#another reminder that eugene is HERE FOR NOW!!

[nonbinairyboi]

Nothing Left - Chapter 2

Fic Summary: You hadn’t spoken in years. Technically, you had the ability to, though as the years wore on, you weren’t so sure. You’d settled in Jackson over a year ago and now it was fall again. You are drawn towards Ellie and her ‘not-dad’, but you had always assumed any relationships deeper than surface level were beyond you at this point.

Chapter Summary: You grow closer to Ellie and go on patrol with a new extra set of hands.

Pairing: Joel Miller x nonbinary!Reader/OC (afab, short hair, tall, dimples, has multiple nicknames but none are their name)

Word Count: ~3.2

MAIN MASTERLIST

Read on AO3

Series Warnings: This is my first fanfic and I plan to go into some dark stuff including some in-depth discussion of SA that was done to the main character (not by Joel) and the mental impact it has. I am unsure if I will be writing smut as I never have before but I will update the warnings if that changes. There definitely will be allusions to smut if nothing else, so MINORS DNI!

Chapter Warnings: Mild violence. Slight reference to general depression and anxiety. Misgendering a bit/wrong name being used. 

Chapter 2

As the cold began to creep further into Jackson, you found yourself busier and busier, picking up any odd jobs you could.

You helped with the farming, the greenhouses, patrol, as well as picking up some mending jobs as you could. It was comforting to have something you could work on at home to quiet your mind.

At night, without anything to focus on, your mind could go off on its own and run into a thick dark forest, getting caught up in the tendrils of leaves and branches blocking your path. It always surprised you how the smallest, most mundane things would catapult you to another place and time, and lately it felt like all of those places were cold and abrasive.

Mornings had become one of your favorite times of day, which was ironic because you used to hate them before the outbreak. Before the outbreak, it signified a slog of going to school, then going to work to slave a way at a job for minimal pay. At the QZ, it had been the same, feeling heavier as the jobs were harder and your days would take more gut-wrenching turns. On the road, they were bittersweet. It meant that you had made it another day, but that was a thought often tinged with regret. Why were you still here? Did you really have to continue another day?

Now, they had come to be a bit more peaceful. Even when you woke up from a dream that left you feeling anxious or out of breath, you could close your eyes and take deep breaths while hearing the gentle birds outside your window. There was a thicket of trees near the back of your house that hadn’t been chopped down for wood, and they housed quite the collection of songs.

A few months into living in Jackson, you had started to take morning walks after bad dreams. They weren’t very long, but they generally helped. You avoided the busier parts of town, staying where it was still quiet and you only encountered a few people with smiles and nods. It felt like a warm-up for the social interactions of the day. Once the air had cleansed your mind, you wandered towards the center of town to grab some food.

Today, you had awoken with an uneasy feeling, but you couldn’t remember the dream that had caused it. After a few minutes of walking and focusing on your breaths and the soft crunch underneath your feet, the cold fist that had gripped the inside of your chest seemed to warm up and loosen as you turned towards town.

You had patrol with Eugene later in the morning, but you had a few hours till then. You grabbed food and slid into a spot at the end of a table, away from the few people who already sat around. 

Taking a breath, you zoned out staring at the light that poured in from the window. It reminded you of the way the light would come in your childhood home during winter break from school, when you got up early, still accustomed to the weekly schedule for school. Laying on the carpeted floor and studying the rainbow that the prism hanging in the side window created next to you.

You were jolted out of your thoughts by a loud clatter directly across from you at the table. You jumped slightly at the unexpected noise and turned around to lock eyes with the person who had abruptly brought you back to the present. 

Ellie winced when your eyes met and mumbled a quiet, “Shit, sorry!”

You tried to school your features into a smile to show that she didn’t need to be sorry. 

She plopped down into her seat and picked up and studied an apple from her plate.

“Joel told me that back when people went to grocery stores, they used to put stickers on apples. That seems too weird to be true though.” She said with a furrowed brow.

You could help the giggle that bubbled its way out of your throat. 

Ellie smirked and turned her attention back to you. “Soooo…. Is it true?” she asked.

The side of your mouth stayed tilted up as you nodded back at her. Ellie narrowed her eyes.

“Really? It’s not just a joke he was trying to get me to believe?” 

Your smile grew as you nodded again.

“That is so weird.” She turned her eyes skeptically back to the apple before taking a large bite out of it. 

“Soo, Chhhaaaarlie,” She said, drawing out the first part of Eugene’s moniker for you as she chewed, making you squint a bit at the sound of her trying to talk around her bite. She paused for a bit as she finished her bite. “How do you even keep up conversations? Does it annoy you that people just kinda talk at you? Can you talk and just choose not to?”

You raised your eyebrows at her. A smirk formed on your lips at her direct questions. Most people skirted around the topic, stuttering a bit when they asked you something regarding your silence, not meeting your eyes. She made you feel like more of a person than most of the community had as a whole. You shrugged and tilted your head to the side, meeting her gaze.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” she said, squinting at you, before launching into a monologue about what she had been up to lately. How she loved learning but hated school generally, that she thought it was pointless when they stuck to the same curriculum that people had had before clickers existed. She admitted that they learned other things too, but still seemed annoyed at the concept of having to write an essay in the smallest print she could to save paper. Most other things besides notes were written on small white boards.

You got up together as you finished your respective breakfasts. She trailed after you as you went towards the stables, reasoning that you had enough time to help with the horses, but not quite enough time to go home and rest before your patrol. Ellie stopped abruptly in front of the board where name plaques hung, indicating who was on what patrol, staring at the plaque that had ‘Gabby’ written on it. 

“I didn’t know you were on patrol,” she said brightly. “Maybe I could tag along sometime.”

You gave her a disapproving look. You knew that she must know the age limit on patrols and you weren’t about to be on the wrong side of her brooding dad’s temper.

Ellie let out an annoyed and slightly childish grunt of a sigh in return. “Ugh, I thought you were one of the cool ones.” She dragged her feet as you moved further into the stables.

“Does it bug you that the thing says ‘Gabby’?” she asked quietly. You halted in your motion to grab the pitchfork. Frowning, you turned back to study her. She was far more discerning than you gave her credit for. As she looked at you, it felt like she was seeing further into you than anyone had in a long time and it made your heart stick in your throat for a moment. 

So much good could have come from a mind and heart like hers in the time before, you thought. Although, who knows, she might have been stomped on all the same, just in a different way than the apocalypse had.

After some moments of silence, you shrugged and put on a weak smile. She didn’t seem pleased with your response as she continued to stare at you. 

You nodded your head to the side to indicate that she should probably get going. You pointed at her and then signed ‘go’ and ‘school’ in ASL. You hoped someone had taught her some of the signs you used. You hadn’t ever tried to teach anyone grammar, so you stuck to the basics.

She looked at you and repeated the sign for ‘school’, clapping her hands together louder than you had. “Does that mean ‘leave me alone’?” she asked. You shook your head quickly, not wanting her to think you were tired of her. After a moment, you pointed more directly in the direction of the school and mimed a teacher in front of a board. 

“Oh, school?” she asked quickly. You nodded, the both of you smiling at the moment of shared understanding. “School,” she repeated while signing. You waved your hand in front of her face to get her attention before repeating the sign slower, showing the angle that your hands came together at. She copied you, correcting her hand placement. You nodded at her with a smile. 

“I used to know someone who used that.” She said after a moment, her demeanor changing to solemn. You felt your stomach drop. Had you sent her into a spiral by communicating? You couldn’t bear the thought that your mere existence might cause her pain even without you speaking. It was obvious that she was using the past-tense for a reason. 

After a moment, you saw her raise her glistening eyes to you. She then put a small smile on her face and surprised you by signing to you without prompting. “Endure and Survive,” she said while signing. You could tell that it meant something deeper to her, so you did the only thing you could think of that might provide support. You kept your eyes on her as you repeated the signs back at her with a more serious face than you had used before. It seemed to work, as the corners of lips turned up despite her wet eyes. 

After a moment more of silence, she abruptly turned, calling out a quick “bye!” behind her.

You stared after her before mentally shaking yourself out of your trance and picking up the neglected pitchfork to start your task. 

Not long after you finished, as you moved on to saddling your horse, a teenager you didn’t know well rushed in, looking stressed. You thought his name might be Jesse. He caught your eye and looked around the stalls. “Did you already muck the stalls?” he asked in a rush. You nodded politely. “You saved my ass!” he exclaimed, making you laugh. “I’ll update the log and get on with it then. Thank’s Gabby!” You nodded and continued your work. 

A few minutes later, you heard the crunching of leaves from outside, signifying that someone else would be joining you in the stables. Assuming it would be Eugene, you whipped around to pin him with a smirk, your hands on your hips. Your smile immediately dropped and your eyebrows shot up as you met a less familiar pair of steely eyes. Joel Miller.

Silence passed as you stared at each other, both seemingly surprised to see the other. You couldn’t quite interpret the look in his eyes at seeing you. It was obvious he thought the stables would be empty save for some stablehands, but there was something else lurking behind that reaction. Something more personal. 

The tension was broken as Eugene strolled in behind him and you both turned to face him. 

“You know each other?” He asked, moving past Joel to start saddling his own horse, aptly named ‘Spot’ by one of the younger children in town. Joel seemed to grunt before correcting himself and replying “Not really, no.” You nodded and shrugged your agreement to his assessment. 

“Joel will be joining us today. There was some evidence of more movement than usual along the trial yesterday,” Eugene explained. “I call this one Charlie, although everyone else calls ‘em Gabby. Neither of those are their name from what I can tell, but this one is just too damn polite to correct us.”

Joel studied you a moment before taking a few steps forward and holding out his hand to shake. “Joel.” he said, while you reached out your hand and shook his hand. His grip was firm and you thought maybe he looked surprised at how firm yours was in return. He probably was like the rest of town, assuming that because you could get jumpy once in a while in town and were quiet, that you were weak and skittish in general. 

“Don’t let Charlie fool you,” Eugene remarked as if reading your mind. “They are tougher than they look. And a good shot too.” 

Joel’s eye flicked down your body and back up, as if he could somehow assess whether or not you could shoot straight by looking at you. You were a little taller than average for your body type, but the rest of you gave nothing away. After a moment, he either found what he was looking for or gave up, as he turned toward the horse he favored, who was named Whiskey. 

You finished saddling your horse, Nightshade, and then caught Eugene’s attention while indicating that you needed to go check out guns for patrol. Eugene said “Go on ahead, we got ours on the way in.” Going up the gun shed, you checked out a pistol and a bolt action rifle, before smiling at Robin behind the counter. You were 80% sure that the teenager you had seen earlier was her son. 

When you arrived back at the stables, Eugene and Joel were finishing up. 

“Let’s go.” Joel gruffly said.

“After you,” Eugene replied, staying in the stall as Joel strode past. You followed Joel out of the stables, leading Nightshade behind you, hearing Eugene fall into place behind you. As you reached the front gates, you all waited as the tall gates were pulled open for you. 

“How often have you done Elk Creek?” Eugene asked, side-eyeing Joel. 

“Only a few times. I generally go on Alpine Valley or Teton Village.” Joel replied.

“Well, good thing you’re paired with Charlie and I then,” Eugene said, swinging up onto his horse. 

Joel grunted, although you couldn't tell if it was warily or in agreement, following suit as he mounted Whiskey. You jumped up as well and maneuvered yourself in front. You always loved the first glance out into the wilderness when the gates opened. Despite the fear that an open landscape had instilled in you throughout the outbreak, it also allowed you to take deeper breaths. Some days everything about you seemed like a contradiction. 

“Charlie’ll lead the way,” Eugene explained. Falling in step behind you next to Joel. 

The next ten minutes were spent in relative silence as you made your way towards the regularly trodden path towards Elk Creek. Your eyes darted around, wary of any movement you saw in the wind. 

Eugene called up to you as you began to enter a thicker area of trees. “They said that there were a lot of footprints overlapping about a mile before the cabin. Said there were definitely some infected if the wonky path they led was any indication, but that there were some other tracks that seemed to cross paths with them that had a straighter trail. Keep your eyes peeled.”

You stuck your arm to the side and gave him a thumbs up, not wanting to become distracted from the path ahead. You pulled your rifle off your shoulder and held it across your front, adjusting the reins until you were satisfied that you could set up a shot and fire quickly if needed.

“Y’all run into infected or raiders on this trail together before?” Joel gruffed. 

“Quite a few times actually, but none were too iffy. Charlie is the kind of person you want as your backup in those situations. Got their head on straight, especially on patrol. And one of the only people I’ve never known to not talk too much and distract their partner.” Eugene replied.

You smirked from your place in front of them, feeling slightly bashful to be talked about so directly.

Joel cleared his throat, “From what I’ve heard so far, I’m more worried about you, Eugene.”

Eugene let out a laugh. “Well, that might be a bit true. I know when to be quiet. Between us three and your kid, I think we fill in the full spectrum of chattiness.”

Joel puffed out a small laugh. “She could learn a few things from - uh - Charlie here on that one.”

You dragged your eyes away from the path ahead to look back and catch Joel’s eyes. Once your eyes locked, you lifted the edges of your lips up and shook your head.

“Charlie seems to have the opposite effect on those around ‘em. As soon as they walk into a room, I swear the room gets louder, but not due to anything they do. People just seem to take Charlie’s silence as an invitation to unburden themselves of any thoughts they’ve ever had.” Eugene remarked good-naturedly. 

You left out a small laugh at that. You heard the steps of one of the horses behind you stop momentarily at the sound. You bit your lip, wondering if Joel was surprised that you could make any noise at all or if it was something else about your laugh that had surprised him. You mentally shook your head to focus back on the task at hand. You were always nervous in front of new people, but out here, that wasn’t what was important. 

Eugene and Joel continued chatting behind you as you rode. Well, to be fair, it was mostly Eugene talking, with grunts and one-word replies from Joel. When you were about a mile out from where the tracks had been seen, you held your hand up to stop the two behind you. You turned back and signed ‘voice lock’ back to Eugene, to indicate that it was time to stop chatting. Eugene straightened on his horse, but said nothing. 

“What’s that mean?” Joel asked. 

“It means it’s time to stop yackin’, at least out loud” Eugene replied at a lower volume than he had been using before. 

Joel grunted his assent and kept quiet. 

As you rounded the next curve in the trail, something up ahead caught your eye. It looked like a flash of something shiny, which spurred you into action. You halted Nightshade and brought your rifle up, looking through the scope towards the glint. You heard the other two stop behind you. After a moment, you found what had caught your attention, but it only confused you more. 

Tied to a branch amongst the trees far ahead, someone had tied a silver ribbon. An uneasy feeling overtook you as you stared at it. It seemed deliberately put there, but why?

After a moment of tense silence as you looked around the area through your scope hoping to find any further indication of what it could mean, you heard a sudden thrashing sound from both sides of the path. 

You quickly shouldered your rifle and began to unholster your pistol as you heard Eugene and Joel yell something unintelligible to each other. 

A moment later, as you were flicking the safety off of your pistol, you heard a shot ring out from your left. You turned quickly to look towards where the shot came from just as a strong hand grabbed onto your right leg, causing you to cry out in surprise. 

You hear Eugene shout your name as a pain sliced through your calf, and suddenly, you were falling diagonally back off of Nightshade as a force pulled you sideways just as Nightshade reared up on her hind legs. You desperately put the safety back on your gun as you furtled towards the ground.

[starshipsofstarlord]

How To Weaken a Man

Summary - you were going to get what you wanted, Daryl however was going to have to wait. He was deserving of a taste of his own medicine, after him constantly being in charge, it was time for a change (3.3k)

Warnings - 18+ MDNI, smut, brat taming, oral (m+f receiving), unprotected sex, teasing, daryl being a total boob man, hair pulling, spanking

daryl dixon + norman reedus works main masterlist

It was an obvious distraction, or at least Daryl thought; it was in fact life threatening for you to be wearing a low necked vest that accentuated two of the greatest curves of your body.

He was going to die. That much was clear.

The archer dryly licked his lips as he avoided studying your silhouette, knowing that if he aimed his eyes in your direction, he wouldn’t be able to focus on Rick’s plans to reinforce the walls of Alexandria to stop another swarm of walkers breaking through.

This was important! It was the same thing he kept reminding himself, as he listened to the chiding voices eliciting ideas, and he was consuming the words through his ears, until your own unmistakably broke in, causing the man to gulp.

He was weak, despite being one of the strongest survivors in the room, and your body was his kryptonite. Sure, it was a warm day, however he was mentally cursing your choice of attire.

Your decision of clothing was cruel, more so as you leant across the table, talking away as you watched as Daryl stared at the ground. The act made you smirk - you had clearly affected him, and whilst that hadn’t been your original intention, you were still sure as hell going to take it as a victory.

He had to look, he could never help himself and this time would be no different. The man was stuck in his ways, and whilst he was attempting to postpone caving to them, you knew his weaknesses far too well.

And you felt pride swell in your chest as your lover slowly drew his wolfish eyes in your direction, tracing the outline of your body with his intent pupils, the meeting was almost over, and he was aware that he would soon be met with his demise. And then his control would too be gone, vanquished to less than dust due to your vixen like ways.

But you wouldn’t be as kind as he anticipated, you were going to make him wait until he had turned into a completely feral man, whom would do anything to touch your flesh. It was a taste of his own medicine in which he would receive, and boy was it going to be sweet!

Blindly you plucked your bottom lip between your teeth, grazing it with the edges of the porcelain within your mouth as you maintained eye contact, for just a moment longer, until you returned your attention to Rick, brushing your tied up hair that had grown out a little longer than before across to your opposing shoulder, exposing your right collarbone.

You were a damn tease, Daryl thought, suddenly wishing that he hadn’t insisted that you had gotten your ass up and out of your house to attend this meeting. And then it clicked in his mind, this was your revenge.

He had practically dragged you here, and now he was the one suffering from the effect of his own actions. Perhaps he deserved it, he sure as hell knew that you had a tendency to be sly when it suited you, surviving had moulded you into a malleable creature who could adapt to her surroundings. And you were adapting into a distraction for him, he gruffly shuffled in his seat, adjusting his legs beneath one of the tables in the room to soothe his growing erection.

It needed to go away, sooner rather than later. The last thing he wanted was to be humiliated by his apocalyptic peers for being attracted to his damn wife. It’d be something he’d never hear the end of, and some of them such as Eugene, were annoying enough without picking fun at things that were out of his control.

And so he cast his eyes away once more, prioritising his line of sight upon the floor, and more importantly, out of your direction. “Okay.” He heard your voice speak out, and as he briefly glanced at you, he noticed how you were now stood upright, with your arms folded across your chest, pushing your breasts subtly together. “Me and Daryl will see what materials we can find, we’ll take a truck and see if we can salvage anything from nearby.”

“Sounds good.” Rick nodded at you, completely clueless to your underlining schemes, as both you and the archer had done the same previously when you were upholding yourselves in the prison. And that, now that Daryl remembered that past experience, was of a similar nature.

You had seemed completely innocent the first time you had suggested that you and Daryl trekked out to scavenge for building supplies, however that hadn’t been your only goal. Due to the ever growing population of survivors that had been allowed to thrive beyond the fences, it was difficult for you and the brooding man to ever get some alone time, so when you had seen an opportunity to, you took it.

It appeared to be brewing from the same source within this instance, considering that work within Alexandria was infinite, more so now since the walkers had effectively flocked through. There had been some makeshift barricades put in place for the time being, however there was need for it to be reinforced to the maximum security so that the parade of the dead didn’t force themselves through an encore.

He expected you to wait as the attendees of the meeting, however you left with the rest of the flock, leaving him to his lonesome as he then was in an empty room, with the exception of Rick who confusedly watched him. “Are you okay brother?” He enquired, a soft frown attuning to his features.

“Fine.” Daryl responded, thanking whatever force above that his problem had returned to its unaroused state. He clapped his palm on the table as he stood, nodding to his friend before he bid him a short goodbye in the words, “I’ve gotta catch up ter y/n/n.”

Rick was silent as he watched his friend leave the room, chasing after his wife which made the man smile. It was a strike of luck that they were both here, and that they had each other to rely on, even when it came down to something as simple as finding anything useful to reinforce the borders of the place that had become their entire group’s home.

The man however didn’t know that this was just a fraction of a drawn out game that the woman was playing, although Daryl could see right through you as you swayed your hips with every step that you took towards the gates, Daryl’s crossbow on your hip prompting the notion that the two of you weren’t going home before your trip and resolving your lust for revenge.

“Oh. You’re finally here.” You stated, practically undressing him with your eyes as you looked Daryl up and down, prior to shoving his weapon into his own hands, and picking up your own where it was laying in the trunk of the pickup.

“Yeah. I ‘m.” He responded, squinting as he looked down on your conniving form, untrusting of your avid bluntness towards him. After all, the only thing that he was guilty of was dragging your body down the mattress to ‘entice’ you to comply with your attendance of an important matter. “What’s wrong with ya?” Daryl asked, watching as you coyly cocked your head, an almost invisible smirk stringing itself on the corner of your lips.

“Nothin’. Now come on Dixon, I know a good place…” you lightly patted the side of the empty truck, swinging the drivers door open, not feigning any attention to the small furrow of his brows. “Get in, today you’re my passenger princess.”

Before Daryl had time to argue with your assumption of being the one behind the wheel, you had already slammed the door behind your figure, giving him no space to argue. Otherwise he was certain there’d be whispers among the Alexandrians if he were to haul you to the other side, as none would have the confidence to defend one Dixon against the other.

“Passeng’r princess my ass.” He mumbled as he trudged to around the front of the vehicle, making sure to slam the opposing door shut after he had seared himself. “Yer up to somethin’, and I dun know if I like it.” Daryl spoke to you, crossing his arms as he watched you turn the keys in the ignition, and without much wait, you were already steering out of the gates after they had been opened for your departure.

“You’ll like it, trust me.” You shot your husband a wink, seemingly knowing exactly the route of your journey. He silently sulked in the seat, kicking his legs slowly out as he decidedly chose to ignore you and focus his eye sight out the window. He was mildly ignoring you, and his behaviour only made you more eager to get him in the position that you wanted.

He said nothing, muting himself for the entire drive, with the exception of a grunt every time that you placed your hand on his thigh, which ended in him shrugging you off. You leant forwards, taking a risk and driving off road, which made the vehicle jut up and down, and with each disturbed movement, your chest rapidly rose and fell in a pattern of bounces.

That was what drew his curiosity, and he realised as soon as he noticed your breasts lifting out of the truck’s rocky accord, that this was all still your attempt of teasing him. His elbow rested against the bottom of the window on his side, as he brushed some of the hair that was falling in his face to the side.

“The hell ain’t you on the road?” He huffed, aware that your route of feminine prowess could cause a flat tire. As he glanced to the back seats however he noticed a spare shoved behind his chair, and so once again, you continued to be one step ahead of him.

“Told you I knew a good place, you should have more faith in me baby. It’s an old garage, we can strip the walls there,” or yourselves, you thought pointedly, slowing down the speed in which you were going as you grew closer to the coordinates that you had visited a couple times to bring home additional fixtures for his bike.

“Do have faith in yer, when ya ain’t focused on seducin’ me in the middle of nowhere.” Daryl knew that he wouldn’t be able to deny you for the entire time whilst you were alone. It was never his strong suit, and he could feel a primal pit in his stomach stirring as he imagined all of the ways that he would put you in your place and remind you that you weren’t as clever as you were convinced you were.

Most nights when the two of you had the chance for some alone time, he would have you writhing beneath his fingertips, physically drooling and being vocal in your need for more. “Seducing you?” You laughed, your mouth crooking as you contained a maleficent smile. “I hardly have to seduce you Dar.”

He felt him sinking into his seat as he grunted softly towards you, as he was all too aware that it was the truth. After all the hunts that he would return from, he would come home, and prove how much he had missed you, even if that meant awakening you from your slumber to lay some love on you.

“Whatev’r.” He replied, throwing open the door on his side when you had pulled over, and heading straight to the garage that was no doubt located to help lost travellers between towns. “Can’ blame me for findin’ ya attractive. But ya can blame me fer punishin’ ya later for this behaviour.” He threatened you, allowing you to catch up to him, before he undid the latch on the small garage, hoisting the metal door open.

He had his crossbow ready, in case there were any walkers lurking within the depths of your location of impure fantasies, noticing there being bikes tossed on their sides, numerous parts missing. “This where ya find all my parts?” He quietly questioned, as you held your own weapon next to him, eyes scanning every inch of the undisturbed atmosphere.

“Obviously.” You responded, going through the entire mass of the abandoned workplace, until the both of you were certain that there were no undead inhabiting the interior.

“We should’ get tha’ door,” Daryl gestured to the entrance that you had closed behind your entry, however you gripped his arm, taking a couple steps back until you were cornered by the benches that were decorated with askew tools. “Ya don’ think that’s a good idea, princess?”

“Not yet.” You confirmed, seating yourself up on the workbench, pushing some of the metal utensils out of the way as you lay your gun down flat on the cold side, eyeing Daryl as though he was your last meal. He looked obscurely at you, gulping as he walked between your legs, crossbow slung over his shoulder as his rough and expended hands played with the bottom of your tank top, his azure gaze now locked onto your chest.

The top of your bra was visible, the fabric of your shirt having heaved itself down as you pulled yourself atop of the unit to sit, as you swayed your legs mindlessly, brushing your boots upon the side of his legs. “And why’s that, huh?” He asked, all knowing of the reason, unfazed by the mud that was now being sketched along his trousers.

“Because I want you.” You answered him, eyes boring into his face as you blocked your vision for only a moment to bring your shirt over your head. “And I know you want me too.” His hands had crawled searingly up your sides, to your back where he unclasped your bra and tossed it onto the ground, leaving your breasts bare for him to take in.

Daryl could feel himself ignite into a state of arousal again, as he covered your chest with his palms, squeezing at the supple flesh. It had been all he tried to keep off his mind during the excruciating meeting, and now he was finally alone with you, everything he wanted right in front of his eyes.

“I always wan’ yer.” He replied, leaning forward to press his mouth against your own, circling your nipples with his thumbs, his brows shooting up as you wasted little to no time in pushing your tongue into his mouth. He released a groan, drifting his hands down to pinch at his thighs, but as he did so, he felt a sharp tug to the roots of his brunette locks.

You had just pulled his hair. “Well if you want me that bad Dixon, you’re going to do exactly as I say.” You demanded, your fingers still entangled in his hair as you pushed the man’s face down your sternum, his lips tracing every millimetre of your flesh until he reached your hardened buds, excitedly enveloping them within his mouth.

“I’ll do wha’ I wan-“ you had cut his argumentative rapture of dominance short as you once again pulled sternly at his roots, forcing a whine to escape the burly hunter. He was going to do what you wanted, and clearly your insurance of enforcing your husband was working.

“Well, what I see what you want is to make me your very happy wife.” You enticed him, holding your hands upon your partner’s shoulders to descend him to his knees in between your legs. The peripheral that you had was one that lived within your personal fantasies, and something that you had never revealed to Daryl. But it appeared that he was on board with your reversal of roles, as he pawed desperately at your jeans, and you aided him by unbuttoning them, the two of you working as a team to pull the worn denim down your legs.

“I do.” He bespoke, pressing hungry kisses along the inside of your thighs, his nose running along the damp cotton of your panties. “Want to make yer the happiest wife in the world.” Daryl slid your underwear to the side, revealing your already wet core to his glazed irises, as he hardly gave you a moment to order him around before he dove straight in, tongue first.

“Fuck, Dar.” You keened, running your hands down to have both of them gripping wantonly at his hair. “You’re so good at that.” You reassured him, pushing him between your legs further, your thighs squeezing either side of his head. He suctioned your clit between his lips, causing you to lean your back against the wall behind you, your head lightly hitting it too as you lived through the pleasure that ran through your veins.

You were growing closer to your release, however despite your body prompting you to chase it, your mind made you push Daryl away, and when he looked up at you, there was disdain written in his eyes. With shaky legs you managed to slide down from where you had been sat in your ecstasy, and pushed Daryl in your place. “It’s your turn now baby.”

He rubbed at the scratchy hair at his chin, accidentally spreading your wetness across the lower half of his face, as his chest rose and fell as he watched you until you were now on your knees. His hand ran through your hair, patiently waiting as you unbuckled his belt, and proceeded undressing his legs until all of him was on display, his hard cock bobbing on its own accord in your face. “Do-“

He had no time slot to give you commands, as you had already engulfed his cock within your hollowed cheeks, allowing the tip to hit the back of your throat. His hips followed your rhythm, chasing after the warm and suffocating pleasure that your mouth provided his length with, and as he gazed down at you, he felt proud. You of all the surviving population within the messed up world were his wife, and from before you had gotten married to the present, you always had the habit of surprising him.

Daryl knew that he could be a difficult man to put up with and understand at times, but you never needed an explanation to know what was running through his mind. He felt disappointed as you removed your lips from around his cock, however he had learnt previously from your attitude not to voice. Instead he was just going to do what he wanted, and as he watched you stand, in the midst of a second, he had you bent over the workbench, in a vulnerable position and at his famished mercy.

He clicked his tongue, as he leant over your form, one hand beneath you cupping your breast, as the other warningly stroked your ass. “As fun as tha’ was sunshine, I ain’t gonna let yer be a fuckin’ brat whenever ya please.” His voice was husky with his southern accent as he spoke dangerously in your ear, his cock pressed up against your backside, as you huffed frustratedly.

“I’m not a brat.” You rolled your eyes although he couldn’t see, however your entire body jumped in surprise as he clapped a hand firmly down on your ass, and your breathing increased. “I-“

Much like how you had been silencing Daryl’s defences, he had repeated your actions, exonerating a moan from your throat as he slid his cock through your walls, filling you up perfectly. Any confidence you had from previously having power over him had vanished, as it was all too clear that Daryl had gained back his control.

“Yeah, ya are. Bu’ you’re my brat.” Daryl grunted, finding satisfaction when he heard nothing in reply other than your moans and the sound of his name tumbling from your lips. A smirk found prize on his lips as a thought slunk into his mind, and his hand raised, tugging at your hair. “Now be a good girl and do as I say.”

[hellfire--cult]

💗 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙤𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 - 𝙧𝙤𝙚'𝙨 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣

eddie munson x fem!reader

wc: 2.2k

For @carolmunson's eddie munson event that you can find here!

Prompt and plot: A romantic night at the trailer that holds a twist at the end of the story that seals the fate and future of you two - filled with fluff, yearning, established relationship and eddie munson shenanigans

a/n: it doesn't really have the stranger things lore, but this is just Eddie, normal goofy Eddie. taggin people here if they are interested to participate @andvys @lofaewrites @taintedcigs

THE BOY IS MINE

You were whistling while moving around in the small kitchen, the water already boiling for the pasta you were going to make for today’s dinner. You were finishing off the cake on the counter, tongue poking out as you squeezed the piping bag to create swirls with the vanilla frosting oozing out. 

It wasn’t the best, but it was something. Tomorrow was Wayne’s birthday after all, and you wanted everything to be perfect when he returns from work in the morning. You finished, not noticing a bit of frosting was on your nose, and you dragged the cake into the fridge. The sounds around Forest Hills were the same as always, someone laughing at a sitcom on the TV, teenagers laughing in the back, but then at one point, the park became silent at night.

It was bliss compared to your life before meeting Eddie.

That comedic charismatic boy back in high school who got on the cafeteria tables to state the most mundane things, catching everyone’s attention, including yours. Fate brought you two together, and you found out he was not… as charismatic as you first believed he was. At least not entirely natural.

But that made you stick to him like glue, and he always reminded you that he couldn’t believe you paid attention to him. That was five years ago, and now, leaving your messy luxurious life behind, you are happily dancing in the kitchen to the sound of Rock the Casbah. At the same time, you throw the pasta in the boiling water and grab the can of prepared marinara sauce so that you can heat it in a pan. 

The door slowly opened and you turned to see Eddie walking in with a tired look on his face, your heart skipped a beat but you decided to keep dancing, turning the sound up. His eyes meet your face and you smile at him and his dimples start to form, his bright teeth shine through, his eyebrows perking up as he rushes towards you to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close, swaying his hips with yours, greeting you with a shower of kisses all over your face, successfully cleaning your nose.

“How is my queen doing?” He asked with a huge smile after he left saliva all over your face. His hair was messy, and it was pretty noticeable that he wore your scrunchie at work because of the dents here and there. He had a bit of dirt on his nose so you licked your thumb and softly wiped it away and he hummed in approval.

“Making dinner… How was work?” And at your question, he rolled his head in a circle while groaning loudly. 

“If I have to explain to Eugene how to change oil one more time, I will commit arson darling– Seriously, you will have to help me hide a body with the way things are going.” He sighed while pulling away from you so you could swirl the pasta in the pot and mix a little bit of spices into the sauce. 

“You know I would completely do it, you just tell me when to buy the acid.” A giggle escaped your lips and he smiled while approaching you from behind, pressing a kiss on the back of your exposed neck. You sighed in delight and then you turned your head with a smile on your face, receiving a kiss on the lips from him. Soft, tender, caring, just like he always does with you, your heart soaring towards the roof of the trailer, and if it could, it would go towards the moon.

“This is why I love you.” You gave him another soft peck, turning back towards the food. He kept the kisses, one after the other on the skin of your neck, a shiver running down your spine as your body started to rise in temperature. He always riled you up whenever he could, and now more so than before.

“Eddie, baby, I love you too but if you don’t stop we’re gonna have a problem… and I’m hungry.” You heard him chuckle as he let go of you, going towards the fridge and opening it to gasp in surprise.

“HOLY SHIT! Look at that darling! Wayne is gonna go crazy with this.” He was giddy, doing a little jump in his place and you giggled at his childish act, yet so endearing. Your eyes widened when you saw him already poking his hand in.

“Don’t mess up my frosting! It took a while!” He shook his head with a pout as he closed the fridge’s door, rushing towards you to grab onto your free hand and raise your arm up as he started kissing from wrist to shoulder, making you laugh in your place, wiggling with his touch.

“You are the best thing, a gift from above, how lucky it is I for having thee in my life!” His voice was squeaky, high pitched, yet adorable in every way possible, that comedic side of him that never left him, despite it all. Despite adulthood, despite the hard times the two of you are going through.

“Shut up! Prepare the table and get the fancy glasses my liege.” You joked as he let go of your arm, squinting at you, a soft ‘ha ha’ leaving his mouth.

“I ran out of those, are cups of your interest your majesty?” He mimicked and you straightened up while taking the sauce out of the stove so it wouldn’t overboil.

“I guess I can be flexible. Just for now.” He smiled, reaching out on his cupboards to start preparing the coffee table for your dinner. Your stomach growled and growled in desperate need of substance and you were getting irritated at the damn noodles in the pot that just needed two more minutes. You bent down with a groan as you opened the cabinet under the sink to take the colander out. 

Eddie walked back into the kitchen in two steps and looked into the pot. With a fork he fetched one single noodle out and held it in between his fingers, slamming it against his wall and seeing it stick, a proud smile on his face while you were already glaring at him. The back of the stove is definitely filled with noodles that fell after Eddie’s test.

“What? I checked and they are done!” He gave your forehead a kiss and grabbed the colander out of your hands and put it on the sink. You whined as you looked at your empty hands and back at him.

“I can–” 

“Put the drinks on the table baby.” You sighed and rolled your eyes as you opened the fridge to take the Pepsi and water out. You walked towards the living room and placed the bottles on the coffee table where Eddie already placed two cups and two forks. 

You looked towards your boyfriend who was cursing under his breath while moving the pot with worn-out kitchen gloves towards the colander and you couldn’t help but giggle when you saw all the steam engulf him as he strained the noodles. Your boyfriend that sometimes works on weekends in order to make a few more extra dollars. Your boyfriend who stays extra hours for a little more in his paycheck, and all you do is make dinner for him and breakfast for Wayne, making you feel a little… useless. But Eddie wouldn’t let you help with work at all, not for now.

You walked back towards him to prepare the plates filled with pasta, your mouth salivating even more as Eddie did small jumps next to you with excitement. You were laughing at him, handing him his plate as you two walked towards the couch and finally sat down to have your peaceful dinner. 

You devoured your plate in one second almost, and Eddie often told you to slow down with a laugh on his lips as he wiped the sauce off the corners of your mouth. You were smiling as you talked to him about your day, which wasn’t much, but it was something. You met with Robin, bought a few things you needed, bought the ingredients for the cake, and returned home to clean the house. 

“And that is how I want you. Calm, at least for now.” He said with a fond smile as he finished his plate of food, you frowned at him and then looked at your plate and then back at him.

“Eds… Am I getting fat? Like too fat? More than what it should be?” The question was out of nowhere, yet it was always in the back of your mind, nagging like a needle in the middle of your nape. Always finishing your plates at record speed, eating more than usual… His eyebrows went downwards into a frown as he shook his head. 

“What? Don’t say that, you know it’s not even true.” He replied with a soft tone in his voice and a fond look in his eyes that always sparkled whenever he looked at you… even after all these years.

“So, you like me like this?” You asked with a bit of shyness and he wiggled his eyebrows at you in a playful manner, and you already knew that he was going to say something ‘Eddie’.

“Well I prefer no clothes, but this is fine too–” And you threw a cushion up his head, making his head bob to the side, his mop of curls bouncing as he laughed, putting the cushion on his other side before looking back at you again. “I love you baby, in your entirety. I’m yours and always will be.” 

You smiled at him, and your worries vanished in a second, leaning over to place a kiss on his lips, electricity flowing through the both of you as if it were the first time you ever kissed. That kiss that happened after graduation, behind the bleachers, the two of you finally leaving the games behind and falling blindly into one another. 

Eddie pulled away with a big smack of the lips and you giggled at him as you turned to take a sip of your Pepsi while Eddie glanced at the small notebook on the corner of the table. He grinned widely an ‘OH’ escaping his lips, as if he remembered something, making you raise an eyebrow at him.

“What is that smile for?”

“I almost forgot, damn– Lemme– Cause I was talking to Henderson on the phone at work today cause I had THE BIGGEST idea for next campaign…” He reached out for the notebook and the pen, opening it, a list of names filling the small pages and he went to the very last one and wrote the name down, making you peek, a scrunch of your nose immediately happening on your face with disgust.

“Killiath!? What kind of name is that!?” 

“The name of a warrior babe!” He smiled at you, teeth showing, dimples forming as he pointed at the name he wrote, curls bobbing up and down as he explained with dramatic hands. “It is fantastic, imagine, it’s the perfect name because who would mess with someone named Killiath!?”

“We don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl yet, Eds!” You whined at him and he laughed, putting the notebook on the table again. A notebook that is filled with a bunch of names that the two of you have been writing down for the arrival of a new Munson in the family. It wasn’t planned, but not unwelcome. 

Nothing is unwelcome with Eddie and he feels the same about you.

Eddie has been working his ass off since he graduated so he could buy a new place for the two of you, but now he worked even harder with the extra hours and shifts to reach that goal before the baby is born… and he is extremely close.

“It can be neutral! Killiath sounds pretty badass, you can’t deny that.” You giggled at his childishness, shaking your head at him.

“Did Dustin talk you into this?” 

“You know, Harrington asked me the same thing. I don’t know what’s wrong with Killiath.”

You shook your head as you rubbed your belly, but a fond smile of pure happiness was on your lips. The trailer was already a bit messy with all the baby things you started buying, everything that you could find on sale, and stuff that was donated from from Karen Wheeler and Claudia Henderson. Joyce Byers cooperated with an old strolled that was still sturdy even after so many years.

Even Gareth, Jeff, and Grant bought things for the baby, lots of ‘Rock n Roll’ clothes. They said they couldn’t wait to see if the child would turn out to be a musician like his father or a writer like yourself. You worked at the Hawkin’s Post before getting pregnant, and Eddie immediately told you to quit because that place, misogynistic as fuck, stressed you to levels you’ve never felt before, and the obstetrician advised to avoid any kind of stress for the baby.

Ever since then, you had time to write a lot, and having Eddie Munson as a boyfriend helped your imagination flow like water. Hopefully, when the baby is born, you can finally put out your very first book, and Eddie said he would be right next to you every step of the way, just like he always promised you. Life was sweet, even with the unexpected turn, and you wouldn’t change it for anything in the entire world.

“Everything Eds… Every fucking thing.” And your boyfriend pouted as he cursed under his breath in a small voice and a stomp of his boot.

“You’re no fun.”

end.

a/n: i just know eddie would be the happiest to have a kid, and try to give him everything he couldn't have when growing up.

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat, Chapter 12: Her Shadow

Summary: Wednesday thinks about her old self and her shadow.

Warnings: EmotionallyConfusedWednesdayForThe100thTime?

Chapter 1 ---- Previous Chapter

Her Heartbeat's Chapterlist.

Worklist

She’d thought to remind you, once again, that you didn’t need to attend these sessions with her, considering the… limitations on your time. But you’d cut her off with a soft smile. “It’s fun talking with them.” Wednesday hadn’t missed the amusement in your eyes. Clearly, you saw something in these sessions that she didn’t. Fun. An odd term for the blend of forced vulnerability and misguided self-help they called “therapy.” yet, she had to admit, though she would never say it aloud, your presence made these sessions kinda close to… tolerable.

Walking together now, the earlier feelings were still there. You didn’t know what it did to her—that simple insistence. The way you chose to stay, despite it all, left something she could neither ignore nor categorize.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should be spending this time focused elsewhere, plotting something more… meaningful.

Fireflies. That was it. She still needed to figure out how to gather enough to fulfill your wish. She wanted it to be done right, she is Wednesday Addams after all, and what she does is always nothing but perfection.

Maybe Eugene could help; he was adept with insects, after all.

The immediate challenge? Figuring out how to approach Eugene about this strange request. He could be useful—maybe the only one who could help her pull it off—but explaining to him why she wanted to catch and collect fireflies was another problem entirely. What explanation could she give that would make sense to him? And why was she willing to risk the strange, inexplicable emotions that came with seeing a simple wish fulfilled?

The reason is walking beside her, quietly. She stole a glance at you then, you seemed withdrawn, staring at some undefined point on the path ahead. She narrowed her eyes slightly. This quiet wasn't the usual kind, not the one that you gave her last week but… still quiet. Wednesday can sense something was bothering you.

Wednesday felt the pang of frustration, the kind that came when she lacked control over what she wanted to uncover. Had you still not grown comfortable enough to tell her what was on your mind? Had she not proven herself worthy of your trust yet?

This is ridiculous, she thought. How difficult is it to ask what you’re thinking? She opened her mouth, almost saying something, when you turned to her, your expression soft but with a hint of nervousness. Her breath caught imperceptibly, and she looked away, hoping you hadn’t noticed her momentary loss of composure.

“Hey, Wednesday,” you began, your eyes flicking to her face before dropping to the ground. “Would you… I mean, it’s kind of a long shot, but… would you go to the Raven with me?”

Wednesday stopped in her track as she processed your question, her heartbeat seemed to echo in her ears.

You laughed softly as though trying to lighten the mood, “I know you went with… the Hyde last year, so maybe I’m a little too normal for your taste.”

The corner of her mouth twitched in amusement before she could stop it, and she rolled her eyes. The Raven dance—She hated it, last year she had danced with moves that should make people feel uncomfortable.. which did the opposite of her intention.

The old Wednesday Addams of just a few months ago would have scoffed at the idea, would have dismissed this entire conversation. And yet, here she was, wondering if maybe, just this once, she would make an exception.

“I’ll consider it,” she said finally, “But the Raven is still a month away. Why the advance notice?”

You hesitated, then shrugged, looking somewhere past her. “I don’t know. I just thought…” Your voice trailed off, for a moment, you seemed impossibly small, as if the weight of something unsaid was pressing down on your shoulders. “I thought... with everything going on... maybe it’d be… good to have something to look forward to,” you finished quietly, eyes not quite meeting hers.

She felt something tighten in her chest at the simplicity of your words. Even with everything looming over you, you wanted something as ordinary as a dance to anticipate—a dance with her.

It was a request so small, yet so painfully meaningful, and she knew... what that dance would mean for... this.

“Fine,” she said, her voice softer than she intended. “If it will… make things easier, I’ll go with you.

Wednesday parted from you at the corridor outside your dorm. You waved once, flashing her that gentle smile, and disappeared behind your door. She stood there a moment longer than necessary, taking in the empty space you left behind.

Entering her own room, Wednesday found Enid applying a fresh coat of polish to Thing’s nails.

Enid’s eyes lit up as Wednesday walked in. “So, how was therapy?” Enid asked, setting down the bottle.

“Tolerable,” Wednesday replied flatly, removing her coat and placing it neatly on the hanger. Enid’s lips quirked knowingly as she glanced at thing, but she values her life too much to comment anything about a certain someone being the reason for the therapy being tolerable.

Wednesday settled in at her typewriter, fingers hovering over the keys,

Writer’s block. She understood it now—how ironic. It was the gap between what she felt and what she dared to express. Inspiration wasn’t absent, merely... misplaced.

But the answer had been going to... therapy... with her all along.

Where to take Viper's story next? She knows exactly where to take it.

A strange girl approaching Viper with a strange request "kidnapping someone".

The next day, Wednesday headed to the bee farm, where she expected to find Eugene and she did. Eugene was already there, tending carefully to his bees. She watched him for a moment, considering how to approach the topic at hand.

“Eugene,” she said, “I require your assistance.”

Eugene looked up, slightly startled. “Oh, uh, sure, Wednesday. What’s up?”

Eugene blinked, brow furrowing. “Well, that would depend. Different insects react to scents and other environmental factors. And it’s not like I can just… summon them if they are not already near."

“Hmm." She thought for a moment, "What about increasing their numbers?”

Eugene looked at her, slightly puzzled. “Are you asking if I could… make them mate?”

“Precisely,” she replied without missing a beat.

Eugene coughed, looking away. “Uh, maybe? I guess I can try."

“Good,” she said, satisfied with his answer.

He shifted, trying to make sense of her line of questioning. “So… what poisonous bug are we talking about? Hornets? Or maybe, like, venomous ants?"

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly. Eugene of all people should know Wednesday already has enough poison hidden under her bed to take down the entire school... or maybe Eugene shouldn't know that.

“Not a poisonous one. Something simpler. Meet me here after the sun falls. We are going to the woods.”

Eugene gulped, looking nervous. She suppressed an eye-roll. “Relax, Eugene. The woods are relatively safe now… probably.”

With that, she strode off, already forming the next part of her plan in her mind.

Wednesday made her way back to her dorm, her thoughts wandering to you before she even her door. Today was your doctor’s appointment. You mentioned it yesterday. She should've asked you if she could join you.

She wondered what it would be like to sit with you through those appointments, to understand what the doctors were saying when they explained your condition and what could—or could not—be done.

The part of herself that knew her well, that dark, logical voice, screamed at her for letting this happen, for slipping so far from the familiarity of her own control. But she didn’t care. Not anymore.

She knew what death was—had known it intimately last year. It had been a silent, unwavering friend she’d embraced, never something she feared. For as long as she could remember, death had been a familiar shadow, waiting patiently for the day they might meet. But now, death was your shadow and the mere thought of death lingering around you felt intolerable.

Thoughts of your absence lingered as she walked, a potent reminder that she could lose you to this condition that she couldn’t fight directly. She had faced dangers worse than this and yet, she had no idea how to face this.

An unsettling realization dawned upon her. For once, she wanted to be part of something beyond herself, beyond her family, beyond death itself. She wanted to protect you, to keep you safe, to be the one who would fight for you even when you were ready to surrender.

Perhaps it was naive to think she could have such power, that her stubborn tenacity could stave off the inevitable. But she would try. She would attend your appointments, she would scour every inch of information about your condition, and if there was anything, even the faintest possibility, of something she could do—she would move heaven and earth to do it.

The old Wednesday would have walked away by now. She would have scoffed at the idea of getting so invested in someone else’s life.

But the old Wednesday, she realized, didn’t have you.

She didn't have the memory of the way you joked against her hostility,

She didn't have the memory of the way you laughed at her morbid sarcasm.

She didn't have the memory of the way you giggled after that... asylum heist.

She didn't have the memory of the way her cold hands felt in the warmth of yours.

She didn't have the memory of the way her heart felt... empty from your absence just a few days ago.

She didn't have the memory of the way her heart stopped... when she saw you in that simple red dress that night.

She didn’t have the memory of that soft look in your eyes when you asked her to attend the Raven with you.

She didn't have the memory of the way you looked at her... the way you really looked at her, surrounded by snow and.. so much.. emotions in your eyes. Emotions that she should be afraid of but... she doesn't want to.

The old Wednesday would've just accepted your fate, why continue fighting against something as inevitable as death? But now, that very inevitability gnawed at her. And if she could be honest with herself, just for a moment, she knew why... she just wasn't ready to face that part of her... yet.

Still, she wouldn’t stop now. She knew that much. Even if death loomed in the shadows, waiting. Even if this attachment to you meant exposing herself to a vulnerability she could hardly stand. She would walk this path, knowing full well what it could cost her. She would be there, at your side, for as long as you allowed it. And if the end came—no, she couldn’t think about that now. Not when the mere thought filled her with a fury she’d never known before.

The next day, you were there as usual, waiting just past the quad, and she found herself watching the way your eyes seemed to find her immediately.

And as you two walked through the quad, she wondered if it was alright to ask—whether you’d feel comforted or intruded upon if she mentioned your doctor’s appointment. She wanted to know; the thought had trailed through her mind more than once the night before. Yet, something in her resisted, a hesitation she hadn’t felt before.

Before she could decide, as if reading her mind, you spoke up, your gaze slightly averted as if you weren’t entirely sure how she’d take the news. “So… the doctor says if they don’t find a donor soon, we’ll have to start talking about… other options.” You forced a smile, a fragile attempt to mask the weight of your words.

That was all it took to raise a storm of emotions swirling within Wednesday. Ironic how as a writer, she often found herself struggling to find the right words. Her reply seemed hollow even to her own ears. “Understood,” was all she managed, and she cursed herself inwardly for the inadequacy of her response.

The old Wednesday who had embraced death as her friend and had thought of it as the ultimate freedom would've been glad that you had already accepted your fate. But this Wednesday, this one won't let you just accept it. She would give you more reasons to fight because this one knew you, understood what it meant to fight for something. And she knew, now more than ever, that she would do anything to keep you here.

And that.. got her to today... a week later after another infuriating therapy session.

“Come with me,” she said, voice low and certain.

You blinked, clearly intrigued.

“Where?”

“Somewhere you can… catch light.”

Your brows raised, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, falling into step beside her.

“Lead the way, Wednesday.”

Next Chapter

[ Comment how you guys like it!]

[thefiery-phoenix]

yandere h.c for Sam, too <33

Sure

YANDERE SAMUEL SEO HEADCANONS

There are no words to express how much I simp for this man despite him being a walking red banner lol 

If you've managed to catch his attention, all I can say is RUN. Although that wouldn't really do you much good either since he's the President of the Worker's Affiliates and he does have a lot of influence, being Eugene's right hand man(before stabbing him in the back) does have it's own advantages. You could be a regular cafe worker or a member of the Worker's Affiliates, whatever it is, when he lands his eyes on you the only thought that will be running through his head will be 'They're MINE' 

He's one territorial, possessive, obsessive and manipulative MF to say the least. He has no qualms even going as far as literally THREATENING the people you're close to, friends and family included just so he can be with you. A literal walking red flag, his arrogant cocky smirk itself should be obvious. He wants possess you and make you his completely, he'll fall HARD for you and when he does, he won't be able to come back from that chasm of obsessive love for you. You remind him of a small little prey, so helpless and naive and he likes it that way. Don't get him wrong, he does love you, in his own twisted obsessive manner of course 

Man here has abandonment issues to the core, daddy issues, Gun issues(Lol who doesn't) and insecurities as well but when you comfort him, he's confused at first, he's genuinely taken aback. It's been so long since he's remembered someone taking the time and effort to comfort him and make sure he's doing all right. He'll reply in a calm and stoic manner that he's fine but deep down his heart is racing wildly, he's secretly really glad you're taking the time to comfort him. He'd rather die than admit this but he does appreciate your gesture. He likes how innocent and sweet you are, which makes him want to protect you and keep you safe. With him. Where you rightfully belong 

He's really not above bugging your entire apartment with hidden cameras so he can get a glimpse of your daily life, it's like a window into what you do everyday. He finds it so amusing and thinks it's adorable how you haven't figured out that he's secretly watching every move you do. He'll have his men find out more about you and the amount of information he has on you, he's ready to write a whole freaking research paper about you, that's how well he knows you now. Your social media accounts, your contacts list and yes, even all those fan fiction sites you like reading and visiting...he'll have them all. He'll immediately block all the people he doesn't like, he doesn't want some random pest stealing you away from him. He'll get information on those annoying pesky friends of yours and his mind will be racing of thoughts on how to dispose of them as soon as possible so you'll be his in every way possible 

No matter what, Samuel is ALWAYS around you one way or another. If some random person tries to hit on you or something, the very next day they'll immediately be reported missing. People will start disappearing from your life like flies and it's all HIS doing. He either pays them money to prevent them from seeing you again or he'll just straight up murder them. Though he does lean towards the second option quite frequently. If you try to accuse him of something, he'll just smirk at you and say something like "Sweetheart, you're mistaken. I wouldn't act as rash and unprofessional as this..." Yeah Right

You'll be kidnapped pretty soon because no WAY is he going to stand by and let someone try to steal you from him. You're HIS. You'll wake up on his bed while he'll have his usual standard smirk on his face as his arms are crossed over his muscular tattooed chest and he strides over to you. "Ah good, you're awake...there are going to be some changes to your lifestyle now'' he says in a calm manner as he lights a cigarette and smokes it calmly, like everything is all right after he literally just kidnapped you. Scream and throw as many number of tantrums as you want, he'll just find you amusing. If you want to cry, he might pretend to be slightly annoyed at first but he'll sigh softly as he wipes your tears with his thumb and then whisper in that husky voice of his in your ear to be good for him unless you want your loved ones to be safe. Sadistic MF 

You, of course won't know the reality of what he actually does and he prefers to keep it that way. What you don't know won't hurt you. Though he might be unhinged at times, he has his soft moments with you as well. He likes to hold you in his arms and press soft kisses to the nape of your neck and steal a few kisses on your lips every now and then. His kisses on your lips always leave you wanting for more and slightly gasping for air, he's that good lol. He just likes physical intimacy with you a lot. He might not be too expressive by words about his feelings of love for you but he believes that his actions are enough to make up for them. If anyone else touches his hair, he'd have broken their hand by now but if it's you, he'll have a soft smile on his face and pull you on his lap as he hums contentedly. It really HAS been a while since he's felt so happy and he couldn't have been more thankful since you came into his life 

He'll take you out for dates in fancy restaurants and spoil you with whatever your heart desires. Or if you want to have a quiet night in, that could be arranged too with you in his arms. I seriously pity the poor fool who tries to hurt you or steal you from him though. He will straight up TORTURE them with the way he fights. He loses complete self control when he fights, his mind is like a beast filled with pure unadulterated anger and rage as he breaks the bones of whatever schmuck dared to set their filthy eyes on you. Or he'll just kill them, not after banging their head to the wall over and over again and stomping on their face as he calmly smokes a cigarette (because MOOD) and he'll end up choking the person to death with one hand. After that's done, he'll grumble about how he's got blood on his suit but he's glad to go back home to be with you. Don't question the blood on his suit...just don't, for the sake of your sanity. He does get rather annoyed when they keep screaming for mercy though, he'll just smile at them in an unnerving manner and cut their tongue off to silence them 

Samuel adores you and loves you with all his twisted heart. Deep down he's still a bit insecure of himself. Don't even think of leaving him, it's a death wish. He'll just track your location in a few moments and he'll drag you back home. You'll end up being tied to his bed until you earn your freedom and his trust to move around again. Besides, you don't need to whine and complain so much, not when he's the one taking care of you. He's ready to do ANYTHING to ensure you stay by his side no matter what...

[missmonsters2]

—ADRONITIS | One

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x OFC/Fem!Reader

Summary: Wednesday's quite aware she has no people skills, but that doesn't stop her from wondering why she can't know everything about one person immediately.

Warnings: None.

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

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Count: 1.9k

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Adronitis: noun. The frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone.

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Everyone who knows Wednesday can confidently say she's not a people person, and even Wednesday herself can tell you she's not. People are strange, annoying, emotional creatures that she's fairly certain she lacks a particular trait to handle. 

Of course, some individuals have unfortunately made it past her prickly walls. Her roommate and begrudgingly best friend, Enid, can be tolerated in longer spurts. Eugene is just another Pugsley, so she has to look after him. She supposes Xavier isn't dreadful to deal with. Now. 

Would Wednesday commit first-degree murder for them? Yes, but that's not the point. 

The point—what was the point? 

Wednesday internally huffs with annoyance. She's an articulate person, but lately, she isn't. 

Reluctantly, Wednesday's eyes trail to the side, where she sees her reason for inarticulation. 

"Ah, so this is why you're sitting in the courtyard today," Enid smiles innocently, but Wednesday can see the knowing look in her eyes and purses her lips in a scowl as her eyes return to her book. She's finally gotten her hands on Goody's spellbook, and she's been trying to finish reading it for weeks. 

But alas...she's been...distracted.

"I don't blame you," Enid sighs as she looks over to where Wednesday was just gazing. "Everyone's looking at our resident Faerie. I wish she'd sit at our table today."

Wednesday silently agrees but tells herself she didn't. But she did. It's been nearly a week since you've sat with their tiny group of weirdos. Heroes, but weirdos. 

Today, you're sitting with the fangs, and Wednesday just can't fathom why. She gets your little rotation schedule, but vampires were so overrated, and from the small conversations she's heard here and there—incredibly boring.

Who cares about their diet? Wednesday thinks they lack innovation if their only choices are humans or animals (because, quite frankly, another outcast could kick their ass).

Yet, you sit there, smiling serenely and nodding with genuine interest. You ask questions and laugh at their witless jokes, and it drives Wednesday crazy.

Wednesday doesn't understand your sense of humor. Although, no one understands Wednesday's sense of humor either. That's usually the pattern. Sometimes, it feels like you and she are two sides of the same coin. 

You're both very different at Nevermore. While you're both outcasts within the outcasts, it's not the same. Whereas Wednesday didn't understand people, and they didn't gravitate toward her, people seemed to argue for your time.

Hence, why you sat at a different lunch table every day. 

Wednesday's mind drifts as she frowns. There's little known about Faeries as they're usually recluses, and there are so few of them. Especially night faeries. 

But now, it makes her wonder. Are Faeries like sirens? Do they lure everyone in their proximity without choice? That would certainly make more sense on Wednesday, and it would explain her recent behavior. 

Wednesday frowns deeper. Principal Weems has already sternly told others that while the Faeries are extremely beautiful and charming, they have no such powers. 

So, Wednesday was at a loss. She was beginning to think this school was designed to be the bane of her existence. Unwillingly, her gaze drifted again, but this time, you turned your head simultaneously and caught her eye.

You smile soft and sincere but unobtrusively at her, and Wednesday looks away, her face impassive. 

It wasn't unusual. 

This was exactly how all her interactions with you went. Very often, no words are exchanged, but you smile and wave at her as you pass by in the hallways. You greet her warmly when you sit at their table or in class. 

"Your unhappy face is showing," Enid points out, a slight upward quirk on her lips as she bites into her sandwich.

"This is always my face," Wednesday deadpans. 

"No, it's not," Enid shakes her head confidently. If there's one thing Enid can say, she stares at Wednesday a lot, so she knows her roommate very well. "You tilt your chin down and glare through your eyebrows more than look through them. It's very protruding," Enid points directly at Wednesday's eyebrow and forehead. "See? Unhappy face."

Xavier is looking at her through his apple, using it to shield how he's holding back his laughter as he grins at her. 

Wednesday relaxes her brows, her eyes becoming less narrow before she raises her brow at Enid. "Then what face is this?" The werewolf ponders her roommate's face and then sighs like she's been chastised. 

"General distaste," Enid mutters, but then she brightens as she looks up. "Oh, Fae is coming over here!" 

"Why do you insist on calling her that when she has a name?" Wednesday asks. You never seem mad about it, and it's not like Wednesday would care if people walked around calling her witch instead of Wednesday, but it's another thing she doesn't understand.

"Hm," Enid hums. "I guess it just became a nickname when she came. I mean, I guess it's kind of weird to call someone by their creature name...should we try to come up with a new one for her?"

"Whatcha guys talking about?" You smile as you approach. You've got a grape lollipop in your mouth given to you by one of the shapeshifters. Xavier and Eugene move over so you can sit down, directly facing Wednesday. "Hi, Wednesday," you say her name so casually, staring at her until Wednesday nods in acknowledgment. 

She's tense as she grips the edge of her book tightly. Her eyes are steadfastly attached to the pages even if she's not reading them. 

"We're talking about how everyone started to call you Fae," Enid grins, her smile wide and excited, but then frowns. "I hope it doesn't bother you."

You hum for a long moment, a sound that Wednesday hangs onto. She can see you through her peripherals. You seem in deep thought, and Wednesday can't understand why it's taking you so long to decide whether it bothers you. She wants to tell you to hurry it up so she—they can have the answer.

"I supposed it started when one of the psychics saw me in person, and all he could stutter out was 'Fae' over and over," you shrug.

"Feeble-minded," Wednesday mutters, and you smirk at her, and now she's wondering what exactly that could mean. 

"It doesn't bother me," you continue on. "I mean, I guess it's fine since there are no other faeries at the school, but it might be confusing when there are. I can't exactly go around calling on a person wolfy when that could be any of the werewolves here."

They all nod, except Wednesday.

"We should try to find a new nickname for you!" Eugene exclaims, emboldened by your friendliness to him. "How about nightcrawler!"

"As enchanting as that is, I'm going to have to veto that one," you give him a wry smile. He slumps in defeat while Xavier gives in a pat on the back.

"Oh," Enid squeals excitedly, and Wednesday shirk and winces at the sound. "We could all try to find a new nickname for you until we get the right one!"

"And why should we if Fae says it doesn't bother her?" Xavier asks as he turns over and gives you what Wednesday believes he thinks is a boyish smile. 

"Spoken like a true simpleton," Wednesday cut in, still not looking up. "Will that be your new nickname?"

"Ouch," Xavier laughs, the insult falling off his back. Although, he doesn't doubt that's his contact name on Wednesday's phone. "Alright, I get it. Fine, the person who gets their nickname chosen gets Fae's number. How's that?" He looks over to you, and Wednesday snaps her head up, finally to look at you too. 

You seem pensive. Another thing Wednesday knows but doesn't understand. It's getting irritating with how many things are adding up that Wednesday wants to know now and can't. 

Nobody in the school has your number though they all see you on your phone as you stroll down the hallway. Wednesday has heard you turning people down when they ask for your number, citing how there've been too many requests, and the number of texts or calls you'd get would be too overwhelming. So, now it's been an unspoken rule between the school that no one gets your number if they cannot all have it. 

You peer over at Wednesday, and she doesn't flinch away from your gaze. She refuses to lose whatever staring game you've created.

"Okay," you acquiesce, staring at Wednesday for a moment longer before standing up. "I'll see you guys in class. I'm going to see if the shapeshifters have more grape lollipops. They're my favorite."

Grape lollipops are your favorite. Is it just the lollipop, or is it grape in general?

"Well, this should be fun," Enid bounces her seat before she looks at Eugene. "I'm going to have to say it's looking unlikely for you, bud."

"I have more ideas!" Eugene protests.

"Never accept defeat," Wednesday looks back at her book, inwardly frowning when she's still on the same page she's been trying to read for the last 20 minutes. "Would be an acceptable suggestion for me. Accept defeat in this case, Eugene."

There's more bickering at the table while Enid bumps her shoulder against Wednesday. "So? Are you going to try to come up with something and get Fae's number?" 

"No, it's a trivial matter. Why would I want it? The only time I ever use my phone is when you've dragged me into your 24/7 addiction and Xavier cries for my attention."

"I do NOT cry—"

"So, I have no need for it."

Plus, would you expect her to text you if she had your number? Would she even want to text you? Wednesday supposes it'd be an equal trade of information, so you'd have her number too. Should she expect you to text her?

Wednesday glances in her peripheral and sees you with another lollipop as you sit with the shapeshifters. You've got an apple in your hand, but you look at it blandly. 

Not a fan of apples, then?

Wednesday feels annoyance gnaw at her insides. It's not irregular for Wednesday to sometimes show interest in others. Knowing others is valuable information that can be used at a later date.

But why in the hell does it take so long to get to know someone? Why can't Wednesday just know all your deep, dark secrets first and then make her way out to the trivial things?

"What a shame," Enid sighs casually, looking straight ahead, but her eyes tilt to the side to stare at her gloomy roommate. "I think having a phone and texting is great! It's way faster to get to know someone over text since you can always be in communication. You know what else is a thing? At 2AM, people lower their guard down, and they're more likely to spill secrets."

Wednesday slams her book shut, standing up and leaving briskly.

Research is needed. Her father has few skills, but one of them is coming up with nicknames. That skill should undoubtedly pass on to her. 

Wednesday glances at you as she walks out of the courtyard. You look over at her and smile with a wave before turning back to your conversation.

Defeat is not in Wednesday's vocabulary. She will beat the constraints of time and know everything there is to know in haste. There will be victory, and it will be hers.

PART TWO

[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.

~*~

[self-spaghettification]

The Mystery of Aaravos The Banter Lodge

So, recently an account called "The Banter Lodge" has popped up. April 30th, to be precise. You've seen it. I've seen it. We've all seen it. On Twitter, posting various images in the TDP official style.

A few nights ago, it debuted on Tumblr as well. "Coming May 2024" all of the promotional images and the website itself say.

Who is this account? Is it fan made, is it official? It's May, when exactly in "May 2024" is it coming?

Well, me and a few friends took some time to try to piece the mystery together, and so -- while it may still be 'coming', only dropping hints, I am here to tell you what I know now!

History

Website Code ( I love computer programming so I took the time to dive into that!)

Purpose

A. History

Who's Running the Banter Lodge?

To know that, first we need to delve into the history of the Twitter account.

Despite these images and site debuting less than a month ago, the account itself was founded way back in 2022, and originally called @BantherLodge, with an H, as it is in the show.

@BantherLodge is no longer available, and while it initially did not seem to be connected to The Banter Lodge, there are several interactions linked to the current one, Banter Lodge without an H.

In fact, here is the same tweets linked to the current (banter) account version.

Now we've established that @'BantherLodge' and @'BanterLodge' the same account with a changed name and identity, here is the most important past interaction:

@‘bantherlodge’ is mentioned here, and they are on this call. that said, WHO IS REALLY BEHIND BANTER LODGE? well based off the tweet, it seems that it’s 6 members of the cast and then 2 guests, @‘thebantherlodge’ and @‘ladytheebug’. But don’t take my word for it. Here, more confirmation:

Another person in the call happened to tweet about it too, this time with labels.

Now let’s take a closer look at these two guests. Sara @‘ladytheebug’ seems to be the one on the right, and by process of elimination, on the left is ‘bantherlodge’. aka:

Max….

Max the Mystery! ‘Sara’ and ‘Max’ isn’t really enough information to know more along with no connection to other socials so it’s hard to pin down who they are or what connections to previous fandom projects or creative projects in general they might have. However, they are still connected.

Besides the partially deleted various back and forths between these two accounts, this tweet about the Bait screensaver in the background is additional confirmation that this is @‘bantherlodge’ and @‘ladytheebug’: (note use of word ‘our’)

FURTHERMORE:

Said TV embodies this duo: A person who loves Bait (evident from so many of their tweets) and a person who loves the Banther Lodge…

Reminds you of something, doesn’t it?

“but hold on, just because there’s all these coincidences doesn’t mean the account could be passed on to someone else to run this.” Ok, but one last thing. If that was the case, why would they still be following Sara? In fact, it’s the Only person that they’re following besides TDPO?

(and their following has even been recently updated within the last few days as before then it didn’t include Eugene and Boone.) So, in conclusion,

Max of @‘BantherLodge’, and possibly Sara, (with or without TDPO but I’ll get to that later) almost certainly are the people behind the curtain of this Banter Lodge mystery.

Now, about said mystery… what exactly is the trail building up to?

well, to find out more about that, let’s glean what we can from the website.

B. Website Secrets

The website itself is very simple- A background, the image of the Banter House, and some text saying "Coming May 2024." But, beneath the deceptively simple surface, there was more to be found.

On May 1st Caprinae got this from the page. She also tweeted about it, after which the site changed to remove much of the css, including the part about the episodes and subscribe button. I was pretty excited about this as someone with a few years of coding experience, I wanted to mess around in VSC and see what I could find out.

After formatting the code the most noticeable thing is this right?

And when I make an element for it to apply to (since all that code is just formatting for stuff on the page like the title, images, etc, in this case- an audio bar) + adding in an image and an audio file:

We get this

AUDIO and an image. It looks exactly like a podcast episode. It turns out there’s actually a bunch of code for formatting that’s not used in elements in the site (elements that exist: the title or image), but it’s there, so I made some elements it would apply to. technically, it’s supposed to have a parchment paper background too, but I just chose some colors that you could see the text on.

Doing so, we get this!

(Here’s a video version.)

Plus, Original Code and Modified Code if you’re curious

Anyway, so the site (at least at the stage the code was taken from) doesn’t appear to be finished and there was no Java script written (or at least, linked) but there is definitely the makings for a website for a podcast— some sort of nav bar with the episodes, on an episode page, the image and audio, and then a subscribe link at the bottom!

C. Purpose

Time to speculate on the real identity and purpose of the Banter Lodge. So far, we know it used to be called the Banther Lodge. We know it seems to be run by [insert here.] We know it is almost certainly a podcast of some sort. But what, and why?

Here are some possibilites:

1.Official Content to Tide Over Fans Til S6 As we know, to calm the frustration of fans at Netflix/TDP for the delay of S6, the creators have been putting out content every day for the fans to puzzle over and figure out the season six titles.

Based on the current schedule, it’s set to end on May 13.—although it could be ending either May 13 or May 14 (depending when they do the last hint) after these drop, there will likely be a lull in TDP content, which would be the perfect time for the Banter Lodge to launch.

+ The Banter Lodge teaser campaign has already been perfectly timed for when a bunch of fans would be online on Twitter checking in for clues to begin with.

If this is official content, it would doubly make sense—it’d be timed perfectly to tie the fans over until the actual season six campaign starts (ie, trailer). Considering these two fans also somehow got to have a private panel with the cast, it’s not impossible that they’d be working with TDP on this content, additionally the teaser images put out this far have been somewhat reminiscent of TDP official content—ie, Callum’s lodge notebook->Callum’s sketchbook, Refractions->Reflections, Dear Callum letter from Rayla, design style, etc.

However, there is one big reason I don’t think this is the case: it’s a little too sloppy. For example, if they wanted it to be completely anonymous and unclear what was happening, the tweet mentioning @‘BantherLodge’ in the panel would have been deleted and there wouldn’t have been any hints in the code. Of course, these could still just be honest mistakes. However, it also seems like it is building off of the current world in a more derivative, fan-content fashion, not necessarily adding new material the way TDP Official tends to. It’s copying the official style,—but almost too much if that makes sense.

Like altering a shot from the show for a teaser.

x

Don’t get me wrong. I love the way that they’re building off the world, I’m excited to see where it leads, but for whatever reason, to me, it just doesn’t seem official.

So assuming it’s made by fans, what kind of podcast is it? Second possibility—

2. Fan Made Talk Show

This seems like the most obvious conclusion, considering that The Banter House is a play on a location in TDP, and the word banter, which is synonymous with talking, but specifically back and forth, genial interactions.

Maybe it’s dedicated to analyzing the show or a particular aspect,—maybe centric to the lodge, crystals, Bait and Stella—maybe even interviewing cast/crew!

Well, to get a better idea of what niche it might be filling, let’s take a look at what TDP podcasts are already out there.

Hot Brown Morning Potion Podcast [2019-2023] Hosted by Tamika "Kuno" Williams and Hailey from Cartoon Universe. This podcast [is] full of answering fan questions, interviews, theories and all kinds of discussions on everything Dragon Prince.

News from the Breach [2020-2024] Your hosts Ceilidh and Yana are watching The Dragon Prince from start to finish. Each season of the podcast covers one “Book” (or season) of the Netflix series The Dragon Prince. In each episode we discuss two chapters of the series, except for the season finales.

Calm Chaos Club [2023] Join Kevlar and Lou each week as they discuss topics about animation, design, and all things related to The Dragon Prince on Netflix! With special guests brought on for unique topics and insights into the creative process, these bite-sized episodes will ensure you can get your TDP fix in anywhere and anytime.

There’s no harm in another talk show but as there are a few out there already (and for other reasons) I personally think this is not necessarily the niche the banter Lodge is going to fill. I mean, I do think that it’s still possible I mean, it could be centric to particular aspect around the lodge as mentioned.

However, there’s a possibility that excites me a lot more, that I’m hoping for the most….

3.Fan Made Audio Drama in the Saga Setting I have personally always been a huge fan of audio drama podcasts (TMA,TPP,WTNV) and if there was a dragon Prince audio drama podcast, I think I would just die on the spot honestly from joy. I also think it’s most likely because all of the clues so far have been very story/worldbuilding oriented, as well as writings from familiar characters’ perspectives. It seems as though a story is being crafted here, and I am all for it.

Y’know what? While we’re here on the topic of storytelling podcasts, we might as well throw in D&D/TTRPG or even Tales of Xadia as a possibility because yeah sure. Why not? I mean, tabletop role-play games also involve a lot of talking so it would fit the banter theme. Who knows.

That's all! What do you think? Any other thoughts, additions or other speculation? Feel free to add on!

Thanks to @bycaprinae for Twitter screenshots, html, and general inspiration, and to @parroset for other help with the website part and general support!

[luminouslywriting]

Ok so I saw this post and like it would be really cute bob x guardian angel taking care of them when there depressed or anxious or whatever like I neeeed that

Nonny darling, this was just beautiful and I'm happy to do this for you :) Reminder that my requests are open and I don't mind spam one bit haha!

Cut for length, more under the cut, and please note that for this, I went with an actual guardian angel reader:

Dick Winters:

-You know that scene when he’s charging up the hill alone and starts shooting at the Nazis and they’re too stunned to shoot back until the other men arrive? Yeah, this is your time to shine as his Guardian Angel. -It’s one of the most dangerous times for him and when he first really catches sight of you and the way you’re protecting him. -The next time he feels your presence is when he’s alone in Paris and struggling with everything he’s been through. -A gentle hug from you and soft conversation makes all the difference.

Lewis Nixon:

-This gif above here?? Where Nix nearly gets shot? Yeah, you’re the one deflecting that bullet. -He doesn’t think much of it and thinks he’s hallucinating since he’s so drunk most of the time. But there you are, faithfully following after him and ensuring he doesn’t fall to his death or drink too much. -Lew definitely starts having conversations with you and thinks you’re a figment of his imagination for a hot minute. -Right up until he gets notice of the divorce and you’re there helping him through it….and he gets much better after that.

Ronald Speirs:

-Babe, you’ve got a full time job and he is fully aware of that and ready to make you earn your wings haha. -Literally do you even get rest?? -It isn’t until after Bastogne and Foy that he actually gets to talk with you and realizes he could benefit from chilling out a little bit. -And yes, he does have a small crush on you haha.

Buck Compton:

-Literally doesn’t realize you’re there until he leaves Bastogne?? -At which point, your soothing words and kindness in caring for him has him floored and trying to make sense of everything. -He definitely thinks he’s suffered some sort of mental break but you’re just his angel and there to help him. -Your encouragement and care help him get much better and want to return to the boys in episode 10!

Carwood Lipton:

-First becomes aware of you when he nearly gets blown up….and tries really hard to not have to see you again. -He does offer small little thanks at nighttime for your efforts and for helping him stay alive another day. -Starts asking questions and talking to you after Bastogne and Foy because he’s curious. -Lowkey knows what he wants in a partner after you cuddle with him when he has pneumonia haha.

Joe Liebgott:

-Again, someone who is putting you to the test….and enjoys seeing you roll up to help him out a bit. -Probably argues that he doesn’t need a guardian angel?? Yeah that’s a lie and you both know it. -Breaks down in your arms after he translates in the camps and it’s an emotional thing

-Probably prays and thanks God for you being his guardian angel

Donald Malarkey:

-Has a really rough time of things during Bastogne and this is when you arrive to help comfort him

-He thinks you’re the grim reaper or something but quickly grows to like you and the way you help care for him and protect him

-Honestly talks to you a lot during Hagenau and asks questions. -Sneaks a hug every now and then when he thinks he can get away with it.

Eugene Roe:

-How else would this man be so untouched and unharmed?? -He’s fully aware of your job and probably talks to you every chance that he gets. Your jobs are pretty similar anyway and there’s a good reliance on you. -But during Bastogne? Oh, you’ve got your work cut out for you and it’s an emotional time. He definitely cries in your arms. -Probably names one of his future children after you tbh

Bill Guarnere:

-Also thinks he doesn’t need one until he does?? He has a lot of near misses and ends up at the hospital a few different times. -You warn him not to go on the lam and to just stay in the hospital

-Does not appreciate you until you’re the sole reason why he doesn’t die in Bastogne…and then he’s real repentant and relies on you for recovery

-Literally so grateful and adored you…he tries to talk to you a lot.

Joe Toye:

-A softie who has been aware of your presence since he started doing stupid stuff in high school. -Even more grateful for you during the war and expresses so much gratitude. -Would not have made it out of Bastogne if you hadn’t been encouraging him to keep moving and to try and get up. -You’re a major part of his recovery after the war.

George Luz:

-First becomes aware of you during Toccoa when he nearly breaks a bone and you help him?? -He’s SHOOKETH and hitting on you a ton haha

-And during Bastogne?? He knows that he only makes it through all of that because of you. And he definitely cries in your arms after the dud doesn’t go off. -Probably is a lot softer and appreciates you more after the war.

[nevermore-baby]

Hii i have requested about ajax x reader that is a vamp but is a late bloomer. And can't turn into a bat (lets just go with it ok...) and ajax comforts her and later on scares the shit out of her just for her to turn into a bat🦇 (its Christmas season there) its just something i came up with i would love to see youbwork on this

hey, i've tried my best to create something, so here it is! something for sure. Not really proofread as I kinda rushed to finish it, so lemme know if something is very out of it.

pairing: ajax petropolus x vampire!reader

warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, reader being a lil bitch (but ajax doesn't mind), me trying to be creative, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), implied fem!reader but no pronouns used

word count: 1330

Loud clicks of the keyboard filled the room. It was, well, loud, and annoying, and repetitive, and you could swear if you heard it for another minute you would blow up from the inside like a fucking ballon.

“Goddamn it, Ajax! Can you not?” You exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air, then dropping back on the bed with a loud thonk.

Ajax stopped typing, turning to you, silent “what?” in his eyes.

“The typing. It’s loud.” You pointed to his computer, pouting. Ajax looked back and forth between you and the computer,

“Hey, I’m just doing my homework”, he said softly, “can’t you just wear your headphones?”

“They are out of battery”, you huffed, rolling your eyes.

“The other ones?” he enquired, raising his eyebrows.

“They are as well”, you mumble, quickly losing the heat from your voice. It was embarrassing, not only were you being so irritable, you were also incredibly forgetful - usually on top of everything, you were now constantly behind, Ajax having to go around and remind you of things thousands of times.

You were acting like a bitch and you knew it. You just couldn’t help it - everyone was so annoying recently. With The Hyde, and Enid wolfing out, and everyone being happy they defeated the whatever-that-guy’s-name-was, you couldn’t help but feel useless. Sirens helped evacuate the school, Enid fought The Hyde, Eugene and his bees saved Wednesday from ms Thornill. You were just there. Not anyone special. Part of the crowd. Not only that, you were also a late bloomer amongst those able to shift - and as Enid finally wolfed out, that made just a couple of you across the school. All you wanted was for your fucking bat to come out before parent weekend - or your mum, in her bat form, will nibble on you until your bones show. Or so you thought

You sat on the bed sulkily, too deep in your thoughts, before you noticed Ajax come over and settle near you. You looked at him, with his arms spread, leaning into a hug hesitantly, letting go a couple seconds later.

“What’s up, beautiful?”, he asked, sitting across you cross-legged, smile soft and gentle.

You sighed, not really knowing where to begin.

“I don’t know, gosh, it’s just… everyone has been so helpful during the attack, and I felt just so useless”, you said quietly, embarrassed.

“Hey, you weren’t useless, you helped just like everyone else-“

“I couldn’t even help the vampires!” you interrupted, voice quavering, tears swelling in the corners of your eyes. “Because my stupid bat form can’t come in!”

“Hey, hey, are you crying?” Ajax, eyes filled with worry, pulled you in, shifting around in bed to make you comfortable, before resting your head on his shoulder. For some minutes, he could only hear your muffled sobs, feeling the wetness from your cheeks on his T-shirt. He felt his chest ache for you, he hated seeing you cry, and the past weeks you’ve been more and more on edge about not being able to take your bat form, but there wasn’t anything Ajax could do. Or…

“Hey, sweetheart”, he called softly. You glanced at him owlishly, waiting for him to continue. 

“How about I help you with your bat form?”

“You can do that for me?”. You sat up excitedly, eyes glued to Ajax’s face, face lighting up with hope. And looking at your hopeful expression, Ajax knew - he would do anything to see you carefree and happy again. 

“Promise not to get mad at anything I do, though”, he added with a grin, making you laugh.

_________________________________________________________________________

You were really losing your temper. Ajax asked to meet up today - for the reason he would not disclose - near the abandoned shed used by Xavier for his drawing that apparently was the nicest meeting point out there. It was getting dark, and it kept raining, and despite all your attempts, all your messages and calls were unanswered - except the first one, when Ajax confirmed how it was “incredibly important for you to come to the shed”. So, not having much of a choice, you had to drag your ass in the cold and rain all the way to that freaking shed. 

When you arrived, there was no one in sight, but a set of footprints, not completely ruined by the rain, led to the front door. You followed them, hesitating for a second, before knocking on the door quietly. After getting no answer, you nudged the door slightly, opening it and revealing the darkness inside. Contemplating for a bit, you decided that Xavier won’t be too mad if you went in - the rain was getting heavy and you had no strength inside you to wait outside. 

The shed was dark and empty, rid of all the Hyde portraits, so you just stood, prepped against the wall, checking your phone once more. In the light coming from the screen you saw something move at the corner of your eye. You shifted uncomfortably, looking around, but seeing nothing but absolute pitch-black shed. You felt your heart skip a beat, heartbeat racing, and then you finally reached out to search the wall for the switch. Flickering the switch, you got blinded by the bright light for a split second, before you could finally see the shed for yourself - empty, like you thought. Humming to yourself, you went back to your phone. Suddenly, something moved once again and you froze. 

The curtain, covering the big easel with a canvas on it, shifted, although the air in the shed was completely still. 

“Hello?” You moved closer, crouching down to lift the curtain, but before you could do that, something big and black appeared from underneath it. A very angry-looking rottweiler - the one dog you were scared to death of - was baring its teeth at you, getting ready to lunge at you with its full body wait. 

You felt your palms sweat and your heart beat accelerate, flight or fight kicking in. Putting your hands in front of you, you moved slowly backwards, repairing quiet “it’s okay” and “please calm down”, before eventually bumping into the door. You knew not to make sharp, quick movements, but the heavy door would require you to turn around and pull it, so you counted to three in your head before turning around to open it. And it didn’t budge. Either you closed it too hard, or the dampness got to it, but you moving the handle up and down didn’t do a thing to it, but the clanking of the metal handle did get to the dog - judging by the loud growling coming from behind.

You turned your head, catching a glimpse of the dog jumping at you, before shutting your eyes, bracing yourself. And then… nothing happened. You felt… weird, to say the least. Light, and fluttery and… 

You opened your eyes, seeing black with occasional dots, and then when it hit you - you were a bat. You were in the air, so you flew up to the shelf, hanging down. You didn’t hear the dog bark anymore - so that was weird. But you were safe, and a bat, so the evening could be considered successful. 

________________________________________________________________________

“Can I go down now?” asked a long-haired boy, standing on the ladder so he could see through a little window on the wall of the shed. Ajax, one ear glued to the door, nodded quickly. 

“You think we did it?” he asked, reaching out for the handle. 

“Well, we didn’t hear any screams and she looked fine, just kinda… terrified, and then she just disappeared”, reported Xavier, carefully jumping off the last step of the ladder into the muddy puddle. 

“Baby, you’re in here?” Ajax asked, coming into the shed. “Baby?” He looked around, brows furrowed with confusion, before hearing a loud, high-pitched “ping”, something black flying right at him, planting itself on his face.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart.” He laughed, carefully detaching your talons from his face. 

[hyperch1ptune]

yk i’ve talked about spooky month on here before,,once I think showcasing my first gadgetini art of the year (or since 2022)

it’s actually the webseries that had me reminded of gatg from it having a duo I felt were similar 2 the main robo-twins

THE THIEVES 💪💪

These guys have been my favorite since 2020, and it wasn’t until the beginning of the year where I felt I was improving on both my art & writing skills where I’d interfere without feeling i’m mischaracterizing the 2

(I actually uploaded some of my recent SM thief stuff 2 tumblr one time,,,buut that was before I decided to restart & delete the 5 year old blog entirety)

(cuz my old stuff from them,,,additionally from 2021 & 2022 where I had a really bad “edgy” phase was NOT good i’ll say that)

most of the headcanons I have written for them are archived somewhere in my now fidget-focused rp account, but I can try & paraphrase most of what I have to present other than roleplay

—

Barton “Barry” Gómez (Fat Thief), and Eugene “Euan” Gómez (Thin Thief) are the duo thieves of the neighborhood; Barry being 32 and Eugene being 34. They’re both brothers, close ones at that. Even with the 2 year difference it’s always been as if they were the closest friends they could have.

They both were the previous son’s of Richard, 20 years before Roy came along (more than likely in his 50’s now). Richard had another partner before Carmen, but they never got along as well as he hoped..he took it upon himself to take care of both of the boys whenever him & his old girlfriend partner. Barton doesn’t remember much of his mother besides playing with her whenever he was young; Euan only remembers her consistent fighting with Richard most of the time now.

The thieves are unaware of Richard’s new life, having both moving out for collage (and independency mostly) at that early adult age (18/20 respectively for the both of them) they’re both been they’re only source of family sense, being roomies for as long as they can remember with each house/area they move/hide into. The only thing that is known is that Richard’s been having a better life with his new wife..additionally with them not knowing it’s Carmen (more than likely they’ve tried robbing her before) AND not knowing that makes them related to some kid named “Roy” in some way.

It was Eugene who first got into the habit of thievery; with him thinking it would be good financial help for the 2 of them, and just liking the thrill in general. With Barry being the youngest, he ended up picking up that habit alongside him. With how long they’ve been doing it around the neighborhood, it was surprising to hear them both getting relatively popular under local news reports..only having full realization after someone deliberately order a heist for them to hit off. AKA: the RUMORED CULT hiring them to rummage through the attic of a house they’ve already failed stealing from. They already had good enough of a grip of how dangerous the group could be; given how they escaped jail in the first place with help from famous Bob Velseb; the reanimated cannibal that was ALIVE because of the cult (they didn’t have that great of a relationship with him in-and-out of the prison..) Barry was more unsure on the deal, not wanting to be wrapped deep under more garbage for the future. Eugene? They were paying good, he couldn’t let go of that offer (it would’ve payed off they’re apartment bills🎉🎉) Alongside the duo they were hired with the Candydealer, him acting more as some information giver-mentor hybrid for the two. Trying to keep them in order from fear or hesitation so they don’t “run out of luck”

Barton is a Gay man, & Euan is Bisexual as well btw 🫡🫡

ADDITIONALLY THEYRE BOTH MEXICAN WHICH MAKES RICHARD MEXICAN WHICH MAKES ROY MIXED HEHEJAHAHAHA I LOVE SELF INDULGENT HEADCANONS 🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽

—

thank u 4 ur time I just wanted 2 get on here & say i’ve loved these guys 4 so long & they mean so much 2 me and with the power of tumblr & how much words u can write on here I can announce that 2 everyone else

anyways here’s the full art dump I have w them ur welcome chat

[leafnighthybridwolfsbane]

Rainwing Headcanons

(Info below the cut)

Here are the Rainwings now! Used a different brush this time 'round. I have been told this reminded someone of fruit punch and genuinely I can't disagree with that statement. Maybe when I'm done with all of them I'll post them as adopts. Should I do a poll for it?

Tribe Headcanons

Rainwing horns are branched like trees and antlers for better camouflage in the trees.

Looking at them from the front, their noses look like a pierced heart.

They hang from trees like bats when sleeping at night, causing them to sleep similarly to whales and dolphins so they don't drop to the ground on their heads.

Their fangs are retractable. Though, they have a recessive trait where the fangs stick out of their snouts.

They have an "Iguana" frill on their neck that aids in courtship.

This frill is the first place on the body to start shifting colors, making it the easiest to control the color shifting.

Their long limbs aid in reaching into tight spaces.

The spikes along the spine are actually small feathers that start at the base of the skull where the spine attaches to the skull. These feathers can have different shapes at the end of the tail, including "bald".

The hooked wing thumb helps hang onto trees and are surprisingly very strong

Their ears are naturally "feathery"/"flowery" from internal eugenics as the tribe found them extremely attractive at one point. Some still do, but it's not like it once was.

Their wings are mostly meant for gliding. They can fly long distances in small bursts, but they're meant for short travel times.

The upper part of the wing matches the spine scales and the patterns that are on the body.

The underside of the wing matches the frill colors.

Complicated patterns that resemble animals are common. Those with more simplistic designs across their scales are considered desirable due to it.

Rainwings are the smallest out of all the Pyrrhian tribes. They are bigger than all of the Pantalan tribes, though outliers do exist, but this is just the normal size difference.

When Rainwings find a partner, or partners, one part of their coloration to their scales tend to take on a color of the partner's scales when both are in love. This process is a bit harder to detect when dragon of another tribe is in the relationship.

A Rainwings' base colors are primarily based on their emotions within their childhood. These colors can change depending on how severe an experience was.

Rainwings are the most emotionally intelligent tribe. It's a lot easier with others of their own tribes, but they get a sort of "vibe check" sense with other dragons.

Lore Headcanons

Ancient Rainwing scrolls tend to say their origins my have been allwings from before the scorching. This is in a constant debate until around the time the Rainwings had changed their customs. Only very recently have the debates be resurfaced when the scrolls were found. Though, they're not as heated.

Old superstition once stated that the more prongs a Rainwing has on their horns, the more partners they'd have. The main horn being the Rainwing in question, and having a minimum of one prong, meaning one partner. The superstitions have been proven false on multiple occasions. Some still believe them though.

Some Rainwings don't like intertribal relationships because they don't know if the other dragon loves the Rainwing back due to their lack of color shifting. This worry is normally eased if they were jewelry that is the same color as the scales were before they had changed colors.

If a Rainwing has a patterning of a certain animal, it's considered murder of another if the Rainwing were to kill the animal they share a pattern with. This doesn't mean they can't eat it though. As long as another dragon kills it.

Much like Seawings, one of the Rainwings primary exports is their art. Rainwings are arguably better artists than Seawings, though the two tribes are close with that aspect.

As the Rainwings helped the Nightwings, it was a culture shock for them. They started to become acutely aware over the years the emotions of another dragon by their tone, facial expressions, and body language. Some believe this was a lost ability of theirs that they once had in the past.

Drawing Inspirations

Snakes and the Cornish Rex are inspirations for the body structure.

Patterning can come from any jungle animal.

They're like color changing sparkledogs in dragon form. So jewelry isn't really needed, but it makes them stand out even more.

Monochromatic patterns means something really wrong with the Rainwing. Be it traumatic, or like Chameleon with his physical disability.

Wing of Fire Headcanon List

Seawings

Sandwings

Skywings

Icewings

Mudwings

Leafwings

Hivewings

Silkwings

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

why do you wanna keep us a secret?

plum, chapter sixteen

warnings: Joel Miller x reader, MILD SPOILERS for the last of us (both games and the hbo series), timeline wise this is set in between the first and second game (so when they live in Jackson), slow burn, age gap (20 years), ptsd, arguing, kissing

word count: 695

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“But do you really have to go?” you whined into his chest, your arms only tightening around his form, “I’m sure Eugene would fill in for you, uh, or Jesse! He’s all young and eager to be out there.”

“You’re killing me, you know that, right?” he chuckled, tilting your chin up to catch your eye. 

You were officially on the verge of marching over to Maria, once more, to ask if you could go out again. You both craved the morbid normality of going on patrols, loathing so deeply the way everyone in the town treated you as if you were made of fragile porcelain, the infected out there would never change no matter how much you did, and that fact was weirdly comforting to you. But it was also, deep down, because you hadn’t left Joel’s side for weeks now and the thought of being alone again, of going back to that house that you hadn’t even slept in for who knows how long, the thought of him maybe not returning, those too clouded your mind and caused your arms around his body to cling on even more. 

“Stay here with me where it’s warm and there aren’t any infected and where you can enjoy much much better company than Tommy. I’m sorry, I love the guy, but it’s true,” you jested, “I am way more fun than him.” 

“Yeah, you wanna tell him all of that when he comes a-knocking in a bit looking for me? Let him find out that you’re the reason I’m not doing my job?”

Slowly unravelling your arms, you took a step back and inspected his cautious expression, “Joel, are you-… are you scared of your brother finding out about us?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it that,” he apprehensively tried, “I just-”

“What?” you severed the remnants of your clinging hug, “are you ashamed of me or something?” 

“No! Oh my god, no!” he rushed out immediately, his coffee eyes growing wide, “Y/n, I am not ashamed of you in any way, please believe that,” his words dripping with desperation. 

“Alright,” you breathed, though your brows not unfurrowing in the slightest, “but then why do you wanna keep us a secret?”

“I don’t wanna keep us a secret, I just-…” he averted his gaze and uttered, “they trusted me to help you, you trusted me enough to let me in and then I-…”

“Then I kissed you. I was the one taking that step. Do you really think your brother would believe that you took advantage of me?”

“Plum, I know what you mean to him.”

“Even so, you really think he’d believe that? That he would think you would ever do something like that to a person?” 

Exhaling slowly, “I don’t know… He’s known me all his life. Seen every side of me, good and bad. I don’t know if he’d believe that, but I know I would if I was in his shoes.”

Staring down at your feet, you gnawed your bottom lip and eventually spoke, “when will you get back?”

“Maybe tomorrow or the day after that.”

Slowly lifting your eyes up to meet his, you nodded simply “okay,” though didn’t move to offer him another warm farewell.

Picking up his backpack that waited by the front door, his fingers stopped right before turning the handle and glanced back at you, “you know,” his fingers that weren’t clutching the door fidgeted apprehensively at his side, “you can stay here while I’m gone,” your shoulders relaxed as he essentially read your mind, “if you want. If that could somehow make things easier-”

But he didn’t get to finish his kind offer as you marched over towards him and snatched his head down for a kiss. 

“Be safe,” you rested your forehead against his for a moment as you felt his warm palm slide over your waist accompanying the relieved sigh that flowed out of him. 

“You too,” he breathed in your scent a second longer before he slipped out of your grasp and exited the door, not daring to look back at your form through the small window adorning the door even once. 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[secularprolifeconspectus]

I can’t believe some people root for abortions of disabled children and then they pretend to deeply care about us. How can you pretend to care about ableism and discrimination, if you are okay with killing a child with Down Syndrome or, let’s say, Spina Bifida?

I was born disabled, and half of my life, since my childhood, I believed that I was a mistake. Because everyone echoed this to me - starting from medical staff.

My favorite argument is «but they will be bullied!», LMAO, great logic! So is this THEIR fault that they are getting bullied, or the ones who bully the child? In order to prevent this, parents need to have a serious convo with their children to not bully another. How the fuck will we help disabled kids to not be bullied if we gonna get rid of them straight from the mothers womb?

It all comes down to whether the preborn are people with potential disabilities, or if they are potential people with disabilities. It's not that crazy to think it's merciful to prevent a person who will suffer from coming into existence (although this may also be accomplished through coerced and forced sterilization and other eugenic measures, so it can be problematic.)

Personally, I've wrestled with whether it is okay for me to risk passing on my disabilities to kids. A pro-life communist I dated told me this was self-eugenics. After much reflection, I eventually concluded it is neither right nor wrong to conceive children of any capability level; to be is neutral. Your existence doesn't have to be moralized — it's matter of fact, it just is. The world isn't a better or worse place with more people like you in it. Yet, you deserve to be here.

I don't know why I'm sharing this. I guess to document my thoughts somewhere. Maybe it will resonate with someone.

Anyhow, I make a case for why increases in disabled populations increase the visibility of these people, thereby increasing access to and availability of accommodations in society, in this essay. It goes along with your argument that we can't and won't stop bullying by getting rid of the victims, just as we can't and won't cure diseases in pregnancy by preventing pregnancy. We're dodging the problems rather than finding the solutions.

You're right about the hypocrisy too. I had to remind myself this week that many of the most deeply entrenched defenders of "terminations for medical reasons" may know someone who opted to have their disabled child murdered under the illusion that it was merciful. Their resistance isn't rational; it's blind loyalty to the person they love. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. It's just hard to help them overcome; accepting that a murder happened is a hard pill to swallow. Denial is so much safer.

I'm sorry someone made you feel like a mistake. I'm glad you're here now, defending the defenseless. You matter, and your voice matters. Keep speaking truth to power.

[xf-cases-solved]

S1E21: Tooms

Case: Guess who's back, back, back! Back again, again, again! Eugene Victor Tooms is back, back, back! Tell a friend! 

Anyway, Tooms is back.

After being rehabilitated and made totally normal and non-cannibalistic by his psychiatrist, the Baltimore court decides that Eugene Victor Tooms is ready to leave the crazy house—where he was serving time for assaulting Scully (he was never charged with eating livers)—and is now free to rejoin society, despite Mulder's attempts to sway the court otherwise, by using his skills as an expert PowerPoint presentation maker. Tooms, of course, has every intention of finishing what he started before being apprehended, so that he can take a nice long hibernation in his bile cocoon, and Mulder has every intention of stopping him before he does. Mulder engages in some mild-to-moderate stalking behaviors; Scully tries not to kill Mulder and then herself out of pure mortification during the world's most uncomfortable slideshow presentation; a retired old cop in a wheelchair returns and makes fewer references to the Holocaust, and is slightly clairvoyant; I have a moment during the episode where I think, "Oh no, shit, wait, I think he does a gross thing here, is this where he—ah man, yep, it sure is," right as Tooms licks his fingers that are covered in roadkill juice; and, most importantly, ASSISTANT DIRECTOR WALTER SKINNER HAS ENTERED THE MFING CHAT!!!!

All rise for that big, bald, beautiful man!

Does someone die in the cold open: Ofc not, Tooms is a fully rehabilitated, mentally sound, non-homicidal freak of nature, who would never hurt a fly, because flies don't have livers. (It's entirely possible I just googled "do flies have livers"...)

Does Mulder present a slideshow: Unfortunately yeah, he does. Kinda wanted to die alongside Scully as he presented his PowerPoint presentation to the courtroom. I'm all for having the strengths of your convictions, babe, but c'mon, even you had to know that wasn't gonna work.

(^ me and scully suffering from immense secondhand embarrassment)

Does the evidence survive the investigation: Actually, yes, I believe it does. They have their findings, and the findings of the retired old cop in a wheelchair (who straight up just. had part of a victim's liver in his apartment? who let him have that?? mulder and scully are out here literally fighting for their lives just to hold onto one shred of evidence, and this hoe just takes biohazardous material with him after his retirement party and holds onto it as a keepsake of his biggest failure as a cop, smh)

Whodunit: Eugene Victor Tooms once again!

Convictions: Escalator did the justice system's work for them.

Did they solve it: I will say yes. The killings have stopped, the perpetrator is dead, they wrote a report with evidence to cite, and even though Skinner is skeptical, Smoking Man tells him he believes their take on things. It's more solved than most of their cases, anyway. WHICH REMINDS ME. There's a bit in the beginning where Scully tells Skinner that their solve rate is at 75%, which is ABOVE BUREAU STANDARDS, like????? Really FBI? The fucking *X-Files division* is doing better than the rest of your departments? And you wonder why people distrust law enforcement, jfc

[how do i determine if a case is solved? check the scale here: x]

THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY: Escalators. Since 1892 [yes I looked it up], escalators have been a godsend for those of us who, for whatever reason, just don't feel like taking the gosh darn stairs. For well over one hundred years, escalators have been a convenient way for you to get around shopping malls, get to and from train platforms, crush your enemies to death with a conveyor belt, get through airports with ease, and so much more! So next time you need to get from one floor of a building or structure to another, or have someone you need to die quickly, consider using an escalator!

***

General Total Stats:

(green means stat has changed since last ep; red means new stat added to list)

Total Cases *Definitively* Solved So Far: 11 (first time they've solved two in a row for a while. must bc they're so high above bureau standards...)

Total Number of "Mulder/Scully, It's Me" Phone Calls: 1

Total Number of Times Scully Has Conveniently Not Seen Something Crucial: 5

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Been in Mortal Danger: 7 (i mean, tooms chased him through the escalator thingy with murderous intent, right?)

Total Number of Times Scully Has Been in Mortal Danger: 8

Total Number of Sexually Charged, Uncomfortably Intimate, and/or Flirty Moments Between Friendly Coworkers: 11 ("mulder, i wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you" 🥺 actually that whole little exchange is cute af. mulder's like "don't get in trouble bc of me," and scully is like, "don't tell me what to do, bitch, i love you," and mulder's like, "i don't know how to handle genuine compliments, so i'll just say that if you have iced tea for me i will go down on you right now, no hesitation, forget the stakeout, sit on my face" but then she only has root beer 🙁 or at least that's what i remember happening, i might be paraphrasing)

Total Number of Autopsies Scully Has Performed On Screen: 2

Total Number of Times Scully Plays Doctor: 2

Total Number of Times Mulder Talks to an Informant: 10 

Total Number of Times People Making Out in a Car Are Hurt or Killed: 2

Total Number of Nosebleeds: 4

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Tasted/Sniffed/Touched Something Questionable Without Following Proper Safety Procedures: 2 (but tooms definitely did :( )

Total Number of Times Someone Says "Trust No One": 1 

Total Number of Times Someone Says "I Want to Believe": 3

Total Number of Times Someone Says "The Truth is Out There": 1

Total Number of Cigarettes Cigarette Smoking Man Has Smoked: 6 (lol that stat hasn't gone up since the pilot, and then he shows up in one episode and smokes four of 'em)

Total Number of Maggie Scully Sightings: 1

Total Number of Lone Gunmen Sightings: 1

Total Number of Alex Krycek Sightings: 0 :(

Total Number of Times I Had to Look Up What State the Episode Takes Place in Even Though I Literally Just Watched It: 7½ (i remembered from squeeze, bc sometimes my memory works like how it's supposed to)

Total Number of Times I Had to Look at an Episode's Wikipedia Page to Fill This Out Because It Was Fucking Confusing and/or Too Boring for Me to Pay Attention: 5

[lookismaddict]

Lookism Chapter 440 Memes/Thoughts I Have:

(SPOILERS !!! I don’t own any of the Lookism panels and the translations. Only the memes that I made.)

Wooooo weeeeee, another chapter this week! LET'S GOOOOOOOO!!! Also, I'm so sorry for worrying y'all for my absence these past few days but after this review is posted, Imma disappear again. 😭 At this point, my chapter reviews might not be posted on time and will be late to post frequently now. Also, don't mind me changing the color of the title every 10 chapters... *Ahem* Anyways-

RIGHT OFF THE BAT, THESE HOTTIES:

Ughhh... God, the fan service here. Thanks PTJ, you the man. 😩✋🏽 Also, the way Jibeom just acted like nothing happened by saying, "SORRY!" UH HA HA HA HA HA HA... 🧍🏽‍♀️💢 Nah, we allies now. Gotta forgive, right? And Jihan too... 🧍🏽‍♀️💢💢 Man, y'all just got your asses beat for no reason. This reminds me of those anime with the MC's fighting the enemies, and then they end up becoming allies with the "power of friendship". Behold, the power of friendship everyone.

Ok, but Imma be honest. Every time I see Hudson now, I squeal like a fangirl at a BTS concert. And suddenly seeing him... NAKED? RIGHT OFF THE BAT? My loyalty for Gun is REALLY being tested. Wtf man. Also, the snakes though? That's wild. 😭

Yeah, that panel really wrecked me. Physically and emotionally.

Oh, of course. Also, debt? Huh? 🤔

Yeah man, we need to know!!! WE'VE BEEN DYING TO KNOWWWWWWWW. Whenever I hear "Young Master", it reminds me of a butler saying that. As if Daniel is being treated by a butler. 💀

YESSSSSS FINALLY DANIEL GOT A LEAD TO JINYOUNG!!! 💪🏽

"At least eat before you go." That's so nice of them. Also, "At this rate he'll live here." KSSLDJLFSDHFSLFHDSFH JIHAN PLSSSSS- 💀💀💀💀💀

Oh? Daniel coming up with a big brain plan...? 👀

LET'S GOOOOOOOO DANIEL!! BIG BRAIN MOVE!!! 🤭

Daniel being acknowledged by, not only the man who ended the era of the First Generation, but also, the STRONGEST FIRST GENERATION KING???? Oh god, I love his growth and character development so much. He'll always have my heart forever. 💖 ALSO, THIS WHOLESOME MOMENT WITH JICHANG??? THIS IS TOO CUTE. MY HEART- 😩💗 I WAS SOBBING AT THIS BECAUSE THIS WAS TOO CUTE TO WITNESS. LIKE, LOOK AT HIM PETTING DANIEL'S HEAD, LOOKING LIKE A PROUD UNCLE.

Literally, one of the cutest things I've ever seen in a long time in Lookism.

YUUUSSSSSS, JICHANG IS GONNA HELP HIM EVENTUALLY. 😭😭👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽 I hope they actually do make it to the First Affiliate though. But, if the Elder knew where he was, then does that mean that he knows that Jinyoung is not in his right mind? And does he know that he has people held captive in his little basement? 👀 *coughs* Daniel *coughs* Johan *coughs* Samuel... Sorry guys, I might be getting a cold. Idk what's going on with me.

Ohhhhhh shiiiii... Pls tell me we gonna see Jake here...

AHHHHHHHH I KNEW IT, JAKE!!! BABY BOY IS BACK!!!! 😭💙 Oh shit, I wOnDeR who THAT could be...

Tbh I'm not surprised that he said it was James Lee lol. It has been emphasized by Eugene before when he said in Ch. 432, that he was aware of the murder case that caught the attention of a lot of people. And he also mentioned how Charles Choi had been using blackmail on James Lee to control him in exchange of covering James's part of the murder. Also, earlier in that chapter, I was wondering why Charles would even bother to help in covering up a murder for James if that person that James murdered wasn't so important in the first place. If it was just a "nobody", then he would've just thrown that person somewhere, buried him, or burnt his body and converted it into ashes. Clearly, it all makes sense now. (Also, the red picture gave it away. lmao) AND JAKE, WITH THE TYPICAL "death stare" EXPRESSION WHEN HE FOUND OUT WHO THE MURDERER FOR HIS FATHER'S DEATH WAS??? Is he going to get revenge or something? 😭

But oh boy, James is really gonna get it eventually. Both him and Charles Choi. Actually, DEFINITELY Charles Choi. The guy is literally walking scum in the first place.

You see, Charles Choi is a clown... 😀 *end of argument*

I hope he does. Because if Charles Choi intercepts their operation, I'm going to sue. 😡

Ughhhh, bro... Don't make me cry again, please. 💀💀💀💀

Oh great, speak of the Devil. 👿 FUCK OFF CHARLES, AND STOP RUNNING AWAY FROM YOUR CRIMES, YOU ASSHOLE! 😤

NOOOOOOOOOO FUCK YOUUUUU CHARLES!!! GET AWAY FROM THE ELDER!!!! AGGHHHHHDSFHSDFHASDJDSHFLSD JICHANG!!!! BEAT HIS ASS!!!! TAKE HIS LIMBS OFF!!!! 😤😤😤😤😤

IT'S NOW OR NEVER, MF. I WANT THIS MAN TO SUFFER.

Wait, an "unknown car"? He MUST have a driver with him. Please tell me that his driver is none other than Gun/Goo... Ik this is wishful thinking, but I want to see them again. 😳

YEEEEEEESSSSSS JICHANG, SLAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYY. SLAY KING, SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. 😩👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽 HERE'S YOUR CROWN, KING OF CHUNGCHEONG'S KING OF SEOUL'S WHITE SNAKE!! 👑

By choking...? 💀 I mean, I've seen a big ass snake devour a huge animal before, so it's possible Charles. Don't doubt Jichang's abilities, because you might be surprised at how he could MURDER YOU ON SIGHT. 😡😡😡 (And oh god, looking at Elite's face still reminds me of my professor. 😭 *sobbing* But also, with a twist of Manager Kim too.)

I just want his ass to be wiped off the face of the Earth. Both him, and Eugene. But, wait... If Eugene and James Lee are conspiring AGAINST Charles Choi, and everyone else are conspiring against Charles Choi too, then... WHY CAN'T EVERYONE JUST UNITE AND BEAT CHARLES??? They all have a similar goal, yet they decided to do things their own way? Well, I get that they have ulterior motives/goals for them to take down Charles Choi, but at least make it easier for yourselves instead of just handling the crap on your own, right? Fight later, unite now. 🧍🏽‍♀️

Man, idk anymore. Just do whatever tf you guys want at this point. 😭