her legs. "Okay."

"What do you think would have happened if you got on the train with me? Or if you showed up to the concert?" 

It draws a rough breath out of her. "We wouldn't have worked out."

His heart stills. It's not the answer he expected. All that wishful thinking that had swirled in his mind for the last 11 years. The feeling that if he had been able to convince her or was able to find her, they'd be living happily ever after. "Really?

She shakes her head. "Are you kidding? I was a mess. I had no idea of a future for myself. I would have been in Paris or Boston and you would have been on the road all the time. I would've definitely been one of those girls who thought you were cheating on her the whole time. I probably would have convinced myself of it and not believed you when you told me the truth. I was born the product of an affair. It is my blueprint to assume every guy I'm with is getting it somewhere else."

Alex feels hungover with guilt at the thought that what he is doing right now might as well be an affair, if only emotionally. He sighs, "Yeah, I mean, I was a mess for like...forever." They both laugh. "Every time I feel like I've gotten my shit together. Something comes along to pull the rug out from under me."

"What's it this time?" She's staring at him, doe-eyed and smiling. 

He can't think of an excuse. So, he's honest. "You."

She's not offended by it. She smiles, though she does try and suppress it. "We should probably go to the venue. Right?"

Alex nods like hiding himself from the Parisian streets will get him out of this mess. Lottie insists on paying the bill, mainly because she isn't paying the bill, her work is. They could take a car over to the venue but Alex is overly enthusiastic about riding the metro over. "I have to redeem my shame. You know, in London we just have the button, so I can't be blamed for not knowing how to open the train door."

Lottie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

At the venue, Alex gives Lottie a quick introduction to his bandmates. He says nothing more than, "This is Lottie, the journalist," but they all respond with knowing looks. Alex gives her a tour, mostly through her insistence that it would be cool for the article if she could set the scene for the reader. Alex says, "You're a painter with your words." She rolls her eyes and he gives her the tour.

"And a soundcheck, what's that like?" She asks before, you guessed it, soundcheck.

Alex shrugs. He tends to be short with answers for most interviews, but with Lottie it's different. Not once has it felt like he is being interviewed. He's not sure if that's a good or bad thing. "It's...good. You know, making sure everything works. Good, fun."

She's cheery with her questions like the kid who constantly raises their hand in class but she's endearingly earnest and the way she scribbles notes in her little notepad makes it feel so much more authentic than when someone sits a tape recorder in on their conversation.

She watches soundcheck in the same way. She'll write a little note at the end of each song but then she'll rest in her chair and observe the full play out.

Backstage, Alex separates himself and Lottie from the rest of the group, which is notable. He wishes they were walking around still, escaping all their responsibilities just like they were doing in Brussels. He supposes that's growing up.

Lottie says, "It's good. Last time I was a bumbling clueless girl with no idea of her future. Now, I'm a bumbling clueless woman with no idea of her future."

"Oh, come on, you have a great job. You're interviewing me and that might be one of the hardest tasks ever and you're doing amazing," Alex reassures.

She nods. "I know. I love my job but that's all I have. It's crazy when we were in Brussels, all I wanted was to figure out what I wanted to be. I finally did that and I feel just as lost."

"In what way?"

She thinks for a moment, deciding how she wants to form her words. "I wish I was like my old self more. You know, I used to be so hopeful, so romantic about the world. About myself. About the future. Now, I just think I'm going to be alone forever." She is quick to correct herself. "And—and I don't mean I have nobody. I have a great set of friends. I love my life but when I look toward the future, I see nothing. For so long, I didn't know what I wanted but there were always possibilities. Now, I don't know." 

"I feel the same way," Alex confesses.

Lottie lifts her head in surprise. "Really?"

He nods. "It's what used to be so exciting about my life. Being in a new city every day and being able to set your own path. I still like most of that stuff but I feel behind everyone else in a way. You know, like how all the guys have kids and I don't think I'm ready for kids but should I be ready for kids? Do I want that? To be married? To have a family?"

"I don't think you're ever ready for that kind of thing. You are just ready for the feeling. You'll never be prepared enough for children that's what everyone says but I had a thought a while ago when, well, I had this pregnancy scare, which really was terrifying because the guy I was with is not a guy you want to have children with. My first thought for so long would have been 'I don't want children. I will not be birthing anything in my lifetime.' But when I had this scare, I think I liked the idea. Then, the test was negative and I breathed a huge sigh of relief." Alex chuckles at her dramatics as she talks with her hands. "But for those couple of minutes, I thought that being a mother wouldn't be so bad."

Alex smiles at her. "You'd be a great mother."

She looks up at him, all hopeful and disbelieving. "Do you really think so?" 

Alex nods. "A few anti-depressants and you'll be fine."

Lottie rolls her eyes and raises her hands and starts moving her fingers. "Say stop."

"Stop."

She stops, extending her middle fingers only, flipping him off. 

"That's good. Can I steal that?"

Lottie shrugs. "I don't have copyright on it."

A stagehand comes over and they realize how much time has escaped from them. Alex shuffles fixing his jacket as he stands, going into rockstar mode. "How'd I look?" He imitates a deep voice, gruffly and surly.

She giggles. "Like an asshole."

"You're so kind to me, Lottie."

"Maybe lose the jacket," she advises. Total professional opinion and not because he has three buttons loose on that white button-up that make her crave his skin. She's going too far, she knows, but she's a single woman. It's fine for her to observe.

Alex shakes his head and tightens his hands around the lapels. "I'm going to keep it on just to spite you." (He takes it off 4 songs in).

She walks him up the stairs to the stage but then says teasingly, "I'm going to watch from my assigned seat if that's alright with you."

He chuckles. "I'll look for you in the crowd."

She turns to leave and it's almost like she's fading from him all over again. Sure, they could get drinks after this and there's that rough plan for the Louvre tomorrow, but the image of her back to him walking away strikes something in him. "Hey, Lottie!" He calls out.

Alex catches her before she walks down the stairs. She turns around, curious eyes, curious smile. He's 21 and he's on a train to Brussels. He's 32 and he's in a cafe in Paris. No more what could have been. He knows.

"I think it would have worked out." 

Lottie looks at him from across the wing. He toys with his fingers, hopeful eyes, hopeful smile. She's 21 and she's on a train platform in Brussels. She's 32 and she's backstage at a concert in Paris. No more doubts. She knows.

"I think so too." 

*

a/n: part 3? i don't know. maybe...

[aquaquadrant]

from eden, part VII

Word count: 15,641

Warnings: Strong language, mild body horror, violence, blood/injury, mild gore, death, manipulation/deception, fictional bigotry, discussion of fictional eugenics (I guess??)

Summary: As Bravo continues working with Hels Tek to create a portal, the frequent complications and delays start to wear on his patience- not to mention the aggressive behavior of the Hels players he’s forced to associate with. But over the years, he finds himself treading deeper and deeper water to get what he wants. And after a shocking revelation is made about Tango, Bravo will have to confront exactly what kind of player he is.

A/N: I can’t believe I once thot I’d cover all of Bravo’s time in Hels in just one chapter. Holy shit. This is now the longest chapter by far, over 15k words. But I can safely say that we’re done w this mini-arc, and next time we’ll get back to the Ranchers in the Double Life times.

Disclaimer: I don’t understand a lot of redstone, and what they’re trying to do with redstone here isn’t even a thing in Minecraft irl, so just go with it. Also, mind the gore warning. There’s a death in here that isn’t super descriptive, not any more than Bravo’s various deaths in part 2, but the way it occurs is kinda disturbing. Hope y’all enjoy, please reblog if you do! - Aqua

~*~

from eden, part VII - babe, there’s something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, one player follows another through a gate.

Pistons lurch as the door closes behind them. But Bravo can hardly hear it above the sudden cacophony of noise beyond the walls of New Helington.

There’s far more life and activity here than he’d been expecting, a virtual sea of movement as players rush past each other. Mismatched buildings crowd the busy streets on either side, accented by flashing lamps and the occasional puff of steam. The air is filled with shouting and the sound of machinery; loud, chaotic, violent.

Over the years, Bravo’s grown accustomed to the various scents within Hels, from the ash-choked basalt detlas to the deep caves of sulfur. Every biome with trees in it smells like smoke, because inevitably, some part of it is always burning. Here, though, there’s a new smell added to the mix; the thick smog of coal and the metallic tang of iron. It reeks of industrialization- which might’ve been comforting, except he can see that New Helington is still very clearly uncivilized.

Much of the things being shouted between players are threats and insults. Players shove and scowl at each other as they pass. Several fist fights are currently taking place right before Bravo’s eyes, and that’s just what he can see out on the streets; the muffled sounds coming from within the ramshackle buildings are just as discouraging.

Bravo reminds himself to be careful. They may be more technologically advanced, but they’re still just as savage as the rest of Hels.

Atlas takes in the sights without comment, expression unchanging. He’s been here before, Bravo recalls. “Now,” he says lowly, “I do believe someone has been sent to collect us-”

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

Bravo jumps at the new voice, whirling around. A player is looking down at them from his perch on one of the wall’s watch towers. But it’s not his precarious position that makes Bravo’s heart jolt; he actually recognizes the player.

A well-built man, with a neatly trimmed beard and bright, teal eyes. The trident strapped to his back is further evidence- this is bXMiner, the player who killed Bravo the last time he tried to come to this city, years ago.

“Ah, Mr. bX,” Atlas says with a smile, seeming not at all surprised as bX drops to the ground in front of them. “Always a pleasure. This is my associate, Mr. Bravo.”

bX nods at him. “What’s up?”

Bravo blinks. “What’s up?” he repeats, struggling to keep his voice even as his temper flares. “That’s- that’s all I get? What, you don’t have anything else to say to the guy you murdered in cold blood?”

Rather than look taken aback, bX chuckles. “Oh man, you’re gonna have to be more specific,” he says with a rueful grin. “I kill a lot of people. Nothing personal.”

“Right,” Bravo says tersely, folding his arms. He’s not sure what stings more; that bX killed him, or that bX doesn’t even have the decency to remember killing him.

Atlas shoots him a warning look. “Of course, that’s not why we’re here.”

“Yeah, I gotta say, I was surprised to hear you were coming by.” bX’s tone is light, conversational- but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes as he studies Atlas. “Bit early for our next visit, isn’t it?”

Atlas’s grin tightens. “I assure you, Mr. bX, this is no ordinary house call. But I’d much prefer to discuss the details once we’re inside.”

“Sure, yeah.” Nodding, bX turns and starts walking towards the main street. “Follow me.”

Atlas steps in close, grabbing Bravo by the arm. “Mind yourself,” he says, still smiling.

Bravo jerks his arm away with a huff. “Fine! I’ll play nice.” As if he has a choice.

They follow bX into the street. Fortunately, it’s easy to keep track of him because the other players hasten to get out of his way. Clearly, bX holds some sort of status here. His presence must be fairly common, however, because Bravo and Atlas seem to be garnering most of the attention. Bravo tries not to bristle when he feels the weight of curious eyes on him.

He’s fully aware of how dangerous this is. Nearly every Hels player he’s met has been unpleasant at best, and outright hostile at worst. He’d once thought that a structured civilization like this could only exist due to cooperation and common decency. It’s obvious now that he was wrong. The players here must be kept in line by nothing short of brute force. The tension in the air is like a misplaced block of TNT, just waiting to explode.

Atlas, of course, doesn’t seem at all bothered by this. He keeps his chin up and his eyes forward as he walks, shoulder set and grin firmly in place. Like he has absolutely nothing to be nervous about.

Bravo desperately tries to channel that energy as they delve deeper into the city.

~*~

“Wait here,” bX says, slipping through the door.

Bravo opens his mouth to protest, but is quickly silenced by the warning look Atlas gives him. They’re in Papa Al’s house, now, he reminds himself. They must tread carefully.

bX has taken them to a lavish quartz mansion, much bigger than any other structure in the city, complete with a fenced-in, fully landscaped garden. Everything on the premises is impeccably maintained; a sharp contrast to the rest of the city. It was clearly designed with aesthetics in mind, and seems well-staffed. If Bravo had any doubts about just how powerful and wealthy Papa Al is, they’ve been thoroughly refuted.

After leading them through the mansion, bX took them up a rather impressive piston elevator, stopping at a floor that consisted of a single hallway with a single door at the end. It’s this door that they’re now waiting in front of, as bX presumably speaks with Papa Al inside.

Bravo definitely isn’t nervous. He definitely doesn’t try to listen to the conversation through the door- to no avail. And he definitely doesn’t jump out of his skin when the door suddenly swings open, almost smacking him in the face. Quickly straightening up, he takes a breath to compose himself, hoping bX didn’t notice.

bX definitely noticed. “Come on in, guys,” he says, amused.

“Thank you,” Atlas says graciously, pulling Bravo into the room behind him. “Ah, Papa Al, it’s good to see you!”

Bravo has to make a conscious effort not to let his mouth fall open. The floor and ceiling of Papa Al’s office are completely paved with solid diamond blocks. Oh, that’s so… tacky. So, so tacky. But it’s the most expensive kind of tacky Bravo’s ever seen. The fact that this guy has so many excess diamonds, he can build with them...

“Spank you, queenie,” the man sitting behind the desk tells bX. He turns to beam at them. “Doctor Sinny! Come in, come in, take a seat!”

Papa Al. He’s dressed to match the room, in an obnoxious teal suit and multiple diamond rings. His own features are rather plain, aside from the countless thin lines hatched across his face. And his voice is… not what Bravo was expecting. Strange accent aside, there’s a playful nature to it. It’s extremely unsettling, coming from a man with this kind of reputation.

bX moves to stand beside Papa Al, who reaches a hand up to caress the side of bX’s face. It’d be a possessive gesture if it weren’t so affectionate, if bX didn’t smile softly back at him. Bravo’s taken aback- seems like this crime boss is full of surprises.

“Of course,” Atlas says, “thank you for seeing us.” He takes one of the two chairs sitting in front of the desk, gesturing for Bravo to follow suit. As Bravo sits down, Papa Al gasps.

“And oh wow, look at dis beautiful face!” he coos. “Now, look into my eyes, and nufin’ but my eyes…”

Then the rest of his eyes open up.

Atlas warned him not to stare, but Bravo can’t help it. Being told that the man has a bunch of extra eyeballs on his face is one thing, but it’s another thing to see it. To see them all mismatched and misshapen, moving and blinking completely out of sync. It’s horrifying.

Rather than take offense, Papa Al almost seems pleased by Bravo’s reaction. His grin widens, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Wassa matter, sweetface?” he asks innocently, cocking his head to the side. The motion makes his various eyes roll around in a dizzying manner.

A cold sweat trickles down Bravo’s neck. “Nothing,” he grits out, averting his gaze. “Uh, sorry. Sir.”

Luckily, Atlas swoops in. “Now, Papa Al, I know you’re a busy man,” he starts smoothly, “so in the interest of saving time, allow me to be brief. I believe I’ve found the solution to our Tango problem. Mr. Bravo here-”

“Ain’t from dese parts, humm?” Papa Al says thoughtfully, his eyes dragging over Bravo’s form. “Or even from dis world.”

Bravo suppresses a shudder. He’s never been scrutinized so intently before; it feels like layers of his skin are being peeled back. And how Papa Al can tell he’s from another world just by looking at him, he has no idea.

Atlas recovers quickly. “Yes, that’s correct. Mr. Bravo came to Hels by accident through a portal, the same time Tango disappeared. I know you never meet Tango, but their similarity is quite striking, too much to chalk up to mere coincidence. I believe they share a connection that we could utilize to open a portal and track Tango down, to retrieve the information he stole, and get our project back on track.”

“Is dat so?” Papa Al hums. His eyes are split between looking at Atlas and Bravo; an expression that’d almost be goofy if it weren’t so off-putting. “Den what’chu waitin’ for?”

Atlas pauses, his face twitching the way it does when he’s trying very hard not to let his annoyance show. “We’ve run into some difficulties with actually isolating this connection,” he explains carefully. “See, we still have Tango’s communicator, which we’ve been comparing to Mr. Bravo’s, but my team is sorely lacking a specialist in data analysis.”

“Ooh, I see…” Papa Al nods earnestly. “You need a real smart guy, huh?”

Atlas’s grin is so tight, it’s a miracle his teeth haven’t cracked. “This degree of analysis is a bit beyond our scope, yes,” he admits, begrudging.

Papa Al taps his chin- the eye located there quickly squeezes shut. “Hmmm… I fink I know a guy,” he says after a moment. “But he’s a vewy hard guy to track down, so it could take some time. Could be a bit scary, a bit hairy.”

Satisfaction flickers across Atlas’s expression. “Who do you have in mind?” he asks, leaning forward.

“Uh uh uh!” Papa Al tuts, wagging his finger. A few of his eyes close for a second- is he trying to wink? “All you need ta know is that he’s da best of da best in dis kinda fing. An’ he reaaaally likes his privacy.”

Atlas purses his lips. Clearly, he’s displeased, but isn’t willing to argue. “Well, if you think he’s the man for the job, I trust your judgement. I’d be happy to speak to him myself to explain the-”

“No, no, no, no, nooo,” Papa Al interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t you worry your purdy little head about it. If I can get him ta take da job, he’ll find you, mkay?”

“Of course. As you wish.” Atlas inclines his head. “Though I must stress that this is rather sensitive information, and the utmost care should be taken to ensure-”

“Oh, Sinny,” Papa Al sighs. He rests his head in his hands. “You really fink I got to where I am today wifout knowin’ how ta keep my mouth shut? I know what’s at stake, same as you do.”

Atlas exhales slowly. “Of course.”

“Now,” Papa Al continues, “step outside wif bX for a second, mkay? I wanna talk ta Mistah Bravo.”

Bravo jolts in his seat. What? This wasn’t part of the plan!

Atlas stiffens. “If you require any more information about the project, I’m sure I can-”

“Dat wasn’t a request, sweetface,” Papa Al says, his tone deceptively light.

Atlas falls silent. With a terse nod, he rises from his seat and follows bX out the door. As he does, he gives Bravo a look that isn’t so much reassuring as it is saying ‘don’t mess this up.’ Normally, Bravo would roll his eyes, but he’s just as worried about messing this up as Atlas is. Atlas was supposed to do all the talking, Bravo doesn’t know how to navigate Hels business like this-

“Soooo,” Papa Al drawls, “Mistah Bravo… you come from other worlds outside a’ Hels, is dat right?”

Now that they’re alone, Bravo bears the full weight of Papa Al’s gaze. He straightens his back unconsciously. “Yeah. Uh, yes sir, Papa Al.”

Papa Al hums noncommittally. “Tell me… what are da other worlds like?”

Bravo blinks. “Um- you mean like, just in general? I guess… they’re usually a lot nicer than Hels.” He scratches the back of his head. “See, other worlds have a separate nether from the overworld, and- and we travel between them using portals.”

Papa Al nods, motioning for him to go on. Evidently, he’s familiar with the concept.

Bravo swallows. “Okay so, all the biomes with ash and lava and fiery stuff, that’s- that’s nether stuff.” He counts on his fingers. “Basalt deltas, warped and crimson forests, soul sand valleys, nether wastes- that’s all pretty much the same. I mean, it’s fine if that’s what you like, but uh, I prefer the overworld.”

Papa Al’s expression is utterly unreadable, those many eyes watching him with rapt attention.

“So, the overworlds,” Bravo continues haltingly. “There are… okay, so- so overworlds have tons of different biomes, right? The biomes here are sorta like uh, hybrid biomes, so you’ve got like, netherrack veins in a stone mountain or a jungle filled with crimson fungus. But in a normal overworld, the biomes don’t have any features of the nether. And other than a few specific kinds, they all usually have some kinda grass and trees, and they’re green. Not brownish-green like the ones here.”

His tone turns wistful, despite himself. “And the sky- there’s no bedrock ceiling in the overworld, just an endless blue sky… there are clouds sometimes. The air’s clear. And the sun… it’s this giant, yellow ball of fire way up in the sky, too far to reach, and when it shines down on your skin, it’s just the most amazing feeling. Warm, but not painful. And- and at night, the sky turns black, and you can see a bunch of tiny bright lights called stars, and one big, white moon. Like a smaller sun. The moonlight isn’t warm, but it’s beautiful in its own way. I…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, I uh- I didn’t realize I missed it so much…”

A gentle smile spreads across Papa Al’s face, forcing several eyes into a squint. “Oh, das alright,” he murmurs. “It must be hard, ta be away from home for sooooo long. And I bet you’d do whatever it takes ta go back, hmm?”

Bravo is immediately on edge again. “I suppose,” he says warily.

“Now tell me dis…” Papa Al leans in, his voice low. “Do you trust Atlas?”

Well. That’s not what Bravo was expecting. He knits his brows together, trying to figure out how he should answer. Is this some kind of test? “I… trust that he wants a portal opened as much as I do,” he says eventually.

Papa Al tilts his head. “Is dat so?”

It’s impossible to tell whether he approves of the answer or not. Bravo makes a frustrated noise. “I- I don’t- look, compared to how other players here have treated me- I mean, Atlas is one of the few who didn’t just kill me on sight.”

“Oh, sweetface…” Papa Al clicks his tongue. “Dere are so many fings a player can do ta you dat are worse dan killing.”

Irritation flares through Bravo. He hates being treated like he’s naive; he didn’t make it on his own here for several years through the power of friendship. “Okay, so- so what, are you sayin’ I shouldn’t trust the guy who’s working for you?” he asks, folding his arms. “I mean, what- what do you want here?”

“I want ta know dat you’re committed,” Papa Al says, holding his gaze evenly. His earlier playfulness has fallen away into the cool demeanor of a hardened businessman. “Dat you’ll uphold your end of da deal. Cuz- cuz if you don’t, den I’m wastin’ a lotta time and energy for nufin’, mhmm. You get me?”

“I- yeah, I get you,” Bravo says shortly. In his opinion, it’s a stupid question. There is so much more on the line for him than there is for them. They want to get back important research. He wants to get back his entire way of life and an infinite universe. It’s almost insulting, for Papa Al to question Bravo’s commitment.

“Good, good.” Papa Al nods. “Cuz ah, little word to da wise; I am not someone you wanna cross.”

Bravo grits his teeth. He generally considers himself a nice guy, but god, he’s so tired of all the posturing. “Yeah? Well, well maybe I am, too,” he says lowly.

For a moment, Papa Al just stares at him, as if he hasn’t fully processed the threat. Then he throws his head back and laughs, all his eyes squeezing shut. “Oh, I knew I liked ya,” he says cheerfully. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Tell Doctor Sinny dat I’ll work on sending da specialist over pronto, mkay? And in da meantime, he should tell me if dere are any updates or probbylems. Got dat?”

“I- yeah, sure,” Bravo says, taken aback. “Uh-”

“Great! You can go, now.” Papa Al sits back in his chair, waving his fingers. “Buh bye! Spank you! See ya next time!”

Well, that’s that.

Bravo steps out of the room almost in a daze, into the hallway where Atlas and bX are waiting. bX nods at him in greeting and leads them back out of the mansion, through the city, and to the gate before bidding them farewell.

Atlas waits until they’re on the flying machine back to Hels Tek to start pestering Bravo about his meeting with Papa Al. Bravo tries to relay the odd conversation the best he can, still trying to make sense of it himself. But he leaves out the part where Papa Al asked if he trusts Atlas.

Somehow, he doesn’t think Atlas would take that well.

~*~

“What? That’s it?”

Bravo jumps a little as Tyrannicide slams his hands on the conference table. Atlas sighs, looking almost bored as he waits for the other scientist to stop shouting.

“Are you fucking kidding me? All we get is some flimsy promise that he’ll send for a specialist, without even knowing who?”

“Dr. Tyrannicide, indoor voice, if you please,” Atlas says dryly. “I understand it’s not ideal, but-”

“It’s a rip off, is what it is,” Phantonym cuts in, her arms folded as she leans back in her chair. Her shoulders are hunched, jaw set. “I thought this guy was supposed to be our top sponsor!”

The tension in the room is palpable. Bravo knew that the rest of the portal team wouldn’t be thrilled by the news of their visit with Alisker, but he’s unsettled by all the hostility. It’s like they’re going to leap over the table at Atlas any second now. Surely they wouldn’t actually attack each other here- Hels Tek is better than that, right?

“Alisker is our top sponsor,” Atlas replies, giving Phantonym a stern look. “I’m sure he has his reasons for all the secrecy. All we have to do is be patient.”

“And what if this so-called specialist never even shows up?” L8R_H8R demands. He’s tense, hands gripping the armrests of his chair so hard his knuckles are white.

Atlas smiles, shrugging a shoulder. “Well, in that case, I suppose we carry on as we have been.”

H8R frowns. “At the rate we’ve been going, it’ll take years just to figure this data thing out, much less build a working portal from it,” he points out. “Isn’t Alisker’s patience with us already running thin?”

Atlas’s smile widens. “Yes, yes it is. So if I were you, I’d stop wasting time throwing fits over things beyond our control and get back to work. Do I make myself clear?”

The scientists mutter their agreement, a reluctant, “Yes, sir.” The tension dissipates, and Bravo remembers to breathe again.

It’s fine. This is fine. The specialist will come, they’ll figure out how Bravo is connected to Tango, they’ll finally be able to make a portal, and this nightmare will be over. He’ll go home and forget about this horrible place. He just has to be patient for a little bit longer.

It can’t take more than a few days, right?

~*~

Several days come and go, with no news.

Atlas is starting to get annoyed by how often Bravo asks if he’s heard from Alisker. But he can’t help it; he hates feeling out of the loop like this, feeling completely and utterly powerless. He tries to keep himself busy, but progress on the portal has screeched to a halt. The rest of his team is once again trying to teach themselves how to read and analyze data, the lab covered with pages and pages of code, and all his attempts to help are met with stiff rejection. Even just being in the room with them is getting increasingly uncomfortable; tempers are short, and there’s a lot of bickering.

The other scientists seem to tolerate his presence better. His assistance on the various projects at Hels Tek isn’t always necessary, but they don’t mind him hanging around to observe and ask questions. They seem to be in higher spirits than the portal team- probably because their projects aren’t stuck on the backburner, waiting for some mysterious specialist to show up out of the blue. So long as they’re being productive, they’ve got nothing to fight about.

At least, that’s what Bravo thinks until he walks in on a scientist throwing one of the interns against the wall.

“How many times do I have to fucking tell you?” the scientist snarls, a piece of paper clenched in his first. “Double check your calculations before showing them to me. If you can’t even do basic math, you’re-” He pauses when he notices Bravo, all his fury suddenly vanishing. “Oh, hey. Didn’t know you were dropping by today.”

The intern has quickly recovered himself, standing with a carefully composed expression.

“Right,” Bravo says uncertainly, a pit forming in his stomach. “Uh, sorry- I’ll come back later.”

He leaves before the scientist can protest, his heart pounding. He’s never seen violence used so casually around Hels Tek, the way it is elsewhere in Hels. The closest time was when Atlas had to snap Clear out of a breakdown, and even that hadn’t been done so lightly.

Atlas told him that Hels Tek was different. That it was better than the rest of Hels, that he’d be safe here. 

It’s… probably not that big of a deal. Everyone loses their temper from time to time. And Bravo can’t hold them to the same standards he would normally, because they’re still from Hels. Things just… work differently here. It doesn’t matter anyways; as soon as that portal is working, he’ll be out of here for good.

He just has to be patient.

~*~

Days turn into weeks.

~*~

“-informed me that they should have the entire lexicon fully transcribed by now,” Atlas says, his quick footsteps bouncing off the empty hall.

Bravo keeps pace with him as they make their way to the portal lab. “Yeah, well, that’s what H8R said last week-”

He breaks off when he hears a sudden crash. Behind one of the doors to another lab, he can make out the sound of furious shouting- two scientists he’s vaguely familiar with- and more heavy thunks and crashes.

Bravo turns to ask Atlas about it, but he’s already slipping inside the door. The sounds immediately stop. After a minute, Atlas comes back out, smoothing down the front of his lab coat.

“Just a little work dispute,” he tells Bravo with a smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Right,” Bravo says flatly. He almost lets it drop there, but something prompts him to keep going. “Y’know, I- I’m not stupid. I know you guys are trying not to be so… so Hels around me. What, do you think a- a few harsh words and fist fights are gonna scare me off?”

“Of course not,” Atlas says, raising his eyebrows. “It’s true that my staff are attempting to be more conscientious than what’s standard for the rest of Hels, but I instilled those rules even before you got here.” He looks at Bravo from over the brim of his shades. “Contrary to what you might believe, we Hels players don’t all thrive on chaos and violence. Some of us would prefer a little more civility and order.”

“Oh, okay.” Bravo glances away, almost sheepish. “Sure, yeah. Sorry.”

Atlas hums noncommittally, continuing down the hall. “Now, where were we…?”

~*~

Weeks turn into months.

~*~

“I’ve told you, I’m working on it!” Tyrannicide snaps. “Who died and made you queen?”

“Well, someone has to keep us on schedule,” Phantonym shoots back, her eyes narrowed, “and it’s clearly not you!”

Bravo pinches the bridge of his nose. The two scientists have been arguing all morning about things he can barely follow. Something something, responsibilities, something something, timelines. It’s really getting hard to bear. If this is the best redstone lab that Hels has to offer, he shudders to think about how the others must function…

“I’m sick of your shit!” Tyrannicide pushes away from the lab bench, his chair toppling over with a loud thud as he jumps to his feet. “If you don’t like the way I do things then you can just-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence; a sword suddenly appears in his chest, splattering blood across the lab bench. Instantly, he vanishes in a puff of respawn smoke, the sword dropping to the ground with a clank.

Phantonym calmly leans over to pick it up. Shock crashes over Bravo as he processes what just happened, only two feet away from him.

H8R sighs loudly. “For godsakes…” he groans, rising from his chair. He shuffles over to grab the mop leaning against the wall. “Couldn’t you have taken this outside? Papers, ruined…”

Bravo finally finds his voice. “You killed him,” he says, stunned.

Phantonym rolls her eyes. “Sorry, yeah, I know that was rude,” she huffs, putting the sword back in her inventory. “But whatever, maybe he’ll come back with a better fucking attitude.”

Bravo isn’t sure how to respond to that. Fortunately, Atlas is quick to arrive, having noticed the death message in chat. He lectures Phantonym about ‘appropriate workplace conduct’ and then pulls Bravo to the side.

“I apologize for that,” Atlas says lowly. “With respawn anchors set up, death has little consequence, and as such, players can sometimes get careless- even those who should know better. But I can assure you, no one here would even think about harming you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bravo demands. He finds that hard to believe. “Why’s that? Has- has my sparkling personality endeared me to them?”

Atlas sighs; he has little patience for Bravo’s sarcasm. “No. I’ve simply impressed upon them that, if such an unsightly event were to occur, there would be dire consequences.”

“Oh.” Bravo swallows. “Uh. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Atlas says, stepping away. “Now, all of you, get back to work.”

Bravo runs a hand through his hair, pausing as he feels a few strands stuck together with still-warm blood. A lump forms in his throat, but he forces it down.

Business as usual at Hels Tek.

~*~

“I don’t know why this couldn’t wait,” Atlas grumbles, rubbing his eyes behind his shades. “I’m all for starting work early, but this is a bit excessive.”

“Because,” Bravo says impatiently, ushering him down the hallway, “every time I try to get a straightforward explanation with the rest of the team there, it always turns into an argument. And I’m sick of being out of the loop. I- I need to know exactly where we’re at with this project, okay?”

There’s only a few more months to go before Bravo will have been at Hels Tek for two years. Not that they’ll throw him an anniversary party or anything. Most players don’t pay much attention to the yearly passage of time; the only reason he even knows how long it’s been is because he’s made a point to keep track on his communicator.

(It’s hard to tell for certain, but Bravo thinks he might’ve stopped aging at this point. He wonders if Tango’s stopped aging too, or if he’ll look younger or older than Bravo when they finally meet.

He supposes it doesn’t really matter. Since all players are immortal, they usually only keep track of age until they reach adulthood. After that, players continue to age up to a certain point that’s completely random; a player who looks twenty might actually be decades older than a player who looks forty. Socially, there’s no difference- an adult is an adult.

But privately, Bravo had been hoping to physically age at least a little bit more, to look more mature than he does currently. Maybe it’d help others take him more seriously.)

Atlas hums noncommittally. “Do you not trust your team?”

Bravo snorts. “I trust my team to get distracted by bickering, that’s what. So- so that’s why I just need you to catch me up to speed on everything, before the rest of ‘em get in this morning.”

“Very well,” Atlas sighs, fishing his keycard out of his inventory as they stop in front of the lab door. He swipes them in. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’d be happy to-” He breaks off as soon as they step through the door, blinking in confusion.

The lights in the lab are already on.

Bravo’s immediately on edge, quickly glancing around. He deliberately dragged Atlas down here at the crack of dawn so they could get here before anyone else on the team-

“Hey, everybody.”

That’s a new voice.

Bravo cranes his head up in the direction the voice came from, and his heart jolts. A player is sitting up in the metal rafters of the lab, balancing on the thin beam in a crouch. Before either of them can respond, the player drops off the side- and catches himself in a rapidly-placed block of water, which disappears back into its bucket and into his inventory just as quickly. He straightens up, standing only a few feet away from them with his hands in his pockets.

The first thought Bravo has is, ‘What a show off.’ Seriously, what kind of guy places water in a redstone lab just to pull off a silly MLG trick?

The player in question is a man with a tall, lanky frame- made even more apparent by the baggy bomber jacket he’s wearing. The gray jacket is old but well-maintained, with patches on the elbows and the collar lined with matted white fur. Complimenting it is a pair of dark cargo pants tucked into trim combat boots. A clock hangs at his hip, suspended on a delicate chain.

His white hair is in the style of an undercut; shaved around the sides and back, with only the top left long and tied into a small bun. His whole left eye is glowing bright red- artificially red, like redstone- with a white iris. The skin surrounding it is thick and mottled, like some kind of burn or chemical scar, standing out in sharp contrast against his pale complexion. It’s impossible to tell the extent of it, though, because the entire lower half of his face is covered by a black mask.

Bravo’s never seen him before. But Atlas inhales sharply, eyes widening from behind his shades.

“Well, well, well.” Atlas spreads his hands, breaking into a broad grin. “If it isn’t Mr. Patho, of Patho’s Lair!”

“Oh, you know who I am?” the player, Patho, asks. It’s difficult to read his expression with so much of his face hidden, but he almost sounds amused.

“But of course.” Atlas is practically vibrating with excitement as he approaches Patho, coming to a stop in front of him. Bravo follows him cautiously. “Any competent redstoner knows who you are, Mr. Patho. It’s an honor to have you here, I don’t know why my staff didn’t inform me of your arrival-”

“I let myself in,” Patho says casually.

It takes a second for the meaning to register; he snuck into Hels Tek completely undetected.

“Ah.” If Atlas is disturbed by this information, he doesn’t show it. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise! It’s an honor to meet you,” he says emphatically, holding out his hand. “I’m Dr. Atlas, the head scientist here.”

Patho just stares at him, hands still in his pockets, making no move to shake Atlas’s hand. It seems to Bravo as if the temperature in the room has dropped by ten degrees.

Atlas, to his credit, recovers quickly. “Thank you so much for coming,” he says, tucking his arms behind his back. “I wasn’t aware that Alisker knew you.”

Patho nods. “Oh yeah, me and Papa Al go way back.” 

Now that Bravo’s getting a closer look, he realizes that Patho’s red eye is mechanical; he can see the little metal plates that make up the iris, moving to change the diameter of the pupil. That, combined with the scar around Patho’s orbit, mean it’s probably a cybernetic replacement.

Injuries that kill a player are healed upon respawn, but they occasionally leave a mark, depending on the nature and severity of the wound. The likelihood of retaining some sort of damage increases the longer a player has an injury without actually dying. Bravo’s seen players with all sorts of scars in Hels, but never one that’s missing an actual body part. He wonders what sort of circumstances could lead to an entire eye being permanently lost, and shudders.

“Well, we’re happy to have you,” Atlas says. Man, he’s really laying it on thick. “I’m certain with your help we’ll be able to-”

“So, this is the overworlder?” Patho interrupts, turning his keen, mismatched gaze onto Bravo. There’s something calculating in his expression, and the intensity of his robotic eye is a little disconcerting- like it’s evaluating Bravo on some level he can’t understand.

“My name’s Bravo,” Bravo says, feeling a spike of irritation. He folds his arms. “So Alisker sent you? You know uh, we talked to him about sending a specialist months ago. Like, almost a year ago.”

Atlas shoots him a warning look. Clearly, he holds this player in very high regard- for whatever reason.

But Patho shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m a busy guy,” he says, completely unapologetic.

Bravo’s jaw tightens. He’s trying really hard not to let his annoyance show, but this guy is quickly getting on his nerves. “I just don’t- what, he- he couldn’t just send a quick whisper, asking you to drop by?”

“No, actually.” Patho finally takes his hands out of his pockets, pushing up the sleeve of his left arm. The entire limb is mechanical- a prosthetic, Bravo realizes, just like his eye- and there’s a familiar screen embedded in his forearm. “I don’t get whispers anymore. I permanently disabled chat.”

He’s built his communicator into his own arm. And disabled the chat. In a world without an admin who can just replace his communicator if something were to go wrong.

Bravo stares at him. “Wh- why would you do that?!”

Patho gives him a curious look, huffing a laugh. Like Bravo’s some kind of dumb animal that’s doing something mildly amusing. “Sorry, that’s actually none of your goddamn business,” he says, tone deceptively light. “Now let’s get to work, yeah?”

Bravo’s too stunned to respond. But Atlas swiftly intervenes, sweeping an arm out towards the lab benches. “Of course! Our set up is right over there, Mr. Patho. Feel free to take a look at our progress thus far while I call the rest of our portal development team over.”

Patho simply nods and turns away, sidling over to the lab benches. Atlas seizes Bravo by the arm and leads him aside.

“Do you remember,” Atlas asks lowly, speaking through the clenched teeth of his grin, “how I told you that a long time ago, a very smart player used data analysis to figure out that Hels is made of two distinct realms fused into one?”

Bravo quirks a brow. “Yeah?”

“Patho is that player.”

“What?” Bravo jolts in surprise. “But that’d make him-”

“One of the oldest players in Hels, yes,” Atlas says, nodding. “I know he doesn’t look it; he stopped aging a long time ago. But trust me when I tell you that this player is ancient, and someone you do not want to cross.”

Bravo frowns. “Seems to be a running theme here, with the sorta people you work with.”

Atlas tilts his head. “Let me put it this way. If I had to choose between having Alisker or Patho as my enemy, I’d choose Alisker any day.” His grip on Bravo’s arm tightens. “You must be on your best behavior.”

“Okay, okay, jeeze!” Bravo huffs, shaking Atlas’s hand off. Despite his annoyance, he can’t deny the concern that Atlas’s words have instilled in him. This must be serious. “Relax, I’m- I’m not gonna do anything stupid.”

“I should hope not,” Atlas responds cooly, pulling up his communicator. “We can’t afford to waste this opportunity.”

Bravo manages not to roll his eyes. “Don’t have to tell me that,” he mutters under his breath as he turns away.

~*~

It only takes a few minutes for the other three to arrive. Introductions are a rushed affair, with far too much fangirling for Bravo’s taste. Apparently, Patho is some kind of celebrity in the redstone community here. Go figure.

Once everything’s settled down again, Atlas explains the situation to Patho in excruciating detail, with frequent interjections from the other scientists. They’re all so eager to prove how much they know about the subject. The hostility between them from the last few months has been all but forgotten; clearly, they wouldn’t dream of devolving into petty bickering in front of Patho.

If nothing else, at least this visit has given them a serious attitude adjustment.

Patho listens to them with rapt attention, speaking only to ask an occasional clarifying question. There’s absolutely nothing in his expression to give away what he’s feeling about the information. Certainly not the excitement Bravo might’ve expected, from someone learning that there’s a way out of Hels.

Maybe Patho’s always suspected. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

Patho also spends some time looking over Bravo’s and Tango’s communicators- which makes Bravo more than a little nervous. Patho’s inspection goes beyond a cursory glance; he actually starts digging through data logs and memory banks, reading the embedded codes.

“Lotta early deaths, huh, Bravo?” he comments at one point, making Bravo flush.

To top it all off, Patho pops open a panel on his robotic arm and tugs out a little cord. He uses this to plug into each of the communicators for a few minutes, his expression blank as his cybernetic eye rapidly scans back and forth. It’s… a little disturbing to watch. By the time he finishes up and gives Bravo his communicator back, Bravo’s practically ready to snatch it out of Patho’s hands. He quickly stows it in his inventory while simultaneously trying to look as though he isn’t at all bothered.

Jury’s still out on whether he was successful or not.

“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking,” Patho announces finally, after all these minutes of information-gathering.

They’ve all settled at the chairs by the lab benches now. Tyrannicide, Phantonym, and L8R_H8R each have notepads out. Atlas doesn’t, but he can’t disguise the interest in his eyes as he leans forward slightly in his seat.

“In the worlds outside Hels,” Patho starts, “you can make portals two ways; a nether portal to travel between overworld and nether, or a portal from your communicator to travel between worlds. In Hels, we can’t do either. But um, there’s actually a difference in how these mechanisms have been blocked here. Aha.”

“You see, buried deep inside every communicator’s memory is a command for creating a new world, and a command for traveling to an existing world- like, a derivative of the ‘summon portal’ command. These commands are locked on a Hels player’s communicator, just like, completely nonfunctional. No amount of tampering can activate them again, so one of these communicator portals has never physically existed in Hels.”

“Now, a nether portal, on the other hand, can still be created in Hels. The uh, the frames just don’t ignite. This is because they were designed to travel between two distinct realms that are now fused in Hels, so the portal gets confused. It’s like, you’re asking it to teleport you somewhere, but you’re already there. So it just crashes. But, theoretically, if you gave a nether portal in Hels a new destination, outside of Hels, you could trick it into teleporting you there.” He finally pauses, gaze drifting around the table. “With me so far?”

Eager nods from the scientists as they scribble down notes.

Bravo frowns. “So why hasn’t anyone successfully done that yet?” he asks.

Patho blinks at him. “It’s a paradox,” he says slowly. “In order to make a portal out of Hels, you need to anchor it to something outside of Hels. But in order to find something outside of Hels to act as an anchor, you need to make a portal out of Hels. So um, historically, there’s been no way for anyone in Hels to access anything from other worlds.” He shrugs. “Until you showed up.”

Atlas looks pleased. “So, you’re saying Mr. Bravo is the key to interworld travel?” His tone makes it clear he already knew that, but is now having it confirmed by a top authority on the subject. It must be extremely validating.

Patho nods. “Yeah, so player data is actually influenced by the world you spawn in. Sort of like, an origin ID tag. I could tell just from reading him that he’s not from Hels. All we have to do is use his data to create an anchor point to another world and link it to a nether portal.”

There are surprised and agreeable little murmurs from the scientists.

“Oh, genius-”

“Of course!”

“-yes, I see.”

“Uh…” Bravo clears his throat. “Hey, so- so as the aforementioned ‘he’, would this uh, hypothetical scenario be in any way painful or damaging? Or permanent? I mean, it’s not gonna- it won’t turn me into a portal, right?”

Patho waves him off. “No, no, it shouldn’t be. It’d be like um, a fingerprint or retina scanner. You’d just need a setup that can read your data and feed it to the portal, and it’ll ignite inside the frame.”

That’s something, Bravo supposes. “Okay… but we aren’t trying to go to just any other world, or my homeworld, we’re trying to find Tango,” he points out. “And- and we have no idea where he is.”

“Ah, you didn’t let me finish,” Patho says good-naturedly. “Based on what I can tell from this Tango guy’s communicator compared to Bravo’s, you can use Bravo’s data to create an anchor point to Tango, too.”

Oh, that’s all kinds of strange. “But why?” Bravo asks, throwing his hands up. “How exactly are Tango and I connected? Is it like that- that thing when one chicken egg spawns in multiples? Like, twins?”

Patho shakes his head. “No, you’d be completely identical if that were the case, and I can tell from your communicators that you aren’t.” He gives Bravo a considering look. “The real answer is, um... more complicated than that. You sure you can handle it?”

Well, that’s not concerning.

Despite his sudden unease, Bravo huffs a laugh. “Uh, yeah? I mean, that’s- that’s what we’re here to find out, right?”

“Alright, then,” Patho hums. He pulls a potion out of his inventory- night vision, Bravo thinks. “So like, imagine that this bottle is Bravo. And all his data- all his code, like everything that makes Bravo who he is- is represented by the potion in the bottle. And that potion is made up of different ingredients, right?”

Bravo knits his brows together. “Where are you going with this?”

“Just stay with me.” Patho pulls another bottle out, but this one is empty. “So when Bravo was spawned, he had all these different ingredients in him. But for whatever reason, the uh, the universe took certain things out and dumped them into a second bottle, making a new potion.” To demonstrate, he tips the potion into the empty bottle, letting some of the shimmering liquid pour into it. “That’s Tango.”

Bravo balks. “Wh- so Tango’s my clone?!”

Patho gives a rueful sigh, like he’s patiently trying to teach an actual child some very simple concept. “No, not a clone. Again, you’d be identical.” He scoops up some stray redstone from the lab bench and pours it into the second potion, swirling it around until the liquid turns reddish. “He’s a derivative of you, like some part of you that has been given its own sentience and form before getting spawned here. I don’t know why. But uh, I predict this is the case for every player spawned in Hels.”

There’s a moment of silence. The redstone particles in the potion eventually settle on the surface, like blood on water.

“Mr. Patho,” Atlas ventures finally, his tone careful, “surely you don’t mean... you’re suggesting we all have doppelgängers outside of Hels?”

“That’s right,” Patho says, putting the potions away. “It’s simple inductive logic based on the construction of the data of every player I’ve ever seen.”

The scientists don’t look quite so eager anymore, pens hovering motionless over notepads.

Bravo exhales slowly, running his hands through his hair. This is… so much more than he could’ve guessed. He’d thought there was a chance the universe purposefully spawned the worst players here in Hels, as some kind of preemptive punishment. But what Patho’s suggesting… it’s different.

“But... but why would the universe do that?” Bravo asks quietly.

“Like I said, I don’t know.” Patho scratches at his jaw over his mask. “Um, I’d need Tango here to do a direct comparison in order to figure out what ‘ingredients’ he’s made of. But we can estimate. So like, what similarities does Tango share with you?”

Bravo shrugs helplessly. “I- I mean- I’ve never met him, but-”

“Their tempers,” Atlas interrupts, his eyes widening with realization. “Mr. Bravo does a fine job keeping it under control, but when Tango got truly angry, he’d fly into an uncontrollable, destructive rage.” He gives Bravo a thoughtful look. “I was never certain how much of that was solely attributed to his blaze hybrid status, but now it seems to me that he got it from you.”

Something about that sentence rankles Bravo. He shoves it to the back of his mind.

“There you go.” Patho waves a hand. “Hels players are made of the worst parts of overworld players. Aha.” He winks. “Explains a lot, right?”

Bravo can only shake his head. “I just- I don’t understand how you can know all that just by looking at me and our communicators-”

“This is what you hired me for, right?” Patho asks, inclining his head. “It’d take way too long to explain. Look, trust my expertise or don’t. I get paid either way.”

“Apologies, Mr. Patho,” Atlas says quickly, “of course we trust your expertise. It’s just… quite a lot to take in.”

“Really?” Patho sounds genuinely surprised. “Seems pretty simple to me.”

Atlas’s smile is strained. “You mean to say you aren’t at all bothered by the concept of your existence being owed to some player in another world? That you’re nothing more than the most undesirable parts of them trimmed away and given shape, locked into an inescapable prison for the simple crime of existing?”

“Nope,” Patho says easily. “So I uh, I just foot the bill to Papa Al, right?”

The sudden change in topic throws Bravo for a moment. “Uh- what do you mean?”

“My payment,” Patho says, stretching his arms above his head before standing up. “Job’s done, so…”

“What?” Bravo demands, rising from his seat. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “That’s it? You- you’re leaving, just like that?”

“Yeah?” Patho chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Like, what else do you want, a kiss on the cheek? That’ll cost extra.”

Bravo feels himself flush. He’s not sure how much of it is from embarrassment and how much is from anger. “I thought you were supposed to be helping us open a portal,” he says, stalking up to Patho.

Atlas frowns at him. “Now, Mr. Bravo-”

“Well,” Patho says, tilting his head, “I already told you everything you need to know to open a portal to Tango.”

“Yeah, well,” Bravo snarks, glaring up at Patho, “knowing and doing are two very different things. We’ve waited months for you to show up, only for you to leave after ten minutes, are you serious? I- I mean, aren’t you gonna help us actually build the portal?”

Patho scoffs at him. “I’m a consultant, not a contractor,” he says, turning away.

Rage flares inside Bravo, like his blood’s turned to lava. “Hey! Don’t you have any idea how important this is?” He grabs Patho by the arm. “You can’t-”

Pain cuts across Bravo’s stomach, before he’s even processed that Patho’s moving. He sees the briefest glint of metal in Patho’s hand- some kind of blade- and something warm presses against his legs. He looks down and- oh. Those are his intestines. He’s looking down at his intestines, spilling from a neat slice that Patho has made through his abdomen.

All the air leaves Bravo’s lungs in a strangled gasp. He has a second to look up at Patho, who stares back impassively, those mismatched eyes cold and hard as stone, before Patho reaches forward with his other arm- the robot arm, easily pulled from Bravo’s grasp- and he plunges it into Bravo’s open body, grabs a fistful of viscera, and pulls-

Bravo sees a spray of red, then everything goes black.

He wakes up on the floor of his bedroom.

Oh. So that happened. Residual adrenaline crashes over Bravo like a bucket of cold water. Quickly he glances down, finding no sign of injury. This does little to calm him. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, and his hands are shaking as he scrambles for his communicator.

Bravo was slain by Patho.

What the hell.

Putting his communicator away, Bravo forces himself to take a few slow, deep breaths. Okay. He respawned in his room. He’s fine. The respawn anchor is now missing one little wedge of light. It almost seems to mock him, like a solitary eye. That’s less fine. It’s been so long since his last death, damn it, he thought he was done with the random murder stuff!

As he gathers his composure, rising to his feet, he finds that his shock is quickly giving way to anger. He doesn’t care how smart or famous Patho is, he’s not going to take this laying down. Hels players might be fine with casually killing someone every time they get on each other’s nerves, but Bravo isn’t.

All he’s asking for is some basic fucking humanity.

Grabbing his spare sword out of his ender chest, Bravo smacks the button on the wall and darts out the door. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears. His feet swiftly take him back to the lab, the route subconsciously memorized after all the time he’s spent in this damn place, and he’s so angry he almost rips his keycard up as he swipes in.

“Hey!” Bravo shouts, rushing into the lab. “What’re you…”

He trails off. Patho is standing not far from where Bravo left him, casually talking to Atlas. His hands are in his pockets, his body language totally relaxed. There’s a splatter of blood across the front of his jacket. Atlas is smiling pleasantly and nodding.

Tyrannicide and Phantonym are hunched over the lab benches, comparing notes. H8R is mopping up the blood on the floor. Bravo’s blood. They all look up at his entrance, expressions disinterested, before turning back to what they were doing.

It’d be terribly unnerving, if it weren’t so infuriating.

Bravo storms right up to Atlas and Patho. “What’s going on here?” he demands furiously.

“Ah, there you are.” Atlas turns to him with a beseeching look. “Mr. Patho has agreed to stay and help work on the portal for a bit longer,” he informs Bravo, as if this is gracious news.

“Oh, has he?” Bravo rounds on Patho with a snarl. His grip tightens around his sword.

Patho shrugs, not at all concerned by Bravo’s very clear threat. “Your friend’s very persuasive.”

“Um, excuse me?” Bravo gives an incredulous laugh, made harsh with anger. “So- so are we just not gonna address what happened?!”

Patho chuckles. “Okay, okay. Here, I’ll use my words this time.” He stares directly into Bravo’s eyes, his cybernetic pupil constricting to match his natural one. “Don’t touch me again, or I’ll fucking kill you. Got that?”

The hair on the back of Bravo’s neck stands up. He can’t even respond, his voice dying in his throat.

Atlas takes the opportunity to grab Bravo by the arm. “Mr. Bravo, a word, please,” he says, steering Bravo away.

Bravo’s too stunned to argue. But once they’re at the other side of the lab, he finally finds his voice again. “Wh- are you kidding me with this?!” he snaps, not bothering to whisper. “This guy shows up out of nowhere after months and months of waiting, sneaks in unannounced, and then decides to fucking shank me just for grabbing his arm? And- and you’re okay with this? You actually want to keep working with him?”

“I do regret that such an unfortunate incident occurred,” Atlas says somberly, as if Patho killing Bravo in cold blood was some kind of freak accident. “I meant it when I said Hels Tek strives to be better than the rest of Hels in that regard. But you must understand that this is simply the way things are here. And with certain recent… revelations… realize that it goes beyond culture or tradition or just simple crassness. It’s in our nature, our very data itself.” He gives Bravo a knowing look. “Some are better at fighting that instinctual coding than others, but none of us will ever operate at the same level as an overworlder.”

Bravo pauses, his anger starting to fade. He hadn’t thought about it like that. He’d assumed most Hels players acted the way they did just because they could get away with it. Hels is a world with no rules and no admin to keep order, so common decency falls by the wayside. But he’d thought, he’d thought, that surely they were capable of being better? That there’d be some innate sense of humanity, deep down inside them, that would guide them if only they cared enough to listen.

But now. Now, it seems as if they aren’t capable of it. Not just because they don’t know any better, but because something inside of them is actively rebelling against it, spurring them on to ever more horrible, violent deeds. Bravo’s always felt he was different from Hels players, but now he has actual scientific evidence supporting the fact.

It’s… almost comforting.

“I… I guess that’s true,” Bravo says uncertainly. He puts his sword away, folding his arms. “But I mean- come on, do we really have to keep him around?”

Atlas smiles. “Patho is one of the most brilliant minds in all of Hels. He practically invented the field of data analysis. He is likely the only player who will be able to help us open a portal in a matter of years rather than decades. With your assistance, I’m certain we can figure it out.” He puts a hand on Bravo’s shoulder, and his grin sharpens. “I’m still willing to uphold my end of our deal. Are you?”

The reality of the situation sinks in slowly, a cold dread.

Bravo’s spawn is set here via respawn anchor. He’s outnumbered and outmatched. This is a secure facility that would be near impossible to escape from. With what Patho’s learned, they don’t need Bravo’s cooperation to create a functioning portal. They just need him, his physical data. And he knows they’d be willing to hold him here against his will to get what they want, to keep him trapped like some kind of experiment, like an animal.

Atlas is offering him a chance to not do that. To work with them willingly. And to maybe, just maybe, still go home at the end of all this. He doesn’t know if the portal will require his continuous presence to work. He doesn’t know if Atlas will let him leave, if he’s their only way out of Hels. But it’s a chance.

The only chance he’s got.

“Yeah,” Bravo says, forcing a smile. “Yeah, of course. I mean, we’ve come this far, right?”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Atlas says, releasing his grip on Bravo’s shoulder. “Now, play nice with Mr. Patho. Without his help, you just might be stuck here forever. Understand?”

Bravo’s throat tightens. “Loud and clear.”

~*~

“So I’ve got the blueprints done,” Patho announces nonchalantly, dropping a roll of paper on the table. “Have a look.”

Atlas quickly scoops up the blueprint, moving aside cups and bowls to make space. Bravo fights back a scowl and keeps eating his lunch.

The other scientists in the cafeteria have taken notice, whispering to each other excitedly and casting not-so-subtle looks at the portal team’s table. Patho’s arrival yesterday caused quite the stir, but this is the first time many of the other scientists are actually seeing him- though Bravo’s definitely noticed a few players snooping by the door to the portal lab.

After studying the blueprint for a moment, Atlas raises his eyebrows. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting such a compact design,” he says. His tone is a bit mixed; he’s clearly impressed with Patho’s work, but is irritated that the solution has turned out to be so simple. “Is this really all it will take?”

Patho nods. He seems content just to stand by their table with his hands in his pockets, making no move to sit down with them. “For the most part, yeah. I mean, you know, I’m not sure what kind of power source this thing will need yet but the data processing itself isn’t bad.”

“Power source?” Tyrannicide chimes in, looking over the blueprint with knitted brows. “What do you mean? Isn’t opening a portal like punching open a doorway? Once it’s open, it should stay open.”

“Well, normally, yeah,” Patho says, “but this portal isn’t supposed to exist. We can force the portal to open a door for us by feeding it coordinates, but it’ll be updating every tick. And every time it updates, it’ll check its input and output coordinates, and once it tries to process the uh, the coordinates from Hels, it’ll crash. Because, you know, portals aren’t supposed to exist in Hels. But, if we keep sending our own updates to it, like in a constant stream of power, it’ll keep resetting the checker. Sort of like an update suppressor. And um, that way, it’ll remain open and stable.” He taps the side of his head. “Aha.”

Small murmurs and exclamations of realization and agreement around the table. Bravo sets his bowl of mushroom stew down with a little more force than necessary.

“You said that all we needed to open a portal was my player data,” he accuses.

“To ignite it, yeah, but not stabilize it.” Patho makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s like…imagine you’ve got this door, right? And you want the door to stay open. But there’s, like, a big windstorm on the other side, constantly trying to slam the door shut. So you have to provide your own opposing force to hold the door open. Too little, and you won’t be able to stop the door from closing. Too much, and you’ll blow the door off its hinges, and the uh, the doorway will collapse. It’s gotta be just the right strength. And uh, it’s gotta be 100% reliable, too. No stalling or malfunctions.”

Bravo exhales through his nose. “Wonderful.” 

Atlas puts a hand on Bravo’s arm. “I’m sure we’ll find a solution when we get to that point,” he says mildly. “There are plenty of options for powering redstone, should be fairly simple.”

Grumbling, Bravo shifts over on the bench so he can see the blueprints a little better. He scans the diagrams with careful attention, from the portal frame to the rows of data processors all the way down to the input chamber, where he sees what’s clearly supposed to be a player standing on-

“Is that a redstone ore block?” Bravo asks, taken aback.

“Yeah?” Patho quirks an eyebrow. “What, don’t you guys have any redstone ore in this place?”

Bravo snorts. “Uh, no. There’s like, a whole system of double chests filled with redstone blocks if you-”

“No, no good, you need the ore,” Patho says, shaking his head.

Bravo frowns. “Why?”

“There’s a neat little trick you can do with redstone ore,” Patho explains. “It like, lights up when you step on it, right? Turns out it’s actually reading your presence. Like a player detector.”

“Wait, really?” Phantonym asks, leaning forward in her seat. “I thought the particles were simply reacting to kinetic energy.”

“That’s a pretty common assumption, but there’s more to it than that.” Patho idly scratches at the side of his mask. “To keep it short, something about redstone in its raw, unmodified form allows it to, like, take in and process information at a higher level. Of course, we ruin that when we mine it into dust. So you can either use a super complex player detector that’ll take weeks to build and cover up the entire floorspace of this lab… or we can use a block of redstone ore. It’ll be able to read Bravo’s data and transform it into a signal that we can feed to the portal- after it goes through a data processor, of course.”

Bravo is begrudgingly impressed. However, he can’t help but jab, “If redstone ore is that useful, why don’t you have any?”

“Oh, I do,” Patho replies matter-of-factly. “I keep plenty in my ender chest. But like, I don’t really use my own materials on consults like this, so…”

“Right,” Bravo says flatly, less impressed. This guy won’t even give up a single block of redstone ore for a job? What a jerk.

Atlas rolls the blueprint back up into a neat scroll. “Well, this is just splendid work, Mr. Patho,” he gushes. Then he grins at the rest of them. “Anyone up for some mining?”

~*~

After a few days of work, the lab looks like a completely different place.

Several chests have been stacked up and stocked with all the materials Patho’s design requires. In the meantime, he’s laid out where everything is going to go using outlines made of redstone dust. The lab benches are littered with blueprints- Atlas had the good sense to make plenty of copies- and pages of notes.

(There’s also a new wooden platform up in the rafters, only the bottom of it visible from below. Bravo thinks that might be where Patho is actually sleeping, strangely enough. It’s not like they don’t have any spare rooms.)

Once all the preparations have been made, Patho runs the team through the details of his design. The portal is straightforward enough; just an obsidian frame with a redstone line feeding into it. But after that, the outlines quickly become more complicated.

“So, there’s a lot of information in a player’s data, right?” Patho starts. “If we tried to feed it all into the uh, the portal, it would completely overload it. Like, it might try and do some crazy things. So we’ll keep it simple by giving it only the coordinates we want it to open up at. But in order to get those coordinates, we’ve gotta take all that raw data and filter it to get what we want. Aha.” He gestures vaguely at the redstone outlines. “That’s what this is for.”

Bravo squints at the outlines. “And- and what’s this repeater circuit for?”

Patho shrugs. “Well, right now, the coordinates we get from your ID tag lead directly to Tango. Like, the coordinates would open a portal up directly on top of him. Since you guys are trying to get something back from him, I imagine you’ll wanna be able to sneak up on him, right?” A knowing look glints in his eye. “So this circuit is gonna add about fifty blocks of distance in the X axis. Just so you’re not right in front of him when you come through the portal. That way, you keep the uh, the element of surprise.”

“Oh, I see,” Atlas murmurs approvingly. “Very clever.” 

Bravo folds his arms. “Unless Tango happens to be standing fifty blocks away from a cliff,” he points out.

Patho’s eyes slant upward in what might be a grin. “Guess you’re just gonna have to take that chance,” he says simply, before moving on. “So uh, after the signal passes through this circuit, it’ll-”

The lab door flings open with a metallic clunk.

Dr. Clear sweeps into the lab, hastily shoving his ID card back in his coat pocket. He doesn’t even look over or acknowledge them at all as he beelines towards the stack of chests. Mumbling under his breath, he pops open the nearest chest and starts rummaging around in it.

Patho blinks at the unexpected interruption. Atlas looks like he might have an aneurysm.

“Excuse me, Dr. Clear?” Atlas calls, his voice and smile incredibly strained.

“Huh?” Clear pauses, glancing over his shoulder. He seems mildly surprised to see them, like he didn’t realize anyone else was there. Typical.

Atlas folds his arms behind his back. “Is there any particular reason you’re interrupting us while we work with Mr. Patho?”

Clear stares dimly at them. “Who?”

If Bravo’s not mistaken, Patho’s face twitches a little at that.

“Mr. Patho,” Atlas stresses. “You know, Patho’s Lair?”

“Patho Slair?” Clear cocks his head to the side. “Huh. Slair. Kinda sounds like stair. Anyone ever call ya that? Patho Stair?”

Bravo manages not to laugh, but it’s a near thing. Atlas looks like he could strangle Clear.

“Anyways.” Clear goes back to digging through the chest. “Don’t you worry none, just ‘ave ta grab somethin’...”

“Is your own lab not sufficiently stocked?” Atlas asks pointedly.

That gets Clear’s full attention. He steps back from the chest, letting it slam shut, and looks around. “Oh. This ain’t me lab. Right, then.” Without another word, he turns on his heel and exists just as quickly as he’d come, leaving the lab in baffled silence.

Atlas turns to Patho with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry for the interruption, Mr. Patho. Dr. Clear isn’t exactly-”

“It’s fine,” Patho chuckles, waving him off. “Let’s uh, let’s get back to work.”

‘Yes sir, Mr. Stair,’ Bravo thinks to himself.

~*~

“Okay, everybody,” Patho calls. “This is gonna be a simple test.” 

Bravo sighs impatiently. Putting together the actual redstone for the portal generator took much longer than it ought to have. For someone with such an impressive reputation, Patho barely contributed to the building process, the real laying-down-blocks part. Instead, he mostly supervised and criticized. Apparently, he’s very particular about how his redstone works.

It wasn’t made any easier by the number of times random scientists would stop by the lab with flimsy excuses just to talk to Patho. They’d always end up asking him to explain the project, which he was always happy to do (because he’s a massive show off, too big for his combat boots) so everything would grind to a halt.

They haven’t even properly hooked up the portal itself yet, as Patho insisted on testing their data processing unit beforehand. And of course, Bravo would voice his complaints if it weren’t for the little issue of Atlas not-so-subtly reminding him that the only way to get what he wants is by cooperating with Patho.

So. Here they are.

“All we’re gonna do is have Bravo stand on the ore block,” Patho continues, “and see how the data reads out. Just to make sure everything’s accounted for, so like, nothing extra accidentally travels to the portal. If we’ve done everything correctly, we’ll find the coordinates properly counted in these hopper clocks.”

Tyrannicide, Phantonym, and H8r are standing by with notepads at the ready. Atlas is watching from the side with a smile that might’ve been meant to be encouraging, if Bravo didn’t know him better.

Patho glances over at Bravo. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Bravo pushes down a sudden surge of irritation (as if he’s the one they’re waiting on) and steps onto the redstone ore block. Particles gather at his feet as the veins of ore light up. He watches the signal travel along the redstone line, like a lit fuse, and enter the data processing series.

Dispenser clocks tick and observers flash. The signal makes it way through the circuit before reaching the end of the line and fizzling out. The other scientists wait with bated breath as Patho checks the input coordinate hoppers. His expression betrays nothing.

“Alright,” he says finally, “so uh, the hoppers all filled to exactly two and a half stacks before locking. Can anyone tell me where the problem is?”

All three scientists’ hands go up. Bravo groans and puts his face in his hands.

~*~

“Okay, that’s ready to go.” Patho straightens up, dusting the redstone off his hands. “Bravo, stand on the redstone ore.”

“Alright, I’m standin’,” Bravo huffs.

Patho turns to the others. “I wanna stress again, if this works, the portal that generates is not gonna be stable. No one is going in or out of it, okay? I mean, like, we might see it only for a couple seconds, if we’re lucky. Everyone ready?”

Enthusiastic nods from the sidelines.

“Alright, here goes.” Patho stoops over and hits the button.

A piston extends, pushing a redstone block out to complete the circuit. The signal from Bravo darts across the newly created path, into the data processor. They all wait with bated breath as the signal inches closer to the portal frame-

The temperature drops, a static charge filling the air. Light flashes in the portal frame for just a second, just long enough for Bravo to process the color of it (or colors, rather; an ever-changing rainbow) before there’s a loud crack, and it’s gone, leaving behind an empty frame.

For a moment, the room is filled with stunned silence.

“Amazing!”

“I can’t believe-”

“Did you see that?”

Bravo finally finds his voice. “Oh, finally.” He jumps off the redstone ore block, pumping a fist in the air. Excitement courses through him like electricity, and the relief is overwhelming. “Yes! We’ve got a portal, we’ve got a portal- oh my gosh, this is fantastic!”

Atlas shakes his head. “We’ve got the means to create a portal,” he corrects, though he can’t hide how pleased he is.

“Yup.” Patho nods, his satisfied gaze sweeping over the redstone. “Now all that’s left is to set up a sufficient power source to maintain the portal once it’s open. Can’t overdo it, though, or the whole thing will blow up.”

Bravo exhales slowly. “Right, can’t forget about that tiny little detail.”

“I have some ideas,” Atlas says with a grin. “Rest assured, we’re in the home stretch now.”

~*~

One day, they wake up to find Patho gone.

Just disappeared in the middle of night, without so much of a word to anyone. Atlas speaks with Alisker over whispers for a while, but the crime boss has no further information and insists there’s nothing he can do. Evidently, Patho’s decided that they’re far enough along as to no longer require his assistance, and whatever business he has elsewhere in Hels is more important to him than witnessing the creation of a portal.

Bravo really doesn’t get it. But he can’t say he’s not happy about it.

Good riddance.

~*~

“How’s it looking?” Bravo asks, straining to see without leaving his redstone ore block.

Phantonym makes a noncommittal noise. “Still not strong enough.”

In their search for the perfect power source, they’ve decided to start simple. Redstone torches and levers weren’t enough, so now they’ve moved on to a full redstone block, hooked up to the frame with a bit of dust. After that wasn’t sufficient, they hooked up multiple redstone blocks around the portal before finally just building a complete frame around it. But it seems even that isn’t providing the power they need to keep the portal open for more than a couple seconds.

“Alright,” Atlas says, “tear it out. Cross redstone blocks off the list.”

Bravo steps off the ore block with a sigh. “Well, what now?”

“Hey,” Tyrannicide says thoughtfully, scanning his notepad, “Patho said that redstone ore is more powerful than the mined stuff, right? What if we…?”

~*~

“Hit the deck!”

The light inside the portal frame is swirling madly now, almost violently as the air fills with an electric humming. Bravo dives behind a lab bench just as an ear-splitting boom shakes the entire lab.

Once everything is still and quiet, Bravo carefully peeks his head back out. His stomach drops.

There’s now a large crater where their entire portal machine used to be. Everything’s gone; the circuits, the data processor, the hoppers. All that’s left is the obsidian frame, floating above the newly-formed hole as concrete blocks and miscellaneous redstone items litter the ground- including the redstone ore block they used to try and power it.

“Damn it,” H8R swears. “Overloaded the circuit.”

Phantonym rounds on Tyrannicide with a furious snarl. “You idiot!”

“I was just-”

“Stop it,” Atlas interrupts sharply, glowering at them from behind his shades. “We knew this was a possibility. Go get another copy of the blueprints, we need to rebuild.”

‘I’m in hell,’ Bravo thinks. ‘I’m literally in hell.’

~*~

“And now, we- we’ve gotta do all this work to find the perfect power source to keep the portal open. Not too much, not too little, but just right. Can’t use any kinda mob power because that can fluctuate, and if we’re off by even one tick the whole thing will collapse. After all the years of research that went into this project, the last step is just to power the dang thing and it’s taking forever!”

Clear hums, attention completely focused on the flying machine he’s working on. “Mmm, yeah, sounds tricky.”

“And- and the worst part,” Bravo continues, angrily pacing back and forth, “is that I’d only need it open for a couple of seconds to get back home! But because of this stupid deal with Atlas, I have to hang around until it’s stable enough for them to track down Tango.”

“Track down Tango?” Clear repeats, quirking a brow. He snorts. “Well, that’s really quite simple. Tango Tek’s in the south wing, innit?”

Bravo stops pacing. “What?”

“The blaze farm,” Clear says, squinting at one of the observers. “S’what Atlas said, anyhow. Now uh, d’ya mind handing me that-”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold up. A blaze farm?” Bravo whirls around, kneeling beside Clear and grabbing his shoulders. “You guys don’t have a blaze farm here, Atlas said the spawning conditions weren’t right for them.”

“For who?” Clear asks absently.

“For blaze!”

“What blaze?” 

“Wh- I dunno!” Bravo pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. This is why he doesn’t often hang around Clear. “You said something about blaze, and- and Tango, and the south wing-”

“The south wing?” Clear makes a dismissive noise. “Oh, that’s under renovation.”

Bravo pauses. “... still? I… huh.”

He remembers being told the south wing was under renovation when he first got to Hels Tek, years ago. He didn’t think much of it at the time. But he can’t imagine what sort of renovations would take so long to complete, for a facility as well-supplied and well-staffed as Hels Tek.

That’s… suspicious.

Clear coughs into his sleeve. “Right. Now uh, would ya mind handin’ me that piston?”

~*~

Bravo stands in front of the door to the south wing, hesitating.

Squinting through the slats in the door, he can see the hallway beyond it entirely unchanged from the last time he stood here, years ago. The uneasy feeling in his stomach grows stronger with every passing minute. But really, he’s not the one in the wrong here; if Atlas is keeping something hidden from him, after the years they’ve spent working together, it can’t be for any innocent reason. He tightens his grip on his ID keycard, taking a steadying breath, before swiping it into the dispenser.

The keycard is quickly spat back out from under the floor, but the iron door doesn’t open.

Oh, that’s a bad sign. He doesn’t have access to this doorway. Swallowing, Bravo puts the keycard away and pulls out his pickaxe. He knows there’s redstone in the walls that’ll notify the security system if any door is broken, but he doesn’t have a choice. He’ll have to be quick.

Bravo breaks down the door, hastily placing it back up behind him before darting down the hallway. There are more iron doors lining the hall on either side; he quickly peers through these only to find them empty. Moving on, he finally stops at the final door at the end of the hallway.

There’s a sign next to this one that reads, ‘Tango Tek.’

Bravo’s heart is hammering against his ribcage. This is his last chance to back out, to claim that he was just curious but didn’t see anything besides empty rooms. To go back to their tenuous partnership, rife with tension and unspoken words, fighting to keep his head above the choppy water.

He lifts his pickaxe.

The room beyond the door is dimly lit by a couple carelessly placed torches, flickering against the checkered floor. Three of the walls are completely bare. The last one, facing Bravo, is acting as a facade for some sort of redstone contraption.

It’s a small glass enclosure, just big enough for a single player to stand in. The floor is made of soul sand, from which vines of wither roses sprout and curl haphazardly within the glass chamber. Among them are two short chains, as if broken, that hang limply at either side. The glass itself is stained with a dry splatter of something dark. There’s a dispenser embedded at one side, and a drained respawn anchor on the other. Three hoppers are arranged above the chamber, presumably connected to long hopper lines hidden behind the wall.

It hits Bravo suddenly. He’s looking at a farm; a kind of farm the likes of which he’s never seen before. But Clear had said there was a blaze farm-

“Well, well, well.”

Bravo whirls around, swapping his pickaxe for his sword.

Atlas is standing in the doorway with his arms folded neatly behind him, a wide smile fixed on his face. The light from the hallway behind him reflects in his shades, obscuring his eyes from view, his shadow looming long across the floor.

“I figured it was only a matter of time before Dr. Clear let something slip. I do wish you had come to me first.” His tone is deathly calm. “Though I suppose it’s my fault for leaving the farm in this state.”

Bravo raises his sword. “What is this?” he demands, though his voice comes out more fearful than angry. “Explain, now!”

Atlas seems unbothered as he steps fully into the room. “This was the best blaze farm Hels had ever seen, powered by a single blaze hybrid.”

“What are you- oh.” Bravo inhales sharply. “You mean Tango. He- he was in the farm? You put him in a farm?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been fully honest with you, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas says with a rueful grin. “You see, Tango did work here for a couple years, but he wasn’t exactly gainfully employed. It took much trial and error, but eventually we were able to construct a fully automatic and extremely efficient blaze farm, just in the space you see here. It was a work of art, really. My crowning achievement.”

Bravo’s mind is reeling. “Tango never stole anything from Hels Tek, did he?” he realizes. “He just escaped. This whole time, you’ve been trying to track him down to catch him again, to put him back in-”

“Finally putting it all together now, are we?” Atlas hums. “Yes, the plan has always been to recapture Tango. He’s a clever devil; he waited until his respawn anchor was drained, and then drowned himself in his own blood.”

Horror seizes Bravo. He glances back at the enclosure, at that dark smear on the glass-

“What we never figured out, though,” Atlas muses, “was how he created that portal. That much of the story is true. It was solely his actions, his creation of the portal to… trade places, in a sense. I haven’t the foggiest idea how he knew about you and your connection, but clearly, he was able to utilize it. And once he had the chance, he took it.”

Bravo’s breath rings shallowly in his ears. It’s so much to take in- he never really knew how to feel about his missing counterpart. Second-hand accounts from the scientists didn’t paint the kindest picture, and he always knew Tango was responsible for getting him stranded here, but… 

“You should be happy, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas tells him earnestly. “This is good news for you. I know you’ve been worried about whether or not I’ll uphold my end of the bargain, once the portal is made. You’re worried that I’ll try to keep you here, against your will. But now I can tell you for certain that you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh, really?” Bravo spits. “And- and why is that?”

Atlas holds his hands up. “All I want is to get Tango back, so I can continue my work. And my work is here. My entire life’s aspirations, my purpose, is here.” His eyes flash from behind his shades. “The rest of the universe can rot for all I care. Once I have what I want, you can go home and leave this whole mess behind you, forever. You have my word.”

Bravo narrows his eyes. “Wha- why should I believe anything you say?”

“Because once we have a stable portal, you are of no further use to me,” Atlas answers cooly. “I have no reason to keep you here.”

That throws Bravo for a moment. He frowns, doubtful. “Not even as insurance? I mean, in case something happens to the portal?”

Atlas tilts his head. “To keep you here against your will is to risk you breaking out and causing further damage in retaliation. We’d also have to put in the time and effort to sustain you with virtually no benefit. No, better to let you go on your way. And in any case, I only need it open long enough to recapture Tango.”

Bravo swallows. “But if I help you catch him, he… he’ll be in that farm because of me.”

Atlas shrugs. “What does it matter? Tango is a mob hybrid- not a true player like us. Before we captured him, all he ever did was cause chaos and suffering wherever he went. At least at Hels Tek he was good for something.”

Bravo hesitates. “I don’t-”

“Besides,” Atlas continues smoothly, “it’s evident he didn’t give the same consideration to you. He took the first chance he had to switch places. For all he knew, you might’ve been a blaze hybrid as well. He had no issue sentencing you to his fate.”

It’s like a knife twisting in Bravo’s side. “You… you don’t know that,” he says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.

Atlas gives a bitter laugh. “Oh, come now,” he says harshly. “Do you really think he’d feel any sort of loyalty to you? Why, because you happen to have some data in common? From everything you’ve seen and experienced at the hands of Hels players, do you really think we’re capable of feeling anything besides greed and spite and hatred? Oh, you are lost. You’re letting your overworld sensibilities get the better of your sound judgement.”

Atlas spreads his arms wide, black lab coat swishing around him, his grin manic. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world out here, Mr. Bravo,” he declares. “This is the nature of Hels. It always has been, and always will be. We were always going to hurt each other, to use each other- it’s how we were fucking made. There is nothing you can do to change that. Tango belongs here, and you don’t. Whatever else happens is none of your fault or concern.”

Bravo’s grip on his sword wavers. He knows he shouldn’t help Atlas. Deep down, he knows. Living in a farm must be a miserable existence for a player, one that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

Except…

Is it really the same if the player isn’t really human? If the player is hardly more than a monster? Hels players are different, and mob hybrids even more so. Tango didn’t care about what would happen to Bravo when he swapped their places, didn’t care that he’d be stranding Bravo in this terrible prison forever. If he cared, he would’ve come for Bravo by now. But he wouldn’t risk his own safety, his own freedom, in order to save Bravo.

So why should Bravo? Why should he risk his one chance to go home just to protect an evil doppelgänger who couldn’t care less about him? Why should he have to keep suffering in this world as punishment for crimes he didn’t commit?

Tango’s had nearly ten years outside of Hels- ten years that he stole from Bravo. There’s no getting those back. But Bravo can make sure it ends here; he can finally right this wrong and get back to his life.

“Now,” Atlas says lowly, having once again regained his composure. He looks at Bravo over the brim of his shades. “Are you going to help me open a portal, or not?”

Bravo takes a final look at the empty farm. Then he puts his sword away.

“I’m in.”

~*~

Bravo stares at the portal in shocked silence.

It’d only taken a few more days of testing for them to find the right power source. Blaze powder, of all things. Now that they aren’t hiding the existence of their nearly-infinite blaze rod stockpile from Bravo, Atlas suggested they try it. And lo and behold, it turned out to give off the perfect amount of power.

They’ve set up a circuit of glass tubing around the portal frame, inside of which the blaze powder flows along in a steady stream. The constant movement provides endless updates to the portal, preventing it from ever catching up to the fact that it shouldn’t exist.

The portal ignited right away, lighting up with a mixture of red, yellow, and green. The colors are holding constant rather than shifting and changing like they did in prior attempts, and Bravo can feel with certainty that Tango lies somewhere beyond it.

“Okay, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas murmurs, watching the portal intently. “Go ahead.”

Holding his breath, Bravo steps off the redstone ore block. The portal doesn’t change, colors still lazily swirling about in its frame. He lets out a sigh of relief.

Atlas nods. “Alright, shut it off.”

Tyrannicide gawks at him. “But it’s stable-”

“Now.”

He quickly shuts the portal off, hitting the button that pulls the redstone block back out of the circuit. The signal dies, and the portal extinguishes.

Atlas rounds on Tyrannicide with a tight grin. “Need I remind you that we don’t know who else is in the world that Tango’s currently inhabiting? The last thing we need is one of them to discover the portal sitting idly. We’d completely lose our advantage.”

“Right. Sorry, sir,” Tyrannicide mutters.

Bravo stares longingly at the unlit portal frame. It was right there. He could’ve reached out and touched it…

“Chin up, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas says mildly, putting a hand on Bravo’s shoulder. “Now the final preparations can begin. Everyone, take the rest of the night off. Meet me in the conference room first thing tomorrow morning to discuss our plan of attack.”

“Yes, sir.”

Atlas looks at Bravo out of the corner of his eye, smiling. “You’ll be home soon.”

Bravo nods. “Yeah, I know.”

~*~

“Are you ready?” Atlas asks, his quiet voice almost lost in the anxious chatter of the lab.

Bravo exhales slowly. “Yeah.”

“Have everything?”

“Yup.” Bravo’s checked his inventory no less than five times in the last three minutes.

“Remember the plan?”

“In my sleep.” Like they haven’t run through it enough times over the last few days.

“Good. Said your goodbyes?”

Bravo snorts. “Oh, yeah, sure. It was super heartfelt. Tears were shed.”

“Mmm.” Atlas is unamused. “You know, I recall a certain blaze hybrid liked to use sarcasm, too…”

“Not helping.”

“Just stick to the plan, and everything will be fine. Once you step through this portal, you never have to return to this place ever again. Help us with this one thing, and we’ll be out of your hair forever.”

“I know. Let’s- let’s get a move on, huh?” 

“Very well.” Atlas lifts his voice to address the rest of the room. “Attention, everyone. We’re activating the portal now. Everyone in formation. Yes, yes, you too- no, you’re following Dr. Tyrannicide in, remember? No, not you- you’re all with Dr. Phantonym. There you go.”

Bravo makes a noncommittal noise. “Not instilling a lotta confidence…”

Atlas gives him a dry look. “Alisker didn’t select them for their intelligence, but they’ll serve us well when it comes to dealing with Tango.”

“Right.”

Atlas turns away. “Dr. H8R, start the countdown, if you please.”

“Yes, sir. Portal launch in ten… nine… eight-”

“Oh shit. Oh fuck.” It’s starting to sink in. Bravo’s leaving- he’s really, really leaving Hels.

“-seven… six-”

“Having second thoughts?” Atlas asks, his tone almost teasing.

“- five…”

Bravo scoffs. “What, you kidding? I can’t-”

“... four… three-”

“-wait to get out of here.”

“- two…” 

Atlas hums. “About time, isn’t it?”

“... one.”

“You’re telling me,” Bravo breathes.

“Initiate.”

H8R presses the button. The piston extends, pushing the redstone block into the circuit. Bravo’s signal courses along the redstone line like it has every other time they tested this, filtering through the data processor and sending coordinates to the portal.

The frame ignites. A familiar tricolor light floods the room; swirls of red, yellow, and green. A hushed silence falls over the room as Bravo slowly, carefully, steps off the redstone ore block. The portal holds- of course it does, they’ve tested it enough. He faces the portal, heart pounding, tears inexplicably gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Good luck, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas says with a smile.

Bravo takes a deep breath and steps into the portal.

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player steps out of a portal.

The sunlight is nearly blinding. For a second all he can do is stand there, blinking, one arm braced on the obsidian frame behind him as his eyes slowly adjust. The portal’s still stable, he notes absently; on this side, the light inside the frame is blood red.

He takes in his surroundings. He’s standing in some kind of field- wheat, he realizes belatedly. It’s been so long since he’s seen this much wheat. It’s growing along rolling hills that are otherwise covered in lush green grass, occasionally dotted with great big oak trees. The blue sky above him is peppered with fluffy white clouds. A gentle breeze plays with his hair, and the sun is shining high above him.

It’s beautiful.

He can hear animals nearby; he turns his head and sees a pasture filled with cows, another with sheep and goats. There’s one with pigs, and a little coop with clucking coming from inside. Somewhere nearby, a horse neighs loudly. He scans the horizon and sees a winding path that cuts through the wheat field, leading up to a house- some kind of modest, rustic farmhouse. A ranch, maybe.

Taking a shaky breath, he pulls out his communicator to check which world he’s on. As he does, he catches the last message just as it fades from chat.

Bravo has joined the game.

~*~

[velvet-paradox]

Ache

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: König x Female reader Summary: You get a concussion and poor König is beside himself and the 141 are trying their best to get you to remember. Length: LONG; I am so NOT sorry btw ;) Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, strong language, explicit content, reader has a little freak out, flashbacks, sad boy König, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, detailed smut. Tagging: @synnersaint @isikforyourthoughts @stuckimaginationuniverse @howaboutlunch @pookie90 @undeadfreak47 @pokerfaceftw @dracofxckingluciusmalfoy @panty-h03 @0151imagayone

p.s. I used Google translate for the words below Bis später = see you later Bitte = please Verdammte Scheiße = holy shit

ENJOY!!!

König is worried. Fidgeting in this sterile room, everything is so white and so clean, not a speck of dust on any surface, tidy desks and stiff furniture that begs to be sat on or it'll turn into stone. He paced the room, heavy boots pounding mopped up linoleum.

His gear is still stained, hadn't bothered to wash off the combat. There wasn't any time. He had to get that EVAC out to your location as soon as possible, he'd have to apologize to driver when he found him. He was in a rush and overwhelmed with panic, he didn't truly mean to knock the woman down trying to get you into the back of the van.

But you were in danger, hurt, unconscious.

Those sorry motherfuckers had harmed his precious girl, the only one to make him smile, to make him genuinely laugh. You took him as is, all broken pieces and shattered dreams. You'd fight his demons if you could, you told him so night after night, stroking his head against your chest or stomach.

You were his grounding point. The calm to his storm.

Therefor he couldn't risk you being in this state, a flashbang had knocked you all to the ground, deafening ringing, chaos and bloodshed soon to follow. König didn't realize until the damage was done and the smoke had cleared that you were crumpled against the South wall, completely out with a trickle of blood leaking from your ear.

He made some sort of animal-like sound, it didn't even register that he'd never made that sort of noise before until he reached you, crushing and grabbing your vest to sit you up. Your head was limp like a cloth doll, König was graceful in holding you steady, checking your vitals and manually opening your eyes.

"Come in Actual! I need an EVAC immediately!"

You looked so small in that hospital bed, fragile. Foreign.

He knew you as a hellcat, fiery and hot to the touch. Ready to fight or fuck at any given chance. This version of you made him nervous. Scared him. And Colonel König does not get scared.

He checked his watch again, the rhythm of the monitors you were hooked up to only agitated him further, so that meant more pacing, more worrying his bottom lip that tasted of blood. Skin chewed up raw.

König leaned on the end of your bed making it creak under his weight. He could punch through a wall right about now, gnaw on the fucking plaster, rip off door jams and spit out nuts and bolts. Under his watch this had happened and he would never forgive himself. His eyes watered briefly before he pushed off the bedframe, your head wrapped gauze, shrapnel had made little scratches across your forehead and cheek.

Please be okay my darling girl… I can't much anymore…

König stirred awake, he'd picked up and moved the heavy chair from the window to your bedside, crossing his arms and resting his cheek on them as he watched you sleep. Your steady breathing had matched the heart monitor, smooth and calm and that's what had lulled him to sleep.

His back would fucking kill later but he wasn't too bothered. He'd do anything for you.

You made a weird face and groaned, shifting your shoulders before blinking yourself awake.

König's tank had never been so full with relief. He straightened himself up, touching your hand without the IV in it. "Oh thank God mein liebe; I was so worried. How are you feeling?"

His eyes danced over your face as you wet your lips.

"Like shit. Did I get hit by a fucking truck or what?" Your voice cracked and König was quick to jump up and fill a paper cup that was childlike in his shaking hands. He helped you to take small sips.

"Something like that. Unpredictable flashbangs with do that. Lucky we got out when we did."

"What?" You blinked up at him.

"Flashbangs. You know. Poof!" König made an explosion gesture by his helmet. "Nasty things. Effective, but still very nasty."

"I don't know what that is," you paused then and looked around the room with open eyes, clarity slipping through the cracks as you gripped the cup, brows furrowed. "I don't-- where am I? What am I doing here?"

König touched the top of your bed, concern in his emerald eyes. "My darling Ferret, you were injured in combat. Nothing broken but you were knocked unconcsous, we brought you in as soon as possible. Are you--," König didn't want to hear your answer but he didn't like to mess around the bush. Best to rip off the band-aid. "Do you know me? Do you not recognize me?"

You swallowed as your eyes grew glassy. You shook your head.

"Should I?"

His heart broke.

"It's me. My name is König , I am your commanding officer. You and the boys are-"

"Boys? I have boys? Am I mother?! Whose mother am I?" You screeched and spilled what was left of your water as you tossed off your sheet and began inspecting your stomach.

"No no. Calm down Ferret, you are no ones mother. Yet. I meant the boys of the 141, our company, Captain Price, L.T., Gaz, MacTavish… any o' them ring a bell?"

"No. Oh my God… who am I? König who am I?"

You really started to panic then, crying and kicking off the rest of your blankets, your heartrate was increasing alarming fast. König tried to shush you, calm you down, but it was no use, you just freaked out even more. You gained the attention of the nurses who came bursting into the room, pushing him out of the way as you screamed and tried to pull out the iv.

Chaos. König didn't know what to do and it was all a blur until one of the nurses in burgandy scrubs had grabbed his tac vest, forecefully and dragged him to the door.

"Colonel! Sir! We've got this, you need to leave."

Your shouts of protest were terrifying as you writhed on the bed in confusion and pain. There were too many of them, like ants swarming a downed enemy.

"Sir! Please, she'll be fine. I need you out. Now," König only frowned but took the steps necessary. "Do it for her."

The door slammed shut in his face then and all he could do was stand there and watch the blinds be slid down.

….

König growled and cursed something fierce all the way back to his dorm room, boots heavy and reminding him that much more that he would be going to bed alone tonight. With a huff he kicked his door closed, stripped off his helmet and hood. Piece by piece, he tore his gear angrily off, missing the laundry basket altogether.

His bed protested his weight as he rubbed at his face, aware that his gloves smeared what was left of his grease paint and gun residue. He hung his head, tapping his boots when he steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

He squinted down and grabbed a foreign object just by the end of his bed. Little by little, maroon in color lace looked so small in his hands.

It was one of your fancy bras.

König chuckled at the sight of it, a little light in his pitch dark tunnel. Without shame and without guilt, he fisted the light material before shoving it to his nose. It still smelled like you after several weeks and he closed his eyes.

"Bis später!" Had come from his mouth, waving off Ghost and Sergeant McTavish. He was grateful to be in his space, with his things, able to recharge after spending damn near all of his energy bank. If he were part machine, which sometimes he felt that way with how hard and focused he worked; there would be a flashing LOW BATTERY sign on his forehead.

He sighed against the door frame, barely ducking underneath it when he looked up at some sudden movement. He balked. You, you slinky attractive little devil had slipped past the guards, slunk into his room and into his bed. Growing voices made the big man struggle to get his whole body inside to block out your own, slamming the door behind him. Gloved hands still on the knob.

"Verdammte Scheiße! What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, what does it look like?" You shrugged as carelessly as you pleased. As drained as he was, he always had enough energy for your antics. A bare arm patted the bed next to you, a coy little smile on your face.

"I thought we've talked about this, no? We need to be careful about us." König said as he sat down, taking his gloves off and setting them on the floor by his nightstand.

"I'm tired of being careful, aren't you?" You grabbed his warm fingers, looking up at him.

"Yes but--"

"But what? Whose gonna' stop you? The big bad ex-KorTac boogeyman with the pretty eyes and enough documented kills to make any Narco envious and not to mention that big ol' hog--"

"Shut your face, right now!" König clamped a hand over your mouth, even though he was smiling behind his mask, bashful but a little boosted by your vulgar description. He didn't need to give the base anymore to talk about.

Your wet tongue startled his palm as you laughed, music to his ears as leaned his body against you.

"Oh come on, I'm surprised it even fits. Damn thing is the size of my arm!"

"It is not, stop that." König scolded you, a failed attempt to keep you quiet even though he was enjoying your praise.

"Oh yes it is!" You chuckled and pressed your sheet covered chest against his arm. "You should probably get a weapons clearance slip for that thing!"

"That's it!" König tackled you on the bed, his gear shifting with his weight, pinning you down. You wiggled and laughed beneath him, he silently asked how'd he get to be the one on top of you, making you laugh, smile. Men like him didn't get pretty things like you. He suspected and believed his old KorTac buddies that he'd end up settling for what he thought he deserved. Pocket lint and a sex doll. Not at all the real body of yours, looking at him like he hung the fucking moon and if he you would only keep looking at him like this, make him feel like he swallowed bees, calmed the anger and wolfish tendencies; he just might try it.

König sat back on his haunches. "How long have you been waiting for me?"

His heart stopped with your cheeky answer. "My whole damn life."

….

He dreamt of you that night. Surprised even to himself that he could calm himself down, even after a long and hot shower. He was exhausted. Scrubbing that same dirt and grime, that filth off his skin that stained your own. Maybe it was the emotions of it all, everything cresting, crumbling like bricks in his hands as you couldn't even remember him.

Maybe that's why he cried.

And maybe that's why he slept so good.

He tucked your bra underneath his pillow before he left his room the next morning, safe keeping and all that. He gave the neatly made bed a gentle pat before catching a ride with some very green, very eager-to-please rookies on a golf cart to the hospital.

"Colonel!" He stopped at the distinct voice of Captain Price, he could practically feel the mans' boots on the definitely needed to be replaced tiles beneath his own feet. "Colonel, I'm glad I caught you, old man-"

"I am not old," König squinted at Price's crinkled eyes, lost in a teasing smile. "In fact, you're older by four years, fifteen days and seven hours."

"How do you know that?" John Price paused.

"I read your file." König shrugged. He had a photographic memory, could remember coordinates from a stint in Kosovo, the delicatessen's not far from Vatican City, the look on your face after your first kiss, what color your toenails were that summer on the West Coast with the rest of the 141.

"Very well, lad. I uh just spoke with Y/N's doctors, she's been sedated, had a bit of a rough night last night, so they said. She's awake but nothing seems to spark her memory just yet."

König bit at his lips, he should've been there with you. The thought of you being alone and afraid, scared to death of all those around you being pumped through with who knows what.

"She'll come back to us big man," Price's hand on his arm was warm and the little squeeze he gave him felt genuine. "I know you two are close; just how close I haven't determined but I assume it's a heartfelt one. One that maybe goes a little more than the base and ranks."

"That's none of your business, Captain." König ground his teeth.

"You're right but I should let you know there's a little bet and a rumor going on that it's beyond professional," König straightened his back at that, shifting his weight. "Don't shoot the messanger, but the pot has gotten pretty full and I like winning."

Price chuckled as he walked away, leaving König to think more than just about you.

Your room is quiet expect for the whirling machine hooked up to your hand, your breathing is smooth when he enters, the steady beat of your heartbeat. He knew you were beloved on base and by all the bouquets of flowers, balloons and 'GET WELL SOON FERRET!' cards that surrounded your bed and side tables, he once again felt lucky to even breathe the same air as you, let alone become bedfellows and lovers.

He felt bad he came empty handed.

Until you rolled your head over to see him, a piss-poor attempt to make himself small.

"It's you." Your voice was a little scratchy and he'd hoped it was from a little nap and not from screaming in the middle of the night.

"Hallo mein-- I mean Y/N," your given name sounded strange in his mouth when he cleared his throat and crept a little more into the room. Your eyes never left him. "How are you feeling now? I talked with Price in the hallway."

"It's strange, I know you said the other day that we know each other and when I'm looking at you, like this, I feel like I should," you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, gears working against you as you laid there, eventually staring up at the ceiling. "I feel like I should know who I am and I don't. I should know you, apparently, but I don't. I don't remember anything!" you whined and palmed your glassy eyes, sniffling and huffing and all König could do was worry and reach out to touch your shoulder. "What if I never do? What if I become somebody else?"

"Don't do that, bitte. Please my dear," his gloved hand grasped your wrist and you let him, let him pull down your hands, locking eyes.

"You're taking a page out of my book and you're going to worry yourself sick. You'll come back to us." To me.

He wished and prayed that you would as he stayed with you for a little over an hour before you grew tired and again on his way to the mess hall and once more before bed.

….

"If you get hurt jus' remember lass, this was yer idea to begin wit'!" Johnny said with a grin, wobbling quite a bit on König's shoulders as he reached out to grapple with your hands.

"You know you're a lot heavier than you look." König grumbled through straight teeth, holding on to the Scotsman's' hefty thighs.

The sun was high that day on the Coast, a well needed and earned r&r retreat for the 141.

"Don't tell me you're backing out already, Johnny!" You teased, fitting your fingers through his as you moved on Simon's shoulders in the water opposite of them.

You looked incredible, wet and sandy, smiling as if you didn't just have someone else's blood on your hands three days prior somewhere in Bolivia. You two hadn't even kissed yet, just a lot of sexual tension and flirty exchanges when no one was looking or listening.

"I'm just lettin' you know wee one, I'm not above playing unfairly now."

"We'll see about that, you ready down there L.T.?"

"Ready when you are, kid."

Game on.

The guys joked about never hearing König laugh before, after your successful best two out of three chicken matches in the ocean. He felt insecure about it, covering his already covered mouth from his hood. Ghost and Johnny drank back to back beers while you saddled up next to him with a turkey sandwich and some fruit.

"I like it."

König looked over at you, sitting extra close in the sand as you dug your feet into the sand, a complimentary red on your toes as they swiftly disappeared and you ate a berry.

"Pardon?"

"Your laugh," you said inching closer so your leg touched his. "I like it. You should do it more often."

König scoffed and stole a grape from your plate, tossing it up in the air. "Say something funny then."

"I wanna' kiss you right now."

He choked on his spit and laughed again, to get König off guard was no easy task and yet you were flying through in fucking technicolor.

"Now that is funny."

"Who said I'm joking?"

As you watched your L.T. and Johnny pack up their truck, you had made sure to wave them off and as they turned out of the parking lot, with that same hand you grabbed the front of König's shirt, leaned up as far as those cute toes of yours could tip-toe and kissed him right on the mouth.

….

" 'ow about this one, we're just outside the Museum of Antioquia in Medellín, does this look familiar at all, kid? Anything abou' it? Anything at all?"

"I mean… that's obviously us. It's pretty foggy still honestly… so no."

"Alright no worries, love. How about this one? The Courtauld Gallery, we just had to go according to you to see your favorite painting."

"Am I an art major or something?"

"No. You just appreciate fine works of art I suppose."

König didn't mean to instantly get hard at Ghost's choice of words. He turned his back to you and your visitors, walking, uncomfortably so, towards the window with his hands behind his back.

You had said those same words to him once.

You two had gotten caught in an ice storm and not just any ice storm either, the kind where wherever you're at… that's where you're going be for the foreseeable future. Luckily for the both of you, the safe house had been recently restocked and insulated, thick plastic on the windows ruffled and protested the pounding wind outside. The freezing cold had slithered its icy tentacles through the cracks around the door making the fire you'd built in the little stove flutter and crack.

You only wore your underclothes, tight black thermals under your gear, frost and snow melting off your boots side by side by the front door. You crouched and added a few logs, eyeing him as he came into the living room with two mugs of tea.

He thought you were excited about the warmth from the cups but you had something a lot hotter in mind.

Thermals littered the floor, your whines and cries for more sang beautifully with the crackling fire nearby. You didn't even make it to the bed.

"Oh God König!" you panted against his shoulder as he rutted against you on the floor, creaking under his heavy weight. His cock fit perfectly once he'd gotten you off on his fingers first, it was proper to make you cum first.

He might be a little ruthless and rough around the edges but the man has manners! He rolled his eyes in pure delight when you arched up into his chest, nipples hard and legs trembling, spread enough to fit his frame between them. "You feel so fucking good. I knew you would-- aha just like that baby, fuck!"

Your head thunked against the floor, König was quick to fit one of his hands beneath it, in case it happened again. He had secretly wished it would, if only he could last a little bit longer. Your wet, gummy walls fought and milked his cock like no other, bringing him back in with a soft hug.

"Yeah? You like that huh? I'm practically devouring you, molding you to-o me." König grunted and groaned something in his native tongue before taking a bite out of your neck, loving it as you grabbed at his arms, his shoulders, his thrusting hips when he soothed it over with his gentler kisses.

"I want it. I want you so bad," he shivered at your words, his cock throbbing and threatening to explode so soon. He couldn't help it! He'd been eager for months to just maybe get a smooch from you and yet here you both are, making love on the floor in some safehouse by a fire. "I can't believe you're inside me right now. Why did we wait so long? It's so fucking good."

You whined and moved your legs higher up his waist, your knees digging into his ribs. König grabbed your leg and brought it up further, changing the angle and hitting something deep, so so deep and primal that you literally shouted his name, eyes wild and mouth agape as if you couldn't believe it was real.

Your neck bent to look at where his cock was disappearing, in and out in great, thick thrusts. Words were lost on you as all that came out of your throat was gasps for breath.

"Guess you like that too, yes?"

"YES!"

König barely had time to chuckle at your shouts, begging for more and more, it was all so hot and erotic and when you came he growled your name. He pulled out just in time to cum along the inside of your thighs, tapping the crown of it into his spend, smearing it around.

"Oh baby… you are a fucking work of art."

….

"What about some fresh air, kid? Might do ya' some good, instead o' breathin' in all this medicinal shit." L.T.'s suggestion brought König back to the present, he made a face and adjusted himself before turning around.

Ghost gave him a shrug. It had been five days after all.

"Yeah. Why not? Can't hurt, right?" You agreed. "Will you come with me?"

"She's talkin' to you, big boy." Simon voiced, startling König into a different position.

"Me? You want me to--"

"Will you?"

Simon smiled and left you to get dressed for the outside world since the accident.

König made sure to cover your eyes once you walked out into the sun, you tucked yourself into his side automatically, mumbling that it was too damn bright. He chuckled and kept you close, an arm around your shoulders as you walked the grounds.

"Can I ask you something?" You were picking at your nail beds, a nasty habit you tried to break your Freshman year of college and miserably failed.

"Shoot."

"Are we like… together? Like a couple? Simon and some of the other guys' made it seem like we're close. Like-- really close. Is that like a rumor thing or should I know something that I don't?"

König stopped, his boots kicking up gravel. "It's complicated. I am your commanding officer. Your superior. That would be inappropriate."

"Is it inappropriate or true?" you asked, stuffing your hands into a well worn hoodie. "Or both?"

König sighed, moving closer to you when a group of four young recruits jogged by. "Both."

You pursed your lips and looked around the busy base. The group of recruits that had given him a ride to see you drove by quickly, giving you both a solid but quick salute while a Staff Sergeant barked orders a few yards away.

"Is it serious?"

König cleared his throat and crossed his arms nervously. "The short answer? Yes. The long answer… is also yes."

You smiled brightly and shielded your eyes once more from the sun and from looking up at him. He swore his eyes crossed with how cute you looked, making that squinty face. You seemed content with his answer and started walking again, asking where you two had met.

"Maybe you should ask Soap about all that. Sorry, I mean Sergeant McTavish. Johnny. He sorta' is the reason for us being, well for us being close." König suggested, moving the bottom of his hood out of the way of a thick spoonful of a Rocky Road milkshake just off base.

"Well I'm asking you." You pointed your own spoon at him, apologizing when a few pieces of chocolate flung onto his forearms across the table. "Sorry."

"No worries. I rather like chocolate." König smiled.

"Tell me. Please? It might trigger something useful." You began to pout and oh no you don't, don't you dare tremble that bottom lip of yours. Oh, he could just lunge across this comically small table, break the umbrella above your heads in half and grab you and just kiss you, tell you how much you mean to him, how this limbo bullshit was driving him crazy!

König wasn't a man known for flowery words, motivational speaking and the like but he knew you so it wasn't out of his comfort to explain in detail how you did in fact meet. He talked and talked, milkshakes long gone, fries gone cold but salvaged for a midnight snack.

Once back on base König stopped in the hallway that splits from rank when you grab his hand.

"Can I come with you?"

"Come with me where?"

You swallow and look around the unusually vacant split. "To your room. Maybe it'll help. I mean, if we're together," you hushed and got closer to his side. "Maybe it'll help."

König smiled beneath his hood, wolfish and he knew how sharp his teeth were against the plump flesh of his bottom lip. "Sure. Come on."

….

"These are little… explicit." You chuckle while fidgeting with an old digital camera in his arsenal. The SD card is almost full, he knows this but he can't risk transferring them to another device. He'd stain his career if he got his tablets mixed up and not so safe or savory pictures of you and him together, were to make the rounds. The last thing this place needs is a scandal.

You tilted your head at one, zooming in and then thrusted it at his chest. "This is… are those… zip ties?"

König took the camera and knew exactly which picture you'd landed on. His mouth watered at the memory.

"Ah yes. This is the night you broke me."

"What does that mean?" You asked and sat down next to him on the bed.

A funny little jolt surged through his belly, warming his cheeks and hands as you two looked at the digital screen.

"Um uh well, I was gone on a mission in Copenhagen, it was only supposed to be a two week set up and recon, I could do those in my sleep but there was some miscommunication on their end and long story short I was gone for almost a month," König explained, thoughtfully looking at himself on the screen. "I used the SAT phone to keep in touch. We'd been together a steady two months before deployment and I didn't get a chance to give you a proper goodbye. So I promised you could have me any way you wanted."

"And I wanted to restrain you?"

"You wanted control over the situation. Over me." And you did. "Wow. I didn't think I was the dominant type. Or that a guy like you would allow it."

König barked out laughing, almost dropping it, which would have been devastating, but he managed to fumble it onto the soft mattress below instead. "Oh mein cutie, you are a terror when you get into one of your moods. Trust me. And to be fair; you've done a lot worse."

König was pleased the security officers left him alone for the night, no more nightly checks and lights out for the older man. He'd paid his dues but sometimes some fresh faced recruit would want all their other supervisors to know they'd checked on everyone, including the Colonel himself and Captain Price just a few doors down.

You'd fallen asleep after going over a handful of more photos, some more tasteful then others. Some cute, your smiling face as he slept with his large, scarred back facing you. Candids of König cleaning one of his weapons, examining knives. Holding hands. Your head on his lap. You fast asleep in one of his ratty old shirts. Obscene ones of just how fucked out he made you, gaping and leaking his spend. A few with just his fingers saturated with his cum.

You looked so comfortable and cute all curled up on his covers, hands tucked under your head. He couldn't help himself and mimicked your position as best he could, wincing and apologizing in a low whisper that he was sorry he kicked your knee. You groaned in your sleep and patted his hand.

König didn't remember falling asleep but he was suddenly incredibly warm, hot even, sweating beneath his hood and t-shirt he shifted but felt he couldn't move. He blinked and caught you holding on to him, damn near piggy-backing him. You mumbled something against the back of his head, fingers twitching and grabbing at the thin fabric.

"…König."

He flinched at the way your voice said his name. Hushed and broken, his attempt to turn around and face you failed and you grabbed him tighter. He touched your hands on his arm.

"Y/N it's ok it's me."

"Oh no… where are you? I can't see-" You whined and jerked around behind him. If only you could hear him, see him, feel him try to calm you down from whatever it was you were dreaming out. König was used to fretting and getting himself all worked up into a lather, this time he did manage to roll over, getting up onto an elbow he held both of your hands in just one of his.

"My love, wake up. If you can hear me, wake up, you can wake up now."

Your face pinched and thrashed, your neck craning at a painful angle as if you were possessed until your eyebrows finally released, your fingers unballing and then you opened your eyes. One at a time. Blinking into the inky blackness of the room.

There was just enough light coming the sunlight above König's bed, the angle nice and gentle on your face. You finally looked at him.

He tried his best to soften his eyes, let you know you were safe and in good hands not in the arms of some stranger, which all of the base had been as of late. He let go of your hands when your jugular jerked.

"König."

"Are you okay now?"

"Where am I?" you asked and he cast down his eyes to the rising and falling of your chest. "Am I still dreaming?"

"No. You're awake now. You can pinch me if you'd like."

He waited for your answer before you reached up and cupped his face, touching the masks' edge, circling around one of the eye holes before tearing up. "I believe you, baby."

Oh. Oh. OH!

"Baby…"

You sniffled and König wanted to pinch himself, make sure he wasn't the one dreaming that you'd come back to him. "I missed you."

"Oh mein liebe, you have no idea how much I've missed you." König surged and gathered you up into his arms, hooking his whole arm between your legs to bring you as close to his chest as humanly possible. He smelled your hair, rubbed his clothed cheek against yours. His hands under your shirt.

"How long was I out?"

Your voice was so light and innocent, sitting on his bed with the covers around your shoulders. He'd fixed you some tea, not the exact way Simon had taught him but close enough.

"Almost a week."

You frowned again and König couldn't help but take your hands in his, assuring you it was alright, that you were in the clear and should definitely seek the med staffs' guidance.

"A week?! Oh my God. I've been banged before but not like that."

König attempted to stifle his laugh, chuckling harder after you whacked his arm. "Bitte bitte, I surrender."

"You better! I've been M.I.A. and you're making fun of me."

Your pouting face was so damn cute König moved in front of you after bouncing his thumb on your bottom lip, holding out his hand. "I'm not making fun of you honey, it's just the way you said it."

"Yeah yeah, wait 'til you get knocked the fuck out and we'll see whose making fun then, hmm?"

"You would make fun of me?"

"In a heartbeat." Your sneer and banter held no weight and the both of you knew that. You were back to your usual self, a little froggy sur but you knew who you were, who he was, where you were and what was going on.

The head nurse in the med bay was excited to see you up and walking around, coherent and well aware of what had happened. She checked your vitals, looked at your eyes, felt around your cranium for any undiscovered lumps or bruising from being knocked back against that cement wall.

You were cleared.

She sent you off with a note and a stern 'now get some rest!'. König bounced his legs while he waited next to you, recognizing that she was the same nurse who had tossed him out that first night. She winked at him before letting you both leave.

"God I have missed you mein cutie, my little precious thing." König sang into your neck once back in his quarters, he hadn't let his hand slip from your hip since leaving the nurses station. He held you hostage in his lap in his bed, petting your face and rubbing your arms.

"How much?"

"So so much," König cooed at you, shivering from your touch as your arms circled around his neck, you snuck your fingers beneath his hood, toying with the strands of hair you could tug on. "More than I crave a hunt, a kill. Man or beast. Nothing satisfies me more than you do, my love."

"I know I've been out of it but… does that mean--"

"Oh my dear thing. Bitte! You think my mind was elsewhere while you were coasting through life? Nein nein nein, I put my needs behind yours."

"You haven't… so you must be pretty bricked up then?"

König tilted his head at that. "Not you getting medically cleared and ready for a good fucking straight away."

"She said to get some good rest, did she not?" You bit your lip and twisted the hem of his mask. "What better way then to make sure I'm fully rested then that?"

"My love… don't poke the bear."

"Is the bear in hibernation?"

He chuckled at that, letting you lean forward, pressing your foreheads together, breathing each other in. "It's summer time my dear… the bears are out of hiding."

Your eyes burned into his, as coy and cool as you tried to play it, all your intentions were naked and clear. "Are you going to be my bear tonight, König?"

….

Now usually when you were in one of these moods König wouldn't even bat an eyelash, click his teeth or spit at the thought of tossing you around, fisting your hair and making you squeal. In turn you'd leave marks and brusies only he knew were there, hidden beneath his gear. But this was different. You were in a delicate state, though medically cleared he wasn't about to go about fucking you senseless.

No. You needed to be handled gently.

So that's what he did.

Shimmying out of his clothes while you did the same, reaching out for him he went down easily, caging you in. You hummed and lifted the base of his mask, hiding beneath it with him, stealing a few chaste kisses before slipping your tongue into his mouth. König groaned and crushed his body into yours.

"Missed you so much, my love." König straightened up on his arms, looking down at you with heart eyes.

"Show me. Show me how much you missed me, baby. Bears give hugs, don't they?"

König chuckled, his hood swaying with puffs of his laughter. "My little play thing, bitte. Please. I am not a bear."

"Sure you are big guy," you cooed and moved to grab one of his hands, ghosting it over your collar, on the ball of your shoulder, settling it palm side down on your chest. "You're my big bear, aren't you?"

Oh hell… he couldn't say no to that face. With a huff he gave in, he'll admit it later that is did warm his heart that you thought of him that way. A protector. A caregiver. He'd been chosen to take care of you and König didn't agree with failure.

After a few more kisses he rolled away from you, shushing you when you whined with the loss of his body heat and weight. He curled himself behind you, easily hefting you up and over so your back was to his front, being very careful of his genitals. He calculated how far apart your legs should be, fitting them over his thick thighs like butterfly wings, making you jerk at the cool air hitting your wet cunt.

König carefully began to grope over your body, humming with delight when your hips wiggled, your toes digging into the sheets, your hands barely holding onto your tits. He teased you first, getting you warmed up, snickering as your breathing became labored, looking down your body as he played you like a professional musician.

"Please baby, please finger me already," you keened and gasped when he cupped your entire mound, feeling it pulse against his fingers. "I need to feel you."

"Ah ah ah. Already begging, what a needy little thing you are my love. Are my hands on you not enough?" König taunted, moving both of his hands to spread you open. You inhaled sharply, both of you watching as his fingers inched closer and closer to your clit.

"O-o f course but-- oh!"

He switched his tactics and instantly shoved his middle finger inside you, knuckle deep.

"Aww poor thing is fucking tight. Almost like the first time, ja? Been without for a week and already so slick," König peered over your shoulder, throbbing when he saw how hard you grabbed at your chest, playing with your nipples at his advancement. "You're so perfect."

"I'm so empty, please König, mein König."

"Empty you say? One finger is not enough for you? Nein nein you can handle another finger perhaps, maybe… three?"

You rolled your head to the side, looking back at him, an almost pained expression on your beautiful face. "Bitte."

"Oh fuck." Not you speaking his language.

You didn't make a sound when another finger plunged deep into your hole, holding himself back from just outright making a sloppy mess of your pussy, soak his fingers down to the fucking wrist. No no, he was going to treat you with kid gloves. Delicate work. He pulled them out to the second knuckle before twisting them back in, stretching you out.

Only then did you crack and keen, bucking your hips to take them in even deeper, finding that precious little spongy spot that drove you wild.

"Oh fuck yeah."

"That's what my little cub needed, ja? Should I go faster, hmmm? Get you all nice and wet to take my cock."

"Yeah yeah yeah," you nodded franticly, still squeezing and pinching yourself while he finger fucked you. "Get me wet baby, make me cum. Wanna' cum for you."

"You always wanna' cum for me. Wait until the rest of that pretty little head of yours comes all the way back, oh my love, the things you're going to remember, one should be so jealous. But I am afraid mein liebeling you will not be drenching my fingers tonight. Oh no."

"But I--"

"Tut tut little thing, you'll get to cum. That is a promise. But you will be coming on my cock instead, now roll over, ja like that, there we go. Look at you, I didn't have to explain what I meant. See, that memory of yours is coming back faster than we thought!"

König spooned you, cuddling you from behind and lifting your top leg up and over his hip while he told you to stay still, hold tight, to listen to him as he began guiding and sliding the already pre-cum slick crown of his cock between the apex of your thighs, against your sex, popping and nudging up against your swollen bundle of nerves.

You begged. Oh did you beg, he'd barely pushed it in when your arm came flying back, grabbing the back of his head, molding it to the back of your neck. When you pushed back on him König had to shut his eyes, lost in the feeling of sinking into you again. Grateful. Thankful. Pleasure bloomed as your pussy did around his thick cock.

"You're so precious like this, little thing. Mein cutie, mein sweeetness." König cupped your jaw and had you look back at him, dancing his hips into your rear, splitting you open just a little more. You hiccupped a gasp, locking eyes as you moved together as one.

"I needed this, oh shit did I need this. Several days without you was fucking torture verdammt, squeeze down like that again, fucks sake." "Is my big bear getting close?" You joked, your giggles turning into moans and curses as you gripped the back of his hood even tighter.

"Is that what you want? Want me to cum inside you, fill up your little hole?"

"Yes."

"Oh! What a filthy little thing you are, wishing to be filled up. You know my love," König slapped your outer thigh before gripping it tightly, your skin sagging with the weight they held and brought you even closer, his trimmed short and curlys getting wetter by the minute stuck to your rear. "You keep begging for it I just might have to hold you down and breed you. How about that, hmm?"

The noise you made made him whine against your neck.

"Goodness! Is that what you want?"

It took a minute for your voice to catch up to your nodding head, swallowing thickly. "Yes! Oh my God that's so fucking hot."

"You like that idea?"

You bit your lip and smiled so innocently.

You were so pretty all he could think about was breaking you in half. For a man of König's size and weight, he's very nimble and can move faster than you can think. He had you on your front in a few seconds, hoisting up your hips, dragging you back just enough. "If that's what you want… tap me if it is too much, my love. Promise me."

"Yes."

He slapped your ass. "That's not what I said."

"Yes! Yes I promise."

König smiled when you moved your head and hair to the side, then gave him a thumbs up.

Any position he was in with you felt incredible, the sounds you made, the obscenities' you called out, the grunts and tangled English weaved with German on his end were perfect. But there was something about fucking you like this he couldn't handle, he knew he had five, maybe six minutes tops before he'd lose his shit and bust his load.

You were practically sobbing at the pace, a literal face down ass up situation as you couldn't hold your body up any longer. The hard slap of skin on skin, you were panting and gripping the sheets in your hands König thought for a moment you might just tear the damn thing in half. When you turned to look at him over your shoulder he damn near came right then. Eyes glassy, eyelashes wet and clumped together, lips pouty and full.

Of course you had to bit your bottom lip at him looking like a holy hell mess.

König shook his head and swore in German, lurching over your back, his sweat keeping him glued to you as he lifted his hood and sloppily kissed you. You cried out when he did, wailing that you were close, that you going to cum. König clumsily reached below you and started rubbing your clit.

"Faster faster, fuck that's it. Oh my… König. Mein König!" Your body dropped as you came, pulsing your gummy walls around him, he was pretty much using you as fleshlight at that point. Your body loose and limber, pliant and soft in the best way possible.

"That's it baby, are you gonna' cum inside me? Don't waste it." You drunkenly laughed, pushing back when you got your voice back.

"Oh I'm not wasting a damn thing, my love." König pulled you back once more, angling himself with one foot on the bed, fucking into you deeper. You were lucky he was still being careful because the intrusive thought of really giving it to you, harshly, harder and pushing your face into the bed was not an option. Not this time anyway. "You're gonna' be a good girl and take what I give you, ja? You want my load so badly, so fucking badly don't you? We're not wasting a drop, anything-- fuck you're so wet baby… anything leaking is going right back in. Understand?"

"Yes! I want it I want all of it. Don't take it out don't take it out." You whined and without him even asking, your had crossed your wrists behind you back, giving up control, submitting.

König wasn't lying.

He did in fact spill inside you, throbbing rope after rope into your cunt. König hung his head, panting, counting his heartbeat before he eased his way out of your hole. Mesmerized by the sight of a glob or two dripping out he slowly and very, oh so carefully guided back into you. You squirmed, sore for sure as he looked you over.

"Are you alright, my love?"

The thumbs up you gave him was all the assurance he needed. He chuckled lowly, the ache he felt for you, warmed him through as he smoothed a hand down your back.

[haileybeehappy]

Drug Dealer Harry

Long Hair Harry because I’m in love with him.

Idk the word count. It won’t let me check.

Warnings: ummm. Drugs… obvi. Fingering. Oral (fem receiving) switch reader and Harry

There is no love confession. There is no spilling of the heart. So you lay in your bed with your finger hovering over the send button of the text you have typed out for Harry.

Do you think I could get a few grams tonight?

I’m not to far from your place now if you want me to drop in

You pop out of the bed and shoot to the bathroom fingers typing as fast as you could get them to move.

Sure. Pop in whenever. Door is unlocked.

You slip the lock of your door and bolt into the bathroom to throw yourself together before he gets there. Brushing your teeth while trying to pick an outfit that says ‘I definitely wear this when I’m alone lounging around the house but I still wanna look hot asf’. You settle on an old band tee you had stolen from an ex and a simple pair of spandex shorts that weren’t too short. You brush some mascara onto your eyelashes before applying a little blush and highlighter to give your face some life and just as you finish running your finger through your hair you hear your door open.

“You know it is very unsafe to leave your door unlocked. Anyone could just walk right in,” Harry jokes as he takes his shoes off. You have wandered out of your. Bathroom and Into the living space of your one bedroom apartment

“Good thing we know every single person who lives in this god forsaken place. Who’s gonna break in?” He shrugs.

“I don’t know man. I hear there’s a drug dealer in the loose out there,” he says with a smirk.

“Oh no! In our precious little town?! What are we gonna do?” You feign shock. He just shakes his head and reaches into his pocket and throws a small ziplock baggie at you. You catch it at the last second between your fingers. Harry plops down on the couch and starts digging around his backpack. Pulling out a rolling tray and papers. You watch as he rolls a joint. His fingers moving at a steady pace. The motions being muscle memory by now. He brings the paper up to him mouth and licks the edge. Watching him roll joints is quite literally your favorite thing in the world to do. You love watching his hands. His tattooed ring clustered fingers. He looks up and catches your eyes on him as he brings the j to his lips and lights it up. He motions you with his head to sit next to him. You slip into the couch next to him and after he takes a drag he hands it off to you. Your fingers tracing his as he lets go. Your breath hitches in your throat as you inhale and start to cough.

“God y.n. Don’t die on me,” his hand comes to your back and soothes you as he rubs from the small of your back to your shoulder blades and back and forth.

“Holy shit,” you cough through the smoke.

“You’re definitely more of a professional than that damn,” you let out a laugh and his hand stills on your back. You give him back the joint and lean back into the couch. His hand moves up and onto the back of the couch. Keeping you tucked into his arm.

“I don’t know what happened. Damn went lil bitch on you,” you laugh. Dropping the back of your head and into his arm.

“There’s times you’re not a lil bitch?” He feigns shock. You gasp. You smack your hand against his chest.

“You’re so mean!” You exclaim. Before you can pull your hand back he captures it in his hand. He has always been relatively touchy with you. But he was with everyone else in his life too. Your heart quickens at the contact of his hand over yours.

“Hitting isn’t nice y.n ,” he has the j in the same hand he has pressed against yours. He brings the hand from around the back of the couch and switches the j from on hand to the other. He then brings it to his lips and inhaled. Your body and his so close you can feel each others heart beat. His hand doesn’t go far after he release the joint from his mouth. He brings it to yours and tips your head with his hand that is still holding yours. “Come on, take it,” a pulse is sent through your body. You slip it between your lips and let the smoke flow into you. “Good girl,” you close your eyes and hold it in your lungs. He’s definitely doing that on purpose. There’s no other meaning to that right. You blow the smoke out and stay propped against his body. Leaning into him more as you slowly feel your body slip into the comfort of your high.

“How come I haven’t seen you in a while?” You had avoided him due the creeping up of feeling and the fact that you had some very vivid sex dreams about him and couldn’t look at him without blushing. So you’ve been stretching your weed out longer and buying more in one go.

“Things have been busy. And I haven’t really had the money,” you shrug after a long pause.

“You and I know you only pay cause you want to y.n,” you open your eyes and look up at him. Your nose almost bumping against his.

“Oh? This is news to me,” you smile at him. He nods in an affirming way.

“Of course y.n. I would give you anything for next to nothing,” you cock an eyebrow at him.

“Well what is next to nothing then?” He leans closer to the point his lips are hovering over yours.

“I’m sure you can figure something out,” you lean up and close the gap between the two of you. His hand release yours and his fingers come to touch your face. Taking your chin between his fingers. You lean into him. Your legs colliding with his. He pulls back from you and leans forward. Dropping the joint onto the rolling tray before sitting back and in one swift move grabbing your leg and guiding you to straddle him. You let a laugh like yell. He smiles up at you before slipping his hands up from your thighs to your ass. To your hips. To your waist. His fingers gripping at your waist as he rubs his thumbs over your hip bones. Your lips not quite touching ghosting over his you tease him as he comes up to kiss you. You pull away ever so slightly. He lets out a whimper as you pull away one last time. You look down at him with a smile as he pouts up at you.

“I’m sure you can figure something out,” you laugh as his hands tightly grab your exposed skin under your t shirt.

“Please y.n. I need it,” you smile through the kiss as you press yourself into him. His hips grind up into yours as being your hands to rest on his neck. Lightly pressing your thumb into his skin. He lets out a little moan and pulls down harder into his lap.

“So good for me Harry,” you mumble into his lips. He just hurriedly nods his head.

“So good for you y.n,” you swoon at his little whines. You slowly start to grind down onto him. Not using speed but pressing against him hard. “Please, I just wanna feel you,” you grasp the back of his head pulling his face into your chest, gripping his hairs at the base of his head pulling on them slightly.

“Be quiet and let me play,” you whispered in his ear. He nodded. Head still tucked in your chest. His hands tap twice on your back. You release your grip on his head and he comes up with a gasp. You run your hands through his hair as he takes a few more breaths. Your hips starting to circle and grind down onto him. His erection pressing into all your sensitive spots. You drop your head back his hands move their way up into your shirt. He adjusts so he can lean up and he starts to press kisses onto your skin. You let out a moan, his hands move up to the center of your back and grasp at your bra.

“Can I?” He asks. Barely a whisper.

“Yes. Please,” his continued to place kisses as his hands very easily slip the clasps off the hooks. You freeze and sit up looking down at him with a surprised look on your face. “I can’t even take my bra off that fast,” a small smile cracks across his face.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I’m not gonna mess it up by fumbling your bra,” he nods.

“That or you’re a little whore huh?” He freezes. His eyes searching yours. “But you’re my little whore huh?” The tension in his eyes dissipates.

“Yes ma’am,” he whispers.

“My good little whore huh?”

“All yours,” he whines. You smile at him and pull away. You reach down in one swift movement your bra and shirt are off and onto the floor. His hands come back around from where they were resting in your spine. Hovering in the edge of your breasts.

“It’s okay, you can touch baby,” you give him permission. His hands gently grab at you. His mouth pressing warm kisses across your pebbled nipples. His touch so soft it’s almost comforting. You can feel yourself coming to the edge as you continue rubbing your clit against him. You don’t stop as you bring yourself to orgasm. As you start to slow you reach your peak his hands grip onto your hips and helps you move at a fast pace. You ride out your orgasm and come to a slow stop. You rest your head on top of his while you grip him around the base of his neck. The both of you breathing heavy. He has his arms secured around your waist. “Such a good boy for me,” you huff out. Slipping off his lap and laying back flat against the couch cushions. Your legs up onto him.

“Now it’s my turn,” he says and he moves between your legs and hovers over your body. His arms locking you, placed on either side of your head. “You be good for me now baby, you think you can do that?” He questions you. A stern lookin in his face.

“Yes.”

“Yes Harry,” he corrects.

“Yes Harry,” you respond.

“Good. Girl,” close your eyes tight and trying to keep yourself from whining. He leans down presses kisses along your collar bones. Kiss. “God,” kiss “you’re,” kiss “fucking,” kiss “beautiful,” kiss. He has worked his way from your collar none up to your jaw. He brings his hand up and grips your chin. His fingers slowly moving from your chin and entering into your mouth. “Suck,” he demands. You wrap your lips around his thumb and begin to suck. Your tongue coming up to press against the digit intruding your mouth.

He pulls himself from your grasp and drags his wet fingers down your chin. Your neck. Your chest. Yours stomach. To the waistband of your shorts. He traces the hem back and forth. Back and forth.

“Please Harry,” you whine. He smirks and dips his hand into your shorts. Past your underwear. He hovers over your clit. You raise your hips to meet his touch but the second you try he pulls his hand out of your shorts.

“Don’t move,” he says sternly.

“Yes sir,” you whimper. He smirks at your response. He sits up and dips his fingers into the hem of your shorts. He pulls them off your body in a clumsy move. He flings them over his shoulder in an exasperated way once he has them off your ankles.

“I can’t wait to taste you,” he says almost inaudible. You raise yourself up into your elbows looking up at him.

“Please Harry. I need something. Please,” he smiles and lovers himself so he’s face level with your pussy.

“I think you’ve forgotten you’ve gotten off. This is all for me,” he glances up at you. “You better not come until I tell you that you can,” he hooks his arms up around your thighs and places his large hands on the tops of your things pulling at you legs so they fall open and he holds them firm. He starts slow by placing kisses around your clothed center. Your thin underwear leaving the smallest amount of space between the two of you. You try your best not to move your legs but the second his lips touch your clit you go to lift your hips and close your thighs out of pure stimulation but his hands keep your bottom glued to the couch and he forces your legs back open. Holding them down and apart before placing another kiss on your clit. Lingering longer.

“Please Harry, please.” Your hands let go of the couch cushions and find their way to his messy hair. Tangling the long strands between your fingers. You pull at his roots and he lets out a moan against your pussy. Which causes you to pull harder. He lets go of your legs and brings his fingers to your underwear. Grasping at the lace and tearing it right in half pulling the gusset of your underwear apart and giving himself full reign to your soaked center. You let out a yelp at the sudden act and sit up a little straighter.

“Hey!”

“I’ll buy you ten more pairs,” a smirk on his lips and he dives into you. His long licking a slow stripe across your slit before coming to your clit and suctioning his mouth around it and ever so slightly applying pressure with his tongue. You let out a loud moan and pull at his hair again.

“Holy fucking shit baby yes,” he releases his mouth from you and goes back to licking at you. He continues to suck and lick at you. Bringing you right to the edge and then pulling back and letting you wind down.

“Harry please,” you whine pulling at his hair. He smiles against you.

“Come,” He demands. His tongue laps through your folds as his fingers dip into your core. With that simple move an orgasm rocks through your body. You tug at his hair, hard. Your hips raise up off the bed as your toes curl. His name escapes your mouth over and over like chanting a spell. He groans against your pussy as you come down from your high.

Your orgasm fades, your body still tense as you look up at him. He has brought himself up into his knees and is looking down at you. A slight smirk on his face.

“If I didn’t think you’d explode I’d spend all day between your legs,” you roll your eyes at him.

“Shut up and fuck me,”

[scotianostra]

31st of August is the Feast day of St Aidan.

Not much is known about Aidan’s early life, it is thought he was born in Connach Ireland.

St. Aidan began his life of service on the Isle of Iona, the monastery at Iona was established by Irish monks under St. Columba, during the so-called “dark ages.” About a century later, in St. Aidan’s time, the monastery had become a major center of Gaelic Christianity and was receiving and sending monks across Europe.

By this time, Christianity in Northern England was largely replaced by the paganism of both native Britons and the Anglo-Saxon conquerors. The Kingdom of Northumbria (northern England and south-east Scotland) had just been reconquered by King St. Oswald of Northumbria. There was no Scotland or England as such back then, and no real borders Oswald brought the two Northumbrian kingdoms of Bernicia and Deira once again under a single ruler, and promoted the spread of Christianity,the North of Bernica are now part of the South of Scotland.

Oswald took back his father’s throne at the Battle of Heavenfield, where he prepared by praying before a wooden cross, legend says it was a relic of the True Cross. Next, Oswald beheld a vision of St. Columba who promised victory if his generals would be baptized. At council, all agreed to be baptized the night before and victory came to Oswald.

Oswald’s Northumbrian kingdom was small but remarkably diverse. Such was it you could hear at least four languages within the kingdom’s borders and there was a mix of church ruins and pagan sites dotting the landscape. While Christianity was initially brought to Britain by Roman saints, and strengthened by Sts. Gregory and Augustine of Canterbury, it had fallen away from the Britons with the Anglo-Saxon invasions.

When Oswald was killed in battle in 642, Aidan worked equally well with Oswin, king of Deira. Aidan preached widely throughout Northumbria, travelling on foot, so that he could readily talk to everyone he met. When Oswin gave him a horse for use in difficult terrain, Aidan gave it to a beggar soliciting alms. Oswin was angry until, as Bede recounts, Aidan asked if the son of a mare was more precious to the king than a son of God. Oswin sought Aidan's pardon, and promised never again to question or regret any of his wealth being given away to children of God. Both Oswald and Oswin are venerated in England as saints and martyrs.

Scores of Scottish and Irish monks assisted Aidan in his missionary work, building churches and spreading Celtic Christian influence to a degree that Lindisfarne became the virtual capital of Christian England. The saint also recruited classes of Anglo-Saxon youths to be educated at Lindisfarne. Among them was Saint Eata, abbot of Melrose and later of Lindisfarne. In time, Eata's pupil, Saint Cuthbert, also became bishop of Lindisfarne.

Aidan lived a frugal life, and encouraged the laity to fast and study the scriptures. He himself fasted on Wednesdays and Fridays, and seldom ate at the royal table. When a feast was set before him he would give the food away to the hungry. The presents he received were given to the poor or used to buy the freedom of slaves, some of whom entered the priesthood. During Lent Aidan would retire to the small island of Farne for prayer and penance. While there in 651, he saw smoke rising from Bamburgh, which was then under attack by the pagan King Penda of Mercia. He prayed for the wind to change, and many of the besiegers were destroyed by fire.

When Oswin was killed in 651 by his treacherous cousin Oswy, king of Bernicia, Aidan was grief-stricken. The saint outlived Oswin by a mere twelve days, dying in a shelter he had erected against the wall of his church in Bamburgh.

The first pic shows tomb of St Aidan, St Aidan's Church, Bamburgh, the second is a stained glass window depicting Aidan at the Monastic Chapel, Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, New York.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 2, Episode 21- Lorelai’s Graduation Day, Aka Lovesick Stepcousins In The Big City, Part 3

I'm cheering Rory on as she leaves school grounds, leaving these 35 year old classmates in the dust, and as she manages to pull it off under the eyes of two teachers or administrators. Yes yes yes! Well from here on out it's going to be pure Literati appreciation with only minimal anger and rage, you know, my usual shtick. That being said, when that happens I start to sound a little disjointed, like, this episode is so pure and precious and enjoyable that I really don't have much snarky commentary on it and I can just watch it. What am I without my snark powers?

Destiny awaits. In one of many examples of what I call "Gilmore Girls Poor"*, which is a term I coined myself for how AmyShermanPalladino views lower/middle class/urban/city life, Rory manages to end up in the Port Authority Bus Terminal in another dimension. The Alternate Dimension, 100% white, Spotlessly Clean, Nearly People-Free New York City Bus Terminal where she stared down a scary dude without being stabbed and she was offered a locker to store her book bag. (*More examples of GGP: In season 4, Jess is 19 years old, a high school dropout, and is living in a clean, rat and roach free, enormous New York City apartment with working utiltiies and large windows that in today's housing crisis people would murder him to get, he just needed a bed frame and to pick his shit up off the floor but we are supposed to believe its a crack den; Rory and Lorelai live in a beautiful home and eat take out and restaurant food every day on nothing more than an innkeeper's slary)

This was cute. Rory the little mouse getting ignored by city folk. I love it so much.

I think AmyShermanPalladino inserted this smoking guy to make it look like Rory was in a rough part of town. Someone finally gives our little mouse an abrupt answer on how to get to Washington Square Park where she can meet her stepcousin and her destiny.

The little smirk before he turns around! And then, and then...and then...the big grin when he sees her!

I am STARVING for stepcousins!!!!!! ..And the Emmy Award for the whitest words ever spoken on teleivison goes to Alexis Bledel, as Rory Gilmore in Gilmore Girls:

Baring his naked forearms like a saucy strumpet. Book sticking awkwardly out of his back pocket. He either finds the smallest books or has the roomiest ass pockets that he keeps pulling that off. How does he do that?

This is all so precious and pure I could die.

He is RAPT with attention listening to her silly stories. Show me where Dean or Logan ever paid this much attention to her telling one of these stories.

We know, Bubs. We know :(

Red alert! Red alert! Our first display of physical contact!

Jess says he eats from this hot dog cart every day. Let's unpack this: 1) Holy child neglect, Batman! I mean, Liz Danes. You can't even make your kid a peanut butter and jelly sandwich once in a while? This boy is feral. These are survival hot dogs. This may be all he can afford to eat on his own. 2) How are you still as skinny as a rail? 3) How's your blood pressure? 4) Where are you getting the money?

This sweet bubba unquestionably paid for Rory's lunch like a true gentleman.

I refuse to acknolwedge any sort of Behind the Scenes Hollywood mumbo jumbo like "Milo wasn't ACTUALLY eating the hot dog" or “umm, it’s a prop hot dog”. i am firmly committed to a scenario where everyone on the set for this episode was like "Milo our precious vegetarian baby boy we will get you a tofu hot dog to eat"

Ending this chapter with this adorable face.

[jmdbjk]

Good morning! Pt. 1

Breakfast: scrambled eggs with heavy cream mixed with cut up cup noodles and brown rice = under 500 calories.

His shoulder is bothering him. Not good.

He has turtleneck syndrome but obvs not the kind that makes us weak in the knees.

He's working out, pilates, going to the dermatologist, ignoring his guitar lessons, a day in the life of just being The Bun.

He will rest at the dermatologists... lol.

Because he's been a couch potato, his muscles deteriorated and that's why he's having trouble with aches and pains. Getting old sucks, Koo.

Damn the sounds his body makes when he cracks his bones...holy shit. Sounded like dominos falling.

He's going to invest in some workout equipment to keep at home... why he doesn't already have that, who knows. I guess because that's not his permanent home. He said he ordered some equipment but sounds suspiciously like it will sit in the box unassembled for a while...

Kookie, you spent six months being a couch potato in your mikrokosmos cave NOW you are going to invest in home workout equipment right when you are starting to ramp up on activities?

Y'all.. when I say he is the most adorable thing explaining in detail how to correct your posture and giving us walking and sleeping techniques to strengthen the neck and back... I just want to put him in my pocket.

"My here..." and he pats the backs of his legs... my god Kookie. Stob it.

He's killin' me. The most adorable goofball.

He scrolled through the comments and couldn't figure out why some disappear. Who's gonna tell him? Not me.

He's already talking about lunch... salad... superfoods... he found a great salad place and will have that with smoked duck or chicken. Eating healthy.

Kookie Pookie TMI: he might be lactose intolerant. Dairy doesn't agree with him. But he eats it anyway. Same, same.

Sooo many details... shampoo, body wash, face... towels...

His ghostbusters phase... he summoned the spirits from the netherworld with gadgets but never saw or heard any. (The other members did though. That explains everything.)

ISFP (Introverted, Sensing, Feeling, Perceiving) People with this personality type tend to be peaceful, easy-going, and down-to-earth individuals. They have a strong need for personal space and value time alone to recharge. He needs to have some management. I've said this before. He is not a self-starter.

Now he's talking about setting up a movie date with Army but how to sneak it past the company. He needs to hire a spy. All of a sudden we're conspiring to do something without the company knowing and have a private movie date with Kookie...

This man who stood in the middle of Coachella and didn't think he'd be recognized because he cut his bangs.... is trying to sneak out of the house to go to see a movie with us. What could go wrong?

The imbeciles who keep asking him to speak another language and not Korean. Brainless people who waste everyone's time by typing those comments during a live.

Hold up buttercup. What's that dark area under his jawline?

[squints at the pixels... hmmm]

The Rainy Day Fight story.... this is the most precious retelling of one of the most (formerly) mysterious moments in Jikookistory. Bless the Army who caught his eye with this request in the comments.

According to Jungkook: It happened in the early years, JK was acting like a petulant teenager and pissed everyone off, even "angelic" Hobi-hyung got mad. Jimin even got pissed off. So much so he told JK he wasn't going to take care of him any longer (I've always suspected that Jimin held some responsibility over JK when they were younger and this might be JK confirming that.) JK stormed out of the building and started walking and got lost. He admits he's directionally challenged. THAT'S WHY JIMIN SAID BAM DOESN'T PAY ATTENTION TO HIS SURROUNDINGS JUST LIKE HIS DAD!

Anyway, JK, in the midst of his temper tantrum, got lost and started to panic but first he had to overcome his pride. He called Jimin, hung up on him and then did it again and on the third call, Jimin quickly answered. I think the panic was overwhelming JK by this time and the avalanche of emotions caved in on him. Poor Jimin probably also was worried by this time, especially after JK couldn't figure out where he was. The telling of how he broke down sobbing while talking to Jimin is so sweet and pure. WHO tells other people they actually did this? The details????

Somehow, Kookie found a taxi and got back to the dorm with Jimin standing there waiting. What a story. Jimin took him up to the roof where they could talk in private and I'm sure the words spoken there made an impact on Kookie. He thoroughly regretted it, enough that he had to bring it up during Festa 2020 and say he felt sorry that he made Jimin feel so bad that day.

All of that in the first 38 minutes of his hour and 45 minute live...

Then he proceeded to wake up the neighbors and ruin his furniture at the same time by drumming on his coffee table.

He tossed a book around for a few seconds... Crying In H Mart by Michelle Zauner, in case anyone wants to read what Kookie is reading. Except I think that's the first time he's actually touched the book because there was a big ass brochure in the middle of it that he had no idea was there.

It seemed like a booklist brochure advertising the latest and best books.

omg... bless his heart...

Next topic: Yoongi's concert. Was Kookie watching a fancam livestream of Yoongi's concert too?

HE'S JUST LIKE US! HE SAW JIMIN AT YOONGI'S CONCERT! I BET MANAGER-NIM WAS LIVE STREAMING THE CONCERT!!!

He tells us he will go see Yoongi's concert (I'm assuming in Seoul). Sadly, Jimin might be in Europe on those days. We'll see.

All of a sudden he's blaming fruit flies for knocking over the phone. I didn't say it, he did.

Scrolling through his video library/youtube/whatever he has tons of cooking shows. He mentions 1mincook several times which is a channel of "1 minute cooking" dishes. Quick meals. All the videos are a minute in length. Perfect for JK's short attention span.

Jeon Jungkook is one of the most unpretentious people I've ever seen in my life.

I am 50 minutes into this live. He was very gregarious and jumped from one thing to the next.

I will run out of image space on this post so Part 2 coming soon!

[elviehun]

ATTENTION !!!! ATTENTION!!!! LOOKIE!!!

He's now officially on the hottest side of 25 and here to collect your hearts!!! Beware!!!

(You know the one, the sexy one in Fall Out Boy😎)

Happy Birthday to The Beautiful One, player of instruments galore, the owner of The Smile, sporter of the prettiest glasses, hats, sideburns and beards, the one who brought 'goodness gracious!' and 'holy smokes!' back, THE most amazing, talented, gorgeous (don't even get me started on the lips and the hips), kind and humble boy ever to burst into any music scene ever. I look at him now and can't believe how far he's come. Looking at everything he's done, every single perfect chord he's ever dreamed up, put down and played or crooned or belted out, whether it's film scores, FOB songs, solo work or his many amazing collabs, covers, random acapellas and producing work, I couldn't be more proud of this Chicago miracle kid. Also, his little chuckle is known to cure most illnesses even from afar. Just so you know.

Everyone stop what you're doing and clink em glasses for this precious creature.

As per usual, im celebrating with pouring over the prettiest pics of him, also listening to nothing but Soul Punk, Truant Wave and Folie all day. Cheers, Car Crash Hearts.

Patrick, I will love you until my very last breath. You're truly the last of the real ones. May your day be everything you've hoped it to be.

🎂🎂THE HAPPIEST 40th, BABY BOY!!!🎂🎂

(Also, from the bottom of my heart and in absolute seriousness: thanks Pete. So much.)